The Playboy's Office Romance

Her caustic smile was both a reward and a punishment. “Always such a gentleman,” she said sarcastically.

Someday he’d like to be the recipient of a genuine smile from Lara Richmond. Apparently, though, today wasn’t going to be that day. “Wrong brother,” he corrected. “I believe the one you wanted just got married.”

She stiffened up like a starched shirt. “I beg your pardon?”

“Oh, relax, Queenie. Your secret’s safe with me.”

“If I had a secret, which I don’t, you’d be the last person I’d trust to keep it. You can be sure of that.”

“Okay, if you say so, but there’s no shame in admitting you’re in love with Adam. Half the women at the wedding today weren’t crying because they were happy.”

“Love?” She said it as if the word tasted nasty in her mouth. “For your information, your brother and I are friends. I’m sure that concept is not in your realm of experience, but you really should try it sometime.”

“Being friends with a woman? Now why would I want to ruin a promising romance with something as platonic as friendship?”

Her face flushed with rancor—he always had this effect on her, even when he wasn’t trying. “You’re right, Bryce. It’s impossible for you to understand how I might admire Adam for his intelligence and business acumen without putting your own decadent spin on our friendship. You certainly shouldn’t try to emulate anything you’re incapable of understanding.”

“A lot of big words in that statement,” Bryce pointed out cheerfully. “Are you trying to impress me with your command of the language?”

“I wouldn’t waste my time. In fact, I don’t know why I thought we might be able to exchange a few pleasantries on this festive occasion. My mistake.”

He was sorry he’d razed her now and as she started to turn, he snagged two glasses of wine from a passing waiter. “You’re right,” he conceded. “You and I should bury the hatchet on this singular occasion.” He offered her one of the glasses and raised the other, making it difficult for her to simply walk away. “Let’s toast to my brother and his bride. May they be as happy together as you and I will be apart.”

She could hardly refuse to drink to that, he thought.

She took the glass. “Hear, hear” she said and took a swallow of the wine.

She had great lips, full but not too wide, shiny now with the soft color of lipstick and the glaze of cabernet. There were moments when Bryce wished she didn’t hate him so forcefully. “Where’s the kid?” he asked, because he didn’t want her to leave him just yet and because he was curious to know how Ice Queen Lara was managing with her newly acquired nephew.

“Calvin?” Her tone was cautious, as if she suspected a verbal trap.

“Is that his name?”

“Yes.” Still hesitant, her gaze stayed on his, watching for the first sign of a joke at her expense. “How do you know about Cal?”

Bryce shrugged. “Adam told me.”

She sighed, but he couldn’t decide if it was because Adam had talked to him or because she didn’t know how much of the situation he actually knew. “He’s with a sitter,” she said. “Neither one of us would have enjoyed the wedding if I’d brought him along.”

“I didn’t think you enjoyed it very much without him.”

The truth of that was in the glance she flickered to his face and then quickly away. “I’m a little…unsettled…by the sudden turn of events, of course. Adam didn’t give much notice and things at the office have been chaotic this week, to say the least.”

“You should have been here. Monica nearly drove us all insane with her ideas for the wedding. Even Peter got rattled and usually, he’s as calm as the eye of a hurricane.”

Lara turned the glass between her long, delicate fingers. “Who’s Monica?”

It wasn’t difficult to locate the petite brunette, clinging to her trophy fiancé like poison ivy, and Bryce indicated her with a glance. “My future stepmother,” he said, taking another sip of wine. “Number six. Or seven. It’s hard to keep track.”

Lara’s gaze followed his. “For some reason, I thought your father was engaged to that lovely woman I saw sitting beside your grandfather during the wedding.”

“Ilsa Fairchild?” Bryce shook his head, feeling gloomier the further this topic went. Just yesterday, there had been an article in The Inquirer, citing inside sources that love was in the air at Braddock Hall and Cupid’s arrow had struck even the eldest Mr. Braddock. Archer had laughed heartily and proclaimed it nonsense, as all the tabloid stories on the tawdry loves and scandals of the rich and famous basically were, but he hadn’t denied it. And something was going on between Mrs. Fairchild and his grandfather. Even Peter thought so. But Bryce wasn’t going to discuss that with Lara or anyone else. “She’s a family friend,” he said, feeding her the line Archer had fed him. “I only wish my dad was smart enough to fall for someone that classy. It would make for quite a change.”

