The Billionaire's New Year Gift

“Well, you’d be wrong. My job suits me perfectly.”

“You certainly do it well.”

Once again, that pleased expression flitted across her face. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Just then, their waiter approached.

“I’ll have what he’s having,” P.J. said, pointing to Alex’s bottle of beer.

“And I’ll have another,” Alex said.

“I also want the pad thai,” P.J. said.

Alex grinned. “I already ordered some. Want to get something different and we can share?”

“Sure. How about the green curry chicken?”

“Great.”

Once the waiter had gone, P.J. settled back again and said, “So where were we?”

“Saying neither one of us looks the type to be working in a big warehouse.” Alex figured he might as well be up-front about her comment. No sense pretending it hadn’t been said.

She studied him thoughtfully. “Did you ever go to college?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“And…did you get your degree?”

Keeping to his promise to himself that he would tell the truth whenever he could, Alex said, “Yes, as a matter of fact, I did.” He didn’t think he needed to add that he’d also gotten a master’s degree.

“So what happened?”

“I didn’t like the business world.” Alex still didn’t like the business world. Thank God he didn’t have to be a part of it.

“I didn’t like the business world, either,” she said.

“What did you study in college?”

“What makes you think I went to college?”

“Oh, c’mon, P.J. It’s as plain as the nose on your face. You’re obviously well educated.”

She shrugged. “On my father’s recommendation, I was in public relations. I hated every minute of it.”

Alex chuckled. “How long did you last?”

“Oh, I got my degree. My parents would have disowned me if I hadn’t. But when I decided to take an entry-level blue-collar job at HuntCom, my father went ballistic.” She smiled crookedly. “He still doesn’t understand me.”

Alex thought about Harry. Maybe all fathers were destined not to understand their children. Harry certainly was batting zero. “So how did you end up at HuntCom?”

“Through a friend of a friend.”

Alex would have liked to question her further, but their waiter had just walked up with their beers. A moment later, he returned with Alex’s pad thai.

“Dig in,” he said when the waiter left.

They ate companionably for a few minutes, then P.J. said, “I apologize if I gave you a hard time at first.”

“You didn’t give me a hard time.”

“Yes, I did.”

He grinned around a fork full of food. “Okay, you did. But that’s okay. You were just doing your job.”

She looked at him for a long moment. “I was worried you might be a spy,” she confessed.

“A spy!” Alex laughed. “What kind of a spy?”

“You know. A corporate spy. Somebody sent to see if I was doing a good job or something.”

Something in those blue eyes of hers told Alex she might still harbor that suspicion. “Listen, P.J., I swear to you, I am not a spy.”

She nodded.

Alex started to say he was just a regular guy who wanted to do a good job, but that wasn’t really true, was it? When and if she found out who he really was, she would remember how he’d looked her in the eye and lied to her. And even though Alex wasn’t sure how he felt about P.J. Kincaid or whether she’d ever assume more importance in his life than she did at this moment, he didn’t want her to think ill of him. Damn. This pretending to be someone he wasn’t was more complicated than Alex had envisioned it being.

“Here comes our curry chicken,” she said, saving him from having to say anything more.

After the waiter finished serving them and had walked off once more, P.J. said, “You have any family around here, Alex?” She spooned some rice onto her plate, then helped herself to the curry.

He nodded. “My brothers all live in the area, and my parents are in Seattle. What about you?”

“My family all live around here, too.” She took a bite. “Umm, that’s good.”

Alex liked the way she enjoyed her food. He got tired of women who never seemed to eat anything but salad. “Their food is good.”

“Yeah, I get takeout here about once a week.” She grinned. “If you’re interested, I know all the great takeout places in Jansen. I know a fantastic pizza place as well as the best Italian restaurant in town.”

“Actually, I like to cook.”

“You’re kidding.”

He shook his head. “Nope. Cooking is probably the thing that gives me the greatest pleasure.” Next to his work at the Hunt Foundation, but of course, he couldn’t say that.

“I can’t even boil water.” She laughed. “Once I burned the coffee.”

