Kitabı oxu: «Bachelor's Bought Bride / CEO's Expectant Secretary»

BACHELOR’S
BOUGHT BRIDE

JENNIFER LEWIS

CEO’S EXPECTANT
SECRETARY

LEANNE BANKS

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Advertising Media Volume 187

FEATURE SPOTLIGHT

This Week in Advertising…

The Adman: Gavin Spencer

Her New Campaign: People Treats. For husbands who need to learn to sit, stay and beg.

We’ve all heard the rumblings that Maddox Communications exec Gavin Spencer was itching to start his own agency. After all, he has been under the thumb of the Maddox family for far too long. And he is a genius. But we all wondered how he’d acquire the capital to get his business off the ground. Could he possibly have entered into a deal with the devil … um, we mean his new father-in-law?

Yes, you read it correctly. Gavin Spencer has taken the marriage plunge—with heiress Bree Kincannon. There’s no denying Miss Kincannon is somewhat attractive … but she’s been on the shelf for so long we almost forgot she existed. Could her rich daddy have offered Gavin some startup cash to take Bree off his hands? Oops—have we said too much? Sorry, Mrs Spencer! We’re sure it’s all pure conjecture on our part … But may be you should speak to your husband just in case.

BACHELOR’S
BOUGHT BRIDE

JENNIFER LEWIS

About the Author

JENNIFER LEWIS has been dreaming up stories for as long as she can remember and is thrilled to be able to share them with readers. She has lived on both sides of the Atlantic and worked in media and the arts before she grew bold enough to put pen to paper. Happily settled in England with her family, she would love to hear from readers at jen@jen-lewis.com. Visit her website at www.jenlewis.com.

Dear Reader,

The past year has been an exciting time for me. Last summer my family moved from our long-time home outside New York City to a pretty village near London. I grew up in London, but left when I was still a teenager, so there has been much to absorb and learn about living here as an adult. First I had to get used to driving on the other side of the road (I still keep trying to climb in the wrong side of the car!). Road lanes and especially parking spaces are tiny and I had my first-ever accidents, all involving stationary objects, happily. The twenty-four-hour clock is the norm here, and I still panic when I look for the time and discover that it’s 15:34. Doesn’t that sound way later than 3:34?

I’ve made some wonderful new friends and had many adventures, but it’s also been a great pleasure to just slip into my fantasy world and write. I love the fact that the imagination travels with you, never gets lost in baggage claim and doesn’t need an adaptor. My favorite characters live on both sides of the Atlantic—and anywhere else I might happen to be. Thank goodness for books!

I hope you enjoy escaping into Bree and Gavin’s romantic journey as much as I did while I wrote the story.

Jen

For Julie, international woman of mystery and

passionate San Franciscan, who’s made living

in England so much fun.

Acknowledgements:

Many thanks to the kind people who read the book

while I was writing it, including Anne, Anne-Marie,

Carol, Cynthia, Jerri, Leeanne, Marie and Paula, my

agent Andrea and Senior Editor Krista Stroever.

One

Uh-oh. What now?

Bree Kincannon’s father waved to her from across the ballroom. A self-conscious everyone-is-watching wave. She stiffened as he headed toward her, marching through the splendidly attired crowd. He’d left their table the moment dessert was done, heading out to see and be seen, as usual.

Bree, as usual, had settled into her chair to listen to the music and wait for the evening to end. She’d come only because the fundraiser was for one of her favorite charities.

Wary, she glanced up as her father approached, his silver hair gleaming in the ballroom lights. Then she noticed the tall man behind him.

Oh, no. Not another introduction. She thought he’d finally given up trying to introduce her to every eligible bachelor in San Francisco.

“Bree, dear, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

A familiar refrain. She’d heard it a lot in her twenty-nine years, and it rarely led beyond an awkward first date.

Still, she rose to her feet and planted a smile firmly on her lips.

“Gavin, this is my daughter, Bree. Bree, this is Gavin Spencer. He’s an advertising executive with Maddox Communications.”

Gavin Spencer thrust out his arm. She politely extended her hand to meet his. “Nice to …” Oh, goodness. She looked up and her heart almost stopped. Thick dark hair swept back from a high forehead. The slightest hint of five-o’clock shadow enhanced chiseled features, which framed a wide, sensual mouth.

He was gorgeous.

“Meet me?” A twinkle of humor lit warm gray eyes.

“Uh, yes. Really nice to meet you.” She snatched her hand back. Her palm was practically sweating. Her father must be nuts thinking a man like this might be interested in her. “Maddox has done some really good campaigns lately. The print ads for Porto Shoes were really eye-catching.”

And perhaps I could use the word really a few more times in quick succession. She felt her face heat.

“Thanks, I worked on that campaign.” A smile revealed perfect white teeth. His chin had a slight cleft. “Your father tells me you’re a photographer.”

Bree’s eyes darted to her father. He had? Shock and pride swept over her. He never bothered to say a word about her hobby, as he’d called it once. “Yes. I enjoy taking photos.”

