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“Okay, I’ll sign on as long as you promise to be somewhat …spirited. And that you stop teasing me.”
“Who, me?”
“Yes, you. I can’t have someone standing beside me scaring the homeless with a frowny face as I serve them Christmas ham and-”
“-we’re serving ham to the homeless?” he interrupted.
“I don’t know, but whatever Ellen and Mr. Henry have planned for us may put you outside your comfort zone. I’ll be your Spirit of Christmas as long as you summon a little enthusiasm.”
“I can fake merry.”
“That’s really pathetic, but I’ll take that as a yes.”
He extended his hand across the table, and she stared at it for a brief second.
Did she really want to commit to spending the next few weeks with this man?
Her brother’s sloppy grin popped into her head, followed closely by her mother’s expression when faced with the mound of bills on the counter.
And then her own towering student loans.
And the animal shelter three streets away from her rented duplex in desperate need of funding.
Yeah, she could suffer through Scrooge for the next month. It wouldn’t be bad. He’d be her shadow. Nothing more. And at the end of it all, she’d take that check and create good with it.
She took his hand, which was warm from the coffee, and tried to ignore how nice it felt as his fingers curled over hers. No stupid tingles or dumb electricity. Just a nice toasty shake that made her feel only slightly fluttery. “Deal.”
He pulled his hand away and stood. “I need to get back. I have a luncheon meeting in thirty minutes, and I’m sure Grandfather will want to go over particulars with you. I’ll let him know we’re in on this Spirit of Christmas.”
She rose, dropped her half-filled cup in the trash can, and followed him out the door—which he held for her, of course. As they walked to his office building, she mulled over her decision to do this thing. Was she borrowing trouble? Probably. She didn’t want to acknowledge it, but an small attraction to Brennan lurked at the edge of her consciousness. That’s why agreeing to Malcolm Henry, Jr.’s plan felt dangerous. Because of Brennan and the way she kept overlooking his insides in favor of the deliciousness of his stormy gray eyes and drool-worthy shoulders. Not to mention his flashes of charm. This was no emotionally stunted Greek tycoon from her mother’s paperback collection.
No. He was an emotionally stunted New Orleans tycoon.
Surely there was a difference.
And she wasn’t his secretary…or mistress…or nurse.
Mary Paige was her mother’s daughter, Caleb’s sister, future CPA, and card-carrying member of the SPCA, and about as far from Brennan Henry’s type as a gal could get.
And that was her only reassurance.
They walked into the lobby of the building, and she watched Brennan cringe at the large tree near the fountain. The music spilling out was jolly and reminded them of how cold it was outside.
Brennan gave another disgusted glance at the tree flashing in tune and turned to her. “When you get the schedule for whatever they’re planning, will you ensure Grandfather forwards it so I can sync my calendar? He’s sometimes forgetful.”
“Sure,” she said, shrugging out of his coat, inhaling the scent of his cologne as she surrendered the warmth. “Anything else, my lord?”
She was being a smart-ass but didn’t care. She wasn’t his assistant and didn’t have to pass along messages for him. Okay, it wasn’t hard to utter a simple sentence to his grandfather, but still, his presumptuousness irked her.
His eyes glinted approval at her sarcasm, which had a peculiar effect on her stomach. He pointed to the tree. “Yeah, tell him to take down that blinking monstrosity. It’s offensive.”
Mary Paige studied the good-looking miser who seemed to have tumbled straight from Dickens’s book. “Tell him yourself.”
5
MARYPAIGEOPENEDthe door to her duplex in midtown and smelled something burning. Simon must have made himself dinner because her place always smelled like this when Simon cooked. She also knew the dirty dishes would be in the sink and he’d be gone. Wonderful houseguest, he ain’t.
“Simon?”
