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‘I DON’T GIVE a damn how my dating life is going to play with the family demographic, Dex. Your job is to make sure it’s not an issue.’ Lukas balanced the phone between his collarbone and his chin and undid the cuffs of his shirt.
He’d flown in from Paris an hour ago in the company helicopter and he needed a shower. He was supposed to be attending a function tonight in the ballroom downstairs to launch the new branding for Blackstone’s Deluxe Family Resorts. The build in the Maldives on the first resort was finally finished, but they had only a couple of months till the opening and there were still a ton of problems with the PR campaign. The top one of which was that his publicity guru Dex Garvey thought he could butt into Lukas’s personal life to find a great angle to push their social media outreach.
‘What about the pretty little thing you kissed at the Ball months ago?’ Garvey jumped right back in, not deterred in the least by Lukas’s sharp tone. ‘She’s your nephew’s aunt, right? That Cinderella story has legs, Lukas. The press are still gagging for stories about the girl and the kid. And the speculation about what’s going on between the two of you hasn’t died down either. I heard the boy’s out of hospital and home now in the place you bought for them. Why the heck don’t you take her and the kid with you to the resort before it launches? We could get a photographer out there to document the whole thing. The press will lap it up and the social media buzz we could generate would be priceless.’
‘I don’t need priceless social media buzz. I need you to do your job and stop bugging me with this stuff.’
He hadn’t seen Bronte O’Hara or his nephew since the day he’d brought her back to the UK from Manhattan. Had made a point of not having any contact with her or the boy. The fact that his thoughts often strayed to the memory of the child’s hands wrapped around his waist during their one brief meeting, or that he still woke up most nights, his body hard and aching, with the memory of Bronte’s taste lingering on his tongue was not significant. And certainly not something he planned to encourage.
The kid had gotten to him momentarily, because it had been a tough situation and the boy looked uncannily like his twin brother. The brother he’d never had the time or the inclination to grieve. Those dumb feelings of protectiveness towards the boy’s aunt, the desire to make sure she was well cared for, had to be a result of that jolt too. And maybe transference. Somehow during their argument he’d mixed up his responsibilities for the welfare of Alexei’s son with a responsibility he didn’t even have for Bronte’s welfare. His weird erotic obsession with the woman was even easier to explain. He hadn’t gotten laid in months, and certainly not since he’d faced off with Bronte in the hospital waiting room. Maybe he’d find a willing woman at tonight’s event and end the drought. Problem solved.
He shrugged out of his sh
irt.
‘I’m just saying,’ Garvey put on his wheedling voice, the one that had helped win him accolades all over the globe for his media campaigns, and made him someone Blackstone’s had spent a fortune head-hunting two years ago—something Lukas was starting to regret.
‘I’m not gonna lie to you, Lukas. Your rep and the company’s image took a hit when you decided not to get cosy with your new nephew. And his surrogate mommy.’
‘I’m not the family man type, Garvey.’ And he never would be. Families, how they operated, what they had to offer, didn’t interest him. The bankrupt way his own family had operated had proved that to him years ago. ‘Get over it and find another way to promote the new brand.’
‘But you are the Blackstone brand.’ Garvey whined some more. ‘I still don’t get why you wouldn’t at least let me tell the media you’re the anonymous donor that made the kid’s treatment a success.’
‘Because it’s nobody’s business.’ And it would make him feel like a fraud. His involvement in Nico’s treatment was just a trick of genetics. He sure as heck wasn’t about to get business capital out of his arbitrary role in saving the boy’s life. ‘I’ll see you in the ballroom in an hour—and I don’t want to hear another word about this, or I’m going to reconsider the six-figure salary we’re paying you.’
The heavy sigh down the line made Lukas bristle. But then Dex murmured, ‘Yes, boss.’
Switching off the phone, Lukas finished undressing then stepped into the shower cubicle and turned the water jets to frigid. Just the mention of Bronte had had a predictable effect. Taking the erection in hand, he did what he’d been doing far too often of late. The perfunctory pleasure washed through him—but he knew it wouldn’t be enough to satisfy the craving for long.
Whatever she’d done to him he needed to undo, tonight—or he was liable to lose his mind completely.
And if Dex brought up her name again, Blackstone’s was finding a new PR guru.
* * *
‘I need to see him, Lisa. I know you’ve done your best but he seems determined not to even acknowledge Nico’s existence. Could you get me into his office?’
Lisa nodded. ‘I understand, but he’s not in his office.’
‘He’s not? Where is he?’
‘In his suite on the top floor of the hotel, getting ready for tonight’s launch for the new Blackstone Family Resort in the Maldives.’
‘Oh.’ Bronte’s chest imploded like a burst balloon. ‘I see.’ She couldn’t confront him in his private apartment—even the thought of it had the hot brick in her stomach sinking deeper into her abdomen. ‘I guess I’ll have to come back tomorrow.’ And work herself up all over again. Somehow. ‘Will he still be in London?’
‘I think he’s due to fly out to the Maldives tomorrow afternoon,’ Lisa said, the sympathy in her eyes making Bronte feel like even more of a dope—for charging into the woman’s office at six o’clock with no clear plan and no real clue. She should have made an appointment.
‘Is everything okay with Nico?’ Lisa asked.
‘Yes, everything’s really good. That’s what I wanted to talk to Lukas about. Nico just got the all-clear from the hospital.’
‘But that’s wonderful news.’ Lisa got up and walked round her desk.
Dressed in a red satin sheath dress, she looked immaculate, her hair and make-up suggesting she had been about to leave for the press launch herself when Bronte had stormed into her office.
Bronte winced at the flour stains on her T-shirt and the mud on her jeans from where she’d been playing in the park with Nico that afternoon.
‘I should go. I’m sorry to have bothered you,’ Bronte said, her confidence and determination seeping away. ‘Could you tell him I was here and give him the news?’