“She just won an award,” her father chimed in, his face beaming with bonhomie. “The Black Hat or something.”

“Black B-Book,” she stammered. “It’s a commercial photography competition.”

“I know what the Black Book Awards are.” Gavin tilted his head. “That’s quite an accomplishment.”

Bree’s father waved to someone across the ballroom, nodded his apologies and strode off into the crowd.

Leaving her all alone with the most breathtakingly handsome man in the room.

She swallowed, smoothed the front of her crinkled taffeta dress and wished she’d worn something less … hideous.

“What kind of photographs do you take?”

“Portraits, mostly.” Her voice sounded reasonably steady, which was impressive under the circumstances. She was annoyed that this gorgeous man her father had forced on her was having such an effect on her. She always felt so out of place in these situations. “I try to capture people’s personalities.”

“That sounds like quite a challenge.”

“It’s mostly about timing. Picking the right moment.” She shrugged. She couldn’t explain it herself. “I think the technical term is that I have a knack for it.”

His finely cut mouth widened into a smile and those dreamy gray eyes twinkled. “A knack generally implies the kind of talent that makes you stand out from the crowd.”

“Well, I certainly don’t stand out from this crowd.” She swept her arm, indicating San Francisco’s most elegant and well-heeled partygoers—and instantly regretted her foolish words.

Of course she stood out. As the frumpiest and most unexciting person there.

“Everyone here is trying so hard to stand out.” Dimples appeared under his impressive cheekbones. “It’s the people who aren’t trying who are more interesting. Would you like to dance?”

“Dance?” Did he mean with him? No one ever asked her to dance at these things.

“Is there an echo in here?”

“No. I mean, yes. Yes, I’d like to dance.”

For a split second she wished the polished parquet would swallow her whole. Which would be quite a big gulp. Of course he didn’t want to dance with her. He was just being polite. No doubt he’d have appreciated it if she politely refused.

But he extended his arm, clad in a deep black suit—like every other man at the formal gala—and led her to the dance floor where a band, in white tie and tails, played the thirties classic “In the Mood.”

Gavin swept her out into the middle of the floor and slid his arm around her waist. Her whole body shivered with awareness, even through all the layers of crunchy taffeta. The steps to the dance were probably lodged somewhere in her subconscious. Lord knows she’d been dragged to enough dancing classes as a kid.

The room rushed past her as Gavin twirled her into a spin. He chased the music across the room, guiding them effortlessly through the other dancers. His enticing masculine scent wrapped around her, hypnotic and intoxicating. Her feet followed his almost as if they were attached, stepping in time. Her arm barely reached around his broad shoulders—which was quite something considering she was five feet nine inches—but she seemed to float along with him, gliding on the soaring trombones and quick-stepping with the punchy trumpets, until the music slid to a close.

Breathless and blinking, Bree extricated herself from Gavin’s strong arms. Was that really her whipping around the floor like that—with a man like him?

“You’re a wonderful dancer.” His breath felt hot on her ear.

“Me? It was all you. I just had to follow.”

“That’s an art in itself. I bet you half the women in this room would be fighting so hard to lead they’d trip me up.”

Bree laughed. “Probably true.”

“You have a beautiful smile.”

“Six years of orthodontics will do that for you.”

He laughed. “And a wicked sense of humor.” He led her off the dance floor, toward the bar. Eyes swiveled to him from all directions—both male and female eyes. Apparently no one could keep their gaze off the most impressive man in the room.

And he walked with his arm threaded firmly through hers.

Bree blinked under the unfamiliar glare of attention. They probably all wondered what on earth he was doing with her.

Heck, she wondered, too.

Being an heiress, and a plain one at that, made it easy to figure out what a man wanted. Begins with m and ends in y. But this guy could probably marry any heiress in the room—and there were plenty of them here tonight.

What was so special about her?

A voice in her head told her to stop worrying about it and just enjoy the attention that was making her heart beat faster than it had in quite some time.

“Would you like champagne?” He turned to offer her a glass.

“Thanks.” Why not? The dance alone was something to celebrate. She took a sip and let the bubbles tickle her tongue.

He leaned in until his sexy stubble almost brushed her cheek. “How come I’ve never met you before?”

“I don’t go out much. I adopted my two cats from the Oakland Animal Society, though, so I wanted to come to their fundraiser tonight. Do you have any pets?”

He shook his head. “Don’t have the time. I work long hours and travel a lot. I bet your cats were lucky to find you.”

“I like to think so. Especially since Ali needs insulin shots every day. Animals with health issues are hard to find homes for.”

“You’re a caring person.”

“Or a sucker.” She smiled. “But a happy one. They’re my babies.”

An odd expression flickered across Gavin’s face. Something in his eyes, really, since his chiseled features didn’t move.

Was he wondering why he was wasting time with a cat-owning spinster in a puffy dress, while stunning women cast suggestive glances over their drinks at him?

She’d rather be home with her cats anyway. Being around Gavin made her nervous, had her analyzing every move he made. She’d be a lot more comfortable with a camera lens between them. He was definitely too good-looking. It couldn’t be healthy for her insides to be fluttering like this.

