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Not the Boss's Baby
Sarah M. Anderson


Chadwick was sitting behind his desk.
Serena knew she shouldn’t think of him as Chadwick—it was too familiar. Too personal. Mr Beaumont was her boss. She worked hard for him, pulling long hours whenever necessary.
It wasn’t a secret that Serena would go to the ends of the earth for this man. It was a secret that she’d always done just a little more than admire his commitment to the company.
Chadwick Beaumont was an incredibly handsome man—a solid six-two, his sandy-blond hair neatly trimmed at all times. He would be one of those men who aged like a fine wine, only getting better with each passing year. Some days, Serena would catch herself staring as if she were trying to savor him.
But that secret admiration was buried deep.
She had an excellent job with benefits and she would never risk it by doing something as unprofessional as falling in love with her boss. They worked together. Their relationship was nothing but business-professional.
She had no idea how being pregnant was going to change things.
***
Not the Boss’s Baby is part of The Beaumont Heirs series: One Colorado family, limitless scandal!
Not the
Boss’s Baby
Sarah M. Anderson


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Award-winning author SARAH M. ANDERSON may live east of the Mississippi River, but her heart lies out west on the Great Plains. With a lifelong love of horses and two history teachers for parents, she had plenty of encouragement to learn everything she could about the tribes of the Great Plains.
When she started writing, it wasn’t long before her characters found themselves out in South Dakota among the Lakota Sioux. She loves to put people from two different worlds into new situations and to see how their backgrounds and cultures take them someplace they never thought they’d go.
Sarah’s book A Man of Privilege won the 2012 RT Reviewers’ Choice Award for Best Mills & Boon® Desire™.
When not helping out at her son’s school or walking her rescue dogs, Sarah spends her days having conversations with imaginary cowboys and American Indians, all of which is surprisingly well-tolerated by her wonderful husband. Readers can find out more about Sarah’s love of cowboys and Indians at www.sarahmanderson.com (http://www.sarahmanderson.com).
To Leah Hanlin. We’ve been friends for over twenty years now, and I’m so glad I’ve been able to share this journey—and my covers!—with you.
Let’s celebrate by getting more sleep!
Contents
Cover (#u7fa18634-bb9c-5b93-8cee-0ecd8c464349)
Introduction (#u2acad43e-03e1-5643-9697-df9548b56af5)
Title Page (#ucc1f7320-ce79-588d-8b80-21a78bd3f2a7)
About the Author (#u24b65be9-4d78-5f3a-a77d-4a352de3b58e)
Dedication (#ub2a4d09c-aea9-59fd-9fa5-92cf8098b35e)
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
One (#uf657ffbe-8e9c-5632-b608-49d0b8b22c04)
“Ms. Chase, if you could join me in my office.”
Serena startled at the sound of Mr. Beaumont’s voice coming from the old-fashioned intercom on her desk. Blinking, she became aware of her surroundings.
How on earth had she gotten to work? She looked down—she was wearing a suit, though she had no memory of getting dressed. She touched her hair. All appeared to be normal. Everything was fine.
Except she was pregnant. Nothing fine or normal about that.
She was relatively sure it was Monday. She looked at the clock on her computer. Yes, nine in the morning—the normal time for her morning meeting with Chadwick Beaumont, President and CEO of the Beaumont Brewery. She’d been Mr. Beaumont’s executive assistant for seven years now, after a yearlong internship and a year working in Human Resources. She could count the number of times they’d missed their 9:00 a.m. Monday meeting on two hands.
No need to let something like a little accidental pregnancy interrupt that.
Okay, so everything had turned upside down this past weekend. She wasn’t just a little tired or a tad stressed out. She wasn’t fighting off a bug, even. She was, in all likelihood, two months and two or three weeks pregnant. She knew that with certainty because those were the last times she’d slept with Neil.
Neil. She had to tell him she was expecting. He had a right to know. God, she didn’t want to see him again—to be rejected again. But this went way beyond what she wanted. What a huge mess.
“Ms. Chase? Is there a problem?” Mr. Beaumont’s voice was strict but not harsh.
She clicked the intercom on. “No, Mr. Beaumont. Just a slight delay. I’ll be right in.”
She was at work. She had a job to do—a job she needed now more than ever.
Serena sent a short note to Neil informing him that she needed to talk to him, and then she gathered up her tablet and opened the door to Chadwick Beaumont’s office. Chadwick was the fourth Beaumont to run the brewery, and it showed in his office. The room looked much as it might have back in the early 1940s, soon after Prohibition had ended, when Chadwick’s grandfather John had built it. The walls were mahogany panels that had been oiled until they gleamed. A built-in bar with a huge mirror took up the whole interior wall. The exterior wall was lined with windows hung with heavy gray velvet drapes and crowned with elaborately hand-carved woodwork that told the story of the Beaumont Brewery.
The conference table had been custom-made to fit the room—Serena had read that it was so large and so heavy that John Beaumont had to have the whole thing built in the office because there was no getting it through a doorway. Tucked in the far corner by a large coffee table was a grouping of two leather club chairs and a matching leather loveseat set. The coffee table was supposedly made of one of the original wagon wheels that Phillipe Beaumont had used when he’d crossed the Great Plains with a team of Percheron draft horses back in the 1880s on his way to settle in Denver and make beer.
Serena loved this room—the opulence, the history. Things she didn’t have in her own life. The only changes that reflected the twenty-first century were a large flat-screen television that hung over the sitting area and the electronics on the desk, which had been made to match the conference table. A door on the other side of the desk, nearly hidden between the bar and a bookcase, led to a private bathroom. Serena knew that Chadwick had added a treadmill and a few other exercise machines, as well as a shower, to the bathroom, but only because she’d processed the orders. She’d never gone into Chadwick’s personal space. Not once in seven years.
This room had always been a source of comfort to her—a counterpoint to the stark poverty that had marked her childhood. It represented everything she wanted—security, stability, safety. A goal to strive for. Through hard work, dedication and loyalty, she could have nice things, too. Maybe not this nice, but better than the shelters and rusted-out trailers in which she’d grown up.
Chadwick was sitting behind his desk, his eyes focused on his computer. Serena knew she shouldn’t think of him as Chadwick—it was far too familiar. Too personal. Mr. Beaumont was her boss. He’d never made a move on her, never suggested that she “stay late” to work on a project that didn’t exist—never booked them on a weekend conference that didn’t exist. She worked hard for him, pulling long hours whenever necessary. She did good work for him and he rewarded her. For a girl who’d lived on free school lunches, getting a ten-thousand-dollar bonus and an eight-percent-a-year raise, like she had at her last performance review, was a gift from heaven.
It wasn’t a secret that Serena would go to the ends of the earth for this man. It was a secret that she’d always done just a little more than admire his commitment to the company. Chadwick Beaumont was an incredibly handsome man—a solid six-two, with sandy blond hair that was neatly trimmed at all times. He was probably going gray, but it didn’t show with his coloring. He would be one of those men who aged like a fine wine, only getting better with each passing year. Some days, Serena would catch herself staring at him as if she were trying to savor him.
But that secret admiration was buried deep. She had an excellent job with benefits and she would never risk it by doing something as unprofessional as falling in love with her boss. She’d been with Neil for almost ten years. Chadwick had been married as well. They worked together. Their relationship was nothing but business-professional.
She had no idea how being pregnant was going to change things. If she’d needed this job—and health benefits—before, she needed them so much more now.
Serena took her normal seat in one of the two chairs set before Chadwick’s desk and powered up her tablet. “Good morning, Mr. Beaumont.” Oh, heavens—she’d forgotten to see if she’d put on make-up this morning in her panic-induced haze. At this point, she could only pray she didn’t have raccoon eyes.
