No Ring Required. Laura Wright
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a short time, yes,” Grace replied softly. “But before you even realize it they are grown and deciding what they will wear and who they will marry without any input from you.”
“There you are.” A booming male voice broke through all the femininity. “I called your office and Olivia said you’d be—”
“Ethan?” In the heaviness of her conversation with Grace, Mary hadn’t heard the bell over the door. If she had heard—and seen—who was about to enter the shop, she would’ve been out the door in a matter of seconds. This was not good.
Ethan spotted Grace and changed instantly from casual guy to cynical business mogul. “Mrs. Harrington. What a pleasant surprise.”
“I doubt that,” the older woman said dryly.
Before her grandmother could connect the single father with Ethan, Mary said quickly, “I’m organizing several functions for Mr. Curtis.”
“Is that so?” Grace said, pursing her lips as if she’d just gotten a whiff of rotting fish, or as if the thought of her blue-blooded granddaughter working for the upstart who had basically stolen her family’s company made her want to throw up. “When did he hire you?”
In other words, how long has this been going on and why was I not informed?
“Just a few weeks ago,” Mary replied.
“And he has a meeting with you in a baby boutique?”
“No.”
No doubt sensing that Mary was floundering, Ethan jumped in to save her. “We were supposed to meet at the restaurant next door, but I saw your granddaughter in here and wanted to start early. As you know, Mrs. Harrington, I have little patience and zero time. I was in the neighborhood seeing a client and there was something I needed to discuss with Miss Kelley that couldn’t wait. Luckily she agreed to meet with me.”
“Luckily for you she agreed to take you on as a client, Mr. Curtis,” Grace said frigidly.
He nodded. “Your granddaughter is very talented.”
“A fact of which I am well aware.”
“Knowing that your granddaughter is planning the event, maybe you’ll reconsider the brunch on Saturday.”
“Perhaps,” she said tightly, then turned to Mary. “I have to run, my dear.”
“But the gift for the twins…”
“This shop is a little too new money for my taste, and you know how I despise that.” She didn’t have to look at Ethan to get her point across. “Your father is out of harm’s way now, I hear.”
“Yes,” Mary said, surprised her grandmother would bring something like that up, much less care.
“Nasty business, that. But we were in no position to help, unfortunately.” After two air kisses to Mary’s cheeks and nothing whatever for Ethan, she left them.
“That woman couldn’t hate me more if I spit on her shoe,” Ethan muttered.
“Oh, yes she could, but I wouldn’t advise trying it.”
“You’d think I stole the company right out from under their noses.”
“Didn’t you?”
He gave her a haughty look. “Harrington Corp. was in trouble. Your grandfather was really slipping. Clients weren’t getting serviced the way they had in the past and many were threatening to walk. I didn’t steal anything. If anything I saved that damn company.”
“Pretty much the same as stealing it, to my grandparents.” Mary took her cell phone out of her pocket and showed it to him. “Now, you have my phone number, right?”
“Yes.”
“Couldn’t you have called me instead of tracking me down?”
“Why? Did I embarrass you?” he asked coldly.
“Don’t be so thick, Curtis. I’m in a baby shop. I had to dance fast with my grandmother about why I was here, then why you were here—”
“I danced fast on that one,” he interrupted.
She ignored him. “You know I want to keep this quiet. I thought we both did.”
“I never said I wanted to keep anything quiet—”
“Hello, there.” The saleswoman who had been watching Mary for the past thirty minutes in annoyance joined them, completely smiley-faced and enthusiastic at the sight of Ethan. “Daddy’s here.”
Ethan looked pleased with the comment and nodded. “He is.”
“Would you and your wife like some lemonade before you get started?”
Mary snorted derisively and said, “I’m not his—”
“Yes, we would,” Ethan said, cutting her off before following the saleswoman to a small refreshment area.
For the next twenty minutes Mary sat beside Ethan and watched as the saleswoman laid blankets and rugs, hats and booties, washtubs and soothing lullaby CDs at Ethan’s feet as though he were the sultan of Bruni.
Feeling close to exploding if she stayed in the shop one more minute, Mary leaned in and whispered to Ethan, “I have to get back to the office,” then grabbed her purse and headed for the door.
He caught up with her, placing his hand on her arm. “We need to talk.”
“About?” she asked, trying to ignore the heat of his fingers searing into her skin.
“The brunch.”
“Call my office and we’ll set something up for tomorrow—”
“No, I’m the client. You can come to my office.” His jaw hardened, letting her know there was no denying his command. “Today, four-thirty.”
As she struggled to maintain her calm exterior, Mary fought the desire that simmered beneath. “Fine. Four-thirty.”
“You look exhausted.”
Not exactly the first thing a woman wants to hear when the man she finds overwhelmingly attractive opens his office door.
“Thanks,” Mary uttered sarcastically.
Ethan grinned, gestured toward the chocolate brown leather couch. “Sit down.”
“I’m fine.”
“We’re not going to discuss the brunch while you stand. This could take a while.”
“How long are you estimating?”
“Why? Do you have a date or something?”
Standing on either side of the coffee table, like two gunslingers, they stared at each other.
“Not the best joke I’ve made this week.”
“No.”
“Come on, have a seat,” Ethan said, dropping onto the plush leather and grinning.
On a weary sigh, she plunked down on the couch. “Okay, I’m sitting, now let’s start with the menu. I think we should go for a southern theme. Olivia has this New Mexican menu—Wait, what are you doing?”
Before Mary could stop him, Ethan had taken off her shoes and placed her feet in his lap. “I’m helping you to relax.”
“Why?”
“Why not?”
“I’ll tell you why not. I’m here for business not for pl—” She came to screeching halt, which made Ethan’s eyes glitter even more wickedly.
“If this helps,” he began. “Rubbing your aching feet is business. echnically.”
“I can’t