“I’m here because a client bought a table for the agency. It’s obviously a good cause but I don’t like these dos much, either,” he murmured. “Too many people. Long speeches. Chewy beef.” His dimples appeared again.

A warm sensation filled her chest. “What do you like to do?”

He hesitated a moment. “Interesting question. I spend so much time working, sometimes I forget what else is out there.” He smiled, sheepish. “Lately though, I find myself wanting to slow down, enjoy the ride a bit more. Maybe even.” He paused and shoved a hand through his hair, as if embarrassed. “Settle down and start a family.” His mouth formed a wry grin. “I guess that sounds sappy.”

“Not at all.” The way he looked at her with those soulful gray eyes made Bree feel woozy. Could this guy be more of a fantasy? “I think it’s perfectly natural. Everyone needs balance in their life.”

“Speaking of which, would you like to dance again? This song is one of my favorites.”

The band had struck up a sultry Latin tune. Adrenaline prickled through her at the prospect of moving in sync with this man again. Was he for real?

Gavin entwined his arms with Bree’s and led her back to the dance floor. He wished he wasn’t wearing the stiff suit so he could feel her soft skin against his. So far everything about Bree seemed soft—the big gray eyes half hidden behind her glasses, her pink-tinged cheeks, her pretty, kissable mouth. He suspected there was also a soft, lush body hidden somewhere under all that crispy gray taffeta.

Her father had implied that she was unattractive and undesirable, and that her continued spinsterhood was a social embarrassment to him. His own daughter, a burden he’d pay well to be rid of. Could Elliott Kincannon really feel that way about the sweet woman on his arm?

Pure pleasure rippled through him as he slid his arm around her waist. Yes, she definitely had the kind of body a man could lose himself in. Full breasts bumped gently against his chest as he pulled her close. Her brown hair was pulled back into a tight knot and he wondered what it would look like cascading over her shoulders.

He liked the way she moved, too. Soft—again—and yielding, allowing her body to flow with his. Light on her feet as he twirled her slowly to the gentle rhythms. As she spun around to meet him, her eyes sparkled and she flashed a sweet, shy smile.

He couldn’t help but respond with a smile of his own.

If first impressions were correct, then Bree Kincannon could make a very nice Mrs. Gavin Spencer. She might not be the kind of girl men flocked around in a bar, but so what? He didn’t need some nipped-and-tucked trophy wife to prove his manhood.

And Bree Kincannon came with some very real incentives. One million of them, in fact.

Their eyes met again and a needle of guilt pricked his heart.

Could he really marry a woman for money?

He’d busted his ass for ten long years trying to build a reputation as a top-flight account executive. Since his first day on the job he knew he wanted to open his own agency. Bring together top creative talent, innovative thinking and creative media buying that would take the advertising world by storm.

If you’d told him ten years ago that he’d still be working for someone else at age thirty, he’d have laughed in your face.

But life had done a little laughing of its own.

His dad’s pension plan had gone bust and he’d bailed his parents out of a mortgage mess. In truth, though, he was glad he could help them. The biggest mistake of his life was being dumb enough to trust a renowned “investment advisor” with a large chunk of his precious nest egg—only to learn in the papers it had been squandered on racehorses and vintage violins.

Gavin tugged Bree closer, enjoying the soft swell of her chest against his. Her long eyelashes lifted to reveal shining eyes.

He liked those eyes and it wasn’t hard work to imagine looking at them for the rest of his life. He had a good feeling in his gut about Bree Kincannon, and his gut rarely steered him wrong.

Finding a wife, or even a girlfriend, had never been a priority for him. Married to his job, that’s what his friends joked. True, though. He really loved his work and was more than satisfied with the occasional fling. At least then, no one was disappointed.

If he went through with this crazy plan, he’d work hard not to disappoint Bree. He’d be a good husband to her.

He dipped her slightly, and she yielded to the motion, letting herself fall backward into his hand. Trusting. She had absolutely no idea what was going through his mind. If she knew, she’d be appalled beyond belief.

But she wouldn’t know. Ever.

She giggled as he pulled her back up. A rare flash of excitement flared in his chest. She was enjoying this and dammit, so was he. He twirled her around, holding her close, hand pressed to the inviting curve of her hip.

He had a good feeling about this whole thing.

Bree stood in front of the mirror in the powder room on the pretext of rearranging her hair. Really she just wanted to see what exactly Gavin Spencer was looking at with that gleam of interest in his eyes.

People always told her she had pretty eyes. Rather an odd observation, since she wore glasses. She lowered the frames—the nice, low-profile ones she saved for special occasions—and peered into her own eyes. They didn’t look all that special to her. Maybe that’s what people said when they couldn’t think of something else to compliment. She pushed the frames back up her nose where they settled comfortably into place. People said she should wear contacts but they were far too much hassle for her taste.

Her hair was a disaster, as usual. Unmanageable, frizzy and fighting her every step of the way. She never should have taken out the hairsticks she’d managed to jam in earlier. With a struggle, she poked them back in and secured a messy bun.