“Ms. Chase,” Chadwick said by way of greeting, his gaze flicking over her face. He looked back at his monitor, then paused. Serena barely had time to hold her breath before she had Chadwick Beaumont’s undivided attention. “Are you okay?”
No. She’d never been less okay in her adult life. The only thing that was keeping her together was the realization that she’d been less okay as a kid and survived. She’d survive this.
She hoped.
So she squared her shoulders and tried to pull off her most pleasant smile. “I’m fine. Monday mornings, you know.”
Chadwick’s brow creased as he weighed this statement. “Are you sure?”
She didn’t like to lie to him. She didn’t like to lie to anyone. She had recently had her fill of lying, thanks to Neil. “It’ll be fine.”
She had to believe that. She’d pulled herself out of sheer poverty by dint of hard work. A bump in the road—a baby bump—wouldn’t ruin everything. She hoped.
His hazel eyes refused to let her go for a long moment. But then he silently agreed to let it pass. “Very well, then. What’s on tap this week, beyond the regular meetings?”
As always, she smiled at his joke. What was on tap was beer—literally and figuratively. As far as she knew, it was the only joke he ever told.
Chadwick had set appointments with his vice presidents, usually lunch meetings and the like. He was deeply involved in his company—a truly hands-on boss. Serena’s job was making sure his irregular appointments didn’t mess up his standing ones. “You have an appointment at ten with your lawyers on Tuesday to try and reach a settlement. I’ve moved your meeting with Matthew to later in the afternoon.”
She carefully left out the facts that the lawyers were divorce attorneys and that the settlement was with his soon-to-be-ex-wife, Helen. The divorce had been dragging on for months now—over thirteen, by her count. She did not know the details. Who was to say what went on behind closed doors in any family? All she knew was that the whole process was wearing Chadwick down like waves eroding a beach—slowly but surely.
Chadwick’s shoulders slumped a little and he exhaled with more force. “As if this meeting will go any differently than the last five did.” But then he added, “What else?” in a forcefully bright tone.
Serena cleared her throat. That was, in a nutshell, the extent of the personal information they shared. “Wednesday at one is the meeting with the Board of Directors at the Hotel Monaco downtown.” She cleared her throat. “To discuss the offer from AllBev. Your afternoon meeting with the production managers was cancelled. They’re all going to send status reports instead.”
Then she realized—she wasn’t so much terrified about having a baby. It was the fact that because she was suddenly going to have a baby, there was a very good chance she could lose her job.
AllBev was an international conglomerate that specialized in beer manufacturers. They’d bought companies in England, South Africa and Australia, and now they had their sights set on Beaumont. They were well-known for dismantling the leadership, installing their own skeleton crew of managers, and wringing every last cent of profit out of the remaining workers.
Chadwick groaned and slumped back in his chair. “That’s this week?”
“Yes, sir.” He shot her a wounded look at the sir, so she corrected herself. “Yes, Mr. Beaumont. It got moved up to accommodate Mr. Harper’s schedule.” In addition to owning one of the largest banks in Colorado, Leon Harper was also one of the board members pushing to accept AllBev’s offer.
What if Chadwick agreed or the board overrode his wishes? What if Beaumont Brewery was sold? She’d be out of a job. There was no way AllBev’s management would want to keep the former CEO’s personal assistant. She’d be shown the door with nothing more than a salvaged copier-paper box of her belongings to symbolize her nine years there.
Maybe that wouldn’t be the end of the world—she’d lived as frugally as she could, tucking almost half of each paycheck away in ultra-safe savings accounts and CDs. She couldn’t go back on welfare. She wouldn’t.
If she weren’t pregnant, getting another job would be relatively easy. Chadwick would write her a glowing letter of recommendation. She was highly skilled. Even a temp job would be a job until she found another place like Beaumont Brewery.
Except...except for the benefits. She was pregnant. She needed affordable health insurance, and the brewery had some of the most generous health insurance around. She hadn’t paid more than ten dollars to see a doctor in eight years.
But it was more than just keeping her costs low. She couldn’t go back to the way things had been before she’d started working at the Beaumont Brewery. Feeling like her life was out of control again? Having people treat her like she was a lazy, ignorant leech on society again?
Raising a child the way she’d been raised, living on food pantry handouts and whatever Mom could scavenge from her shift at the diner? Of having social workers threaten to take her away from her parents unless they could do better—be better? Of knowing she was always somehow less than the other kids at school but not knowing why—until the day when Missy Gurgin walked up to her in fourth grade and announced to the whole class that Serena was wearing the exact shirt, complete with stain, she’d thrown away because it was ruined?
Serena’s lungs tried to clamp shut. No, she thought, forcing herself to breathe. It wasn’t going to happen like that. She had enough to live on for a couple of years—longer if she moved into a smaller apartment and traded down to a cheaper car. Chadwick wouldn’t allow the family business to be sold. He would protect the company. He would protect her.
“Harper. That old goat,” Chadwick muttered, snapping Serena back to the present. “He’s still grinding that ax about my father. The man never heard of letting bygones be bygones, I swear.”
This was the first that Serena had heard about this. “Mr. Harper’s out to get you?”
Chadwick waved his hand, dismissing the thought. “He’s still trying to get even with Hardwick for sleeping with his wife, as the story goes, two days after Harper and his bride got back from their honeymoon.” He looked at her again. “Are you sure you’re all right? You look pale.”
Pale was probably the best she could hope for today. “I....” She grasped at straws and came up with one. “I hadn’t heard that story.”
“Hardwick Beaumont was a cheating, lying, philandering, sexist bigot on his best day.” Chadwick repeated all of this by rote, as if he’d had it beaten into his skull with a dull spoon. “I have no doubt that he did exactly that—or something very close to it. But it was forty years ago. Hardwick’s been dead for almost ten years. Harper....” He sighed, looking out the windows. In the distance, the Rocky Mountains gleamed in the spring sunlight. Snow capped off the mountains, but it hadn’t made it down as far as Denver. “I just wish Harper would realize that I’m not Hardwick.”
“I know you’re not like that.”
His eyes met hers. There was something different in them, something she didn’t recognize. “Do you? Do you, really?”
This...this felt like dangerous territory.
She didn’t know, actually. She had no idea if he was getting a divorce because he’d slept around on his wife. All she knew was that he’d never hit on her, not once. He treated her as an equal. He respected her.
“Yes,” she replied, feeling certain. “I do.”
The barest hint of a smile curved up one side of his lips. “Ah, that’s what I’ve always admired about you, Serena. You see the very best in people. You make everyone around you better, just by being yourself.”
Oh. Oh. Her cheeks warmed, although she wasn’t sure if it was from the compliment or the way he said her name. He usually stuck to Ms. Chase.
Dangerous territory, indeed.
She needed to change the subject. Now. “Saturday night at nine you have the charity ball at the Denver Art Museum.”
That didn’t erase the half-cocked smile from his face, but it did earn her a raised eyebrow. Suddenly, Chadwick Beaumont looked anything but tired or worn-down. Suddenly, he looked hot. Well, he was always hot—but right now? It wasn’t buried beneath layers of responsibility or worry.
Heat flushed Serena’s face, but she wasn’t entirely sure why one sincere compliment would have been enough to set her all aflutter. Oh, that’s right—she was pregnant. Maybe she was just having a hormonal moment.
“What’s that for, again? A food bank?”
“Yes, the Rocky Mountain Food Bank. They were this year’s chosen charity.”