Alex laughed, too. “Cooking’s easy. If you can read, you can cook. You just follow the directions.”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s easy for you to say. You like it. Believe me, I’ve tried. Not only am I a terrible cook, but I hated it. I mean, why bother when you can get food like this?” She waved her fork at the serving dishes. “Are you going to eat the rest of that pad thai?”

“No, I’m full.”

“Oh, good.” Reaching for the platter, she scraped the remainder of the noodle dish onto her plate.

Yes, a very healthy appetite, Alex thought. He wondered if that appetite extended to other areas of her life. Somehow he imagined it might. P.J. seemed like the kind of woman who would thoroughly enjoy sex.

As if she knew what he’d been thinking, a faint flush crept into her cheeks as their eyes met and held.

She was the first one to look away, and Alex knew he’d flustered her.

“That was great,” she said, putting down her fork and lifting her napkin to her mouth.

“Yes,” he said. “Thank you for joining me.” He motioned to their waiter.

“Are you finished?” the waiter said.

“I think so, unless the lady wants dessert?”

P.J. shook her head. “No, just the check.”

The waiter said he’d be right back.

“I don’t want an argument over the check,” she said. “I’m paying for my share.”

“No, you’re not,” Alex said. “I invited you to join me, it’s my treat.”

“Look, Alex—”

“I insist,” Alex said.

P.J. argued a few more seconds, then finally relented.

The waiter returned, laying a leather folder by Alex. Alex reached back and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. Opening it, he automatically reached for his platinum American Express card, but at the last second, he remembered that he wasn’t Alex Hunt tonight, he was Alex Noble, and he took out his new Visa card instead. Close call, he thought, as he slipped the card into the leather folder.

When he looked up, P.J. was watching him. Damn. Had she seen that card? If she’d been looking at his wallet when he’d opened it, she probably had. Worse, she would have seen that he had several platinum cards. What would she make of that information?

I’m going to have to remember to be more careful. She’s way too observant.

The waiter came by again and picked up the folder. P.J. excused herself to go to the ladies’ room and was gone when the waiter returned. Alex took care of filling in the tip and signing the charge slip, then went to the front of the restaurant to wait for her.

When they walked outside, the sun had set and there was now a decided chill in the air.

“Summer fades fast in this neck of the woods,” Alex said.

“Yes,” P.J. agreed. She stopped next to a little blue Miata. “Thank you for dinner. I enjoyed it.”

Alex smiled. “My pleasure.”

She opened the driver’s-side door. “See you Monday.”

He waited till she’d gotten into the car before walking to his truck. Would Cornelia like P.J.? Alex wondered. He thought she would. In fact, there were things about P.J. that reminded him of Cornelia. Not that they looked alike. Although Cornelia was a tall woman and so was P.J., that was the extent of their physical similarities. Cornelia was more delicately built and in her youth had had pale blond hair whereas P.J.’s coloring was more vivid. But both were strong-willed, intelligent and independent.

Yes. Cornelia would approve of P.J.

Alex smiled as he climbed into his truck. He had a feeling Georgie would, too, even though she still remained adamant that this whole bride hunt was ridiculous and had followed through on her promise to tell her mother exactly what she thought.

Not that Georgie’s objections had made any difference to either Cornelia or Alex.

He wasn’t a hundred-percent certain, but he was beginning to believe he might have found the woman he wanted.

P.J. pulled into the circular drive in front of the stately home where she’d grown up and cut the ignition. Reaching for the small gift bag that contained a couple of oldies CDs and the gift card for a dozen guitar lessons with the best instructor she could find in the Seattle area, she got out of the Miata and walked up to the massive oak front door and rang the bell.

“Miss Paige, you know you can just come on in,” Carmelita, the family’s long-time housekeeper said as she opened the door. “You’re family.” Leaning over, she kissed P.J.’s cheek.

P.J. inhaled the scent of talcum and gave Carmelita a hug.

“Everyone’s back in the solarium,” Carmelita said. “You go on and join them. I’ll have Marianne bring you some lemonade.”

P.J. headed for the dome-topped, semicircular room that overlooked Puget Sound. As she approached the solarium, she heard the cheerful noises of her rapidly expanding family.