There wasn’t a lick of makeup on her face, but then she never wore it. She wasn’t skilled at applying lipstick, blush and eyeliner, so on the rare occasions she’d attempted to use them, she ended up looking like a clown.

And the dress was awful. Her Aunt Freda had assured her it “hid her figure flaws.” It could also hide an international terrorist organization and several cases of contraband whiskey in its crispy folds. The boat neck turned her somewhat decent cleavage into an intimidating mountain range.

She didn’t look any better than usual. If anything, she looked worse.

So why did Gavin seem so … entranced by her? Like he couldn’t take his eyes off her. He’d guided her around the room since the moment they were introduced. She kept expecting him to spot someone else and bid her adieu, but he didn’t.

In fact, she half suspected he was standing right outside the ladies room waiting for her.

She blew out hard. Bright patches of color illuminated her cheeks in a way that wasn’t entirely charming. Her eyes were certainly shining, though.

As well they might be. She’d never danced like that. Even in her imagination! How could she not feel like Cinderella at the ball?

Which was funny, really, considering she was one of the richest women in San Francisco. Of course she’d come by that money the old fashioned way—by inheriting it—so she wasn’t proud of her wealth. Quite the opposite, in fact. She often imagined people clucking and muttering, “All that money, and look how little she’s accomplished.”

Her father certainly felt that way. Even said it once or twice.

She sucked in a long, deep breath and tucked a stray lock of wild hair behind her ear.

Bree Kincannon, you are a desirable and enticing woman.

Nope. Not convincing.

Bree Kincannon, you are a damned good photographer and a fantastic cat mom.

Better.

She half-smiled at her reflection, then wiped her smile away when she realized the sylph-like blonde beside her was staring. She quickly patted her hair and turned to the exit.

Outside there was no sign of Gavin. The little shock of disappointment surprised her. Then she chastised herself. Did she really expect a man like that to wait around for her like a faithful dog?

He was probably already dancing with someone else.

Surreptitiously she scanned the dance floor. Past midnight, so the crowd was thinning. All the men were dressed alike in black tie, but she knew she’d spot Gavin immediately. He had that kind of presence.

A tiny shimmer of relief trickled through her when she didn’t see him.

But did that mean he’d left without saying goodbye? She’d probably never see him again. Why would he call her, of all people?

She lifted her chin and started to weave through the tables to where she’d sat with some of her father’s duller business associates, which wasn’t a very charitable way to think of them since they’d all been nice enough to pony up a thousand dollars per seat. She was relieved to see that they’d all left, and she lifted her beaded bag off the back of her chair and slung it over her taffeta-clad shoulder.

Another quick glance revealed no sign of Gavin. Cold settled in her stomach. So that was it. A lovely evening. A fantastic time.

Possibly the best night of her life.

She swallowed. No doubt everyone who’d stared at her on Gavin’s arm was looking at her now, the same way they always did. Poor old Bree. Perennial wallflower.

She shuffled toward the exit. She usually got a cab home from these things as her father often stayed late to schmooze into the wee hours. Of course it was kind of pathetic that she still lived in the family mansion. But she loved Russian Hill, and the big attic studio she’d turned into her private apartment was filled with special memories of the happy years before her mom died. She used to paint there every afternoon, while Bree played on the floor near her easel.

Bree bit her lip. She was happy with her life. Really! She didn’t need some tall, dark, handsome charmer to waltz in and stir up trouble.

She retrieved her coat from the cloakroom and slid it over her shoulders. She was just about to walk across the marble foyer toward the exit when her heart slammed to a halt.

Gavin. Tall and proud as a ship’s mast, an earnest look on his chiseled features.

And he was talking to her father.

Bree frowned. How did they know each other so well? Her father usually bothered only with mega-wealthy entrepreneurs who could make him a fast and large buck. If Gavin was just an advertising executive—a challenging and interesting job, but still a job—why was her father leaning in to speak with him as if he was Bill Gates? she pulled her coat about herself and started slowly toward them. They both looked up fast when they noticed her, which made a weird knot of anxiety form in her belly.

“Bree, darling!” Her father extended an arm. “Gavin and I were just talking about what a wonderful evening this was. And I have you to thank for forcing me to buy a ticket.” He turned to Gavin. “Bree has a soft spot for animals.”

Bree managed a polite smile.

“It was a great pleasure to meet you, Bree.” Gavin’s eyes met hers.

Instantly a flare of heat rushed to her face and her heart began to pound like a jackhammer. “Likewise,” she stammered.

“Are you free on Friday? The firm is having a cocktail party at the Rosa Lounge to celebrate a new campaign. I’d love you to come.”

Bree’s mind spun. Friday night? That was a serious dating night. And he wanted her to meet all his business associates? Her mouth dried.

“Uh, sure. That would be nice.” She blinked rapidly.

“I’ll pick you up at your house, if that’s okay.”

“That would be great.” She smiled as calmly as she could. “I’ll see you then.”