Every year, the Beaumont Brewery made a big splash by investing heavily in a local charity. One of Serena’s job responsibilities was personally handling the small mountain of applications that came in every year. A Beaumont Brewery sponsorship was worth about $35 million in related funds and donations—that’s why they chose a new charity every year. Most of the non-profits could operate for five to ten years with that kind of money.
Serena went on. “Your brother Matthew planned this event. It’s the centerpiece of our fundraising efforts for the food bank. Your attendance will be greatly appreciated.” She usually phrased it as a request, but Chadwick had never missed a gala. He understood that this was as much about promoting the Beaumont Brewery name as it was about promoting a charity.
Chadwick still had her in his sights. “You chose this one, didn’t you?”
She swallowed. It was almost as if he had realized that the food bank had been an important part of her family’s survival—that they would have starved if they hadn’t gotten groceries and hot meals on a weekly basis. “Technically, I choose all the charities. It’s my job.”
“You do it well.” But before the second compliment could register, he continued, “Will Neil be accompanying you?”
“Um....” She usually attended these events with Neil. He mostly went to hobnob with movers and shakers, but Serena loved getting all dressed up and drinking champagne. Things she’d never thought possible back when she was a girl.
Things were different now. So, so different. Suddenly, Serena’s throat closed up on her. God, what a mess.
“No. He...” Try not to cry, try not to cry. “We mutually decided to end our relationship several months ago.”
Chadwick’s eyebrows jumped up so high they almost cleared his forehead. “Several months ago? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Breathe in, breathe out. Don’t forget to repeat.
“Mr. Beaumont, we usually do not discuss our personal lives at the office.” It came out pretty well—fairly strong, her voice only cracking slightly over the word personal. “I didn’t want you to think I couldn’t handle myself.”
She was his competent, reliable, loyal employee. If she’d told him that Neil had walked out after she’d confronted him about the text messages on his phone and demanded that he recommit to the relationship—by having a baby and finally getting married—well, she’d have been anything but competent. She might be able to manage Chadwick’s office, but not her love life.
Chadwick gave her a look that she’d seen before—the one he broke out when he was rejecting a supplier’s offer. A look that blended disbelief and disdain into a potent mix. It was a powerful look, one that usually made people throw out another offer—one with better terms for the Brewery.
He’d never looked at her like that before. It bordered on terrifying. He wouldn’t fire her for keeping her private life private, would he? But then everything about him softened as he leaned forward in his chair, his elbows on the table. “If this happened several months ago, what happened this weekend?”
“I’m sorry?”
“This weekend. You’re obviously upset. I can tell, although you’re doing a good job of hiding it. Did he...” Chadwick cleared his throat, his eyes growing hard. “Did he do something to you this weekend?”
“No, not that.” Neil might have been a jerk—okay, he was a cheating, commitment-phobic jerk—but she couldn’t have Chadwick thinking Neil had beaten her. Still, she was afraid to elaborate. Swallowing was suddenly difficult and she was blinking at an unusually fast rate. If she sat there much longer, she was either going to burst into tears or black out. Why couldn’t she get her lungs to work?
So she did the only thing she could. She stood and, as calmly and professionally as possible, walked out of the office. Or tried to, anyway. Her hand was on the doorknob when Chadwick said, “Serena, stop.”
She couldn’t bring herself to turn around and face him—to risk that disdainful look again, or something worse. So she closed her eyes. Which meant that she didn’t see him get up or come around his desk, didn’t see him walk up behind her. But she heard it—the creaking of his chair as he stood, the footsteps muffled by the thick Oriental rug. The warmth of his body as he stood close to her—much closer than he normally stood.
He placed his hand on her shoulder and turned her. She had no choice but to pivot, but he didn’t let go of her. Not entirely. Oh, he released her shoulder, but when she didn’t look up at him, he slid a single finger under her chin and raised her face. “Serena, look at me.”
She didn’t want to. Her face flushed hot from his touch—because that’s what he was doing. Touching her. His finger slid up and down her chin—if she didn’t know better, she’d say he was caressing her. It was the most intimate touch she’d felt in months. Maybe longer.
She opened her eyes. His face was still a respectable foot away from hers—but this was the closest they’d ever been. He could kiss her if he wanted and she wouldn’t be able to stop him. She wouldn’t stop him.
He didn’t. This close up, his eyes were such a fine blend of green and brown and flecks of gold. She felt some of her panic fade as she gazed up into his eyes. She was not in love with her boss. Nope. Never had been. Wasn’t about to start falling for him now, no matter how he complimented her or touched her. It wasn’t going to happen.
He licked his lips as he stared at her. Maybe he was as nervous as she was. This was several steps over a line neither of them had ever crossed.
But maybe...maybe he was hungry. Hungry for her.
“Serena,” he said in a low voice that she wasn’t sure she’d ever heard him use before. It sent a tingle down her back that turned into a shudder—a shudder he felt. The corner of his mouth curved again. “Whatever the problem is, you can come to me. If he’s bothering you, I’ll have it taken care of. If you need help or...” She saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. His finger stroked the same square inch of her skin again and she did a whole lot more than shudder. “Whatever you need, it’s yours.”
She needed to say something here, something professional and competent. But all she could do was look at his lips. What would they taste like? Would he hesitate, waiting for her to take the lead, or would he kiss her as if he’d been dying to do for seven years?
“What do you mean?” She didn’t know what she wanted him to say. It should sound like an employer expressing concern for the well-being of a trusted employee—but it didn’t. Was he hitting on her after all this time? Just because Neil was a jerk? Because she was obviously having a vulnerable moment? Or was there something else going on there?
The air seemed to thin between them, as if he’d leaned forward without realizing it. Or perhaps she’d done the leaning. He’s going to kiss me, she realized. He’s going to kiss me and I want him to. I’ve always wanted him to.
He didn’t. He just ran his finger over her chin again, as if he were memorizing her every feature. She wanted to reach up and thread her fingers through his sandy hair, pull his mouth down to hers. Taste those lips. Feel more than just his finger.
“Serena, you’re my most trusted employee. You always have been. I want you to know that, whatever happens at the board meeting, I will take care of you. I won’t let them walk you out of this building without anything. Your loyalty will be rewarded. I won’t fail you.”
All the oxygen she’d been holding in rushed out of her with a soft “oh.”
It was what she needed to hear. God, how she needed to hear it. She might not have Neil, but all of her hard work was worth something. She wouldn’t have to think about going back on welfare or declaring bankruptcy or standing in line at the food pantry.
Then some of her good sense came back to her. This would be the time to have a business-professional response. “Thank you, Mr. Beaumont.”
Something in his grin changed, making him look almost wicked—the very best kind of wicked. “Better than sir, but still. Call me Chadwick. Mr. Beaumont sounds too much like my father.” When he said this, a hint of his former weariness crept into his eyes. Suddenly, he dropped his finger away from her chin and took a step back. “So, lawyers on Tuesday, Board of Directors on Wednesday, charity ball on Saturday?”
Somehow, Serena managed to nod. They were back on familiar footing now. “Yes.” She took another deep breath, feeling calmer.
“I’ll pick you up.”
So much for that feeling of calm. “Excuse me?”
A little of the wickedness crept back into his smile. “I’m going to the charity gala. You’re going to the charity gala. It makes sense that we would go to the charity gala together. I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“But...the gala starts at nine.”
“Obviously we’ll go to dinner.” She must have looked worried because he took another step back. “Call it...an early celebration for the success of your charity selection this year.”
In other words, don’t call it a date. Even if that’s what it sounded like. “Yes, Mr. Beau—” He shot her a hot look that had her snapping her mouth shut. “Yes, Chadwick.”
