Having Her Boss's Baby
Maureen Child
She’s pregnant…by the boss! Only from USA TODAY bestselling author Maureen Child!Billionaire game designer Brady Finn’s latest business plan doesn’t include a feisty Irish lass who challenges him at every turn. But Aine Donovan, the stunning manager of the hotel he just purchased, is as determined to prevent Brady from ruining tradition as Brady is to have her in his bed. When a no-strings fling leads to an unexpected pregnancy, Aine runs from her sexy, stubborn boss. What Brady doesn’t know won’t hurt him, right? But Brady won’t give up on claiming her – and their child – so easily…
Brady laughed, and the transformation was enough to take her breath away.
A handsome man when frowning, he was staggering when he smiled. “You’re one of a kind, Aine. I’ve never met anyone quite like you.”
“Thanks for that,” she said, then added, “and at the risk of inflating an ego too many women before me have stroked, I’ll say the same of you.” She tipped her head back to meet the shadowed eyes she felt watching her with tightly restrained hunger.
He gave her a nod. “Then it’s good we’re not doing this.”
“Absolutely. ‘Tis the sensible solution.”
“This is business,” Brady said. “Sex would just confuse the situation.”
“You’re right again.”
He moved in closer. “It’s good we talked about it. Cleared the air. Got things settled.”
“It is.” She leaned toward him. “I’m sure we’ll both be better off now and able to focus on our shared task.”
Nodding, gaze locked with hers, he whispered, “We’re not going to be sensible, are we?”
“Not at the moment, no,” she said.
Then he kissed her.
* * *
Having Her Boss’s Baby is part of the Pregnant by the Boss trilogy: Three business partners find love—and fatherhood—where they least expect it
Having Her
Boss’s Baby
Maureen Child
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
MAUREEN CHILD writes for the Mills & Boon
Desire™ line and can’t imagine a better job. A seven-time finalist for the prestigious Romance Writers of America RITA
Award, Maureen is the author of more than one hundred romance novels. Her books regularly appear on bestseller lists and have won several awards, including a Prism Award, a National Readers’ Choice Award, a Colorado Romance Writers Award of Excellence and a Golden Quill Award.
One of her books, The Soul Collector, was made into a CBS TV movie starring Melissa Gilbert, Bruce Greenwood and Ossie Davis. If you look closely, in the last five minutes of the movie you’ll spot Maureen, who was an extra in the last scene.
Maureen believes that laughter goes hand in hand with love, so her stories are always filled with humor. The many letters she receives assure her that her readers love to laugh as much as she does. Maureen Child is a native Californian but has recently moved to the mountains of Utah.
For Bob Butler
Because we remember
And we miss you
Contents
Cover (#u865baf26-6227-5cd8-a665-a5c5ce1fdd92)
Introduction (#u4f330df8-d4d5-5d53-918a-00d47059af3c)
Title Page (#u2ca6fdb8-aadb-5064-aeb8-96d6edcc277d)
About the Author (#u0b6c5b16-5df8-536f-beeb-b2c31c0afae7)
Dedication (#u0f78ad0c-238d-5be3-9ac1-7368ee3cf135)
One (#ua60378c0-28ab-5632-acfe-6fe4c6ef214b)
Two (#u44e8d6db-e4f3-5625-832a-81e0a8452067)
Three (#ube37ac04-4ad9-5909-a4c7-22b04b1f1e4f)
Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
One (#ulink_e5c92555-07b5-5ea8-8dd1-1530f5ee093a)
Brady Finn liked his life just as it was.
So there was a part of him that was less than enthusiastic about the latest venture his company, Celtic Knot Games, was investing in. But he’d been overruled. Which was what happened when your partners were brothers who sided with each other on the big decisions even as they argued over minutiae.
Still, Brady wouldn’t change a thing because the life he loved had only happened because he and the Ryan brothers had formed their company while still in college. They’d strung together their first video game with little more than dreams and the arrogance of youth.
That game, “Fate Castle,” based on an ancient Irish legend, had sold well enough to finance the next game, and now Celtic Knot was at the top of the video game mountain. The three of them had already expanded their business into graphic novels and role-playing board games. Now they were moving into seriously uncharted waters.
What the hell the three of them knew about hotels could be written on the head of a pin with enough room left over for War and Peace. They’d drawn straws to see who would be the first of them to take over an old hotel and turn it into a fantasy. Brady had lost. He still thought the Ryans had rigged that draw to make sure he was up to bat first, but since there was nothing he could do to change the outcome he was determined to take this challenge and turn it into a win. Brady wouldn’t settle for less.
The three of them had built this company from nothing. He looked around, silently approving of the workplace. Housed in a Victorian mansion on Ocean Boulevard in Long Beach, California, Celtic Knot’s offices were relaxed, fun and efficient. They could have taken over a few floors of some steel-and-glass building, but none of them had liked the idea of that. Instead, they’d purchased the old house and had it rehabbed into what they needed. There was plenty of room, with none of the cold stuffiness associated with many successful companies.
There was a view of the beach from the front, and the backyard was a favorite spot for taking breaks. It was more than a place to work. It was home. The first real home he’d ever had. A home Brady shared with the only family he’d ever known.
“The designs for the new game are brilliant,” Mike Ryan insisted, his voice rising as he tried to get through to his younger brother.
“Yeah, for a fifth-grade art fair,” Sean countered and reached for one of the drawings scattered across the conference table to emphasize his point. “Peter’s had three months to do the new storyboards. He emailed these to me yesterday as an example of what he’s got for us.” Clearly disgusted, he stabbed the picture with his index finger. “Take a look at that banshee,” he said. “Does that look scary to you? Looks more like an underfed surfer than a servant of death.”
“You’re nit-picking,” Mike said, shuffling through the drawings himself until he found the one he wanted. Sliding the artwork depicting a medieval hunter across the table, he said, “This is great. So he’s having trouble with the banshee. He’ll get it right eventually.”
“That’s the problem with Peter,” Brady spoke up quietly, and both of the brothers turned to look at him. “It’s always eventually.He hasn’t made one deadline since he started with us.”
Shaking his head, Brady reached for his coffee, which was already going cold in the heavy ceramic mug. Taking a sip, he listened as Sean said, “Agreed. We’ve given Peter plenty of chances to prove he’s worth the money we’re paying him and he hasn’t done it yet. I want to give Jenny Marshall a shot at the storyboards.”
“Marshall?” Mike frowned as he tried to put a face to the name.
“You know her work,” Brady said. “Graphic artist. Been here about six months. Did the background art on ‘Forest Run.’ She’s talented. Deserves the shot.”
Frowning, Mike mumbled, “Okay, yeah. I remember her work on that game. But she was backup. You really think she’s ready to be the lead artist?”
Sean started to speak, but Brady held up a hand. If the brothers went at it again, this argument could go on forever. “Yeah, I do. But before we do anything permanent, I’ll talk to Peter. His latest deadline is tomorrow. If he fails again, that’s it. Agreed?”