“See you later, darling.” Her father shot her a tight smile. “I have some friends to catch up with.”

“Sure, I’ll get a cab.”

Gavin stepped toward her. “I’ll drive you home. Then I’ll know where to come find you on Friday.”

He summoned a porter to tell valet parking before Bree could protest.

She inhaled deeply, took his offered arm and walked outside. The light mist of rain that had followed her to the Four Seasons earlier had evaporated, leaving a clear moonlit night that illuminated the sturdy bank buildings across Market Street and gave them the grandeur of real Roman temples. Stars glimmered overhead as Gavin helped her into the passenger seat of his low-slung sports car.

They chatted about the new Louise Bourgeois exhibit at the Modern on the short drive home. Gavin admitted he went often to keep on top of emerging trends so he could impress clients. He was embarrassingly gorgeous and he knew about art?

She leaped out of the car in front of her house, heart pounding. Would he try to kiss her?

Impossible.

Or was it?

Terror streaked along her veins as he rounded the car toward her. He took her hand, which was sweating slightly. A shiver of heat shot right up her arm.

“Good night, Bree.” He clasped her hand in both of his, warm and firm. Their gazes held and her lips quivered with a mix of anticipation and apprehension.

Then he tilted his head. “I’ll pick you up at seven on Friday, if that’s okay.”

“Perfect. See you then.” She flashed a smile, then turned and scurried for the door.

Once inside she literally collapsed against it. And a big, wide, goofy smile spread across her face.

She had a Friday-night date with the most handsome man in San Francisco.

And if she weren’t so freaked out, she’d be pretty darn thrilled about it.

Two

“Gavin, sweetie, how are you?” Marissa Curtis assaulted him as he entered the Rosa Lounge with Bree on his arm. She wrapped her skinny arms around him and kissed him on both cheeks, overwhelming him with that eye-watering fragrance she always wore. “I’ve missed you this week. Were you in Cannes?”

“Yes. Had some meetings.” He’d had a really good time at the film festival, and it had given him a chance to plan his campaign to win Bree Kincannon, who stood rather patiently beside him.

“Marissa, this is Bree. Bree, Marissa.”

“Oh, lovely to meet you.” The blonde smiled, revealing frighteningly white teeth. “Are you Gavin’s sister?”

Gavin exploded into a laugh. “My sister? I don’t even have a sister.”

“Oh.” Marissa tipped her silly head to the side, so her silky hair cascaded artfully over her shoulder. “I just thought …” She looked mischievously at Bree.

“That Bree and I look so alike we must be twins?” Gavin wrapped his arm around Bree. She was stiff as a board.

Catty Marissa was no doubt trying to imply that Bree couldn’t possibly be his date. After all, she wasn’t built like a twig and dressed in Prada.

“Bree’s my date.”

“Oh.” Marissa’s grimace widened. “How charming.” She widened her eyes rudely. “Must dash. I see Jake. He said he’d bring me something nice back from Cannes.”

Gavin turned to Bree. “Don’t mind her. She’s just insane.”

Bree’s sweet smile reappeared, giving him a warm feeling in his chest. He liked her smile.

“And you know, we do kind of look alike.” He rubbed her shoulder. “We’ve both got dark hair and gray eyes. Or wait, are yours green?” On closer inspection, the irises hiding behind her metal-framed glasses looked like pale jade. “I couldn’t see you properly the other night. It was so dark at the gala.” They were close enough for him to enjoy her scent—subtle and fresh, like the rest of her.

“They’re probably more gray than green.” Bree shrugged. “Doesn’t make much difference to me. I just use them for looking out of.”

“And taking pictures. I looked up your Black Book photos. Those were some amazing portraits.”

“Interesting faces.” She smiled shyly, her lips rosy and inviting. “Made my job easy.”

“Who were they?” Her crisp black-and-white image of the older couple, standing outside on a city street, their bold, cheerful countenances sunlit and their happy union obvious, rather haunted him since he’d seen it. Something about the photo made it hard to forget.

“I don’t even know. Isn’t that embarrassing? I’ll be exposed as a fraud.” She bit her lip. “They were just standing there outside the library, waiting for someone, I think. I asked if I could take their picture.”

“I’d never guess you hadn’t known them for decades.”

“That’s what everyone says.” She shrugged. “It’s a little weird, I guess.”

“It’s art.” He grinned. She was starting to relax. Good. “Hey, Elle. Come meet Bree.” He beckoned to Brock Maddox’s assistant. The slim brunette pushed past two art directors to join them. “Bree’s a photographer.”

“Are you really?”

“Award winning,” pronounced Gavin. “Can I leave Bree in your capable hands for a moment, Elle? I need to chat with Brock.”

“Sure. First we’ll get her a drink. Follow me to the bar.” Elle led Bree off into the thickening crowd.

Gavin scanned the room for Brock. He’d had a great meeting in Cannes with a hot new Czech director who might be willing to shoot a campaign for the right price. Gavin wasn’t sure Brock would go for Tomas Kozinski’s “right price,” but it was worth a try. He had a unique, hand-held style that made even the scenery come alive.