He grinned an honest-to-God grin that took fifteen years off his face. “There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Then he turned away from her and headed back to his desk. Whatever moment they’d just had, it was over. “Bob Larsen should be in at ten. Let me know when he gets here.”
“Of course.” She couldn’t bring herself to say his name again. Her head was too busy swimming with everything that had just happened.
She was halfway through the door, already pulling it shut behind her, when he called out, “And Serena? Whatever you need. I mean it.”
“Yes, Chadwick.”
Then she closed his door.
Two (#uf657ffbe-8e9c-5632-b608-49d0b8b22c04)
This was the point in his morning where Chadwick normally reviewed the marketing numbers. Bob Larsen was his handpicked Vice President of Marketing. He’d helped move the company’s brand recognition way, way up. Although Bob was closing in on fifty, he had an intrinsic understanding of the internet and social media, and had used it to drag the brewery into the twenty-first century. He’d put Beaumont Brewery on Facebook, then Twitter—never chasing the trend, but leading it. Chadwick wasn’t sure exactly what SnappShot did, beyond make pictures look scratched and grainy, but Bob was convinced that it was the platform through which to launch their new line of Percheron Seasonal Ales. “Targeting all those foodies who snap shots of their dinners!” he’d said the week before, in the excited voice of a kid getting a new bike for Christmas.
Yes, that’s what Chadwick should have been thinking about. He took his meetings with his department heads seriously. He took the whole company seriously. He rewarded hard work and loyalty and never, ever allowed distractions. He ran a damn tight ship.
So why was he sitting there, thinking about his assistant?
Because he was. Man, was he.
Several months.
Her words kept rattling around in his brain, along with the way she’d looked that morning—drawn, tired. Like a woman who’d cried her eyes out most of the weekend. She hadn’t answered his question. If that prick had walked out several months before—and no matter what she said about what ‘we decided,’ Chadwick had heard the ‘he’ first—what had happened that weekend?
The thought of Neil Moore—mediocre golf pro always trying to suck up to the next big thing every time Chadwick had met him—doing anything to hurt Serena made him furious. He’d never liked Neil. Too much of a leech, not good enough for the likes of Serena Chase. Chadwick had always been of the opinion that she deserved someone better, someone who wouldn’t abandon her at a party to schmooze a local TV personality like he’d witnessed Neil do on at least three separate occasions.
Serena deserved so much better than that ass. Of course, Chadwick had known that for years. Why was it bothering him so much this morning?
She’d looked so...different. Upset, yes, but there was something else going on. Serena had always been unflappable, totally focused on the job. Of course Chadwick had never done anything inappropriate involving her, but he’d caught a few other men assuming she was up for grabs just because she was a woman in Hardwick Beaumont’s old office. Chadwick had never done business with those men again—which, a few times, meant going with the higher-priced vendor. It went against the principles his father, Hardwick, had raised him by—the bottom line was the most important thing.
Hardwick might have been a lying, cheating bastard, but that wasn’t Chadwick. And Serena knew it. She’d said so herself.
That had to be why Chadwick had lost his mind and done something he’d managed not to do for eight years—touch Serena. Oh, he’d touched her before. She had a hell of a handshake, one that betrayed no weakness or fear, something that occasionally undermined other women in a position of power. But putting his hand on her shoulder? Running a finger along the sensitive skin under her chin?
Hell.
For a moment, he’d done something he’d wanted to do for years—engage Serena Chase on a level that went far beyond his scheduling conflicts. And for that moment, it’d felt wonderful to see her dark brown eyes look up at him, her pupils dilating with need—reflecting his desire back at him. To feel her body respond to his touch.
Some days, it felt like he never got to do what he wanted. Chadwick was the responsible one. The one who ran the family company and cleaned up the family messes and paid the family bills while everyone else in the family ran amuck, having affairs and one-night stands and spending money like it was going out of style.
Just that weekend his brother Phillip had bought some horse for a million dollars. And what did his little brother do to pay for it? He went to company-sponsored parties and drank Beaumont Beer. That was the extent of Phillip’s involvement in the company. Phillip always did exactly what he wanted without a single thought for how it might affect other people—for how it might affect the brewery.
Not Chadwick. He’d been born to run this company. It wasn’t a joke—Hardwick Beaumont had called a press conference in the hospital and held the newborn Chadwick up, red-faced and screaming, to proclaim him the future of Beaumont Brewery. Chadwick had the newspaper articles to prove it.
He’d done a good job—so good, in fact, that the Brewery had become the target for takeovers and mergers by conglomerates who didn’t give a damn for beer or for the Beaumont name. They just wanted to boost their companies’ bottom lines with Beaumont’s profits.
Just once, he’d done something he wanted. Not what his father expected or the investors demanded or Wall Street projected—what he wanted. Serena had been upset. He’d wanted to comfort her. At heart, it wasn’t a bad thing.
But then he’d remembered his father. And that Chadwick seducing his assistant was no better than Hardwick Beaumont seducing his secretary. So he’d stopped. Chadwick Beaumont was responsible, focused, driven, and in no way controlled by his baser animal instincts. He was better than that. He was better than his father.
Chadwick had been faithful while married. Serena had been with—well, he’d never been sure if Neil was her husband, live-in lover, boyfriend, significant other, life partner—whatever people called it these days. Plus, she’d worked for Chadwick. That had always held him back because he was not the apple that had fallen from Hardwick’s tree, by God.
All of these correct thoughts did not explain why Chadwick’s finger was hovering over the intercom button, ready to call Serena back into the office and ask her again what had happened this weekend. Selfishly, he almost wanted her to break down and cry on his shoulder, just so he could hold her.
Chadwick forced himself to turn back to his monitor and call up the latest figures. Bob had emailed him the analytics Sunday night. Chadwick hated wasting time having something he could easily read explained to him. He was no idiot. Just because he didn’t understand why anyone would take pictures of their dinner and post them online didn’t mean he couldn’t see the user habits shifting, just as Bob said they would.
This was better, he thought, as he looked over the numbers. Work. Work was good. It kept him focused. Like telling Serena he was taking her to the gala—a work function. They’d been at galas and banquets like that before. What difference did it make if they arrived in the same car or not? It didn’t. It was business related. Nothing personal.
Except it was personal and he knew it. Picking her up in his car, taking her out to dinner? Not business. Even if they discussed business things, it still wouldn’t be the same as dinner with, say, Bob Larsen. Serena usually wore a black silk gown with a bit of a fishtail hem and a sweetheart neckline to these things. Chadwick didn’t care that it was always the same gown. She looked fabulous in it, a pashmina shawl draped over her otherwise bare shoulders, a small string of pearls resting against her collarbone, her thick brown hair swept up into an artful twist.
No, dinner would not be business-related. Not even close.
He wouldn’t push her, he decided. It was the only compromise he could make with himself. He wasn’t like his father, who’d had no qualms about making his secretaries’ jobs contingent upon sex. He wasn’t about to trap Serena into doing anything either of them would regret. He would take her to dinner and then the gala, and would do nothing more than enjoy her company. That was that. He could restrain himself just fine. He’d had years of practice, after all.
Thankfully, the intercom buzzed and Serena’s normal, level voice announced that Bob was there. “Send him in,” Chadwick replied, thankful to have a distraction from his own thoughts.
He had to fight to keep his company. He had no illusions that the board meeting on Wednesday would go well. He was in danger of becoming the Beaumont who lost the brewery—of failing at the one thing he’d been raised to do.
He did not have time to be distracted by Serena Chase.
And that was final.
