Until He Met Meg (13 page)

Bryce knew his ex-wife well enough to recognize that, beneath that haughty countenance, she was squirming at having been caught using her standover tactics with a member of his staff — something he had warned her against in the past.

Not just any member of his staff either, but Meg.
My Meg,
thought Bryce, shocked at the swift rise of fury he experienced, the urge to protect her that filled him with a rush of blood. He wanted to cast a glance at her, to assure himself Isabelle hadn’t succeeded in upsetting her, but he was afraid she would see something in his expression, something raw and frantic that he didn’t understand himself.

Or worse yet, Isabelle would see it. She was nothing if not astute when it came to finding and targeting a man’s weak spot.

Is that what Meg was to him — a weak spot?

‘I don’t
have
to win any member of your staff over,’ Isabelle reminded him, adroitly recovering from her initial unease. ‘We’re not married anymore.’

‘Something for which I’m eternally grateful,’ Bryce remarked, satisfied to see her blanch beneath her skilfully applied make-up. ‘I got your message, Isabelle, about taking Phillipa for the weekend. A little short notice isn’t it?’

He’d returned to his office to find Claudia waiting to deliver the news. He felt bad now for the way he’d snapped at his secretary for not calling him out of the meeting to relay the message, and made a mental note to apologise on Monday. But he’d been gripped by a sense of impending disaster that had him leaving the office uncharacteristically early. The thought that Isabelle was going to swan into his house and start wiping the floor with Meg had him pushing the speed limit to get home, the instinct to shield her from his ex-wife’s cruel barbs consuming him.

But now he realised he may have been worried about nothing. When he dared to spare Meg a glance he saw she appeared perfectly composed despite the chaotic state of the kitchen. She had a streak of flour across her forehead, assorted stains on the apron she wore over her dress and her hair flounced out wildly from a ponytail at the back of her head. She was a mess, yet clearly not in the least cowed by Isabelle’s domineering presence or impeccable presentation.

Bryce felt a violent surge of admiration.

‘We agreed I’d take Phillipa for a few days when I got back.’ Isabelle spread her hands wide in that way she had of indicating she was the most important person in the room. ‘Well, I’m back. I don’t intend to explain myself further to you, or the
nanny.
’

Bryce felt his jaw tick at her condescending tone. Not for the first time he wondered how he could have been so blind as to fall in love with this woman. Then he remembered that she had taken great pains not to show this particular side of herself while they had been courting. The woman he’d thought himself in love with had been an illusion.

Not like Meg. There was nothing duplicitous about Meg. She was an open book. Already, given the tendency she had of spilling all the details of her life to him, Bryce felt he knew more about his daughter’s nanny than he had ever known about the woman he had once been married to.

The sobering thought made his frown deepen.

‘I’ll go upstairs and check on Phillipa,’ Meg announced suddenly, wiping her hands on a tea towel as she moved toward the door.

‘Don’t you think this…’ — Isabelle gestured to the litter of pots and pans, opened packets of ingredients and dishes of mysterious sauce that covered the granite bench-top — ‘needs clearing first?’

Bryce was about to rebuke Isabelle for ordering around
his
employee, but soon found he didn’t need to. Meg turned and smiled sweetly at his ex-wife. ‘Oh thank you Mrs Carlton. I’d really appreciate the help,’ she said before sweeping out of the room, leaving the door swinging behind her.

‘She’s incredibly impudent,’ Isabelle complained the second they were alone. ‘I hope you’re going to reprimand her.’

‘On your behalf? I don’t think so Isabelle. You can only benefit from being taken down a peg or two.’

‘You always were too soft with the staff, Bryce. I’ll never understand why you’ve put up with Mrs Dunkirk all these years, and now
her
.’ She indicated the door through which Meg had departed.

‘Not everyone wants to surround themselves with sycophants who smile all the time and tell us only what we want to hear. How is Paolo by the way?’

‘He’s outstanding, as always. And while we’re on the subject, how’s
your
sex life?’

Bryce shrugged off the taunt. ‘You know very well you scared me off women, Isabelle. I’m a veritable monk these days.’

‘Really?’ she enquired archly, crossing her arms over her chest. The chest that his alimony cheques had paid to lift and tuck to rounded perfection last year. ‘Even when the nanny has her eye on you?’