“Hey, Gavin, how’s it going? Still getting cozy with the Rialto yacht people?” Logan Emerson materialized in front of him, wine glass raised.

Irritation prickled Gavin’s neck. “Trying to.”

“That account would be a really big score. I can already see those Rialtos sailing under the Golden Gate Bridge at halftime on Super Bowl night.”

“That might be a tad predictable.”

“I guess that’s why I’m an account exec and not a copywriter.” Logan chuckled and slapped him on the back.

Gavin inhaled. Something about this guy really bothered him, and it wasn’t just his bad jokes. Logan Emerson had only been at the company a few weeks, but already he seemed to be underfoot all day long: in every meeting; loitering by the espresso machine; he even wandered into the damned men’s room whenever Gavin entered. Sometimes, like now, he’d be all smiles and jollities, but most of the time he just stood there. Watching.

Maybe he was trying to soak up the Maddox modus operandi so he could beat the other account executives at their own game. Which wasn’t such a bad thing. At least then Gavin wouldn’t feel too bad about leaving Brock in the lurch when he quit to start his own company.

Hopefully soon.

He cast his eyes around the room and was relieved and pleased to see Bree, wine glass in hand, chatting with Elle.

So far, so good.

“Actually my undergrad major was English.” Bree took a sip from her delicate glass. Elle had snagged some white wine, then ushered her into a relatively quiet corner of the sleek bar, where they could talk. Bree felt a bit intimidated by her at first. Elle was so polished and put together in a tailored suit that showed off her slim figure. Her brown hair was sleek as sable and her blue eyes shone with intelligence and good humor.

After a few minutes, though, she started to relax, answering questions that Elle seemed to have asked with genuine interest. “At the time I thought I might even pursue a PhD in English, but I took some time off to travel and changed my mind. Flaky, I guess.”

Elle smiled. “Not flaky, thoughtful. A lot of people rush ahead with some big plan they’ve had in their mind for years, and end up painted into a corner doing something that isn’t their passion. I have to admit, I’ve always been mad about photography. I took a lot of classes in high school and college, but I guess I’ve never been daring enough to try to publish or exhibit my pictures. What got you started in photography?”

“I’m embarrassed to admit this, but it was a total accident. My dad gave me a camera for my birthday four years ago. I actually think a client gave it to him as a gift, as he doesn’t know anything about them, but it was a top of the line Nikon, with a set of extra lenses. The kind of thing even a professional photographer would salivate over. I started fooling around with it—taking pictures of old oak trees in the park, and interesting buildings around Russian Hill and the Marina District.”

Elle nodded, her blue eyes alight with interest. Bree felt a warm connection to her, even though they’d just met.

“One day I was taking a picture of St. Francis of Assisi on Vallejo Street.”

“Oh, yes. The one with all the doorways.”

“You know how that woman in the blue coat is often there?”

“Feeding the pigeons. Yes, totally!” Elle smiled.

“Something about her intrigued me. She has such a sense of purpose. I have no idea why she’s there and I’d never ask. I’m far too shy.” She pushed a stray hair off her cheek. Somehow Elle had put her so at ease that she didn’t feel shy at all. “But I wanted to see if I could take a picture of that quiet dignity she exudes.”

“What did you say?”

“I just asked if I could take her picture.” Bree grinned. “I know now that I should have offered her two dollars and a model release form, but I was clueless at the time.”

“And she said yes.”

Bree nodded. “So I took the picture. Took only a few seconds—just her, standing there in front of the smallest door, her coat buttoned up to her neck like always, with that flock of pigeons at her feet. The shots came out pretty well, so I printed one and entered it in a small show at the local library. My image won, and people started making a fuss, so I figured I’d keep snapping away.”

“I’d love to see that picture.”

“You’re welcome to come up to my studio any time.”

“Really?” Elle’s eyes lit up. “I’d love to! I’ve never been in a real photographer’s studio.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t call it that.” Bree blushed. “But it does have a lovely view out over the rooftops. I’m around tomorrow, if you’d like to come by.”

“Can I? I don’t have to be anywhere until five. It would be so nice to see some photographs that aren’t glossy product shots for a change.” She winked conspiratorially.

“If I come in the morning, I could bring some pastries and coffee from Stella’s.”

“You’re on. I can never say no to their bear claws. The address is 200 Talbot Street. The limestone behemoth with the wrought-iron gates. If you come around the right-hand side there’s a separate entrance up to my studio.”

“Planning a secret tryst?” Gavin’s deep voice made her spin around. His gray eyes looked at her with amusement.

“Absolutely.” Elle grinned. “I want to see Bree’s work before she gets too famous to talk to me. Did you know she’s been asked to shoot a portrait for San Francisco Magazine?”

“Is that true?” Gavin tilted his head.

“It is.” Bree blushed again, wishing she were actually as cool as everyone seemed to think she was. “I’m shooting Robert Pattison. They had a tough time deciding between Annie Leibowitz and me. I suspect I was cheaper.” Gavin’s dimples appeared. “They just called me out of the blue. Saw my pictures in Black Book.”