* * *
The rest of Monday passed without a reply from Neil. Serena was positive about this because she refreshed her email approximately every other minute. Tuesday started much the same. She had her morning meeting with Chadwick where, apart from when he asked her if everything was all right, nothing out of the ordinary happened. No lingering glances, no hot touches and absolutely no near-miss kisses. Chadwick was his regular self, so Serena made sure to be as normal as she could be.
Not to say it wasn’t a challenge. Maybe she’d imagined the whole thing. She could blame a lot on hormones now, right? So Chadwick had stepped out of his prescribed role for a moment. She was the one who’d been upset. She must have misunderstood his intent, that’s all.
Which left her more depressed than she expected. It’s not like she wanted Chadwick to make a pass at her. An intra-office relationship was against company policy—she knew because she’d helped Chadwick rewrite the policy when he first hired her. Flings between bosses and employees set the company up for sexual harassment lawsuits when everything went south—which it usually did.
But that didn’t explain why, as she watched him walk out of the office on his way to meet with the divorce lawyers with his ready-for-battle look firmly in place, she wished his divorce would be final. Just because the process was draining him, that’s all.
Sigh. She didn’t believe herself. How could she convince anyone else?
She turned her attention to the last-minute plans for the gala. After Chadwick returned to the office, he’d meet with his brother Matthew, who was technically in charge of planning the event. But a gala for five hundred of the richest people in Denver? It was all hands on deck.
The checklist was huge, and it required her full attention. She called suppliers, tracked shipments and checked the guest list.
She ate lunch at her desk as she followed up on her contacts in the local media. The press was a huge part of why charities competed for the Beaumont sponsorship. Few of these organizations had an advertising budget. Beaumont Brewery put their name front and center for a year, getting television coverage, interviews and even fashion bloggers.
She had finished her yogurt and wiped down her desk by the time Chadwick came back. He looked terrible—head down, hands jammed into his pockets, shoulders slumped. Oh, no. She didn’t even have to ask to know that the meeting had not gone according to plan.
He paused in front of her desk. The effort to raise his head and meet her eyes seemed to take a lot out of him. Serena gasped in surprise at how lost he looked. His eyes were rimmed in red, like he hadn’t slept in days.
She wanted to go to him—put her arms around him and tell him it’d all work out. That’s what her mom had always done when things didn’t pan out, when Dad lost his job or they had to move again because they couldn’t make the rent.
The only problem was, she’d never believed it when she was a kid. And now, as an adult with a failed long-term relationship under her belt and a baby on the way?
No, she wouldn’t believe it either.
God, the raw pain in his eyes was like a slap in the face. She didn’t know what to do, what to say. Maybe she should just do nothing. To try and comfort him might be to cross the line they’d crossed on Monday.
Chadwick gave a little nod with his head, as if he were agreeing they shouldn’t cross that line again. Then he dropped his head, muttered, “Hold my calls,” and trudged into his office.
Defeated. That’s what he was. Beaten. Seeing him like that was unnerving—and that was being generous. Chadwick Beaumont did not lose in the business world. He didn’t always get every single thing he wanted, but he never walked away from a negotiation, a press conference—anything—looking like he’d lost the battle and the war.
She sat at her desk for a moment, too stunned to do much of anything. What had happened? What on earth would leave him that crushed?
Maybe it was the hormones. Maybe it was employee loyalty. Maybe it was something else. Whatever it was, she found herself on her feet and walking into his office without even knocking.
Chadwick was sitting at his desk. He had his head in his hands as if they were the only things supporting his entire weight. He’d shed his suit coat, and he looked smaller for having done it.
When she shut the door behind her, he started talking but he didn’t lift his head. “She won’t sign off on it. She wants more money. Everything is finalized except how much alimony she gets.”
“How much does she want?” Serena had no business asking, but she did anyway.
“Two hundred and fifty.” The way he said it was like Serena was pulling an arrow out of his back.
She blinked at him. “Two hundred and fifty dollars?” She knew that wasn’t the right answer. Chadwick could afford that. But the only other option was...
“Thousand. Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”
“A year?”
“A month. She wants three million a year. For the rest of her life. Or she won’t sign.”
“But that’s—that’s insane! No one needs that much to live!” The words burst out of her a bit louder than she meant them to, but seriously? Three million dollars a year forever? Serena wouldn’t earn that much in her entire lifetime!
Chadwick looked up, a mean smile on his face. “It’s not about the money. She just wants to ruin me. If I could pay that much until the end of time, she’d double her request. Triple it, if she thought it would hurt me.”
“But why?”
“I don’t know. I never cheated on her, never did anything to hurt her. I tried...” His words trailed off as he buried his face in his hands.
“Can’t you just buy her out? Make her an up-front offer she can’t refuse?” Serena had seen him do that before, with a micro-brew whose beers were undercutting Beaumont’s Percheron Drafts line of beers. Chadwick had let negotiations drag on for almost a week, wearing down the competitors. Then he walked in with a lump sum that no sane person would walk away from, no matter how much they cared about the “integrity” of their beer. Everyone had a price, after all.
“I don’t have a hundred million lying around. It’s tied up in investments, property...the horses.” He said this last bit with an edge, as if the company mascots, the Percherons, were just a thorn in his side.
“But—you have a pre-nup, right?”
“Of course I have a pre-nup,” he snapped. She flinched, but he immediately sagged in defeat again. “I watched my father get married and divorced four times before he died. There’s no way I wouldn’t have a pre-nup.”
“Then how can she do that?”
“Because.” He grabbed at his short hair and pulled. “Because I was stupid and thought I was in love. I thought I had to prove to her that I trusted her. That I wasn’t my father. She gets half of what I earned during our marriage. That’s about twenty-eight million. She can’t touch the family fortune or any of the property—none of that. But...”
Serena felt the blood drain from her face. “Twenty-eight million?” That was the kind of money people in her world only got when they won the lottery. “But?”
“My lawyers had put in a clause limiting how much alimony would be paid, for how long. The length of the marriage, fifty thousand a month. And I told them to take it out. Because I wouldn’t need it. Like an idiot.” That last bit came out so harshly—he really did believe that this was his fault.
She did some quick math. Chadwick had gotten married near the end of her first year at Beaumont Brewery—her internship year. The wedding had been a big thing, obviously, and the brewery had even come out with a limited-edition beer to mark the occasion.
That was slightly more than eight years ago. Fifty thousand—still an absolutely insane number—times twelve months times eight years was...only $4.8 million. And somehow, that and another $28 million wasn’t enough. “Isn’t there...anything you can do?”
“I offered her one fifty a month for twenty years. She laughed. Laughed.” Serena knew the raw desperation in his voice.
Oh, sure, she’d never been in the position of losing a fortune, but there’d been plenty of desperate times back when she was growing up.
Back then, she’d just wanted to know it was going to be okay. They’d have a safe place to sleep and a big meal to eat. To know she’d have both of those things the next day, too.
She never got those assurances. Her mother would hum “One Day At a Time” over and over when they had to stuff their meager things into grocery bags and move again. Then they finally got the little trailer and didn’t have to move any more—but didn’t have enough to pay for both electricity and water.
One day at a time was a damn fine sentiment, but it didn’t put food on the table and clothes on her back.
There had to be a way to appease Chadwick’s ex, but Serena had no idea what it was. Such battles were beyond her. She might have worked for Chadwick Beaumont for over seven years, might have spent her days in this office, might have attended balls and galas, but this was not her world. She didn’t know what to say about someone who wasn’t happy with just $32.8 million.
