Sarah M. Anderson - The Beaumont Brothers

I’m pregnant. The words popped onto her tongue and tried frantically to break out of her mouth. That would nip this little infatuation they both seemed to be indulging right in the bud. She was pregnant with another man’s baby. She was hormonal and putting on weight in odd locations and wasn’t anyone’s idea of desirable right now.

But she didn’t. He was already feeling the burden of taking care of his employees. How would he react to her pregnancy? Would all those promises to reward her loyalty and take care of her be just another weight he would struggle to carry?

No. She had worked hard to take care of herself. So she was unexpectedly expecting. So her job was possibly standing on its last legs. She would not throw herself at her boss with the hopes that he’d somehow “fix” her life. She knew first-hand that waiting for someone else to fix your problems meant you just had to keep on waiting.

She’d gotten herself into her current situation. She could handle it herself.

That included handling herself around Chadwick.

So she cleared her throat and forced her voice to sound light and non-committal. “Maybe you can find something that doesn’t involve beer.”

He blinked once, then gave a little nod. He wasn’t going to press the issue. He accepted her dodge. It was the right thing to do, after all.

Damn it.

“I like beer,” he replied, returning his gaze to the window. “When I was nineteen, I worked alongside the brew masters. They taught me how to make beer, not just think of it in terms of units sold. It was fun. Like a chemistry experiment—change one thing, change the whole nature of the brew. To those guys, beer was a living thing—the yeast, the sugars. It was an art and a science.” His voice drifted a bit, a relaxed smile taking hold of his mouth. “That was a good year. I was sorry to leave those guys behind.”

“What do you mean?”

“My father made me spend a year interning in each department, from the age of sixteen on. Outside of my studies, I had to clock in at least twenty hours every week at the brewery.”

“That’s a lot of work for a teenager.” True, she’d had a job when she was sixteen, too, bagging groceries at the local supermarket, but that was a matter of survival. Her family needed her paycheck, plus she got first crack at the merchandise that had been damaged during shipping. She kept the roof over their heads and occasionally put food on the table. The satisfaction she’d gotten from accomplishing those things still lingered.

His smile got less relaxed, more cynical. “I learned how to run the company. That’s what he wanted.” She must have given him a look because he added, “Like I said—I wasn’t given any choice in the matter.”

What his father had wanted—but not what Chadwick had wanted.

The car slowed down and turned. She glanced out the window. They were near the office. She felt like she was running out of time. “If you had a choice, what would you want to do?”

It felt bold and forward to ask him again—to demand he answer her. She didn’t make such demands of him. That’s not how their business relationship worked.

But something had changed. Their relationship was no longer strictly business. It hadn’t crossed a line into pleasure, but the way he’d touched her on Monday? The way she’d touched him yesterday?

Something had changed, all right. Maybe everything.

His gaze bore into her—not the weary look he wore when discussing his schedule, not even the shell-shocked look he’d had yesterday. This was much, much closer to the look he’d had on Monday—the one he’d had on his face when he’d leaned toward her, made the air thin between them. Made her want to feel his lips pressing against hers. Made her want things she had no business wanting.

A corner of his mouth curved up. “What are you wearing on Saturday?”

“What?”

“To the gala. What are you wearing? The black dress?”

Serena blinked at him. Did he seriously want to discuss the shortcomings of her wardrobe? “Um, no, actually....” It didn’t fit anymore. She’d tried it on on Monday night, more to distract herself from constantly refreshing her email to see if Neil would reply than anything else. The dress had not zipped. Her body was already changing. How could she not have realized that before she peed on all those sticks? “I’ll find something appropriate to wear by Saturday.”

They pulled up in front of the office building. The campus of Beaumont Brewery was spread out over fifteen acres, with most of the buildings going back to before the Great Depression.

That sense of permanence had always attracted Serena. Her parents moved so frequently, trying to stay one step ahead of the creditors. The one time Serena had set them up in a nice place with a reasonable rent—and covered the down payment and security deposit, with promises to help every month—her folks had fallen behind. Again. But instead of telling her and giving her a chance to make up the shortfall, they’d done what they always did—picked up in the middle of the night and skipped out. They didn’t know how to live any other way.

The Beaumonts had been here for over a century. What would it be like to walk down halls your grandfather had built? To work in buildings your great-grandfather had made? To know that your family not only took care of themselves, but of their children and their children’s children?

The driver opened up their door. Serena started to move, but Chadwick motioned for her to sit. “Take the afternoon off. Go to Neiman Marcus. I have a personal shopper there. He’ll make sure you’re appropriately dressed.”

The way he said it bordered on condescending. “I’m sorry—was my black dress inappropriate somehow?”

It had been an amazing find at a consignment shop. Paying seventy dollars for a dress and then another twenty to get it altered had felt like a lot of money, but she’d worn it more than enough to justify the cost, and it had always made her feel glamorous. Plus, a dress like that had probably cost at least five hundred dollars originally. Ninety bucks was a steal. Too bad she wouldn’t be able to wear it again for a long time. Maybe if she lost the baby weight, she’d be able to get back into it.

“On the contrary, it would be difficult to find another dress that looks as appropriate on you. That’s why you should use Mario. If anyone could find a better dress, it would be him.” Chadwick’s voice carried through the space between them, almost as if the driver wasn’t standing three feet away, just on the other side of the open car door.

Serena swallowed. He didn’t have her backed against a door and he certainly wasn’t touching her, but otherwise? She felt exactly as she had Monday morning. Except then, she’d been on the verge of sobbing in his office. This? This was different. She wouldn’t let her emotions get the better of her today, hormones be damned.

So she smiled her most disarming smile. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. Despite the generous salary you pay me, Neiman’s is a bit out of my price range.” Which was not a lie. She shopped clearance racks and consignment stores. When she needed some retail therapy, she hit thrift stores. Not an expensive department store. Never Neiman’s.

Chadwick leaned forward, thinning the air between them until she didn’t care about the driver. “We are attending a work function. Dressing you appropriately is a work-related expense. You will put the dress on my account.” She opened her mouth to protest—that was not going to happen—when he cut her off with a wave of his hand. “Not negotiable.”

Then, moving with coiled grace, he exited the vehicle. And made the driver shut the door before Serena could follow him out. “Take her to Neiman’s,” she heard Chadwick say.