Lara sipped her wine, watching Monica across the span of the room. “She doesn’t look very happy.”

Bryce observed the pout on the brunette’s pretty face. “She always looks that way.” But it did seem that at the moment at least, James was standing firm and not giving in as easily as he usually did. There could be trouble in paradise. And about time, too, in Bryce’s humble opinion. Not that he wanted his dad to be unhappy. But anyone, probably everyone, could tell that James and Monica were not an ideal match. On the other hand, who was? Other than his grandparents and now, Adam and Katie.

“She’s very pretty.” Lara observed. “And young.”

“All my stepmothers are. It’s a requirement.” Hearing the bitter note in his voice, Bryce decided a change of subject matter was overdue. He didn’t want Lara to start thinking he liked having a civil conversation with her. Something like that could ruin her ideas about him. “So,” he said, bringing his voice back to a droll indifference, “are you polishing up your nameplate? Thinking about how you’ll redecorate Adam’s office?”

“What?” She was clearly startled by the question, or at least by the fact that he’d said aloud what had to be hovering in the back of her mind.

“Adam’s resignation as CEO is already a week old. Don’t tell me you haven’t already been in touch with Natalie Ossman. Or has some other trendy new interior designer taken Providence by storm?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh, come on, Lara, we both know you’re primed, ready and eager to fill Adam’s shoes at Braddock Industries.”

Chips of ice couldn’t have been cooler than the gaze she narrowed on him. “The board will not ask me to take on the position of CEO, although they should. No one is better qualified or loves this company more than I.”

Certainly not you, was the crisp subtext. Lara might not like him, but she never disappointed him with false flattery. “I agree with you,” he said, switching tone and trying sincerity for a change. “And for what it’s worth, I think you’ve earned the job.”

She blinked. “You do?”

“You betcha.” Bryce actually thought there was a possibility the board might name her Chief Operating Officer, which would be a coup for both her and the company in his opinion. Not that anyone was likely to ask his opinion. “Much better you than me.”

“I hope you don’t expect me to argue that point.”

Oddly, he had. For no reason other than she never agreed with him on anything, whether he was right or wrong. It rankled, somehow, that for the five or more years she’d worked as Adam’s assistant at Braddock Industries, Bryce had yet to convince her he was not a moron simply because his life philosophy didn’t involve a three-piece suit and a leather briefcase. She persisted in believing he had about as much depth as a wading pool. Not that he’d ever expended much effort to disabuse her of the idea. “Believe it or not, Lara, arguing isn’t the only way to carry on a conversation with me.”

“You can’t believe the board would seriously consider you,” she said with unflattering conviction. “You’ve never worked a day in your life. You wouldn’t take the job even if they were—” She stopped herself, but he easily filled in the blank with a silent “stupid enough to give it to you,” although she finished with a less offensive, “—inclined to give it to you, anyway.”

“You probably shouldn’t count on the board offering the position to you, either.”

Her expression changed again, became defensive. “I never count on anything,” she said sharply. “Life is safer that way.”

“Also boring.”

“Well, we can’t all live the fascinating life you do, can we, Bryce? Someone has to be responsible for running the family business.”

This was getting personal and he didn’t like it. Bad enough he’d grown up in the awesome shadow that Adam cast, he didn’t need Adam’s assistant—beautiful as she was—taking over that duty now that Adam wasn’t here to do it. “Yes, Lara, someone does have to be responsible and I’m very happy it doesn’t have to be me.”

“That makes two of us.”

She turned to go, the wine swirling to the brim of her glass in her agitation and haste, but her exit was blocked by the halting approach of Archer Braddock and Ilsa Fairchild, arm in arm, smiling as if they’d been out for a lover’s stroll in the moonlight. “Lara,” Archer said, smiling. “You look lovely, my dear. I know you’re going to miss Adam as much as the rest of us.”

“Probably more.”