“Absolutely,” Sean said and shot a look at his brother.
“Agreed.” Mike nodded, then leaned back in his chair, propping his feet up on the corner of the table. “Now, on another topic, when’s our Irish visitor arriving?”
Brady frowned. Both brothers were watching him. The Ryans had black hair and blue eyes and both of them stood well over six feet, just like Brady. They were as close as family, he reminded himself, and he was grateful for both of them—even when they irritated the hell out of him.
He stared at the older of the two brothers from across the gleaming oak conference table. “Her flight lands in an hour.”
“It might’ve been easier for you to go to Ireland—take a look at the castle yourself.”
Brady shook his head. “There’s too much going on here for me to go to Europe. Besides, we’ve all seen the castle in the 360-degree videos.”
“True,” Mike said, a half smile on his face. “And it’ll be perfect for our first hotel. Fate Castle.”
Named after their initial success, the Irish castle would be revamped into a luxurious modern fantasy resort where guests could imagine being a part of the world that Celtic Knot had invented. Though Brady could see the potential in their expansion, he still wondered if hotels were the way to go. Then he remembered the last Comic-Con and the reaction of the fans when they’d been told about the latest idea rolling out of Celtic Knot. The place had gone nuts with cheers as their fans realized that soon they’d be able to not only visit the darkly dangerous worlds they loved but actually live in them, as well.
Brady didn’t have to love the idea to see the merit in it.
“What’s the woman’s name again?” Sean took a seat and sprawled comfortably.
“Her last name’s Donovan,” Brady said. “First name, who knows? It’s spelled A-I-N-E. Don’t have a clue how to pronounce it. My best guess is ain’t without the T.”
“Guess it’s Gaelic,” Sean said, gathering up the sheaf of sketches he’d brought with him into the meeting.
“Whatever it is,” Brady said, glancing down at the file they had on the castle hotel and employees, “she’s been the manager for three years and by all accounts is good at her job. In spite of the fact the hotel’s been losing money over the past couple of years. She’s twenty-eight, degree in hotel management and lives on the property in a guest cottage with her mother and younger brother.”
“She’s almost thirty and still living with her mother?” Sean whistled low and long, then gave a little shudder. “Is there a picture of her in the file?”
“Yeah.” He pulled it free and slid it across the table to Sean. The photo was a standard employee shot and if it was true to life, Aine Donovan wasn’t going to be much of a distraction for Brady.
Which was just as well. He loved women. All women. But even if he hadn’t been too busy for an affair at the moment, he had no interest in starting something up with an employee. When he wanted a woman, he had no problem finding one. But the truth was, he was happier burying himself in his work anyway. Far less aggravating to deal with the intricacies of running their company than to deal with a woman who would eventually expect more from him than he was willing to give.
Sean glanced at her photo. “She looks...nice.”
Brady snorted at Sean’s pitiful attempt to be kind. Even he had to admit that the Irishwoman wasn’t much to look at. In that photo, her hair was scraped back from her face, probably into a tidy bun. She wore glasses that made her green eyes look huge, and her pale skin looked white against the black blouse she wore buttoned primly up to the base of her throat.
“She’s a hotel manager, not a model,” Brady pointed out, for some reason feeling the need to defend the woman.
“Let me see that,” Mike said.
Sean passed the slightly out-of-focus photo across the table. Mike studied it for a minute. Lifting his gaze to Brady’s, Mike shrugged. “She looks...efficient.”
Shaking his head at the two of them, Brady took the picture back, slid it into the file and closed the folder. “Doesn’t matter what she looks like as long as she can do the job. And according to the reports we got on the hotel and its employees, she’s good at what she does.”
“Have you talked to her about the changes we’ve got planned?”
“Not really,” he told Mike. “It was pointless to try to explain everything long distance. Besides, we only just got the finalized plan for the remodel.”
Since the construction crews would begin work in a month, it was time to bring Aine Donovan up to date.
“Well, if we’re finished with the Irish news,” Sean said, “I had a call from a toy company interested in marketing some of our characters.”
“Toys?” Mike sneered. “Not really who we are, Sean.”
“Gotta agree.” Brady shook his head. “Our games are more for the teenagers-and-up crowd.”
“True, but if they were collectibles...” Sean’s voice trailed off even as he gave them both a small smile.
Brady and Mike looked at each other and nodded.
“Collectibles is a different story,” Brady said. “We get people excited about owning our characters—that will only push the games themselves higher up the food chain.”
“Yeah, that could work,” Mike finally said. “Get some numbers. Once we have a better idea of the licensing agreement we can talk it over again.”
“Right.” Sean stood up and looked at Brady. “You picking up Irish from the airport?”
“No.” Brady stood, too, and gathered up the file folder. “I’ve got a car meeting her and taking her directly to the hotel.”
“That’s the personal touch,” Sean muttered.
Brady snapped, “It’s not a date, Sean. She’s coming here to work.”
“You setting her up at the Seaview?” Mike asked, interrupting Sean.
“Yeah.” The company kept a suite at the nearby hotel for visiting clients. It was within walking distance to their business, which made meetings easier to arrange. It was also where Brady lived, in a penthouse suite. “I’ll go over there this afternoon to meet with her. Tomorrow’s soon enough for us to show her what we’ve got in mind for the remodel.”
Once the three of them explained the situation to Aine Donovan, she could get back to Ireland and, more important, Brady could get back to his life.
* * *
“I’m here, Mum, and it’s just lovely.”
“Aine?”
She winced at the sleepy tone of her mother’s voice. Standing on the balcony off the living room of her hotel suite, Aine stared out at the blue Pacific and finally remembered the time difference between California and home. Here in Long Beach, it was four in the afternoon and a warm sun was shining out of a clear sky. Back in County Mayo, it was...after midnight.
Now that she thought about it, Aine realized she should be exhausted. But she wasn’t. Excitement about the travel, she guessed, tangled with anxiety over what was going to happen once she met with Brady Finn about her castle. All right, not her castle, but certainly more hers than his, despite his having bought the place a few months ago. What did he know of its traditions, its history and legacy, its importance to the village where her friends lived? Nothing, that’s what, she told herself, though she’d make him aware of all of it before he began whatever remodeling he had in mind.
It worried her to be sure—what did a video game maven want with a centuries-old castle in a tiny village in Ireland? It wasn’t as though Castle Butler had ever been a tourist draw. There were far finer estates, much easier to get to, dotting the Irish countryside.
Thoughts whirled in her brain, circling each other, making her mind a jumble that only cleared momentarily when her mother spoke again. “Aine. You’ve arrived, then?”
“I have. I’m so sorry, Mum. I completely forgot—”
“No matter.” Molly Donovan’s voice became clearer and Aine could almost see her mother sitting up in bed, trying to wake herself. “I’m glad you called. Your flight was all right, then?”