‘Her name is Meg,’ Bryce pointed out dryly, hoping the way his heart had picked up speed at Isabelle’s comment didn’t show on his face. ‘And I’ve no plans to have an affair with her.’ Making illicit, erotic plans to do just that when he was alone in bed at night didn’t count. Not when he had no intention of carrying them out.

Isabelle laughed incredulously. ‘Oh darling. Don’t you know by now that men don’t make the plans when it comes to that sort of thing? I’d bet you a month’s alimony that she’ll try and seduce you this weekend.’

‘Meg’s not like that, Isabelle.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like you — devious and self-serving. Willing to compromise herself for money.’

‘Oh my God,’ Isabelle said, her mouth falling open. ‘You’re actually falling for her, aren’t you?’

‘You’re crazy,’ Bryce swiftly denied. Too swiftly, if the look of triumph that flickered through Isabelle’s eyes was any indication. He felt his blood rush, his scalp prickle at the implications.
Was
he falling for Meg?

He thought about her vibrant personality, her wide, dazzling eyes. He thought about the way she had just faced down his ex-wife in full vindictive mode, the way she had stood up to
him
a time or two as well. She’d come into his life in the most unexpected of ways and, just as surprisingly, had filled it with light, laughter and sweet unpredictability.

How could he
not
fall for her?

‘I think you’re the one who’s crazy, if you think you can get away with a squalid little affair with the nanny. Really, Bryce. You’re a walking cliché.’

Bryce arched a cool brow, keeping the confusion of his emotions about Meg from showing on his face with the skill of long practice. ‘This from the woman who left me for her personal trainer?’

‘Paolo treats me like a queen. You never did.’

Bryce bit back the pithy retort that leapt to mind. He should know better by now than to be drawn into an argument with Isabelle. Besides, she was right. He never had treated her like a queen — he hadn’t
wanted
a queen. He’d wanted a wife, a real, warm loving person, not an untouchable figurehead.

But he hadn’t seen that Isabelle wasn’t the right woman for him. That was his mistake and he was suddenly tired, so damn tired, of beating himself up over it. He wanted nothing more than to put it behind him. Fighting old battles with his ex-wife was not going to achieve that aim.

‘I’m sure Phillipa will be ready any minute, Isabelle,’ Bryce said, ‘I’ll leave you to your coffee.’

An expression of surprise crossed Isabelle’s face, making Bryce aware that rehashing old issues was a bad habit they’d fallen into. It was about time one of them took the high road and broke it.

Fortunately he was willing, because Isabelle surely wasn’t. Before Bryce could make his exit, she called out a final taunt. ‘That girl
will
try to seduce you this weekend. You won’t see it coming, but she’ll try. Mark my words.’

Shaking his head, Bryce continued walking.

***

‘I can’t cook,’ Meg told Bryce with a defeated sigh after Phillipa had been spirited away in her mother’s flashy red sports car.

‘I wouldn’t have guessed. You really look the part.’ Bryce swept his gaze over her, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

‘I look like I’ve been hit by a flour bomb. I was trying to make something special like I said but the hollandaise is lumpy, the marinade tastes like hydrochloric acid. And I corked a bottle of your red wine.’

His face took on an expression of mock horror. ‘Please tell me it wasn’t the Grange Hermitage.’

‘It wasn’t one of the dusty ones, if that helps. I’m not
that
dense.’

‘Well, it can’t all be ruined. We might as well make use of it. Would you like a glass?’

Meg watched with no shortage of astonishment as Bryce found the offending bottle of wine and poured some of the liquid into two long-stemmed glasses. ‘You’re not mad?’ she asked. After the way he had been snarling at her all week, Meg had half expected her calamitous cooking venture to be the straw that broke the camel’s back. Especially given that he had also spent time trading insults with his ex-wife.

But his expression remained faintly pleased as he handed her the wine. ‘Meg, if cooking isn’t your strong suit, why did you call me especially and insist on making dinner?’

‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘I guess it was a stupid idea. Especially since Phillipa isn’t going to be here now. I suppose I’ll pack all this away.’

Bryce surveyed the items strewn across the kitchen bench. ‘The steaks still look perfectly fine to me. Why don’t we grill them and make a salad?’

‘You mean you still want to have dinner?’ Meg gulped. ‘Just us?’

