He slid out of the car and held a hand for Alisha to take. “Then come on, future Mrs. Westerly. Let’s go face the dragon.”
“Stop there.” Brett slammed a hand down on his desk as his temper flared in response to an unwelcome announcement from Dennis Lockhart, the European market director for Westerly Corp. “We had an agreement. They will hold up their end.”
Dennis said, “Daten Jetzt is claiming a change in European Union policies negates our current contract.”
“We need to stay on the inside track in Germany or that market will go to shit.”
“I wish I had better news for you, but we’ve hit a wall.”
Brett swore. Dennis wasn’t one to give up, which meant the situation was serious. “I’ll look into it and call you back.” After hanging up, Brett stood, ran his hand through his thick black hair in frustration, and shrugged off his dark-gray Kiton suit jacket.
Failure wasn’t an option. It never had been.
Westerlys don’t lose.
He impatiently made calls to everyone from the German minister for economics and technology to the German ambassador to the United States. He called in favors, threatened, and pushed through every roadblock until he had both the information and the ammunition needed. Then he called the CEO in question and laid out exactly what his company would lose if it didn’t honor the initial deal. Within minutes he had confirmation that all would go as originally planned.
Satisfied, Brett hung up and flexed. That, Dennis, is how to win.
“Mr. Westerly?” his secretary’s impeccably calm voice floated through the intercom. Gina Carlise was computer-like perfection in human form. If the woman had a life outside the office, Brett didn’t know about it, and that was how he preferred it.
“Gina.”
“Your brother is here.”
“Send him in.”
“He’s not alone.”
Brett frowned. He didn’t like surprises, and the past week had been full of them. “Send them in.” If he’d realized that missing his grandmother’s birthday party would upset her the way it did, he would have gone. Of all his family members, he was the closest to his grandmother.
His interaction with the rest of his family was primarily special-occasion texts and e-mail updates. There wasn’t time to get together beyond that, not if one wanted to achieve his level of success. He’d long ago given up trying to explain that to his siblings. They’d embraced the middle-class lifestyle his mother had dragged her youngest three children down to. As far as he could see, they were happy to settle for scraping by. They refused to accept money from their father, and every attempt Brett made to help them had been perceived as an insult.
Which hadn’t stopped Brett from smoothing the way for them when he could. As his father had done, Brett made sure the family was taken care of even if it meant doing so behind the scenes. If they applied for a scholarship, they got it. A loan? The bank approved them. Not that they knew that. They’d never understood why Brett had chosen to live with his father rather than with his mother when she left the family home. His only regret? Not being able to watch over his younger siblings. They had taken it as a sign that he didn’t care. Neither Rachelle, Spencer, nor Nicolette knew he employed people whose only job was to make sure his family got what they needed without ever knowing it was from him. It was better that way.
However, a week ago, his grandmother’s lawyer had delivered her insane offer to dole out inheritances early to any of her grandchildren who married a person of her approval, and invited her, along with the rest of their siblings, to the wedding. Even as he’d read the ultimatum that if they were not married at the time of her death, their inheritance would be donated to a designated list of charities, he’d dismissed it as ridiculous. His lawyers were already looking into the legality of such a stipulation. It would never hold up in court. He hadn’t been concerned until he’d heard that Spencer had gotten engaged, an impulsive act that necessitated direct intervention.
The door of his office opened, and Spencer walked in, dressed in a polo shirt and jeans with an equally casually dressed blonde on his arm. Brett sensed hesitation in his brother’s entrance and sighed impatiently. “Come in, Spencer.”
The woman at his side appeared to give his brother a nudge forward. She was pretty in a wholesome, milk-commercial kind of way, and full-figured. He wasn’t surprised to see she wore little makeup. Definitely his brother’s style.
So that’s Alisha Coventry. He’d heard her name over the years and recognized her from photos with his sister. As his brother’s conveniently announced fiancée, she wouldn’t want to hear anything he was about to say. “We need to talk, Spencer. Gina, why don’t you take my brother’s friend to get some coffee in the café?”
Spencer straightened to his full height and pulled the blonde closer to his side. “That’s not necessary. Whatever you have to say to me, you can say in front of Alisha.”
Brett looked past his brother to his secretary. “Gina.”
His secretary stepped forward and addressed his brother’s security blanket. “I’d love to show you the café if you’d like to join me.”
The blonde smiled politely at his secretary, then turned steely blue eyes to Brett. “Thank you, but I’d prefer to stay here.”
There was a quiet confidence in her voice that had Brett looking her over again. She wore her hair in a wild, angelic style, but she returned his gaze without blinking. His brother could do worse than to choose a woman with a spine. “This is a family matter.”
Spencer glanced down at Alisha, then looked back at Brett and said, “Alisha is family, or she will be very soon. We’re getting married.”
“That’s what we need to discuss.”
Gina excused herself discreetly and closed the door behind her as she left.
Alisha gave Spencer’s arm a supportive squeeze. Not just any angel, a guardian one at that. Brett felt an unwelcome flash of attraction to her. He shook his head. She lacked the sophistication of the women he generally went for.