“More than all right.” She’d never flown in a private jet before, and now that she had, Aine knew she’d never be happy in coach again. “It was like flying while relaxing in a posh living room. There were couches and tables and flowers in the loo. The flight attendant made fresh cookies,” she said. “Cooked them up right there on the plane. Or maybe only heated them. But there was a real meal and champagne to go with it and really, I was almost sorry when the flight ended.”
A hard truth indeed, because once her travel was over, it meant that she had no choice but to face down the man who owned the company that had the power to ruin her life and the lives of so many others. But, she argued with herself, why would he do that? Surely he wouldn’t purchase the castle only to shut down the hotel? True enough that profits hadn’t been what they should be in the past couple of years, but she had ideas to change all that, didn’t she? The previous owner hadn’t wanted to be bothered. She could only hope that this one would.
Although, she had to say, he was setting the scene perfectly to keep her off balance, wasn’t he? Sending a private jet for her. Then, rather than meeting her himself, he’d had a driver there holding a sign with her name on it. Arranging for her to stay in a suite that was larger than the entire first floor of the guest cottage where she and her family lived, yet not a whisper of a personal greeting from the man.
He was letting her know, without speaking a word, that he was in charge. Master to servant, she supposed, and wondered if all exceedingly wealthy people were the same.
“It sounds lovely. And now?” her mother asked. “You’re tucked into a hotel?”
“I am,” Aine said, turning her face into the wind driving in from the sea. “I’m standing on a terrace looking out at the ocean. It’s warm and lovely, nothing like spring at home.”
“Aye,” her mother agreed. “Rained all day and half the night. Now, you’ll have your meeting with the new owner of the castle soon, won’t you?”
“I will.” Aine’s stomach fluttered with the wings of what felt like a million butterflies. She laid one hand on her abdomen in a futile attempt to ease that stirring of nerves. “He’s left a message for me saying he’ll be here at five.”
A message, she told herself and shook her head. Again, she recalled the man hadn’t bothered to meet her at the airport or give her the courtesy of being here when she arrived. All small ways to impress upon her that she was on his territory now and that he would be the one making the decisions. Well, he might hold the purse strings, but she would at least be heard.
“You’ll not be a terrier at the man from the beginning, will you?” her mother asked. “You’ll have some patience?”
Patience was a difficult matter for Aine. Her mother had always said that Aine had been born two weeks early and hadn’t stopped running since. She didn’t like waiting. For anything. The past few months, knowing that the castle had been sold but having no more information beyond that, had nearly driven her around the bend. Now she wanted answers. She needed to know what the new owner of Castle Butler was planning—so she could prepare.
“I’ll not say a thing until I’ve heard him out, and that’s the best I can promise,” she said and hoped she could keep that vow.
It was only that this was so important. To her. To her family. To the village that looked to the castle’s guests to shop in their stores, eat in their pubs. Now a trio of American businessmen had purchased the castle and everyone was worried about what might happen.
For the past three years, Aine had managed the castle hotel and though she’d had to fight the owner for every nail and gallon of paint needed for its upkeep, she felt she’d done a good job of it. Now though, things had changed. It wasn’t only the hotel she had to see to—it was the survival of her village and her family’s future she fought for. She hated feeling off balance, as if she was one step behind everyone else in the bloody world. It was being here, in California, that was throwing her. If Brady Finn had come to Ireland, she might have felt more in control of the situation. As it was, she’d have to stay on her toes and impress on the new owner the importance of the responsibility he had just acquired.
“I know you’ll do what’s best,” her mother said.
It was hard, having the faith of everyone you knew and loved settled on your shoulders. More than her mother and brother were counting on her; the whole village was worried, and Aine was their hope. She wouldn’t let them down.
“I will. You go back to sleep now, Mum. I’ll call you again tomorrow.” She paused and smiled. “At a better time.”
Aine took the time before the arrival of her new employer to freshen up. She fixed her makeup, did her hair and, since she was running out of time, didn’t bother with changing her clothes, only gave them a quick brush.
But when five o’clock came and went with still no sign of her new employer, Aine’s temper spiked. So much for her vow of patience. Was he so busy, then, that he couldn’t even be bothered to contact her to say his plans had changed? Or did he think so little of her that being late for their appointment didn’t bother him? The phone in her suite rang and when she answered, the hotel desk clerk said, “Ms. Donovan? Your driver is here to take you to the Celtic Knot offices.”
“My driver?”
“Yes. Apparently Mr. Finn was delayed and so sent a driver to take you to your meeting.”
Irritation rippled along her nerve endings. In seconds, her mind raced with outraged thoughts. Hadn’t she flown thousands of miles to meet with him? And now, after being ignored by the great man, she was being sent for, was she? Lord of the manor summoning a scullery maid? Had he a velvet rope in his office that he tugged on to get all of his servants moving in a timely fashion?
“Ms. Donovan?”
“Yes. I’m sorry, yes.” It wasn’t this man’s fault, was it, that her new employer had the manners of a goat? “Would you please tell the driver I’ll be down in a moment?”
She hung up, then took another moment to check her reflection. But for the anger-infused color in her cheeks, she looked fine, though she briefly considered changing her clothes after all. Aine decided against it as she doubted very much her new employer would be pleased if she kept him waiting.
Thankfully, flying on a private jet hadn’t left her looking as haggard as surviving a twelve-hour flight in economy would have. So she would go now to meet the man who clearly expected his underlings to leap into motion when he spoke. And she would, even if it killed her, keep her temper.
Two (#ulink_d4554e0b-779f-55ee-b733-68f720b75ce3)
“We need the new storyboards by tomorrow afternoon at the latest,” Brady barked into the phone. He’d been hung up for the past two hours with call after call and his patience was strained to the breaking point. “No more excuses, Peter. Meet the deadline or be replaced.”
Artists were difficult to deal with in the best of times. But Peter Singer was an artist with no ambition and no idea of how to schedule his time. With the best of intentions, the man laid down deadlines, then because he was so disorganized, he never managed to meet the dates he himself had arranged.
His talent wasn’t in question. Peter was good at sketching out the boards the programmers would use to lay out the basic story line of their newest game. And without that road map, the whole process would be brought to a crawl. In fact, Peter was good enough at his work that Brady had given him several extensions when he’d asked for them. But he wasn’t getting another one.
“Brady, I can have them for you by the end of the week,” the man was arguing. “I’m on a roll here, but I can’t get them by tomorrow. That’s just impossible. I swear they’ll be worth the wait if you—”
“Tomorrow, Peter,” Brady said flatly, as he turned in his desk chair to stare out the window behind him. “Have them here by five tomorrow or start looking for another job.”
“You can’t rush art.”
“If I can pay for it, I can rush it,” Brady told him, idly watching a blackbird jump from branch to branch in the pine tree out back. “And you’ve had three months on your last extension to make this deadline, so no sense in complaining now that you’re being rushed. Do it or not. Your choice.”
He hung up before he could be drawn into more of Peter’s dramatic appeals. He’d been dealing with marketing most of the day—not his favorite part of the job anyway—so he admittedly had less patience than he normally would have for Peter’s latest justification for failure. But the point was, they had a business to run, schedules to keep and for the past year Peter hadn’t been able to, or wasn’t interested in, keeping to the schedule. It was time to move on, find another graphic artist who could do the job. Sean was right. Jenny Marshall deserved a shot.