“Paige!” her mother exclaimed as P.J. walked into the room. Getting up, Helena Kincaid held out her arms. Hugging her mother was vastly different from hugging cushiony Carmelita. Helena, like most women in her social class, was reed-thin and smelled of the most expensive beauty products on the market. Although dressed casually, there was no mistaking the designer slacks in a soft fawn wool or the meticulously crafted cream silk blouse as anything but the best money could buy.

“Darling, it’s so good to see you,” her mother said, releasing her and holding her at arm’s length. “I do wish you’d buy yourself some decent clothes, though.” She eyed P.J.’s denim skirt and white T-shirt with distaste.

P.J. had learned to ignore her mother’s critiques. “Well, you look lovely, Mom,” was all she said. Then she turned to greet the rest of her family.

Jillian, younger by three years, grinned at her. The grin said she was glad P.J. was the object of their mother’s scrutiny instead of her. As they hugged, she murmured, “She’s in rare form today.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

After that, P.J. got hugs in quick succession from Matt, Jillian’s husband; Courtney and Brad; her father; Peter and his wife, Allison; and then all the nieces and nephews she could corral.

“So what’s new, Paige?” Allison asked after the men had wandered off to the den to watch the Mariners game.

“Same old, same old,” P.J. said. “Thanks, Marianne,” she said to the maid, who had brought her a tall glass of the homemade lemonade she was famous for.

“Any new men in your life?” Allison continued. Her dark eyes were filled with lively curiosity.

P.J. gave her sister-in-law a dark look. Why was it that one of the first questions out of everyone’s mouth had to do with men?

Allison laughed. “I take it that’s a no.”

P.J. shrugged. “Take it any way you like.”

Allison raised her eyebrows. “Hear that, Courtney? Jillian? Sounds like maybe there is a new man on the horizon.”

P.J. tried not to think about Alex but she couldn’t help it. And thinking about him made her blush. Oh, God, she’d give anything not to have the pale skin of a redhead. Skin that showed every single emotion.

“Tell us everything,” Jillian said excitedly.

Hell and damnation. I don’t need this.

P.J. made a face. “There is no new man. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Well, something made you blush,” Jillian said.

“Are you dating someone, Paige?” her mother said.

“No, mother, I’m not.”

“You know, Paige, you aren’t getting any younger.”

P.J.’s eyes met Courtney’s. Courtney’s eyes sparkled, and it was obvious she was trying hard not to laugh.

“Mom, please…”

“Well, it’s true,” Helena said. “And there’s absolutely no reason for you to still be single. Why, even Liliana Fox is engaged, and no one thought she’d ever find a man. You’re just too picky, that’s all. When I think about Douglas…” Her voice trailed off in despair.

Douglas Sloane Bryant was the son of P.J.’s parents’ oldest friends, Liz and Oliver Bryant, and at one time, he and P.J. had dated. This was before P.J.’s medical problems, before she knew she could probably never have any children of her own. Of course, her mother still didn’t know it, and if P.J. had her way, she never would. That’s all she needed—unsolicited medical advice from her mother. In fact, the only person in her family who did know was Courtney, and that’s how P.J. wanted to keep it.

At the time P.J. had dated Douglas, if she’d given him any encouragement at all, he would probably have produced the obligatory diamond ring, but even though she’d liked him as a friend, there was absolutely no passion between them and no sense pretending otherwise.

Plus he worked in his father’s business. As the Chief Financial Officer. And he was totally into status. He and his wife—he’d married last year—had built a six-thousand-square-foot home on Bainbridge Island. Now who needed six thousand square feet?

“And how you expect to meet anyone suitable working in the kind of place you do,” her mother droned on, “is beyond me. If you’d only stop being so stubborn and—”

“I told you, Mom,” P.J. interrupted. “I have no interest in meeting someone suitable…or in getting married. And I’m tired of people harassing me.”

Her mother sniffed. “As your mother, I feel I have a perfect right to—”

“No, Mom,” P.J. interrupted again, “you don’t have a right to continually berate me about getting married. I have a right to make my own choices.”

“Yes, well, if your choices were sensible…”

P.J. sighed. What was the use? Her mother would never change. “Tell you what, Mom. If I meet someone suitable, you’ll be the first to know. Okay? And in the meantime, let’s just drop the subject. Otherwise, I’m going to just leave Dad’s gift here and take off.” So saying, she got to her feet.