But she could sympathize with staring at a bill that could never be paid—a bill that, no matter how hard your mom worked as a waitress at the diner or how many overtime shifts as a janitor your dad pulled, would never, ever end. Not even when her parents had filed for bankruptcy had it truly ended, because whatever little credit they’d been able to use as a cushion disappeared. She loved her parents—and they loved each other—but the sinking hopelessness that went with never having enough...
That’s not how she was going to live. She didn’t wish it on anyone, but especially not on Chadwick.
She moved before she was aware of it, her steps muffled by the carpeting. She knew it would be a lie, but all she had to offer were platitudes that tomorrow was a new day.
She didn’t hesitate when she got to the desk. In all of the time she’d spent in this office, she’d never once crossed the plane of the desk. She’d sat in front of the massive piece of furniture, but she’d never gone around it.
Today she did. Maybe it was the hormones again, maybe it was the way Chadwick had spoken to her yesterday in that low voice—promising to take care of her.
She saw the tension ripple through his back as she stepped closer. The day before, she’d been upset and he’d touched her. Today, the roles were reversed.
She put her hand on his shoulder. Through the shirt, she felt the warmth of his body. That’s all. She didn’t even try to turn him as he’d turned her. She just let him know she was there.
He shifted and, pulling his opposite hand away from his face, reached back to grab hers. Yesterday, he’d had all the control. But today? Today she felt they were on equal footing.
She laced their fingers together, but that was as far as it went. She couldn’t make the same kinds of promises he had—she couldn’t take care of him when she wasn’t even sure how she was going to take care of her baby. But she could let him know she was there, if he needed her.
She chose not to think about exactly what that might mean.
“Serena,” Chadwick said, his voice raw as his fingers tightened around hers.
She swallowed. But before she could come up with a response, there was a knock on the door and in walked Matthew Beaumont, Vice President of Public Relations for the Beaumont Brewery. He looked a little like Chadwick—commanding build, the Beaumont nose—but where Chadwick and Phillip were lighter, sandier blondes, Matthew had more auburn coloring.
Serena tried to pull her hand free, but Chadwick wouldn’t let her go. It was almost as if he wanted Matthew to see them touching. Holding hands.
It was one thing to stick a toe over the business-professional line when it was just her and Chadwick in the office—no witnesses meant it hadn’t really happened, right? But Matthew was no idiot.
“Am I interrupting?” Matthew asked, his eyes darting between Serena’s face, Chadwick’s face, and their interlaced hands.
Of course, Serena would rather take her chances with Matthew than with Phillip Beaumont. Phillip was a professional playboy who flaunted his wealth and went to a lot of parties. As far as Serena could tell, Phillip might be the kind of guy who wouldn’t have stopped at a simple touch the day before. Of course, with his gorgeous looks, he probably had plenty of invitations to keep going.
Matthew was radically different from either of his brothers. Serena guessed that was because his mother was Hardwick’s second wife, but Matthew was always working hard, as if he were trying to prove he belonged at the brewery. But he did so without the intimidation that Chadwick could wear like a second skin.
With a quick squeeze, Chadwick released her hand and she took a small step back. “No,” Chadwick said. “We’re done here.”
For some inexplicable reason, the words hurt. She didn’t know why. She had no good reason for him to defend their touch to his half brother. She had absolutely no reason why she would want Chadwick to defend their relationship—because they didn’t have one outside of boss and trusted employee.
She gave a small nod of her head that she wasn’t sure either of them saw, and walked out of his office.
* * *
Minutes passed. Chadwick knew that Matthew was sitting on the other side of the desk, no doubt waiting for something, but he wasn’t up for that just yet.
Helen was out to ruin him. If he knew why, he’d try to make it up to her. But hadn’t that pretty much described their marriage? She got her nose bent out of shape, Chadwick had no idea why, but he did his damnedest to make it up to her? He bought her diamonds. She liked diamonds. Then he added rubies to the mix. He’d thought it made things better.
It hadn’t. And he was more the fool for thinking it had.
He replayed the conversation with Serena. He hadn’t talked much about his divorce to anyone, beyond informing his brothers that it was a problem that would be taking up some measure of his time. He didn’t know why he’d told Serena it was his fault that negotiations had gotten to this point.
All he knew was that he’d had to tell someone. The burden of knowing that this whole thing was a problem he’d created all by himself was more than he could bear.
And she’d touched him. Not like he’d touched her, no, but not like she’d ever touched him before. More than a handshake, that was for damn sure.
When was the last time a woman had touched him aside from the business handshakes that went with the job? Helen had moved out of the master bedroom almost two years before. Not since before then, if he was being honest with himself.
Matthew cleared his throat, which made Chadwick look up. “Yes?”
“If I thought you were anything like our father,” Matthew began, his voice walking the fine line between sympathetic and snarky, “I’d assume you were working on wife number two.”
Chadwick glared at the man. Matthew was only six months younger than Chadwick’s younger brother, Phillip. It had taken several more years before Hardwick’s and Eliza’s marriage had crumbled, and Hardwick had married Matthew’s mother, Jeannie, but once Chadwick’s mother knew about Jeannie, the end was just a matter of time.
Matthew was living proof that Hardwick Beaumont had been working on wife number two long before he’d left wife number one.
“I haven’t gotten rid of wife number one yet.” Even as he said it, though, Chadwick flinched. That was something his father would have said. He detested sounding like his father. He detested being like his father.
“Which only goes to illustrate how you are not like our father,” Matthew replied with an easy-going grin, the same grin that all the Beaumont men had. A lingering gift from their father. “Hardwick wouldn’t have cared. Marriage vows meant nothing to him.”
Chadwick nodded. Matthew spoke the truth and Chadwick should have taken comfort in that. Funny how he didn’t.
“I take it Helen is not going quietly into the night?”
Chadwick hated his half brother right then. True, Phillip—Chadwick’s full brother, the only person who knew what it was like to have both Hardwick and Eliza Beaumont as parents—wouldn’t have understood either. But Chadwick hated sitting across from the living symbol of his father’s betrayal of both his wife and his family.
It was a damn shame that Matthew had such a good head for public relations. Any other half relative would have found himself on the street long ago, and then Chadwick wouldn’t have had to face his father’s failings as a man and a husband on a daily basis.
He wouldn’t have had to face his own failings on a daily basis.
“Buy her out,” Matthew said simply.
“She doesn’t want money. She wants to hurt me.” There had to be something wrong with him, he decided. Since when did he air his dirty laundry to anyone—including his executive assistant, including his half brother?
He didn’t. His personal affairs were just that, personal.
Matthew’s face darkened. “Everyone has a price, Chadwick.” Then, in an even quieter voice, he added, “Even you.”
He knew what that was about. The whole company was on pins and needles about AllBev’s buyout offer. “I’m not going to sell our company tomorrow.”
Matthew met his stare head-on. Matthew didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink. “You’re not the only one with a price, you know. Everyone on that board has a price, too—and probably a far sight less than yours.” Matthew paused, looking down at his tablet. “Anyone else would have already made the deal. Why you’ve stuck by the family name for this long has always escaped me.”
“Because, unlike some people, it’s the only name I’ve ever had.”
Everything about Matthew’s face shut down, which made Chadwick feel like an even bigger ass. He remembered his parents’ divorce, remembered Hardwick marrying Jeannie Billings—remembered the day Matthew, practically the same age as Phillip, had come to live with them. He’d been Matthew Billings until he was five. Then, suddenly, he was Matthew Beaumont.
