The Millionaire's Pregnant Bride. Dixie Browning
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him of dark roses, satiny wood and fine wine.
Probably because he’d seen her on more than a few occasions in Jack’s walnut-paneled offices.
It was Saturday morning. Will and Diana had both come in to clear out the last of the personal items in Jack’s office so that the cleaning crew could do their job and Seb could call in the decorators. He managed to keep his mind on business for almost an hour until she turned, tape roller in hand, her dark hair brushing her shoulder. “Shall I label this box personal and put it with those others for Sebastian?”
“What’s in it? Oh, yeah—trophies, certificates, pictures…” Jack with several politicians. Jack with a couple of Hollywood types. Jack with his foot on the neck of a dead lion, and another eight-by-ten glossy of Jack with a dead blue marlin. “Yeah, go ahead. Here, I’ll move it for you.”
“Use your knees, not your back,” she warned in the voice that had come as something of a surprise the first time he’d ever heard it. Quiet, a little bit husky. The type of voice advertisers paid a fortune for, but without the fake seductiveness that was used to sell everything from potency pills to plumbing supplies.
“Huh?” Real intelligent, Bradford.
“To lift the box. Squat, don’t just bend over. Better yet, drag it like I did all the others.”
Will had a feeling Sebastian was going to want to change quite a few things now that he had the power. Father and son were nothing at all alike. They hadn’t gotten along particularly well, although each was brilliant in his own way.
“Yes, ma’am,” Will muttered, amused at Diana’s bossiness. Nevertheless, he bent his knees slightly, leaned over and lifted the box, which was filled with books, trophies and framed photographs. “Where?” he said with a grunt.
“There.” She pointed.
He set it up on top of the stack by the door and managed to resist grabbing his back. Masking his grimace with a smile, he said, “I could do with some lunch, how about you?”
Turning slowly, Diana surveyed the spacious tower office with its paneled walls, the walnut louvered shutters and the heavy, lined linen draperies. Not for Jack Wescott the usual preference for glass, leather and steel.
“How much more do we have to do? I cleaned out the records room and the bathroom.” A length of hair fell forward, and she brushed it back. That morning her heavy, straight brown hair had been confined in one of those twisted arrangements on the back of her head. He could have told her about hair like hers and the laws of gravity.
“Then that about does it,” he said. “Cleaning staff will be in tonight. They can take down the curtains and either toss ’em or send ’em out to be cleaned. They’ve been here for as long as I can remember.”
She touched the soft, sun-faded fabric the way a woman would. “I don’t think Jack ever even noticed them. I guess most men wouldn’t, but they’re sort of nice, aren’t they? In a subtle, understated kind of way.”
“Yeah, I suppose so.” So are you, lady. In a subtle, understated kind of way.
Will made up his mind to give her the draperies once they came back from the cleaners. Unless her living quarters were a hell of a lot larger than his, he had no idea what she would do with all those yards of heavy, lined fabric. Slipcover her house, maybe.
Still, it eased his conscience, because as soon as they wound things up here, he’d already made up his mind to offer her a bonus and encourage her to leave town. The last thing poor Seb needed after dealing with the sudden death of his father and the appearance of an illegitimate half brother was to have to deal with any possible demands from his father’s ex-mistress.
After washing up in the luxurious washroom, they locked the door and crossed the hall to the elevators. Dorian Brady and two clerks from the computer department got on at the floor below. Will nodded to Dorian. He was still withholding judgment when it came to Jack’s by-blow. There was something about him—almost a watchfulness—that raised a few red flags.
But then, that was probably because Seb was Will’s friend, and this guy, whatever his credentials, was an interloper.
As the elevator sped silently down to the lobby, Diana said, “What about the boxes of files I took home with me? Is there any hurry about going through them?”
The doors opened soundlessly, and the small group filed out but lingered nearby. Will, noticing the way Dorian was eyeing his late-father’s secretary, moved to block his view as they crossed the plush lobby. If any man was going to ogle the woman, it wasn’t going to be some shifty-eyed kid in a flashy two-toned suit and a bolo tie.
Not until they were outside did he answer her question. “It’s all personal stuff, isn’t it? Nothing to do with the estate?”
“The boxes? As far as I know.”
“Then let’s let it ride, okay? What do say we stop by the Royal for some chili and coconut pie?” He made the offer only because he’d kept her long past lunch time. All he really wanted to do was go home, watch headline news and sleep for the next twenty-four hours.
Well, maybe not all… “Or if you’d rather, we could drive over to Claire’s.”
And then, damned if she didn’t start crying, right there in broad daylight.
Thank God the Saturday-morning traffic was light.
Well, hell…
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