And she’s Spencer’s.
Spencer squared his shoulders. “Like I said, there’s nothing you could say to me that you can’t say in front of Alisha.”
With a growl of frustration, Brett said, “Does she know about the clause?”
Alisha’s chin rose proudly. “Of course I do.”
Brett admired her spunk, but focused on what was important. He met his youngest brother’s eyes. “You don’t have to do this. I already have lawyers looking into our grandmother’s mental competence.”
Spencer shook his head in disgust. “You’re serious? That’s low, even for you.”
A flush warmed Brett’s cheeks as his temper rose. “She’s obviously not in her right mind, and you’re a fool if you marry someone just because she said you should.”
Alisha’s eyes widened. “Wow, you’re exactly the way Spencer described you.”
Spencer shook his head at her. Brett didn’t like the message he witnessed them exchange. They were aligned against him, even though his brother said, “Don’t.”
The warm smile she gave Spencer sent a stabbing dark feeling through Brett that he wasn’t sure how to interpret. When Alisha’s eyes met his again, Brett liked the cold anger he saw in them even less. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me.” Her stress of the word rude sounded like an accusation of its own.
Spencer’s arm went around her waist. “If that’s all you have to say, Brett, you’ve wasted your time and mine. Alisha and I are getting married. I don’t need your help.”
Brett sighed loudly. “We’ll see what you say a week from now when Grandmother retracts the offer. Just don’t do anything hasty.” He ran a hand through his hair.
“Like elope?” Spencer asked as if he were considering it a dare he might accept. He looked down at his fiancée. “What do you say, Alisha? Vegas?”
Alisha shrugged. “Sure.”
“Don’t be an idiot. You don’t have to do this.”
Stepping aw
ay from Alisha, Spencer went nose to nose with Brett. “No, what I don’t have to do is listen to anything else you have to say. I have to invite you to the wedding, but you don’t have to come.” He turned, led Alisha out of the room, and slammed the door behind them.
Brett stood next to his desk, trying to shake off the storm of emotion raging within him. How did every conversation with Spencer end in a standoff?
His office door flew open as Alisha burst back through. With an audacity that took him completely off guard, she poked a finger into his chest and said, “You should be ashamed of yourself. You couldn’t say one nice thing to your brother? If there is a fool in this room, it’s you. Spencer is one hundred times the man you are, but you’re too full of yourself to see it. Are you really trying to prove your grandmother is incompetent? What kind of monster are you?”
Unwelcome desire flooded through him. He caught her hand in his. “You know nothing about me.”
There was a flash of something that looked a hell of a lot like passion in her eyes before she looked away. She tugged her hand free. “Don’t ever touch me.”
“Then keep your pretty little hands to yourself,” he said gruffly.
“Alisha,” Spencer said from the doorway. He rushed to her side. “I thought you were going to the bathroom.”
She glared up at Brett again. “I was, but I couldn’t help myself. I’m done now.”
Her passionate defense of his brother was hotter than hell. Brett’s life was full of women who played by his rules. In general, they were tediously predictable. Alisha certainly wasn’t that.
Brett wondered what else she did in the heat of the moment. He stepped away from her and fought his automatic response to her. Noticing the sad expression on Spencer’s face was enough to kill his boner. What the hell am I thinking?
He watched his brother lead Alisha out of his office for the second time and fought the urge to call her back. Shit.
Her words rang in his head: “What kind of monster are you?”
Apparently, the kind who wants to fuck my brother’s fiancée.
Brett let out the breath he’d been holding in without realizing it. He wasn’t an impulsive man when it came to women. He certainly wasn’t the type that would ever consider anyone who belonged to someone else.
Still, he couldn’t get the image of her charging up to him out of his head. There had been a fire in her eyes that he’d found exciting despite how clearly off-limits she was. He didn’t want to think about how kissable she’d looked with her cheeks flushed in anger or the bounce of her gorgeous breasts as she’d walked off in a huff.
He closed the door to his office, told Gina to hold his calls, and made himself a scotch on the rocks. Only after he’d downed the double shot did he allow himself to remember how good Alisha’s hand had felt in his. He inhaled and remembered the scent of her as she challenged him: sweet flowers and a kick of spice.
He hated how easily she’d made him want her.
Worse, there had been an answering hunger in her. He’d seen it in her eyes. That’s trouble I don’t need. I should put her out of my head, but I need to know exactly what type of woman she is.
So I can help Spencer.
Putting his glass down, he returned to his desk and called his secretary. “Gina, get me a full background check on Alisha Coventry.” He didn’t say more. He knew he didn’t have to. Gina was that good.
A few hours later, he was reading through a digital file on Alisha. Police reports about domestic abuse. Modest career. Long association with his family.
Does Spencer love her?
Why is she marrying Spencer? Does she see him as a meal ticket? I’m not an expert on love, but my gut tells me that woman is not in love. She couldn’t look at me the way she did and be serious about my brother.