Chadwick had tortured him mercilessly. It was Matthew’s fault that Eliza and Hardwick had fallen apart. It was Matthew’s fault that Chadwick’s mom had left. Matthew’s fault that Hardwick had kept custody of both Chadwick and Phillip. And it was most certainly Matthew’s fault that Hardwick suddenly hadn’t had any time for Chadwick—except to yell at him for not getting things right.
But that was a child’s cop-out and he knew it. Matthew had been just a kid. As had Phillip. As had Chadwick. Hardwick—it had been all his fault that Eliza had hated him, had grown to hate her children.
“I’m...that was uncalled for.” Nearly a lifetime of blaming Matthew had made it damn hard to apologize to the man. So he changed the subject. “Everything ready for the gala?”
Matthew gave him a look Chadwick couldn’t quite make out. It was almost as if Matthew was going to challenge him to an old-fashioned duel over honor, right here in the office.
But the moment passed. “We’re ready. As usual, Ms. Chase has proven to be worth far more than her weight in gold.”
As Matthew talked, that phrase echoed in Chadwick’s head.
Everyone did have a price, he realized.
Even Helen Beaumont. Even Serena Chase.
He just didn’t know what that price was.
Three (#uf657ffbe-8e9c-5632-b608-49d0b8b22c04)
“The Beaumont Brewery has been run by a Beaumont for one hundred and thirty-three years,” Chadwick thundered, smacking the tabletop with his hand to emphasize his point.
Serena jumped at the sudden noise. Chadwick didn’t normally get this worked up at board meetings. Then again, he’d been more agitated—more abnormal—this entire week. Her hormones might be off, but he wasn’t behaving in a typical fashion, either.
“The Beaumont name is worth more than $52 dollars a share,” Chadwick went on. “It’s worth more than $62 a share. We’ve got one of the last family-owned, family-operated breweries left in America. We have the pleasure of working for a piece of American history. The Percherons? The beer? That’s the result of hard American work.”
There was an unsettled pause as Serena took notes. Of course there was a secretary at the meeting, but Chadwick liked to have a separate version against which he could cross-check the minutes.
She glanced up from her seat off to the side of the hotel ballroom. The Beaumont family owned fifty-one percent of the Beaumont Brewery. They’d kept a firm hand on the business for, well, forever—easily fending off hostile takeovers and not-so-hostile mergers. Chadwick was in charge, though. The rest of the Beaumonts just collected checks like any other stockholders.
She could see that some people were really listening to Chadwick—nodding in agreement, whispering to their neighbors. This meeting wasn’t a full shareholders’ meeting, so only about twenty people were in the room. Some of them were holdovers from Hardwick’s era—handpicked back in the day. They didn’t have much power beyond their vote, but they were fiercely loyal to the company.
Those were the people nodding now—the ones who had a personal stake in the company’s version of American history.
There were some members—younger, more corporate types that had been brought in to provide balance against the old-boys board of Hardwick’s era. Chadwick had selected a few of them, but they weren’t the loyal employees that worked with him on a day-to-day basis.
Then there were the others—members brought in by other members. Those, like Harper and his two protégées, had absolutely no interest in Beaumont beer, and they did nothing to hide it.
It was Harper who broke the tense silence. “Odd, Mr. Beaumont. In my version of the American dream, hard work is rewarded with money. The buyout will make you a billionaire. Isn’t that the American dream?”
Other heads—the younger ones—nodded in agreement.
Serena could see Chadwick struggling to control his emotions. It hurt to watch. He was normally above this, normally so much more intimidating. But after the week he’d had, she couldn’t blame him for looking like he wanted to personally wring Harper’s neck. Harper owned almost ten percent of this company, though. Strangling him would be frowned upon.
“The Beaumont Brewery has already provided for my needs,” he said, his voice tight. “It’s my duty to my company, my employees....” At this, he glanced up. His gaze met Serena’s, sending a heated charge between them.
Her. He was talking about her.
Chadwick went on, “It’s my duty to make sure that the people who choose to work for Beaumont Brewery also get to realize the American dream. Some in management will get to cash out their stock options. They’ll get a couple of thousand, maybe. Not enough to retire on. But the rest? The men and women who actually make this company work? They won’t. AllBev will walk in, fire them all, and reduce our proud history to nothing more than a brand name. No matter how you look at it, Mr. Harper, that’s not the American dream. I take care of those who work for me. I reward loyalty. I do not dump it by the side of the road the moment it becomes slightly inconvenient. I cannot be bought off at the expense of those who willingly give me their time and energy. I expect nothing less from this board.”
Then, abruptly, he sat. Head up, shoulders back, he didn’t look like a man who had just lost. If anything, he looked like a man ready to take all comers. Chadwick had never struck her as a physical force to be reckoned with—but right now? Yeah, he looked like he could fight for his company. To the death.
The room broke out into a cacophony of arguments—the old guard arguing with the new guard, both arguing with Harper’s faction. After about fifteen minutes, Harper demanded they call a vote.
For a moment, Serena thought Chadwick had won. Only four people voted to accept AllBev’s offer of $52 a share. A clear defeat. Serena breathed a sigh of relief. At least something this week was going right. Her job was safe—which meant her future was safe. She could keep working for Chadwick. Things could continue just as they were. There was comfort in the familiar, and she clung to it.
But then Harper called a second vote. “What should our counteroffer be? I believe Mr. Beaumont said $62 a share wasn’t enough. Shall we put $65 to a vote?”
Chadwick jolted in his seat, looking far more than murderous. They voted.
Thirteen people voted for the counteroffer of $65 a share. Chadwick looked as if someone had stabbed him in the gut. It hurt to see him look so hollow—to know this was another fight he was losing, on top of the fight with Helen.
She felt nauseous, and she was pretty sure it had nothing to do with morning sickness. Surely AllBev wouldn’t want to spend that much on the brewery, Serena hoped as she wrote everything down. Maybe they’d look for a cheaper, easier target.
Everything Chadwick had spoken of—taking care of his workers, helping them all, not just the privileged few, reach for the American dream—that was why she worked for him. He had given her a chance to earn her way out of abject poverty. Because of him, she had a chance to raise her baby in better circumstances than those in which she’d been raised.
All of that could be taken away from her because Mr. Harper was grinding a forty-year-old ax.
It wasn’t fair. She didn’t know when she’d started to think that life was fair—it certainly hadn’t been during her childhood. But the rules of Beaumont Brewery had been more than fair. Work hard, get promoted, get benefits. Work harder, get a raise, get out of a cube and into an office. Work even harder, get a big bonus. Get to go to galas. Get to dream about retirement plans.
Get to feel secure.
All of that was for sale at $65 a share.
The meeting broke up, everyone going off with their respective cliques. A few of the old-timers came up to Chadwick and appeared to offer their support. Or their condolences. She couldn’t tell from her unobtrusive spot off to the side.
Chadwick stood stiffly and, eyes facing forward, stalked out of the room. Serena quickly gathered her things and went after him. He seemed to be in such a fog that she didn’t want him to accidentally leave her behind.
She didn’t need to worry. Chadwick was standing just outside the ballroom doors, still staring straight ahead.
She needed to get him out of there. If he was going to have another moment like he’d had yesterday—a moment when his self-control slipped, a moment where he would allow himself to be lost—by no means should he have that moment in a hotel lobby.
She touched his arm. “I’ll call for the car.”
“Yes,” he said, in a weirdly blank voice. “Please do.” Then his head swung down and his eyes focused on her. Sadness washed over his expression so strongly that it brought tears to her eyes. “I tried, Serena. For you.”
What? She’d thought he was trying to save his company—the family business. The family name. What did he mean, he’d tried for her?
“I know,” she said, afraid to say anything else. “I’ll go get the car. Stay here.” The driver stayed with the car. The valet just had to go find him.
