Welcome to Mills & Boon. Jennifer Rae
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how emotional he already was feeling, he wasn’t sure whether he was grateful for that or not.
The last time Kellen had been inside, the decor had been far more masculine. It wasn’t only the pale, almost pastel shades of paint on the walls that made it seem feminine now. It was the furnishings: overstuffed white couch, patterned throw pillows, decorative lamps, fat candles in ornate holders, glass jars filled with an assortment of seashells that he’d bet Brigit had collected herself. The scent that lingered in the air was not that of his grandfather’s pipe tobacco. Rather, it was light, fresh and pretty. Her scent. He inhaled deeply, finding it oddly comforting and arousing at the same time. He shoved the unsettling thought aside, only to have another take its place.
“You live here.”
She frowned. “For the past few years, yes. Room and board are one of the perks of the job.”
“I know that. But this was my grandfather’s apartment. It’s for the owner... I didn’t realize.”
“You didn’t realize?” Her tone was as incredulous as her expression. “But I told you—”
He cut her off. “I thought there was an apartment on the other side of the lobby to accommodate the manager.”
Brigit’s mouth puckered at his response, drawing Kellen’s attention to a pair of lush lips that needed no added color to make them appealing, despite the agitation reflected in her eyes.
“There is, or rather, there was. But since this apartment was just sitting empty all the time, I...that is, we decided it made more sense to turn the manager’s apartment into a luxury suite that could accommodate four or more guests for an extended stay.”
“We did?”
Color rose in her cheeks. He was surprised he couldn’t see steam waft from her crown. “I sent you several reports listing the pros and cons. You said you agreed with the cost-benefit analysis that I supplied when I first made the suggestion.”
“Right. I remember now.” Kellen nodded, although he was damned if he could recall doing any such thing.
She’d taken excellent care of the inn. Every penny invested in capital improvements had paid off, he decided, thinking of the lobby. Whereas he had been reckless in the past, the risks Brigit took had been calculated and well thought out.
He might have approved her plans, but the decisions had been hers alone. Kellen had a business degree. One that he’d never earned a living from...although he planned to do so now. He’d be wise to pay attention, learn the ropes from what was obviously a very competent manager.
“It’s been full ever since,” she added.
Which meant it was full now.
Kellen appreciated her ability to turn previously unused space profitable, but it did make for a tricky situation. “Where are you going to sleep, Miss Wright?”
* * *
Where was she going to sleep?
Brigit gritted her teeth. That was the million-dollar question, but she shrugged and offered what she hoped passed for an unconcerned smile.
“I’ll figure out something for the duration of your stay.” As unspecified as that might be. And as short as she hoped it would turn out.
Kellen lumbered to the couch and dropped heavily onto the cushions, his face pinched with a grimace. Sheer will had kept him upright, of that much she was certain. She might have admired his tenacity if it weren’t accompanied by such a surly disposition.
“Well, there must be at least one guest room available, right?” For the first time, he sounded more uncertain than he did irascible.
“No. Full means full. And we’re full this week.”
“And next?”
She exhaled slowly. “Actually, for the rest of the season barring any last-minute cancellations.” When he just continued to gape at her, she added, “It’s been an excellent summer so far. Revenues are up by—”
He cut her off with a ripe oath. “Well, you can’t sleep in the damned lobby.”
Brigit already had made the same determination, but her options were limited. The only alternative was...
Her gaze cut to the hallway and the spare bedroom, where she exercised when the weather prevented her from getting outside for a run. It had a futon that pulled out into what her older sister claimed was a pretty comfortable bed. Robbie and her son, Will, were the only overnight guests Brigit had ever entertained. On a sigh, she recalled their upcoming visit. She’d have to let them know plans had changed. Yet another disruption in her otherwise well-organized schedule.
“I’ll have our bellboy set up a cot for me in the office,” she said at last.
“The office we just passed?” He snorted. “It’s barely big enough for the desk. You can’t get a bed in there, even if it is a damn cot.”
“It will be tight,” she admitted. Not to mention that she would need to figure out where to shower and stow her belongings, but at least it would afford her more privacy than the inn’s common areas.
“No.”
She blinked. “No?”
“No.” This time his tone made the single syllable sound even more final.
Brigit felt her blood pressure rise again. The man certainly knew how to push her buttons. She didn’t like being told what to do. Since her divorce, no man had dared, nor would she have stood for it. After her fiasco of a marriage, during which she had all but disappeared behind her husband’s overbearing and autocratic personality, she’d vowed never to become invisible or obsolete again. She had a brain and a voice. These days, she used both with impunity.
But just as she opened her mouth to protest, Kellen leaned his head back on the sofa and closed his eyes. Dressed in varying shades of gray and black—colors that mirrored his mood—she couldn’t help but notice how out of place he looked amid the array of cheerful throw pillows. Still, she might have argued with his edict. Firmly but politely, of course, since he was her employer and tact was in order. But his expression stopped her. The taut line of his mouth and the way his brow furrowed made it plain that he was hurting.
“When was the last time you took a painkiller?” she asked. She kept her tone neutral, careful to keep any concern from leaking into it lest she knick his pride. From the way he’d shrugged off her assistance earlier, she gathered he didn’t want any.
Men. It was all she could do not to roll her eyes. She’d thought she was done stroking their damned egos now that Scott was out of the picture. Well, apparently not.
“I quit those a few weeks ago,” he muttered. Just when she started to think his decision was rooted in some sort of macho tough-guy bull, he added, “They make me a zombie. It’s not all that unpleasant of a feeling, but the last thing I need is to wind up addicted to pain meds on top of everything else.”
His reasoning was sound, even if it meant his pain was left unmanaged.
The two men who’d accompanied Kellen strode into the apartment then. The driver was hauling a pair of suitcases that were large enough to hold Brigit’s entire wardrobe. The younger man pushed the wheelchair. A smaller piece of luggage was balanced on its seat with a garment bag draped over top of it. Brigit’s stomach dropped. Kellen had brought a lot of baggage—in more ways than one. And none of it boded well for how long she would be displaced from her home.
“Where do you want your things, boss?” the driver asked.
Without opening his eyes, Kellen motioned with one hand in the direction of the hall. “Put them in the master bedroom, Lou.”
“And mine?” the guy pushing the wheelchair asked.
Kellen did open his eyes now and he straightened in his seat. “Change of plans, Joe.