Or maybe women are all the same.
Nothing would ever erase Brett’s memory of hiding behind a chair while his father and mother fought for the last time. The proud Dereck Westerly had been reduced to a pleading, tearful man, promising to do anything if his wife would stay. He said he’d forgive her infidelity. He would forgive her anything, if she would only stay. It was the only time Brett ever saw weakness in his father, and Brett’s love for his mother had withered that day. She’d dismissed his father and said she was leaving with the children. She claimed she needed to build a life away from him to be happy.
Happy?
What the fuck was that? Stephanie Westerly had deserted her marriage, broken up her family, to be happy. His father, on the other hand, had proved how life should be. Focused. Driven. Successful. Pursuing happiness had caused his youngest brother to believe he had to appease an old lady by marrying in haste. That will never be me. I don’t need anyone at my side.
Maintaining the financial security of the family. Ambition. Affluence. That was what mattered. Life wasn’t about being happy.
Chapter Two
Scrubbing her hands in the classroom sink, Alisha tried unsuccessfully to remove the orange paint from beneath one of her nails. What a week. By five thirty the atmosphere was peaceful. From the moment her first student arrived in the morning until the last one was handed off to a parent, the day flew by. There was always a shoe to tie, a nose to wipe, or a frustrated little one to guide toward success. Keeping twenty-five kindergarten students not only productive but also inspired was not easy, yet it was satisfying.
Alisha had known she wanted to be a teacher from as far back as she could remember, and early childhood was what she’d chosen to focus on. The little ones came in as babies and, if she did her job correctly, left as confident students. Every school year ended with a sigh of relief and a short period of mourning because each class found a way into her heart.
This year would be even more of a roller coaster since she and Spencer were getting married. Possibly very soon, if their conversation on the way home the night before was anything to go by. She’d originally expressed a preference to have the ceremony in a month when school let out for the summer, but after meeting Brett, she completely understood why Spencer would want to do it sooner. The whole pretense would be done faster, Spencer could get his money, and life would go back to normal.
Alisha turned off the water, dried her hands, and gathered what she needed to take home. What an arrogant asshole. No wonder his siblings want nothing to do with him.
She made a disgusted sound as she remembered how he’d spoken to Spencer. During the ride home she’d asked Spencer why he bothered to go see him.
Spencer had shrugged and said, “A part of me always hopes it’ll be different. It never is. He’s a clone of Dad.”
Alisha shuddered at that thought. If that was true, it wasn’t hard to see why Stephanie Westerly had left her husband. People thought money bought happiness, but Stephanie was proof it didn’t. She’d walked away from a life of luxury and leisure and had chosen to raise her children on her nurse’s salary. Her second husband, Mark, had shared her simple philosophy and they’d made their home a happy one.
Stephanie loved her children. And Mark had been the father none of them had ever had. He’d never been too busy to talk. He even attended every one of Alisha’s soccer games and sat with his stepchildren while they did their homework.
His illness, then death, eight years earlier had left a hole in their lives, but Alisha liked to think he lived on in all of them. Whenever Alisha was confused, she asked herself what Mark would have done.
He wouldn’t have told Brett off. He would have found something about him to like.
But I’m only human.
Sorry, Mark. It had to be said. As Alisha tossed her bags into her blue Honda Civic, she admitted something to herself that she’d spent the prior night denying. It felt good, too.
Really good.
She paused before starting up her car as her thoughts wandered back to the man who caused her fitful night of sleep. She’d woken unable to remember the details of her dream but bothered that he appeared in it.
H
e was undeniably an attractive man. Tall and dark-haired, with incredible blue eyes. Add wealth into the mix and Alisha doubted many women turned him down. That wasn’t what had stuck with Alisha, though.
No, it was his presence. Male confidence. Power. A hint of danger.
My type only in movies and books. In reality, a nice man is a more practical choice every time.
Her phone rang, interrupting her inner dialogue. She answered via her hands-free Bluetooth setup in the car. “Hello?”
“Are you just leaving now?” Rachelle asked.
“I had to clean up. We painted the papier-mâché covers for Mother’s Day books today.”
“The ones that are also picture frames? How did they come out?”
“Like something only mothers could love, but I get so many nice letters about them each year that I keep making them.”
“Are you still meeting me at the gym at seven?”
“Absolutely. I just need to run home, eat something, and change.”
“Yoga?”
Alisha groaned. Having a skinny best friend was sometimes a physical challenge. Rachelle loved to twist herself up into a variety of poses Alisha’s body didn’t fold into. Not that she was fat, but Alisha wasn’t delicately built, either. She could run a marathon—in theory. Some people were blessed with fast metabolisms. Alisha was either gaining or losing weight every day of her life. She did her best, though, to eat healthily and exercise often. Summer was approaching and although she would never feel comfortable in a bikini, she would at least be bathing-suit ready. “Sure. Maybe meditation will help.”
“Bad day?” Rachelle asked, instantly concerned. She was a first grade teacher, so she could empathize, and Alisha missed the days when they taught at the same school.