“Oh, Paige, sit down,” her mother said. She sighed dramatically. “Fine. I won’t say another word.” She made a motion as if she was turning a key to lock her mouth. “Happy now?”

P.J. grinned. “That’s two words, Mom.”

Their laughter broke the tension, and for the remainder of the afternoon, no more was said about P.J. or her personal life.

Chapter Six

Monday turned out to be Alex’s busiest day at the HuntCom Distribution Center since he’d begun the job. There was barely time to breathe, let alone take a break. And lunch consisted of a sandwich gobbled in ten minutes. He was in the middle of filling a large order for an office supply store in Portland when his cell phone vibrated.

“Dammit,” he muttered. Checking the caller ID, he saw it was J.T. He almost let the call go to voice mail, then decided it must be important because J.T. rarely called him.

Alex pressed the talk button. “Hang on.” Moving away from the noise of a nearby forklift, he said, “There must be a problem if you’re calling me at work.”

“‘Work’ is eighty miles north of here,” J.T. said. “What you’re doing is…what are you doing, anyway?”

Alex laughed. “Filling orders.”

“Right. Look, there’s no problem. I just need to talk to you. I’m over at the expansion site.”

“You’re in Jansen?”

“Yes. I just finished a site inspection with the construction foreman. Which warehouse are you in?”

Alex lowered his voice. “Don’t come over here. If somebody recognizes you, they might recognize me. I get off at four. Meet me at my place at four-thirty.”

“Where’s that?”

Alex gave J.T. directions. “Don’t be surprised by the place. It’s not what you’re used to,” he said in warning. That was an understatement, he thought after they’d hung up. He’d seen Gray’s place in town and he figured J.T. and Justin probably lived in places just as luxurious when they happened to be in the city—which wasn’t often. That was one of the reasons Alex hadn’t seen either place—the other being that unfortunately, he and his half-brothers weren’t close, something Alex was beginning to hope might change one of these days.

On the dot of four-thirty, a knock sounded at Alex’s front door. He opened it and smiled at J.T. The brothers weren’t close, yet there was a bond that couldn’t be denied.

“Hey,” J.T. said, stepping in.

“Hey, J.T.”

J.T. glanced around. “When Gray said you’d taken a job at the warehouse as a cover for this bride thing, he didn’t mention that you’d moved in with the masses.”

Alex laughed. “When in Rome …”

“In Rome, they at least live with some color.” J.T’s thoughtful frown moved from the breakfast bar that separated the small kitchen from the living area. He took in the beige sofa, nondescript coffee table and black leather recliner, which formed what there was of Alex’s seating area. “You could seriously use some art here,” he observed. “Did the furniture come with the place?”

Alex shook his head. “I bought it at a discount store. If anyone from the plant comes over, I don’t want them to suspect anything.”

“Any luck there? Meeting an appropriate woman, I mean?”

Alex gave a guarded shrug. “I’ve only been there three weeks,” he said evasively. He wasn’t ready to talk about P.J.

“Then you’ve spotted a prospect?”

“It’s too soon to tell. I don’t have much of a liquor supply,” he added, not bothering to be subtle about the change of subject. Alex wasn’t ready to talk about P.J. to anyone. “About all I can offer you is a beer.” He nodded toward the kitchen. “Do you want one?”

J.T. grinned. “Let me guess. You bought it on sale, $3.99 for a twelve-pack.”

Alex smiled sheepishly. “There are a few things I still splurge on. I have Beck’s or Black Sheep.”

“Surprise me.”

“So,” Alex said as he swung open the refrigerator door. “Why’d you want to see me?”

“I need some advice.”

Alex turned from the refrigerator, a bottle in each hand and one eyebrow arched. “From me?” He couldn’t remember the last time one of his brothers wanted his advice.

From where he remained on the other side of the bar, J.T. frowned. “You’re the only person I know who knows anything about fund-raisers.”

“What makes you think I know about fund-raisers?”

“Hell, Alex. You go to them all the time. And you have to raise money for the foundation somehow.”

