Shopping for a CEO's Fiancee (18 page)

“Great. Just what I want to do with a Saturday night. Spend it at my brother’s house with his crazy mother-in-law, opening china and tablecloths,
oohing
and
aahing
over crap no one really uses. Let’s take wagers on how many fondue sets they get.”

As we enter the elevator, she gives me a funny look. “That’s what you really think about weddings and registering and gifts?”

“Yes.”

She laughs, giving a sigh of relief. “Me, too.”

My thumb worries the spot where my wedding ring used to rest.

I miss it.

We’re the last to arrive, the room filled with the same people who were at the rehearsal dinner. Has it really only been a month since that night? I count back. 

About six weeks.

Not long enough between parties involving Marie.

Even my cousin Hamish is here, which is strange. Why would he be here?

Oh. Right.

A party involving Marie. That’s why. 

“Andrew! Amanda!” Marie squeals. She’s wearing a purple get-up that sets her now-platinum hair apart, like corn silk on top of a lavender field. For the wedding, she dyed it auburn for some reason, but now she’s back to normal, whatever
that
means for Marie.

Her eyes are bright and cheeks pink. Her hug comes with alcohol-soaked breath. “I’m so glad you’re here. Now we have two best men!”

I look over her shoulder at Terry, who gives me a fake smile, a thumbs-up, and points to a beer in his hand.

Hell, yes
, I mouth.

I’m going to need plenty of alcohol to get through tonight.

“Six hundred and fifty-seven presents Shannon and Declan got for their wedding!” Marie calls out as she lets me go and Terry mercifully appears with a beer for me.

“I’d rather listen to you tell me what happened with Dad after Mom died than sit through the next two hours,” I say before swigging half my beer like it’s an antidote to being wedding-poisoned. 

 “Come on. Marie’s not that bad,” Terry replies with a wink. 

“Dad dropped you on his head, didn’t he? That’s the true explanation.”

He gives me an even, neutral look before whispering, “Some other time. Not now. You clearly have enough tragedy to work through.” The corner of his mouth twitches.

Amanda gravitates to Shannon, who is tanned and smiling, Dec’s arm around her as he pours red wine into a series of glasses.

He looks pretty damn relaxed, too. Honeymoons will do that, I guess.

Can’t wait to find out for myself.

“Look at all those gifts!” Marie says, pointing. Tables have been set up in the living room, and about twelve file boxes are stacked neatly, labeled McCormick Wedding Gifts. About a hundred wrapped presents of varying sizes are piled around them on the floor and tables.

Looks about right for a thousand-guest wedding.

That Dec and Shannon abandoned.

“It’s going to be a long night,” Dad says, appearing behind me, his voice tortured. “Six hundred gifts and Marie in her glory.”

“Can’t an admin at Anterdec handle this?” I mutter.

“That’s what Declan and I said, but this is all Shannon and Marie’s idea.”

“You mean this is
Marie’s
idea.”

He laughs. “Your brother’s the one who chose to marry into the crazy family.”

I look at Amanda, who is chatting with her mother, who has her teacup Chihuahua in her purse, feeding it nibbles of cheese from a platter. Terry walks over and gives Spritzy a kiss on the forehead, making baby talk to the little drowned rat.

Right.

Crazy family.

Dec peels himself off his new wife and approaches me with a smirk. “Figured out you’re not married to anyone, huh?”

“Confirmed bachelor.” A hollow gong rings in me as I say it.

“How’s business?”

I give him an evil grin. “Good. How about you?”

“Funny thing, little bro. I came home from my honeymoon and went to work. All my passwords were invalid. Gerald informed me I have a week left of limo services from Anterdec. Grace told me I have a week, too, of her services. Any secured systems I need to access have to be done through her accounts.”

I go cold. “Dad didn’t talk to you first?”

“So you knew about this?” His eyes narrow and his jaw tightens.

“I knew. You resigned. I offered to talk to you first about the transition, but Dad said he wanted to do it.”

“Well, he didn’t. The New Zealand account’s going to blow up if I can’t get back on track. And then there’s Grace.”

I chug my beer. I can tell he’s upset, but he’s not pissed. I expected fiery fury. Instead, I’m getting a cold, reserved kind of anger, as if he’s suddenly turned British.