The look he sent her set her heart racing and her breath catching in her throat. But when he finally spoke all he said was, ‘No sense wasting all this food. And it will give us a chance to go over those sketches you were telling me about.’

Of course. She had suggested tonight was an opportunity for them to discuss the redecoration project. How could she have forgotten? That was the only reason Bryce was offering to dine with her. ‘That’s a good idea. Why don’t I get this mess cleaned up first?’

Bryce insisted he help her with the task. They worked side by side, stopping occasionally to take a sip of their wine. With Bryce’s help, the task was a lot more enjoyable than Meg had expected. Afterward, she went down to her room to shower and change.

She took a ridiculous length of time deciding what to wear. Her heart pounded as though she were going on a date, only it wasn’t a date. It was a business dinner. In his house. Just the two of them.

Meg swallowed, her heart rate kicking up several more notches.

In the end she chose the one black skirt she owned that wasn’t fraying around the hem and her favourite teal and purple floral print blouse, the one she usually saved for going out. Not because this was a date, she told herself yet again, but simply because she hadn’t worn it in a while.

Yet the way Bryce looked at her when she entered the kitchen and found him already preparing the pan for the steaks filled her with warmth. Wholly unprofessional warmth.

Silly girl.

Bryce had showered too, and changed into blue jeans and a casual grey knit shirt. The more relaxed look was discombobulating, to say the least. She found herself blurting, ‘You look great.’

His warm smile only tipped her further off balance. ‘You look better.’

Oh, crikey.

She watched as Bryce laid the steaks into the hot pan. They sizzled nicely and her stomach took notice. ‘I should do that.’

He sent her a wry look. ‘I think you ought to steer clear of cooking duty for now.’

‘Actually, I
can
cook,’ Meg retorted. ‘Just not fancy things like
filet mignon
. I make a mean sausage stew.’

‘Sausage stew?’

‘A generic casserole using sausages and whatever veggies you have on hand. Very similar to curried sausages, or sausage a la king.’

‘I guess you really like sausages.’

‘Sometimes when money is tight sausages can be the main fare for weeks on end. You have to learn to cook them in a variety of different ways or you’d go insane.’

‘I see,’ Bryce said, but Meg knew he didn’t see at all. He was used to fillet steak and lobster, and here she was, reciting her skill with snags. For sure he was bowled over.

But he seemed perfectly genuine when he said, still smiling, ‘I’d like to try your sausage stew one day.’

They forewent eating in the dining room, choosing instead to take their plates and the bowl of salad Meg had made out to the smaller, casual eating area off the living room. The table offered a sweeping vista of the city, the brightly lit harbour bridge a distinctive, bejewelled arch on the dark horizon. Meg admired the view with a wistful sigh. ‘It’s so beautiful here.’

‘Yes,’ Bryce agreed in a way that made Meg seek out his gaze. He wasn’t looking at the view, and the feel of his eyes resting on her face made her heart flutter wildly. ‘You handled things well today. With Isabelle.’

Meg shrugged. ‘I don’t really like being bossed around.’

Bryce drawled, ‘I noticed.’

‘I wasn’t talking about you, of course. You’re supposed to boss me around.’

‘Please, stop. It’s very unsettling when you try and be deferential.’

‘I wouldn’t want to unsettle you.’ Swallowing a mouthful of salad, Meg ventured to ask, ‘So you wouldn’t mind me asking how you ended up married to someone like Isabelle?’

‘Someone like Isabelle?’

‘I don’t want to cast aspersions on your taste in women but, well, she doesn’t seem very nice.’

He arched a brow and settled back in his chair to sip his wine. ‘Nothing wrong with your powers of observation.’

‘I pride myself on them. So?’ Meg prompted when it didn’t seem he was going to offer any further comment. ‘You and Isabelle. You don’t exactly seem like a likely match.’

‘I wish I had your insight when I met her. I thought we were a perfect match.’ His voice had taken on a derisive lilt. He stared at the wine he swirled in his glass. ‘But I suppose I wasn’t in my clearest frame of mind. I married Isabelle less than a year after my parents died and I was absorbed in keeping Carlton and Associates running. Not the best time to make life-altering decisions. But Isabelle and I seemed so compatible, I didn’t see how things could go wrong. We were engaged when she told me she was pregnant. I was thrilled. We rushed through with the wedding, and really that first year was quite good.’