“That shows how little we know about what each of us does,” Alex informed him. “You’re right about one thing. I’ve attended a lot of fund-raisers for different charities or organizations, but the Harrison Hunt Foundation doesn’t raise money that way.” He popped off the caps with a bottle opener and held a bottle out for J.T. “We use the interest from Harry’s money to fund our causes.” And occasionally they accepted donations from other parties, but that wasn’t relevant, so there was no point in bringing it up. “What is it you want to know about them?”

“The short version is that I want to help someone raise some money.”

“And the long version?”

J.T. tipped up his bottle and drank. Alex wondered if he wanted to buy time before answering, because there was something about his expression that seemed wary.

“This bride-hunt thing,” J.T. finally said. “Because of Harry’s rules, I can’t just write a check. Or,” he added with a half-smile, “go to my brother and ask the foundation to do it. If I did that, I’m afraid she’d figure out the money had something to do with me.” The smile died. “If she did, I could tell her I just happened to know someone with connections, but I don’t want to raise any red flags.”

Curious now, Alex rounded the counter and pulled out a bar stool. Motioning for J.T. to take the other, he said, “You’ve found a potential wife?”

J.T. frowned. “How’d you get that from what I just told you?”

“You’re talking about helping a woman. You said you can’t because of Harry’s rules. I’m not the math genius in the family, but it’s pretty much one plus one, J.T.”

“I’ve found a woman with the potential to be a wife,” J.T. said. He hesitated. “But the woman I want to help is her assistant. Her grandmother lives in this home that’s going to have to close if the director can’t come up with about fifty grand.”

Both of Alex’s eyebrows lifted this time. “That’s not the kind of money you can raise selling calendars. You need an event, and a corporation or two to underwrite it. Like I said, we don’t organize fund-raisers, but I know people who do.”

He thought for a moment. “One of women on the foundation board chairs an annual luncheon and fashion show that makes a mint for the Seattle Opera Guild. Maybe your girlfriend’s assistant could do something like that in Portland.”

“Think she’d be willing to talk to Amy?”

“Amy’s the assistant?”

J.T. nodded.

“I can’t imagine that she wouldn’t.”

J.T. seemed relieved. “Let me run this by Amy, then. If she thinks it’s something she can handle, I’ll get back to you.”

“Sure. Not a problem.” Alex drank some of his beer. “You hungry?”

“Getting there.”

“I’m starving. How about I throw something together for us to eat?”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Paella,” he said, heading back into the kitchen. “I picked up shrimp and sausage at the market last night. That sound okay?”

“You can make paella?”

Alex just shook his head and laughed. J.T., Justin, and Gray were all intelligent, successful men. But their idea of cooking was limited to grilling steaks or chicken.

“Then it sounds great,” J.T. said.

As Alex began his preparations with J.T. watching, he tried to remember the last time he’d shared a meal with one of his brothers, and he couldn’t.

Harry’s bride-hunt idea might be unconventional, perhaps even crazy, but it had accomplished something unexpected. It had brought Alex and his brothers closer together.

And for that, Alex was grateful.

* * *

J.T.’s visit had got Alex thinking, and he’d decided he really needed to find out more about P.J. before he made any kind of move—for two reasons. One, even though she seemed to be exactly the kind of woman he wanted, and it was hard to believe she was hiding anything, only a fool would take someone on face value, and he wasn’t a fool. Two, if she was already spoken for, he’d have to look elsewhere for his bride.

The first thing he did was Google her. Several items with either the initials P.J. or the name Kincaid came up, but those didn’t apply. Then he saw an article that had appeared in the Seattle Times about someone named Paige Jeffers Kincaid.

He clicked on the article, dated April of the previous year. It was a write-up about Peter Prescott Kincaid, CEO of Kincaid Industries, whose ancestors had made fortunes in lumber and shipbuilding. Paige Jeffers Kincaid was one of Peter Kincaid’s daughters. At the time the article was written, she was twenty-nine years old.

Alex frowned. Could P.J. be Paige Jeffers Kincaid? The age was about right. Too bad there wasn’t a picture with the article.

He went back to the Google home page and entered Paige Jeffers Kincaid. Several items appeared and he scrolled down until he found one with a picture.

The picture accompanied an article about Paige Kincaid’s graduation from a private girls’ high school where she’d been valedictorian of her class.