“We can manage New Zealand. And Grace, well...she’s an Anterdec employee. If you want her, you have to try to make her join your new company.”

“I tried. She refused.”

SCORE! I try to contain my glee. I finally get Grace as my admin. Buh-bye, Gina.

Or, I should say,
Buh-bye, Gina?
 

I shrug and reach across the counter for another beer. Halfway through it, I pause and say, “Transitions. Changes. They all have their ups and downs.”

“Being stripped of all Anterdec privileges is one hell of a change.”

“What did you expect?” I drain the second beer, welcoming the warm buzz that begins in my hands and feet.

He pauses mid-sip with his wine glass, brows turning down. “Not sure. But not this.”

“You have your own company now. Anterdec has security issues with a VP as high as you up the food chain having access to sensitive systems.”

“I’m the owner’s son.”

“And it’s the owner who did this to you.” I swallow an
I’m sorry
because I’m not the one who’s responsible. That’s Dad, and Declan’ll have to hash it out with him.

“If we’re talking business—”

“Do we have to?”

He gives me a look that says,
tough shit
. “I want to buy the Turdmobile.”

“You
what
?”

“Well, Shannon does. Anterdec is acquiring Consolidated Evalu-shop. They have a contract with the advertising company that manages the crazy promotional cars. Shannon’s shown me the stats on that damn piece of shit car—”

“Literally.”

“—and it generates a ton of business for the coffee shop it’s intended to advertise. We just acquired a chain of coffee shops, so...I want to buy out the contract from you.”

“You can have the damn car.”

He laughs. “I thought the same thing, but once I saw the metrics, I was convinced. Besides, Shannon will need a car. No more limos.”

“Poor baby.”

He glares. “I’ll have my people talk to yours about the Turdmobile?”

“You have
people
already? When did your new company get people? You were on your honeymoon last week, for God’s sake! You haven’t had time to acquire people.”

He shuts down. “Just be aware we want to move fast on this.”

“Like I said, you can
have
the damn contract. Consider it a wedding gift.”

He pulls out his phone and texts. “Okay. Done. Expect a call tomorrow to make it happen.”

Great. So far, I’ve managed to avoid ever riding in that piece-of-shit car. Amanda’s offered to drive and I’ve skillfully avoided it.

Done. Forever.

That car is out of my business and out of my life.

Amanda’s eye catches mine and suddenly, Dec doesn’t exist. She’s giving me one of those closed-mouth smiles that says she’s thinking about me, naked. Her nose twitches as she moves her lips, the sexy curve of her mouth one I can imagine in intimate places. The beer is getting a nice grip on me, and if I can get my girlfriend alone, I’ll bet she could get a nice grip on me, too.

Dec looks at me, his eyes cutting over to Amanda, and he does an epic eye roll. “You think with your pants.”

I snort. “Like you’re any different?”

He frowns. “No.”

We might not talk about feelings in our family, but sex is open territory.

“Speaking of which, how was the honeymoon?”

His face goes blank. “Don’t want to talk about it.”

“That bad or that good?”

“Not talking about it.”

Before I can press for details, Hamish approaches, hand outstretched, a shit-eating grin on his face. He’s taller than me, and a wall of broad muscle. If he weren’t a kickass soccer player, he’d be a rugby man, for sure.

“Andrew!” The Scottish lilt in his voice makes me smile. “So good to see you.” He claps his hand on Dec’s shoulder. “Already said my congratulations to this one, but he couldn’t really talk with the dog collar attached to his leash.”

Dec’s expression tells me this joke has been made before, many times.

“We can’t all sleep our way through Europe on a football tour,” I tell him with a wink.

“Ah, but it’s fun to try,” Hamish says with a deep, dirty laugh.

Behind him, I see Amy and Carol in a huddle around a tray of chocolates. At his words, Amy opens her mouth and sticks her finger down her throat. Carol bursts into giggles.

I see Amy’s well acquainted with Hamish.

“At the rehearsal dinner, you were talking about endorsements. How’s that going?” I ask.

It’s hard to believe we’re related. Dad’s older half brother from his father’s first marriage is Hamish’s father. Dad doesn’t talk about the family history, so I don’t know the details, just that my grandfather had a “first family” in Scotland before emigrating to the U.S. and marrying my dad’s mom. Hamish is a fiery ginger with bright green eyes and a broad face covered in freckles. He’s the size of a Viking and thickly muscled, the kind of man who looks like he shouldn’t be good at soccer but is light as hell on his feet.