And now, rather than head home for a well-deserved beer, Brady had one more meeting to get through. As the thought passed through his mind, he heard a brisk knock at his door and knew the Irishwoman had arrived.
“Come in.”
The door opened and there she was.
Auburn hair and green eyes identified her as Aine Donovan, but there the resemblance to the woman in the employee photo ended. He’d been prepared for a spinsterish female, a librarian type. This woman was a surprise.
His gaze swept her up and down in a blink, taking in everything. She wore black slacks and a crimson blouse with a short black jacket over it. Her thick dark red hair fell in heavy waves around her shoulders. Her green eyes, not hidden behind the glasses she’d worn in her photo, were artfully enhanced and shone like sunlight in a forest. She was tall and curvy enough to make a man’s mouth water, and the steady, even stare she sent him told Brady that she also had strength. Nothing hotter than a gorgeous woman with a strong sense of self. Unexpectedly, he felt a punch of desire that hit him harder than anything he’d ever experienced before.
Discomfited, he tamped down that feeling instantly and fought to ignore it. Desire had its place, and this definitely wasn’t it. She worked for him, and sex with an employee only set up endless possibilities for problems. Even that fact, though, wasn’t enough to kill the want that only increased the moment she opened her mouth and the music of Ireland flavored her words.
“Brady Finn?”
“That’s right. Ms. Donovan?” He stood up and waited as she crossed the room to him, her right hand outstretched. She moved with a slow, easy grace that made him think of silk sheets, moonlit nights and the soft slide of skin against skin. Damn.
“It’s Aine, please.”
She pronounced it Anya and Brady knew he never would have figured that out from its spelling. “I wondered how to say your first name,” he admitted.
For the first time, a hint of a smile touched her mouth, then slipped away again. “’Tis Gaelic.”
He took her hand in his and felt a buzz of sensation shoot straight up his arm, as if he’d grabbed a live electrical wire. It was unexpected enough that he let her go instantly and just resisted rubbing his palm against his pant leg. “I assumed so. Please, have a seat.”
She sat down in one of the chairs in front of his desk and slowly crossed one leg over the other. It was an unconsciously seductive move that he really resented noticing.
“How was your flight?” he blurted out, wanting to steer the conversation into the banal so his mind would have nothing else to torment him with.
“Lovely, thanks,” she said shortly and lifted her chin a notch. “Is that what we’re to talk about, then? My flight? My hotel? I wonder that you care what I think. Perhaps we could speak instead about the fact that twice now you’ve not showed the slightest interest in keeping your appointments with me.”
Brady sat back, surprised at her nerve. Not many employees would risk making their new boss angry. “Twice?”
“You sent a car for me at the airport and again at the hotel.” She folded her hands neatly atop her knee. If she was uneasy about speaking her mind, she didn’t show it.
He merely looked at her for a long moment before saying, “Was there something wrong with the car service?”
“Not at all. But I wonder why a man who takes the trouble to fly his hotel manager halfway across the world can’t be bothered to cross the street and walk a block to meet her in person.”
When Brady had seen her photo, he’d thought, Efficient, cool, dispassionate. Now he had to revise those thoughts entirely. There was fire here, sparking in her eyes and practically humming in the air around her.
Damned if he didn’t like it.
It was more than simple desire he felt now—there was respect, as well.
Which meant that he was in more trouble here than he would have thought.
* * *
Aine could have bitten her own tongue off. Hadn’t she promised herself to rein in her temper? And what did she do the moment she met her new boss? Insult him was what. An apology was owed him and Aine knew it, though the words stuck in her throat and wouldn’t come free. Yes, she shouldn’t have spoken to him so, but nothing she’d said was untrue, was it? Oh, she should have taken a moment to calm herself before coming into his office. Instead, she’d allowed her temper to simmer into a fine boil and then spill over the moment she met the man. Now there was an unwanted tension between them and she had to find a way to try to smooth things over.
The trouble was, Aine told herself as she met his steady gaze across the wide expanse of his desk, she hadn’t expected him to be so...wildly attractive. On the short ride to his office, she’d told herself to be confident. Then the door had opened and she’d taken one look at the man and gone light-headed enough that all her good intentions had simply dissolved.
His thick black hair fell across his forehead, making her want to reach out and smooth it back. His strong jaw, sharp blue eyes and just the barest hint of whiskers on his cheeks made him seem so much more than a man who made his fortune by inventing games. He looked like a pirate. A highwayman. A dark hero from one of the romance novels she loved to read. Something raw and wild in him teased to life all sorts of inappropriate thoughts in her mind and stirred something warm and wonderful through her blood.
This wasn’t something she wanted, or was even interested in, she assured herself. But it seemed she had no choice but to feel that whip of heat and tendrils of desire snaking through her body. When he shook her hand, she’d wanted to hold on to that tight, firm grip just a bit longer, but she was grateful, too, when he deliberately let her go. Well, now she wasn’t even making sense to herself. This was not a good sign.
Trying to distract herself, Aine admitted that not only was the man himself unexpected, but his office was, as well. She had thought to find Celtic Knot in one of those eerily modern glass-and-chrome buildings. Instead, the old home they’d transformed into a work space was both charming and surprising. And it gave her just a bit of hope for the castle—if this man’s company could modernize an old building such as this and maintain its character, perhaps they could do the same with Castle Butler, too.
With that thought firmly in mind, Aine settled into the uncomfortable chair, swallowed her pride like a bitter pill and forced herself to say, “I’ll apologize for biting your head off first thing.”
His eyebrows arched, but he didn’t speak, so Aine continued on in a rush—before he could open his mouth to say, “You’re fired.”
“It’s the jet lag, I’m sure, that’s put me in a mood.” Though she wasn’t at all tired, she would reach for the most understandable excuse.
“Of course,” he said, though it was clear from his tone he wasn’t buying that. “And I’ll apologize for not meeting you personally. We’re very busy right now, with one game being released this week and the next due out in December.”
Games, she thought. Wasn’t her younger brother, Robbie, forever playing this man’s games? Ancient legends of Ireland brought to life so people around the world could pretend to be Celts fighting age-old evil. She didn’t yet see why a company that built video games was buying a hotel in Ireland, though, and she was willing to admit, at least to herself, that she was worried about what might be coming.
“There isn’t time enough today to get into all of our plans for the castle, but I did want to meet with you to let you know that changes are coming.”
Instantly, it seemed, a ball of ice dropped into the pit of her stomach as every defensive instinct she possessed fired up. “Changes, is it?”
“You had to assume things would change, Aine.” He sat forward, propping his arms on the desk, and met her gaze. “The past couple of years, your castle has been losing money.”
