Megan Kelly - Marrying the Boss

“If you’d just let me know where you’ll be, I could try to avoid you.”

“I thought you’d been doing that already.”

Leanne stopped and faced Mark. Had his voice held a tinge of disappointment? “No, I haven’t. I’ve just been trying to learn everything fast.”

She mentally slapped herself. Don’t admit your vulnerabilities. It gave him an edge, and being so far behind, she couldn’t afford to give him any further advantage.

“I’d be happy to help you.”

She spun to face him, astounded.

After a moment Mark chuckled. “Well, maybe not happy.”

“And maybe not really helpful.” She glanced at him. “You don’t consider me much of a threat, do you?”

Dear Reader,

Families are funny, you know? What passed for normal in my family of five kids seemed strange to my friend who had only one sibling—and a brother at that. Not to mention what my friend who’s an only child thought of our troop! As the youngest, I’ve always been intrigued by family dynamics, which is why I’m so pleased to have my first book published by Harlequin American Romance, the specialists in stories of home and family. I’ve dreamed of writing for Harlequin for many years, so this novel is very special to me. My hero and heroine didn’t make it easy, however!

The main characters of Marrying the Boss, Mark and Leanne, have very interesting family backgrounds. I couldn’t wait until they showed me how they’d work through their issues and still fall in love. It was a fun ride that I hope you’ll enjoy.

I’d love to hear what you think. Please contact me through my Web site, MeganKellyBooks.com.

Sincerely,

Megan Kelly

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Fate led Megan Kelly to write romances—fate and her grandmother, that is. While riding a crosstown bus, teenage Megan and her grandma happened on a Harlequin Romance book. The older woman scanned the first page to determine the book’s contents and declared it to be about lions, then she gave it to Megan to pass the time on the next day’s journey home, five hours away. (The first page did mention lions, but they were statues at the gates of the hero’s family estate.) Megan became an avid reader and discovered her dream job—writing those exciting and moving stories she loved. She lives in the Midwest with her husband and two children and is well-known at her local bookstore and library.

For Tom, my real-life Hero—

Thanks for your support on this journey;

and, of course,

For Mom, who taught me by example

about strong women.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

Of course the son of a bitch had to be buried in the rain. Leanne Fairbanks glowered at the mausoleum, then yanked her heel out of the mud and advanced toward it.

“Are they all gone, do you think?”

At her mother’s question, Leanne surveyed Fields Grove Cemetery—the premiere spot for the dead elite of Chicago. Lionel Collins lay in the family crypt, a large domed building of gray granite, sporting Greek columns and two stone lions for guards. Leanne grimaced at the lions. The egomaniac.

No birds sang. Wet black trees supported branches thinly covered with April buds. Sprinkles of rain made hardly a patter. Dead silence, she thought, then quelled her ill-timed humor. The emptiness of the surroundings unnerved her. “I don’t see anyone.”

They hadn’t attended the private ceremony held in the funeral chapel. Her mom had decided against seeing Gloria, Lionel’s daughter-in-law, and her son, Mark, much to Leanne’s relief. She’d have gone for support if her mom had felt the need, but personally, Leanne had no use for either of the Collinses. Much as they had no use for her.

They arrived at the mausoleum door, which Leanne was thankful hadn’t been locked yet. Two workers turned at their entrance, then ducked out into the drizzle. Their portable floor lamps lit most of the fifteen by fifteen-foot-interior like high noon, illuminating the gaping hole in the wall. Shadows lingered in the corners. Leanne snugged her raincoat tighter.

Her mom closed the umbrella and smoothed her dark-blond hair back into its chignon. At fifty-four, she had only a few lines, although her green eyes had lost their sparkle during the past week.

Giving her mom a moment of privacy, Leanne inspected the crypt. Lionel would be interred above Helen, his wife of forty-seven years. Warren, their son—my half-brother—lay at rest across from them. She probed the thought like a sore tooth but experienced no pain. He’d been a stranger, no more than a name to her. Below him was a marker with Gloria’s name and birth year chiseled on it.

Leanne frowned. There wasn’t a place for Mark.

She started to mention this to her mom, but stopped at the sight of the grief on her face. Her mother’s fingertips hovered just above the mahogany casket, tears slipping down her cheeks.

Leanne placed her arm around her mother’s shoulders, offering support but no words. She had nothing to say about this man. Other than generous monthly checks, he’d ignored her existence. Conscience money, she thought, then corrected herself. It couldn’t have been. Lionel Collins hadn’t had a conscience.

Her mother sniffed and dabbed at her tears with a tissue. Leanne hugged her tighter.

“He was a good man. He was,” her mom emphasized, as though Leanne had argued the point. She wouldn’t, not today. If she hadn’t changed her mother’s mind in the past, debating “the Lion’s” questionable merits wouldn’t help anything now.

“Yes, he was,” a male voice said behind them.

They spun. A tall man filled the doorway, his silky dark hair absorbing the illumination from the workmen’s lights. As he stepped forward, she noticed his deep brown eyes and had to repress a shiver. Chilly air, she told herself, wanting to believe it. She recognized him from the financial section of the newspaper.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I thought everyone had headed to the hotel already. My mother lost an earring and is afraid it dropped—” he eyed the casket “—somewhere in here.” He leaned forward, hand extended. “I’m Mark Collins.”

Leanne gaped when her mother reached to take his hand between both of hers and held on.

“Jenny Fairbanks,” she said in her quiet, dignified way. “This is my daughter, Leanne. We’re so sorry for your loss.”

He placed his other hand over her mother’s. He hadn’t reacted at all to the introduction. Smooth, Leanne thought.

Mark gestured to the man behind him. “This is Todd Benton. He’s come to help me—” again he glanced at the casket “—in my search.”

“Leanne Fairbanks?” Todd asked. He stepped forward, his thin eyebrows creeping up on his forehead toward where his hairline should have been. “As well as being a family friend, I’m also the late Mr. Collins’s lawyer. I have information of interest to you.”