“That’s awesome.” Gavin’s rich voice rang with admiration. “I’d like to see your photos, too.”

“Form a line, form a line,” joked Elle, raising her glass. “But seriously, Robert Pattison? I wish I was a jet-setting photographer and not a lowly administrative assistant.” She did a mock pout.

Bree very much doubted that Elle was just a “lowly administrative assistant.” She waved and chatted with everyone as if she was the owner of the company, not the owner’s right-hand woman.

“Hang tough, Cinderella. You’ll get to go to the ball one day. But in the meantime, you’d better find your boss. I haven’t seen him anywhere.”

“I’ll go track him down. Nice to meet you, Bree, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Elle marched smartly off into the crowd.

“Brock has been a bit distracted lately.” Gavin leaned in until his delicious masculine scent stole over her. “A lot going on.”

The clang of a spoon hitting a glass snagged their attention.

Bree turned to see a gray-haired man in a conservative suit, wreathed in smiles. Amazingly, the entire room fell silent.

“It’s our oldest client,” murmured Gavin. “Walter Prentice. We’re here to celebrate the launch of a new campaign for his company planned by Celia, one of our account execs. It’s going really well.”

“It’s a great pleasure to spend an evening with the most impressive creative talent in the entire United States.” The older man’s voice carried through the crowded space. “In the years my company has worked with Maddox Communications, I’ve been pleased to get to know many of you as personal friends. I’ve just learned that Flynn Maddox and his lovely wife, Renee, are expecting their first baby. I’d like you to join with me in celebrating their new family with a champagne toast.”

Already waiters carried trays full of champagne glasses around the room.

“Flynn is Brock Maddox’s younger brother. He got back together with his wife recently after a long separation.” Gavin’s warm breath tickled her ear.

“How lovely.” Bree smiled and accepted a sparkling glass of bubbly. “And very sweet of your client to make a fuss.”

“He’s a nice guy. Very family oriented. Been married to his wife, Angela, for forty years.”

“Impressive. Nearly all my dad’s friends are divorced. Some of them several times.”

“That’s a shame.” Gavin sipped his champagne. “Marriage should be for life—otherwise what’s the point?”

His earnest gaze met hers—and made her gulp champagne too fast. “I’m sure you’re right. But I’ve never been married, so I have no idea what it’s really like.” Her words came out a bit rushed. It was downright freaky to be discussing marriage on a first date, let alone a first date with a man like Gavin Spencer.

“Me, either.” He grinned, boyish and charming. “But I hope that when I do tie the knot, it will be the kind of marriage I’ll toast with champagne forty years later.”

Bree tugged her eyes away. Okay, she must be dreaming. This couldn’t possibly be real. There was no such thing as a gorgeous, dashing and successful man who wanted to stay married to one woman for life.

Was there?

Walter Prentice raised his filled champagne glass. “A toast to the happy couple! May their family be blessed with many years of happiness, and not too many sleepless nights.” He grinned. “My own children have brought me so much joy. I know that Flynn and Renee will be fantastic parents.”

He looked down, then directly at a tall, black-haired man, who Bree guessed might be Flynn. “You know our company slogan—family is everything. Well, it’s not just a slogan, it’s a way of life.” He raised his glass.

The room buzzed with cheers. “Oh, my gosh, that really is their slogan, isn’t it?” Bree laughed. “I’ve seen their ads on TV.”

Gavin’s gray eyes twinkled. “I guess sometimes believing your own publicity isn’t such a bad thing. Hey, there’s Brock. Come meet the big boss.”

Bree’s eyes widened as he slid his fingers to the small of her back to guide her across the room, claiming her as his date in front of everyone—friends, coworkers, clients. Almost as if he was showing her off.

She fought the urge to pinch herself. Any minute now she’d wake up in her own bed, with Faith and Ali stretched, purring, on the duvet next to her. But until then she’d better keep a smile on her face.

Never a morning person, Bree had barely managed to drag herself out of bed by the time Elle showed up at her door. She and Gavin had stayed at the party until nearly 1 a.m. Once again, he’d dropped her home without dropping a hint about coming in.

And without trying to kiss her.

“Hey, Bree!” Elle kissed her on the cheek like they were old friends. “I brought your bear claw and some coffee. I bet you need it after last night. Gavin must have introduced you to everyone in the room.” She handed Bree a to-go cup full of steaming coffee.

“He may have even introduced me to some of them twice. It was all a blur after about ten o’clock. Come in.” She ushered Elle into the bright room. Ornate Victorian paned glass covered one wall and part of the sloped ceiling, creating the bright studio light that gave the space its name.

“Oh, my lord, look at the view.” Elle put the paper bakery bag on the small dining table and moved to the window. “I bet on a clear day you can see Japan from here.”

“Almost.” Bree grinned. “I do love watching boats in the bay.”

“I guess you’ll miss the view when you move in with Gavin.” Elle lifted a brow.

Bree froze. “What? There’s nothing going on between Gavin and me. I only just met him.”