She bristled and felt the first tremor of anxiety ripple through her. Was he saying she was at fault for the hotel losing money? Had he brought her all this way just to fire her? Was she about to lose not only her job but her home? Now it seemed she not only needed to defend her castle but herself, as well. “If you’re thinking my management of the castle has been lacking—”
“Not at all,” he interrupted her, and held up one hand to keep her from speaking again. “I’ve gone over the books, as have my partners, and we all agree that your skills are what held the place together the past couple of years.”
A relieved breath escaped her, but that sensation didn’t last long.
“Still,” he continued, and Aine felt as though she were hypnotized. She couldn’t tear her gaze from him, from his eyes. There was something pulling her toward him even as her common sense was shrieking a warning. Working with him would have been so much easier if he had been the stereotypical computer nerd—skinny, awkward. Instead, Brady Finn was obviously the kind of man who was used to issuing orders and having them obeyed without question. That worried her a bit, as she’d never been one to blindly fall in line.
“We’ll be making some substantial changes both to the castle itself and the way it’s run.”
Well, that simple sentence sent cold chills dancing through her. “What sort of substantial changes did you have in mind?” The words forced their way out of her mouth.
“Time enough to get into all of that,” he said and stood up. “We’ll get started on it tomorrow.”
Tomorrow. She was worried enough that she didn’t mind putting off whatever was coming. Yet at the same time, she knew she wouldn’t sleep a wink for thinking of it.
Her gaze tracked him. He was tall and broad shouldered, and in his white dress shirt his chest looked as wide as the sky. Her mouth went dry as she stood to face him. His eyes were fixed on her, and there was power in those blue depths. The kind of power only rich men knew. It was a mix of wealth and confidence and the surety of his own convictions. And that kind of man would not be easy to stand against.
“You must be hungry,” he said.
“I am, a bit,” she admitted, though if he continued to stare at her in just that way, she’d be lucky to swallow a single bite.
“Then, we’ll go to an early dinner and talk.” He walked to a closet, opened it and pulled out a black jacket. Shrugging it on, he went back to her side and waited.
“Talk?” she asked. “About what?”
He took her arm, threaded it through his and headed for the door. “You can tell me all about yourself and the castle.”
She’d no interest in talking about herself, but maybe, she thought, she could impress on him what the castle meant to those who worked there and the people in the nearby village, as well.
“All right,” she said, then hesitated, remembering she hadn’t even changed clothes since her flight. “But I’m not dressed for it, really.”
“You look great,” he assured her.
How like a man was all she could think.
“If we could stop by my hotel first,” she said, dismissing his words, “I’d like to change.”
He shrugged and said, “Sure.”
* * *
She was worth the wait, Brady thought, looking across the linen-draped tablecloth at Aine. She wore a simple black dress with wide shoulder straps and a square neckline that displayed just the hint of the tops of her breasts. Her skin glowed like fine porcelain in the candlelight, and the candle flames seemed to shoot golden sparks through her dark red hair and wink off the tiny gold stars she wore at her ears.
His insides burned, and watching her smile and sip at her wine was only stoking the flames. She was...temptation, Brady told himself. One he didn’t want to resist but would have to.
“It’s lovely wine,” she said, setting her glass down.
“Yeah. Lovely.” He didn’t mean the wine and, judging by the flash in her eyes, she knew it. Damn. This upscale restaurant with the candlelight had probably been a mistake. He should have taken her for a nice casual burger in a crowded diner. This setting was too damn intimate.
The only way to keep the want clawing at him in check was to steer this conversation to business and keep it there. A shame that his brain didn’t exactly have dibs on his blood supply at the moment. “Tell me about the castle. From your perspective, what needs to be done?”
She took a breath, then another sip of wine, and set the glass down again before speaking. “It’s true, there does need to be some remodeling. Bathrooms updated, new paint throughout, of course, and the furniture’s a bit shabby. But the building itself is strong and sure as it has been since it was first built in 1430.”
Almost six hundred years. For a man with no family, no personal history to talk about, that kind of longevity seemed impossible to understand and accept. But as a man with no roots, changes came easier to him than they would to people like her. People who clung to traditions and tales of the past.
“We’re going to do all of that, of course,” he said. “And more.”
“That’s what worries me,” she admitted. “The more. I know you’ve said we’d talk about this tomorrow, but can you tell me some small things that you have in mind?”
Hard to concentrate on the conversation when listening to her speak made that twist of desire inside him curl tighter. But maybe talking about the castle would help give him something else to focus on. Deliberately, he took a gulp of his wine to give himself time to settle. When he could think clearly again, he said, “Our company, Celtic Knot, is going into the hotel business.”
She nodded and waited for him to continue.
“Starting with Castle Butler, we’re buying three hotels and reimagining them.”
“Reimagine sounds much grander than a few simple changes,” she said, suspicion clear in her tone.
“It is,” he said. “We’re going to turn them into mock-ups of our three bestselling games.”
“Games.”
Warming to his theme, Brady said, “The first will be Fate Castle.”
“Fate...?”
“Designed after our first successful game.”
“I know of it,” she said quietly.
His eyebrows shot up, and he couldn’t quite keep the surprise out of his voice when he asked, “You’ve played it? And here I was thinking you didn’t look the gaming type to me.”
“There’s a type, is there?” She ran her fingers up and down the stem of her wineglass, but the movement was anything but smooth and relaxed. “As it happens, you’d be right. I don’t play, but my younger brother, Robbie, does. He’s mad for your games.”
Brady smiled in spite of the coolness in her eyes. “He has excellent taste.”
“I wouldn’t know,” she said with detachment, “for the idea of using a toy to chase down zombies and wraiths doesn’t appeal to me.”
“You shouldn’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”
“What makes you think I haven’t?”
“You’d like it more if you had,” he said simply. He knew their games were addictive to players. “Our games are more than just running and shooting. There are intricate puzzles to be solved. Choices made, and the player takes the consequences for those choices. Our games are more sophisticated in that we expect our players to think.”
She smiled briefly. “To listen to Robbie shouting and railing against the game, you wouldn’t know it was a test of intelligence.”
He smiled again as her voice twisted the knots in his belly even tighter. “Well, even smart guys get angry when they don’t succeed at first try.”
“True enough,” she said, then paused as the waiter delivered their meals.
La Bella Vita was Brady’s favorite restaurant. Elegant, quiet, and the food was as amazing as the atmosphere. The walls were a pale yellow, with paintings of Italy dotting the space. Candles flickered atop every one of the linen-draped tables, and soft music sighed through the speakers tucked into the corners of the room. The clink of crystal and the rise and fall of muted conversations around them filled the silence while Aine took a bite of her crab-stuffed ravioli in Alfredo sauce.
“Good?” he asked.
“Wonderful,” she said, then asked, “Do you often bring your employees to such a fine restaurant?”
“No,” he admitted and couldn’t have said, even to himself, why he’d brought Aine here. They could have stopped for a burger somewhere or eaten at the restaurant in her hotel. Instead, he’d brought her here, as if they were on a date. Which they really weren’t. Best to steer this back to work. “It’s quiet here, though, and I thought that would give us a chance to talk.”
