The Billionaire's Baby Plan / Marrying the Northbridge Nanny: The Billionaire's Baby Plan. Allison Leigh
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we’ll get together a prospectus. We’ll get a loan.”
“No bank is going to touch us in the condition we’re in and we wouldn’t be able to keep Dad out of it.”
“Then private investors,” Lisa countered, feeling more than a little desperate. She may have missed out on the medical brilliance gene that Gerald had passed on to Paul, but she considered herself a decent administrator. It was the only thing about her that she felt certain her father was proud of. It was her one part in ensuring that her father’s life’s work lived on.
Yet she hadn’t known what Derek was doing.
“We’ve never had investors before,” Paul said.
“Pardon me for saying so, but you’ve never needed investors before,” Ted inserted quietly. He let go of Sarah Beth’s hand, which he’d been holding, and stood up. “However, it does give me an idea…”
Chapter One
Lisa stepped out of the cab and onto the sidewalk, staring at the narrow entrance of Fare, complete with uniformed doorman, ahead of her.
Why a restaurant?
Not for the first time since she’d flown from Boston to New York City was she still puzzling over the choice. Even though the meeting had been arranged by Ted Bonner, its purpose was business. Not social.
Thank heavens.
She realized the doorman was staring at her, and with a confidence that she didn’t feel, smiled at the man and strode across the sidewalk, unfastening the single button on the front of her black-and-white houndstooth jacket when he ushered her into the softly lit restaurant before silently departing.
The shadowy hostess station was unattended and she waited in the hushed silence. There was a faint strain of music, but it was subtle and nonintrusive.
Waiting to be shown to the table was okay with her. She didn’t want to be there anyway. But she’d promised Paul.
She swallowed.
This is just another meeting with a potential funder.
Investor.
Her mind debated the term.
She was used to meeting with funders. Usually representatives of a philanthropic or scientific foundation to discuss research grants that the institute was seeking.
This…this was another kettle of fish, entirely. And even though it had been her idea to use investors to solve their current dilemma, she’d never in her wildest imaginings thought she’d be meeting this particular one.
She smoothed her hand over the wide belt of her highwaisted slacks and buttoned her jacket again. Switched her slender, leather briefcase from one hand to the other.
The meeting that Paul had called earlier that week replayed in her mind. She’d never seen her ever-confident, ever-capable big brother actually question whether or not the institute could survive at all and that—as much as the reason why—still had her deeply shaken.
“The gentleman is waiting for you.”
Lisa blinked herself to the present where an exotically beautiful girl dressed in a narrow black sheath was smiling patiently, her hand extended slightly to one side.
She undid the button again, gripped the handle of her briefcase more tightly in her moist hand and stepped forward.
She spotted him immediately.
The “gentleman” whom Lisa would never have termed as such.
Rourke Devlin.
Billionaire venture capitalist. A man who never had to worry about finding funding for his own work because he was the fund. He was Ted Bonner’s friend. And even though she could appreciate that fact, could appreciate the generosity he’d shown to Ted and Sara Beth during their trip to newly wedded bliss, she couldn’t envision anything productive coming out of this encounter.
He was dark. Powerful. Arrogant. Rich as Midas.
And as frightening as the devil himself.
Rourke didn’t even rise as she approached his small round table situated in the center of the exclusive, small restaurant. But his black gaze followed her every step of the way.
She felt like a lamb sent to slaughter and damned Derek all over again.
She might have promised Paul that she’d do her best on this meeting despite her personal reservations, but it was because of Derek that this meeting—or any of the other half dozen that she’d frenetically set up for the following week—was necessary in the first place.
A black-clothed waiter had appeared out of nowhere to pull out the second chair at the table for her.
She thanked him quietly and took her seat, tucking the briefcase on the floor next to her. There were plenty of tables surrounding them, but none was occupied. Only Rourke’s, sitting here, center stage like king of the castle. “I’ve read reviews of Fare,” she greeted him. “The food is supposed to be magnificent.”
“It is.”
Hardly a conversational treasure trove. She hoped it wasn’t an indicator of how the rest of the meeting would go, but feared it probably was. Despite Ted’s insistence that Rourke was open to meeting with her, she couldn’t help but remember her encounter with him months earlier at their Founder’s Ball— and the single dance they’d shared—as well as his seeming disapproval at the time of the institute in general. “The view is lovely.”
He didn’t turn his head to glance at the bank of windows overlooking a pond surrounded by trees that were just now beginning to show the first hint of coming autumn. “Yes.”
In her lap, her hands curled into fists beneath the protection of the white linen draping the table. All right. Forget pleasantries. She’d just get to the point. “I appreciate you meeting with me.”
He lifted a sardonic eyebrow. “Do you?”
She studied him, wondering not for the first time exactly what it was about the man that seemed to place him on a different plane than others.
There were plenty of men as powerfully built. Plenty of men who possessed strikingly carved features and well-cut, thick black hair. All it took was money to buy the fine white silk shirt he wore with such casual ease. There was a single button undone at his tanned throat; a charcoal-gray suit coat discarded over the back of his chair.
He exuded confidence. Power. And he looked at her—just as he had on the other few occasions they’d been in one another’s company—as if he knew things about her that she might not even know herself.
Which mostly left her feeling as if she were playing some game in which she didn’t know the rules.
She moistened her lips, realizing as she did that it was an indicator of her nervousness, particularly when his gaze rested on her mouth for a moment. “I know your time is valuable.”
The waiter had returned and was silently, ceremoniously presenting, then opening a bottle of wine. The cork presented and approved, the first taste mulled over, the crystal glasses partially filled. Lisa had been part of the production hundreds of times and wondered silently what any of them would say if she told them she would have preferred a fresh glass of iced tea. Wine always went straight to her head.
And it didn’t take her MBA to know that she needed all of her faculties in prime working order when it came to dealing with Rourke Devlin, who hadn’t volunteered even a polite disclaimer about the value of his time.
But she said nothing. Merely smiled and picked up the glass, sipping at the crisp, cool Chardonnay. It was delicious. Something she might have chosen for herself if she were in the mood for wine. But she would have pegged Rourke as a red wine sort of man. To go along with the raw red meat those strong white teeth could probably tear