“Really?” Elle’s eyes widened. “I got the definite impression that you two were a serious item.”

“He was being very … solicitous, but I only met him the night before.”

“You’re kidding me.” Elle’s eyes narrowed. “I know you and I only just met, so I shouldn’t even ask this, but you’ve kissed, right?”

“Not even a peck.” A prickle of embarrassment ran over her. If she were cute like Elle, he probably would have tried. “I think he’s just being friendly.”

“But he kept putting his arm around you.” Elle cocked her head. “That’s not the kind of thing you do with a friend. Nope. He’s definitely after you. Probably just taking it slow.”

Bree shrugged, hoping the heat in her face didn’t show. “Let me get some plates.”

They chatted about the house and the neighborhood while they ate their pastries and sipped the strong coffee. After they ate, Bree showed Elle some of her photos.

“You have an amazing eye. In each picture there’s something of the essence of the individual. I know how hard that is to capture. I can’t take a decent portrait to save my life. I’m lucky if their eyes are open.”

“I wish I could offer some tips, but I’m afraid I’m not sure how I do it.”

“Genius. Talent. All those things I don’t have as a photographer.” Elle smiled. “It’s not hard to see why Gavin’s crazy about you.”

“Oh, stop! First of all, he’s not crazy about me. Second of all, he hasn’t seen my photos.”

“Yes, he has. He was showing everyone the Black Book in the office on Friday.”

“Was he really?” Bree bit her lip.

“One word. Besotted.” Elle crossed her arms. “A man in love. Sometimes it happens that fast.”

“Oh, come on. What could Gavin possibly see in me? I’m definitely not the type men fall head over heels for.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, let’s see. My hair has a mind of its own, which changes with the barometric pressure. I need to lose weight. And the only famous person I bear a resemblance to is one Duncan Kincannon, Tenth Laird of Aislin. You can see him halfway down the stairs in the main hall, wrapped in a gilt frame.”

Elle giggled. “I bet Gavin loves your sense of humor.”

“That’s about all there is to love.”

“What nonsense! Though …” She tipped her head to one side and pressed a figure to her lips. “If you don’t mind my saying so … I can see a little room for improvement.”

Bree cringed inside her baggy college sweatshirt. “More than a little room, I’m afraid.”

“You’re lovely as you are, but you could be lovelier.

I spent a summer working at a froufrou spa in Santa Barbara. I learned all kinds of brilliant tricks there.”

“Like what?”

“Your hair. It’s curly, right?”

“I think frizzy is a better description.”

“No, seriously, will you take it down for a sec?”

Bree pulled the ponytail band from her hair with shaky fingers. The heavy mass fell—frizzily—over her shoulders.

“Oh, yes. You’ve got lovely ringlets in there. We just have to set them free.”

“How do you do that?”

Elle smiled mysteriously. “We need to gather a few tools.”

It was nearly four in the afternoon by the time Elle was satisfied with her work. They’d spent an hour in the sun while Elle filed and polished Bree’s nails, and they waited for artfully applied lemon juice to scorch highlights into Bree’s hair.

Next, Elle conditioned her hair. She’d rinsed, then applied yet more conditioner—gloppy handfuls of it—and made Bree swear she’d never let her hair dry without conditioner on it again.

While Bree dripped conditioner onto the wood floors, Elle rifled through her wardrobe, tut-tutting and holding items up to Bree’s complexion. In despair, she marched Bree—hair still damp—out the door and down to Union Street, where she encouraged her to try on, and ultimately buy, three very expensive new bras and several mix-and-match pieces from a trendy boutique. Elle made the whole thing so enjoyable, Bree felt as if they were BFFs out for an adventure rather than two women who’d only met the night before.

Once coordinating shoes were found, they hurried back to the apartment where Elle applied a loose powder all over her face, “to brighten you up a bit,” as she said. She brushed light blush over Bree’s cheekbones, and smudged gray-green shadow around her eyes. A touch of rose-pink lipstick gave a subtle punch to her color, without making her look like a clown.

“Your hair’s finally dry.” Elle arranged it about her shoulders. “Why don’t you look in the mirror?”

Half afraid of what she’d see, Bree made her way across the studio—no small feat in the heeled ankle boots Elle had talked her into.

A long mirror hung behind the bathroom door, and she inhaled as she pulled it open.

She squinted for a moment, looking the image up and down. Then she laughed aloud. “Who is that woman in my mirror?”

“It’s you, babe.”

“Not possible. This woman is trim and elegant, and has silky ringlets with blond highlights.”

“It’s all you. Standing up straight is a big part of it. Tall girls like you often stoop because you’re afraid to stand out. If you do those yoga poses I showed you just once a day, you’ll really see a difference in your posture.”

“It never would have occurred to me that clothes which fit could make me look thinner!”

“You have a gorgeous, curvy figure and you should show it off.”

“Who knew?” Bree grinned at her reflection. “And I swear on my life, I’ll never let my hair dry without conditioner again.”

“That’s my girl. So, when are you seeing Gavin next?”