“About the castle.”
“Yes, and about your part in helping us make this happen.”
“My part?” Genuine surprise flashed in her eyes.
Brady took a bite of his own ravioli, then said, “You’ll be there on-site, for the day-to-day changes. We need you to oversee the workers, make sure they stay on schedule, on budget, things like that.”
“I’m to be in charge?”
“You’re my liaison,” he told her. “You come to me with problems, I take care of them, then you make sure they’re handled right.”
“I see.” She dragged her fork listlessly across her plate.
“Is there a problem?”
“Have you given thought to who will be doing the work?”
“We’ve got the best contractor in California lined up,” Brady said. “He’ll be bringing in crews he trusts.”
She frowned a bit. “Things might go easier and more quickly if you hired Irish workmen.”
“I don’t like working with people I don’t know,” he said.
“Yet here we are, and you don’t know me from the man in the moon.”
“True.” He nodded. “Fine. I’ll think about it.”
“Good. But you’ve yet to tell me what kind of changes you’re talking about.” She met his gaze. “You said only that you were going to ‘reimagine’ things. Which could mean anything at all. What exactly are you planning?”
“Nothing structural,” he told her. “We like the look of Castle Butler—that’s why we bought it. But there will be plenty of changes made to the interior.”
She sighed, set her fork down and admitted, “To be honest, that’s what I’m worried about.”
“In what way?”
“Will I be seeing zombies in the hallways?” she asked. “Cobwebs strung across the stone?”
She looked so worried about that possibility, Brady grinned. “Tempting, but no. We’ll go into all the details starting tomorrow, but I’ll say tonight I think you’ll like what we’ve got in mind.”
Folding her hands on the table, she looked at him and said, “I’ve worked at Castle Butler since I was sixteen and went into the kitchens. I worked my way up from there, becoming first a maid, then moving on through reception and finally into managing the castle.
“I know every board that creaks, every draft that blows through broken mortar. I know every wall that needs painting and every tree in the garden that needs trimming.” She paused, took a breath and continued before he could speak, “Everyone who works in the castle is a friend to me, or family. The village depends on the hotel for its livelihood and their worries are mine, as well. So,” she said softly, “when you speak of reimagining the castle, know that for me, it’s not about games.”
Brady could see that. Her forest green eyes met his, and he read the stubborn strength in them that foretold all kinds of interesting battles ahead.
Damned if he wasn’t looking forward to them.
Three (#ulink_731dc790-eaef-516d-ab76-320849881b84)
By the following day, Aine was sure she’d stepped in it with Brady at dinner. She’d had such plans to mind her temper and her words and hadn’t she thrown all those plans to the wind the moment he mentioned “substantial changes”?
She sipped room-service tea and watched the play of sunlight on the water from her balcony. The tea was a misery, and why was it, she wondered, that Americans couldn’t brew a decent cup of tea? But the view was breathtaking—the water sapphire blue, crested with whitecaps, and in the distance, a boat with a bright red sail skimmed that frothy surface.
She only wished the vista was enough to clear her mind of the mistakes made the night before. But as her father used to say, she’d already walked that path—it was useless to regret the footprints left behind.
So she would do better today. She’d meet Brady Finn’s partners and be the very essence of professionalism...
Not two hours later, she felt her personal vow to maintain a quiet, dignified presence shatter like glass.
“You can’t mean it.”
Aine had remained silent during most of this meeting with all three partners of Celtic Knot Games. She’d listened as they’d tossed ideas back and forth, almost as if they’d forgotten her presence entirely. She’d bitten her tongue so many times, that particular organ felt swollen in her mouth. And yet, there came a time when a woman could be silent no longer and Aine had just reached it. Looking from one man to the other, she focused on Sean Ryan since he seemed to be the most reasonable.
“You’re talking about turning a dignified piece of Irish history into a mockery of itself,” she said bluntly.
Before Sean could speak, his brother said, “I understand you feel a little protective of the castle, but—”
“Protective, yes, but it’s more than that,” she argued, shifting her gaze from one to the other of the three men, ending finally by meeting Brady’s gaze. “There’s tradition. There’s the centuries etched into every stone.”
“It’s a building,” Brady said. “One that you yourself have already agreed needs remodeling.”
“To that, yes, I do agree,” she said quickly, leaning toward him a bit to emphasize what she wanted to say. “And I’m pleased to hear you’re going to make some long-needed repairs to the castle. I’ve some ideas for changes that would enhance our guests’ experiences even while keeping the building’s, for lack of a better word, soul intact.”
Amused, Brady asked, “You believe the castle has a soul?”
She looked almost affronted. “It’s been standing since 1430,” she reminded him, so focused on Brady alone that the other men in the room might not have been there at all. “People have come and gone, but the castle remains. It’s stood against invaders, neglect and indifference. It’s housed kings and peasants and everything in between. Why wouldn’t it have a soul?”
“That’s very...Irish of you to think so.”
She didn’t care for the patronizing smile he offered her. “As you’re Irish yourself, you should agree.”
Brady’s features froze over. It was as if she’d doused him with a bucket of ice water. Aine didn’t know what it was about her simple statement that had turned him to stone, but clearly, she’d hit a very sore spot.
“Only my name is Irish,” he said shortly.
“An intriguing statement,” she answered, never moving her gaze from his.
“I’m not trying to intrigue you,” he pointed out. “I’m saying that if you’re looking for a kindred spirit in this, it’s not me.”
“Okay,” Sean said, voice overly cheerful. “So we’re all Irish here—some of us more than others. Let’s move on, huh?”
Aine stiffened, didn’t so much as acknowledge Sean’s attempt to lighten the mood. “I’m not looking for a friend or a confidante or a kindred spirit, as you say,” she said and every word was measured, careful, as she deliberately tried to hold on to a temper that was nearly choking her. “I’ve come thousands of miles at your direction to discuss the future of Castle Butler. I can give you information on the building, the village it supports and the country it resides in. All of which you might have found out for yourself had you bothered to once visit the property in person.”
Silence hummed uncomfortably in the room for a few long seconds before Brady spoke up. “While I admire your guts in speaking your mind, I also wonder if you think the wisest course of action is to piss off your new boss.”
“All right, then,” she forced herself to say at last. “I’ll apologize for my outburst, as it wasn’t my intention to insult you.”
“No need to apologize.”
“I’ll decide for myself when I’m wrong, thanks,” she said, shaking her head firmly. “I promised myself I’d keep my temper in check, and I didn’t. So for that I’m sorry.”
“Fine.”
She swept her gaze across all three men, who were now watching her as if she was an unstable bomb. “But I won’t apologize for telling you what I think about the castle and its future.”
Once again, she met the eyes of all three men before focusing on Brady alone. “I’ve been nervous about this meeting. It’s important to me that the people who work at the castle—including me—keep our jobs. I want the castle to shine again, as it should.”