It took several minutes. During that time, board members trickled out of the ballroom. Some were heading to dinner at the restaurant up the street, no doubt to celebrate their brilliant move to make themselves richer. A few shook Chadwick’s hand. No one else seemed to realize what a state of shock he was in. No one but her.
Finally, after what felt like a small eternity, the company car pulled up. It wasn’t really a car in the true sense of the word. Oh, it was a Cadillac, but it was the limo version. It was impressive without being ostentatious. Much like Chadwick.
The doorman opened the door for them. Absent-mindedly, Chadwick fished a bill out of his wallet and shoved it at the man. Then they climbed into the car.
When the door shut behind them, a cold silence seemed to grip the car. It wasn’t just her security on the line.
How did one comfort a multi-millionaire on the verge of becoming an unwilling billionaire? Once again, she was out of her league. She kept her mouth shut and her eyes focused on the passing Denver cityscape. The journey to the brewery on the south side of the city would take thirty minutes if traffic was smooth.
When she got back to the office, she’d have to open up her resume—that was all. If Chadwick lost the company, she didn’t think she could wait around until she got personally fired by the new management. She needed uninterrupted health benefits—prenatal care trumped any thought of retirement. Chadwick would understand that, wouldn’t he?
When Chadwick spoke, it made her jump. “What do you want?”
“Beg pardon?”
“Out of life.” He was staring out his own window. “Is this what you thought you’d be doing with your life? Is this what you wanted?”
“Yes.” Mostly. She’d thought that she and Neil would be married by now, maybe with a few cute kids. Being single and pregnant wasn’t exactly how she’d dreamed she’d start a family.
But the job? That was exactly what she’d wanted.
So she wasn’t breaking through the glass ceiling. She didn’t care. She was able to provide for herself. Or had been, anyway. That was the most important thing.
“Really?”
“Working for you has been very...stable. That’s not something I had growing up.”
“Parents got divorced too, huh?”
She swallowed. “No, actually. Still wildly in love. But love doesn’t pay the rent or put food on the table. Love doesn’t pay the doctor’s bills.”
His head snapped away from the window so fast she thought she’d heard his neck pop. “I...I had no idea.”
“I don’t talk about it.” Neil knew, of course. He’d met her when she was still living on ramen noodles and working two part-time jobs to pay for college. Moving in with him had been a blessing—he’d covered the rent for the first year while she’d interned at Beaumont. But once she’d been able to contribute, she had. She’d put all her emphasis on making ends meet, then making a nest egg.
Perhaps too much emphasis. Maybe she’d been so focused on making sure that she was an equal contributor to the relationship—that money would never drive them apart—that she’d forgotten a relationship was more than a bank account. After all, her parents had nothing but each other. They were horrid with money, but they loved each other fiercely.
Once, she’d loved Neil like that—passionately. But somewhere along the way that had mellowed into a balanced checkbook. As if love could be measured in dollars and cents.
Chadwick was staring at her as if he’d never seen her before. She didn’t like it—even though he no longer seemed focused on the sale of the company, she didn’t want to see pity creep into his eyes. She hated pity.
So she redirected. “What about you?”
“Me?” He seemed confused by the question.
“Did you always want to run the brewery?”
Her question worked; it distracted Chadwick from her dirt-poor life. But it failed in that it created another weary wave that washed over his expression. “I was never given a choice.”
The way he said it sounded so...cold. Detached, even. “Never?”
“No.” He cut the word off, turning his attention back to the window. Ah. Her childhood wasn’t the only thing they didn’t talk about.
“So, what would you want—if you had the choice?” Which he very well might have after the next round of negotiations.
He looked at her then, his eyes blazing with a new, almost feverish, kind of light. She’d only seen him look like that once before—on Monday, when he’d put his finger under her chin. But even then, he hadn’t looked quite this...heated. The back of her neck began to sweat under his gaze.
Would he lean forward and put his hand on her again? Would he keep leaning until he was close enough to kiss? Would he do more than just that?
Would she let him?
“I want...” He let the word trail off, the raw need in his voice scratching against her ears like his five-o’clock shadow would scratch against her cheek. “I want to do something for me. Not for the family, not for the company—just for me.”
Serena swallowed. The way he said that made it pretty clear what that ‘something’ might be.
He was her boss, she was his secretary, and he was still married. But none of that seemed to be an issue right now. They were alone in the back of a secure vehicle. The driver couldn’t see through the divider. No one would barge in on them. No one would stop them.
I’m pregnant. The words popped onto her tongue and tried frantically to break out of her mouth. That would nip this little infatuation they both seemed to be indulging right in the bud. She was pregnant with another man’s baby. She was hormonal and putting on weight in odd locations and wasn’t anyone’s idea of desirable right now.
But she didn’t. He was already feeling the burden of taking care of his employees. How would he react to her pregnancy? Would all those promises to reward her loyalty and take care of her be just another weight he would struggle to carry?
No. She had worked hard to take care of herself. So she was unexpectedly expecting. So her job was possibly standing on its last legs. She would not throw herself at her boss with the hopes that he’d somehow “fix” her life. She knew first-hand that waiting for someone else to fix your problems meant you just had to keep on waiting.
She’d gotten herself into her current situation. She could handle it herself.
That included handling herself around Chadwick.
So she cleared her throat and forced her voice to sound light and non-committal. “Maybe you can find something that doesn’t involve beer.”
He blinked once, then gave a little nod. He wasn’t going to press the issue. He accepted her dodge. It was the right thing to do, after all.
Damn it.
“I like beer,” he replied, returning his gaze to the window. “When I was nineteen, I worked alongside the brew masters. They taught me how to make beer, not just think of it in terms of units sold. It was fun. Like a chemistry experiment—change one thing, change the whole nature of the brew. To those guys, beer was a living thing—the yeast, the sugars. It was an art and a science.” His voice drifted a bit, a relaxed smile taking hold of his mouth. “That was a good year. I was sorry to leave those guys behind.”
“What do you mean?”
“My father made me spend a year interning in each department, from the age of sixteen on. Outside of my studies, I had to clock in at least twenty hours every week at the brewery.”
“That’s a lot of work for a teenager.” True, she’d had a job when she was sixteen, too, bagging groceries at the local supermarket, but that was a matter of survival. Her family needed her paycheck, plus she got first crack at the merchandise that had been damaged during shipping. She kept the roof over their heads and occasionally put food on the table. The satisfaction she’d gotten from accomplishing those things still lingered.
His smile got less relaxed, more cynical. “I learned how to run the company. That’s what he wanted.” She must have given him a look because he added, “Like I said—I wasn’t given any choice in the matter.”
What his father had wanted—but not what Chadwick had wanted.
The car slowed down and turned. She glanced out the window. They were near the office. She felt like she was running out of time. “If you had a choice, what would you want to do?”
It felt bold and forward to ask him again—to demand he answer her. She didn’t make such demands of him. That’s not how their business relationship worked.
But something had changed. Their relationship was no longer strictly business. It hadn’t crossed a line into pleasure, but the way he’d touched her on Monday? The way she’d touched him yesterday?
Something had changed, all right. Maybe everything.
His gaze bore into her—not the weary look he wore when discussing his schedule, not even the shell-shocked look he’d had yesterday. This was much, much closer to the look he’d had on Monday—the one he’d had on his face when he’d leaned toward her, made the air thin between them. Made her want to feel his lips pressing against hers. Made her want things she had no business wanting.
A corner of his mouth curved up. “What are you wearing on Saturday?”
“What?”
“To the gala. What are you wearing? The black dress?”

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