Having Her Boss's Baby

“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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