Brady’s gaze held hers, and she felt the Ryan brothers watching her, as well. Maybe she should have kept her mouth shut. Perhaps she didn’t have the right to say anything at all about their plans for the place she loved. But she couldn’t sit idly by and pretend all was well when it certainly wasn’t.
Still meeting Brady’s gaze, she asked, “Did you bring me all this way to simply agree with your decisions? Is that what you expect from your hotel manager? To stand quietly at your side and do everything you say?”
Brady tipped his head to one side and studied her. “You’re asking if I want a yes man?”
“Exactly.”
“Of course I don’t,” he said sharply. “I want your opinions, as I told you last night.”
Aine blew out a breath. “Now that you’ve opened the door, I can only hope you won’t regret it.”
“I admire honesty,” he said. “Doesn’t mean I’ll agree with you—but I want to know what you really think about what we’re planning.”
Nodding, she sat more easily in her chair and glanced at the Ryan brothers. “I’ll say it’s hard to form an opinion with nothing more to go on than these descriptions of your ideas you’ve been giving me.”
“I think we can take care of that,” Mike said. “We’ve got a few drawings that could give you a better picture of what we have in mind.”
Brady nodded. “Jenny Marshall’s drafted some basic art that should help.”
“Jenny Marshall again?” Mike looked at his brother. “What, is she our go-to artist now?”
Aine leaned back in her chair and shook her head. Watching the brothers argue, and Brady following along, was a real lesson. The three men were clearly a unit and yet Aine had the sense that Brady was still holding back, even from his friends. As if he was deliberately standing outside, looking in from a safe distance.
Even while the Ryans’ heated discussion amped up, she continued to watch Brady and his reaction to his friends. He seemed completely at ease with their argument, and since the brothers were Irish, she was willing to bet their differences of opinion happened frequently. The mystery for her was why he separated himself from the disagreement. Did he simply not care one way or the other about the artist’s work or was it an inborn remoteness that drove him?
“Jenny’s good, I keep telling you.” Sean shrugged. “You haven’t even looked at the mock-ups she’s done of the stuff Peter was supposed to have finished five months ago.”
“It’s Peter’s job, not hers,” Mike reminded his brother. “Why would I look at what she’s doing?”
“So you could appreciate just how good she is?” Sean asked.
Mike scowled at his younger brother. “Why are you so anxious to push Jenny off on us?”
“He just told you why,” a voice said as the door opened to admit a petite, curvy woman with short, curly blond hair. Her blue eyes narrowed on Mike Ryan briefly before she looked at Sean and smiled. Crossing the room, she handed him a large black portfolio. “Sorry this took longer than I thought, but I wanted to finalize a few details this morning before bringing them to you.”
“No problem, Jenny, thanks.”
While sunlight slanted through the wide windows, Jenny and Mike faced each other across the conference table. Aine watched the byplay between the tiny blonde and the older of the Ryan brothers. There was a near visible tension humming in the room as the two of them glared at each other. And yet, she thought, neither of the other men in the room seemed to notice.
In fact, Brady and Sean were so fixed on the portfolio, they never saw the blonde sneer at Mike Ryan before slipping from the room and closing the door quietly behind her. Clearly, Jenny Marshall wasn’t afraid to stand up for herself, and though Aine didn’t know the woman at all, she felt a kinship with her.
“What the hell, Sean,” Mike muttered when she was gone. “You could have told me she was coming in this morning.”
“Why? So we could argue about it?” Sean shook his head and spread the series of drawings across the table. “This way was easier. Just take a look, will you?”
Aine was already looking, coming to her feet so she could see every one of the drawings Jenny had brought in. Sean was right about the woman being a wonderful artist. There was real imagination and brilliance in the artwork, whether Aine liked the subject matter or not. She recognized Castle Butler, of course, but the images she was looking at were so different from the place she’d left only a day or two before, it was hard to reconcile them.
“Okay, yeah, they’re good,” Mike said shortly.
“Wow,” Sean said. “Quite the concession.”
“Shut up,” his brother retorted. “This still doesn’t say she should be doing Peter’s job.”
“It really does,” Brady put in, using his index finger to drag a rendering of the castle’s main hall closer toward him. “I haven’t seen Peter do work like this in, well...ever.”
“There you go!” Sean slapped Brady on the back and gave an I-told-you-so look to his brother. “We promote Jenny to lead artist and we’ll get back on track and stay there.”
“I don’t know...” Mike shook his head.
“What do you need to be convinced?” Sean asked.
“Why don’t you guys take this argument somewhere else?” Brady suggested. Both men turned to look at him as if they’d forgotten he and Aine were there.
Shrugging, Sean said, “Good idea. Aine, nice to meet you.”
“Thank you,” she said, tearing her gaze from the images spilled across the gleaming oak table.
“Right,” Mike said. “We’ll be seeing you again soon, I know.”
“I’m sure,” she murmured, lost in the pen-and-ink sketches that were made more vivid by the bright splashes of color added sparingly, as if to draw the viewer’s attention to the tiny details of the art itself.
When she and Brady were alone in the conference room, Aine laid her fingertip on the drawing of the great hall. She knew the room well, of course—it was a place the castle rented out for wedding receptions and the occasional corporate function. But this... There were medieval banners on the walls, tapestries that were colorful and in keeping with the era of the building itself. There were torches and candelabra and several long tables that would easily seat fifty each. The fireplace that hadn’t been used in years looked as it should, trimmed with fresh stone and a wide mantel that displayed pewter jugs and goblets.
“What do you think?”
Truthfully, she didn’t know what to think. Aine had been prepared to be appalled. Instead, she found herself intrigued by the artist’s vision for the great hall and couldn’t help wondering what else might surprise her. “This is—” she paused and lifted her gaze to his “—lovely.”
A flicker of pleasure danced in his eyes and she responded to it.
“Your artist, Jenny, is it? She’s very talented. The great hall looks as it might have when the castle was new and Lord Butler and his lady entertained.”
“High praise from a woman afraid to see zombies and cobwebs all over her castle.”
Hearing her own words tossed back at her only underscored her need to watch what she said in future. But for now, she lifted her chin and nodded in acceptance. “True enough, and I can admit when I’m wrong. Although I haven’t seen all of your plans, have I?”
“So you’re withholding praise until you’re sure?”
“Seems wise, doesn’t it?”
“It does,” he agreed, then drew a few other images toward him. “So let me show you a few more.”
For the next hour, Aine and Brady went over his plans for the castle. Though some of it sounded wonderful, there were other points she wasn’t as fond of. “Gaming systems in all the bedrooms?” She shook her head. “That hardly seems in keeping with the castle’s lineage.”
He leaned back in his chair, reached for the cup of soda in front of him and took a drink. Then he leisurely polished off the last of his French fries. They’d had lunch sent in and Aine had hardly touched her club sandwich. How could she eat when her very future hung in the balance?
He had said he didn’t want a yes man, someone to just agree with his pronouncements. But surely he would have a breaking point where he would resent having her argue with him over what was, to him and his partners, a very big deal.
“Even the people in the Middle Ages played games,” he pointed out.