He’s the biggest European football star to emerge since David Beckham, and a McCormick, to boot.

“That’s why I’m here, actually,” Hamish says, chugging a dark lager. “New product roll-out for a company based here in Boston, so I have meetings in the morning with my agent. Might be a seven-figure deal.”

“Pounds, or dollars?”

“Oh, dollars, aye? If it were pounds, I’d offer up my right stone.”

“Stone?”

He cocks an eyebrow. “You know. Balls.”

Ah. I get it. “Don’t give up the nuts too early in the process,” I say. “Hold out for eight figures.”

He grins, face splitting with a conspirator’s grin. His top teeth are impossibly straight and white, bottom teeth a bit crooked, his nose wandering off at an angle that says it’s been broken a few times. His hair is super short on the sides, a little longer on top, and he has the look of a freshly-manscaped guy unaccustomed to that kind of detailing.

“
Nuts
? Only Americans would pick such a wee thing to compare them to.” He laughs. “But I like your thinking. You’re a shark, aren’t ye, cousin? Maybe I should fire my manager and have you negotiate for me.”

“Not looking for a new job, Hamish.” Not to mention the pay cut would be enormous.

His laugh is bold and open, booming and unpretentious. “I’d imagine you have your hands full.” With that comment, he eyes Amanda. “Very nicely full.”

And he winks at me.

“Andrew!” Shannon says, coming in for a hug before I can decide how to answer Hamish. “How are you?” She smells exotic, a new perfume tickling my nose. Our embrace feels like hugging a sibling. None of the typical feelings stirred up when hugging a woman appear.

Good.

“I’m great. How was the honeymoon?”

Her face goes slack, just like Declan’s. “Fine.”

“Just fine? Shouldn’t a honeymoon be more than fine?” Hamish asserts with a leer.

“Would you like a rum-soaked truffle?” she asks, shoving a heavy silver tray right into Hamish’s navel, so hard he emits a grunt of surprise.

And then she walks away to chat with...my father?

What the hell happened on that honeymoon? Must be bad if Shannon’s avoiding the topic by choosing conversation with
Dad
.

“Was the sex that bad?” Hamish grumbles, looking at the tray of truffles that are now in disarray, perfect tops pointed down, scattered like drunken sorority pledges at an outdoor frat lawn party.

“Don’t say that anywhere near Declan if you like your teeth, Hamish.”

We share a grin and each try a truffle.

Rum. They’re rum truffles.

A hand strokes my ass, making me choke. Hamish’s hands are in view, so—

“Hey,” Amanda whispers in my ear. Her breath smells like cherry liqueur. “The candies are all filled with alcohol,” she says, blowing in my ear.

“You don’t say?” I snake my arm around her waist and start to think that maybe coming to this present-opening party wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

I’m glad I pushed her into coming.

“Is Gerald picking us up?” she asks.

“Of course. Why?”

“Then I don’t have to drive home? I can drink?” Her fingers roam a little more.

“You can do whatever you want, baby.”

She does a double take, dimples blooming on her cheeks like daffodils in late April. “You’ve never, ever called me
baby
before.”

“You’ve never, ever grabbed my ass in public before.”

“Last time we were here, it wasn’t exactly a pleasant situation between the two of us.”

“Tonight is definitely better,” I agree. Last time we were together here at Declan and Shannon’s place, it was the rehearsal dinner from hell. I was being stupid (I admit it), Dad had just been diagnosed with cancer, Amanda was being weird, and the night unraveled layer by layer, a train wreck no one could stop.

And, I’m reminded, we never did have sex in the walk-in closet where we fought and half made-up.

“Definitely,” she purrs, eating a decorated truffle from the plate Hamish has abandoned. He’s now chatting away with Shannon and Dad. I overhear words like
Costa Rica
and
coffee exports
and
rainforests
.

“You haven’t stabbed me in the neck with a fork even once tonight.”

“The night’s still young.”

“HAMISH!” Marie squeals, giving him a huge hug as she discovers him. “How was the photo shoot?”

He blinks hard, unsure what to do with a fifty-something yoga instructor hanging around his neck like a menopausal rosary. “Good,” he says, looking down at her.