“Not on gigantic flat-screen televisions and built-in gaming systems.”
Brady shook his head. “They would have if the tech had been around. And the televisions will be camouflaged in crafted cabinets to look period correct.”
“That’s something, I suppose,” Aine said, knowing that she was being stubborn, but feeling as though she were fighting for the very life of the castle she loved.
He was covering her arguments one by one and he was doing it so easily she almost admired it. But she felt it was up to her to protect Castle Butler and the people who depended on it, so Aine would keep at her arguments in favor of tradition and history.
“And on the ground floor,” she asked, “you want the dining room walls decorated with images from your game, yes?”
“That’s the idea. It is Fate Castle after all.”
“So the zombies and the wraiths will have their places there, as well.”
“Yes.”
She ground her teeth together. “You don’t think people might be put off their food if they’re surrounded by spirits of the dead looking over their shoulders?”
He frowned, tapped one finger against the table and said, “We can move the wall murals to the reception hall—”
Aine took a breath. “And what of the guests who aren’t coming to be a part of role-playing?” she asked. “We’ve regular guests, you know, who return year after year and they’re accustomed to a castle with dignity, tradition.”
“You keep throwing around the word tradition, and yet, with all of that dignity, the castle is in desperate need of repair and almost broke.”
She took a breath to fight him on that, but it was impossible to argue with an ugly truth. The castle she loved was in dire straits, and whether she liked it or not, Brady Finn was her only hope to save it. So many people depended on the castle and the guests who came to stay there that she couldn’t risk alienating the man. Yet despite knowing all of that, she felt as though the castle itself was depending on her to preserve its heritage.
“I admit the castle needs some care and attention,” she said, steeling herself to meet that clear, steady stare he’d fixed on her. “But I wonder if turning it into an amusement park is really the answer.”
“Not an amusement park,” he corrected. “No roller coasters, Ferris wheels or cotton-candy booths.”
“Thank heaven for that, at least,” she murmured.
“It’s going to be a destination hotel,” Brady told her and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “People all over the world will want to come to Fate Castle and experience the game they love in real life.”
“Fans, then.”
“Sure, fans,” he said, straightening abruptly and leaning back in his chair again. “But not only fans of the game. There’ll be others. People who want a taste of a real medieval experience.”
“Real?” she asked, tapping one finger on a drawing of a wraith with wild gray hair blowing in an unseen wind. “I’ve lived near the castle all my life and I’ve never seen anything like this haunting the grounds.”
“Real with a twist,” he amended, his lips twitching briefly.
That quick, thoughtless tiny half smile and her stomach did a quick dip and roll. She had to fight to keep her mind focused on their conversation. “And you believe there are enough fans of this game to turn the castle’s finances around?”
He shrugged. “We sold one hundred million copies of Fate Castle.”
Her mind boggled. The number was so huge it was impossible to believe. “So many?”
“And more selling all the time,” he assured her.
She sighed, looked at the drawings spread out over the table and tried to mentally apply them to the castle she knew. It would be so different, she thought. Yet a voice in the back of her mind whispered, It will survive. If all went as Brady Finn suggested, the castle and the village it supported would continue. That was the most important thing, wasn’t it?
“I suppose you’re right, then, about fans coming to the castle. Though I worry about people like Mrs. Deery and her sister, Miss Baker.”
He frowned. “Who are they?”
Aine sighed and brushed her hair back behind her ear. “Just two of our regular guests,” she said. “They’re sisters, in their eighties, and they’ve been coming to Castle Butler every year for the past twenty. They take a week together to catch up on each other’s lives and to be coddled a little by the hotel staff.”
“They can still come to the hotel,” he said.
Aine glanced again at the drawing of the wraith. “Yes, they can and no doubt will. I just wonder what they’ll make of the zombies...”
“It’s not just the gaming aspects we’re renovating at the castle,” he said. “We’ll be restoring the whole place. Making it safe again. The wiring’s mostly shot. It’s a wonder the place hasn’t caught fire.”
“Oh, it’s not that bad,” she argued, defending the place she loved.
“According to the building inspector we hired, it is,” Brady said. “The plumbing will be redone, new roof, insulation—though the castle will look medieval, it won’t feel like it.”
Aine took a breath and held it to keep from saying anything else. He was right in that the building itself needed updating desperately. In winter, you could feel cold wind sliding between the stones. Under the window sashes it came through strong enough to make the drapes flutter.
“We’re going to modernize the kitchens, install working furnaces and change out the worn or faded furniture. We’ll be replacing woodwork that’s rotted or ruined by water damage...”
All right, then, she thought, he was making her beloved castle sound like a tumbledown shack. “There’ve been storms over the years, of course, and—”
He held up one hand for silence and she was so surprised, she gave it to him.
“You don’t have to defend every mantel and window sash in the place to me, Aine. I understand the castle’s old...”
“Ancient,” she corrected, prepared to defend anyway. “Historic.”
“And we agree it needs work. I’m willing to have that work done.”
“And change the heart of it,” she said sadly.
“You’re stubborn,” he said. “I can appreciate that. So am I. The difference is, I’m the one who’ll make the decisions here, Aine. You can either work with me or—”
She looked at him and read the truth in his cool blue eyes. Well, the implication there was clear enough. Get on board or get out. And since there wasn’t a chance in hell she would willingly walk away from Castle Butler and all it entailed, she would have to bide her time, bite her tongue and choose very carefully the battles she was willing to wage.
With that thought in mind, she nodded and said, “Fine, then. If you must have the murals, why not put them in the great hall? You’ve said it’s the place where your role players will gather. Wouldn’t they be the ones to appreciate this kind of...art?”
His lips twitched again, and once more, she felt that quick jolt of something hot and...exciting zip through her like a lightning strike. Ridiculous, she told herself, ordering her hormones to go dormant.
She couldn’t keep having these delicious little fantasy moments about her boss. Especially a boss who had made it abundantly clear that she was expendable. But it seemed that knowing she shouldn’t had nothing to do with reality. Because just being in the same room with Brady Finn made her feel as if every inch of her skin was tingling.
Rather than answer her question immediately he said, “You have to admit that Jenny’s sketches are good.”
“They are,” she said quickly, hoping to take her own mind off the path it continually wanted to wander. “For a game, they’re wonderful. But as decoration in a hotel?”
“In our kind of hotel, they’re perfect,” Brady said firmly. “Though you have a point about the reception area. All right,” he said, tapping a finger against the drawing of a howling banshee, “murals in the great hall.”
“As easily as that?”
“I can compromise when the situation calls for it,” he told her.
Nodding, she ticked off one win for herself on her imaginary tote board. Naturally, Brady had more scores in this competition than she, but gaining this one compromise gave her hope for more. He wasn’t implacable and that was good to know. Brady Finn would be difficult to deal with but not impossible.
“But,” he added before complacency could settle in, “I will do things my way, Aine.”
A warning and a challenge all in one, she told herself. No wonder the man fascinated her so.
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