Emma Darcy - The Billionaire's New Year Gift

“Hey, Alex,” Rick said. Sliding his chair over, he made room for Alex to join them. “You know everyone?”

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” said a striking blonde sitting on the other side of Rick. “I’m Carrie Wancheck. I work in payroll.”

“Alex Noble,” Alex said, leaning over to shake her hand. “I’ve seen you around.” He was almost certain she was one of the women who had checked him out during his first couple of days on the job.

She was very pretty, but too young for him, nearer his sister’s age than his. He guessed she was probably in her early twenties. He knew a lot of men who had married women fifteen and twenty years younger than them—in fact, the older the men, the more they seemed to like young women. But he wanted someone who wasn’t a kid. Someone with ideas, who maybe read the newspaper and had opinions on more than fashions and movies.

Someone like P.J .

The thought came unbidden, almost surprising him. Yet he knew it had been brewing for a while.

“So how do you like working at HuntCom?” Carrie asked.

“I like it fine.”

She smiled. “And we certainly like having you.”

Her tone left no doubt that she was flirting with him. “Thanks,” he answered casually. “It seems like a good place to work.”

“You want a beer?” Rick said, pushing his chair back and standing.

“Yeah, but I can go get it. Or wait for the waitress to bring me one.”

“Okay. Enjoy. I’ve gotta get going or Maria will kill me.”

There were good-natured mutters of “henpecked” and “who wears the pants in your family, Rick?” as he headed for the bar.

The moment he was gone, Carrie slid over onto his vacated seat. She smiled up at Alex. “So I hear you’re from Sacramento?”

“Not from Sacramento. I was born in the San Diego area.”

That was actually true. Alex’s mother had been visiting friends in La Jolla when her water broke—three weeks early—and she gave birth to Alex there. Without Harry’s presence, as she had bitterly said more than once.

“I worked in Sacramento before moving here, though.” Alex felt he could carry this myth off without tripping himself up because he’d spent a couple of weeks in Sacramento in the course of doing the foundation’s work.

“What made you come to this area?”

“My brothers all live around here.” Now why did he say that?

“Brothers?” Her eyes met his coyly. “Are they all as good-looking as you are?”

Alex was saved from having to answer by Rick’s reappearance. “Hey,” he said to Carrie. “You stole my seat.”

She grinned. “Yes, I did.”

He made a face at Alex, handed him his beer—Miller on tap—and sat in her old seat.

“You guys want to hear a joke?” said one of the men on the other side of the table.

“Is it clean? There are ladies present,” someone else—Alex thought his name was Mike—said.

“Ladies?” the jokester countered, laughing. “I don’t see no ladies.”

“Hey, watch it,” Carrie said.

“Oh. Didn’t see you there, Carrie,” he answered with a mock frown.

The banter continued and Alex was able to turn his attention away from Carrie without being rude, but when Rick got up a few minutes later, saying he had to leave, she put her hand on Alex’s arm and leaned closer.

“I know a much quieter and nicer place where we could have some privacy.” Her smile was suggestive. “And they have much better food.”

Alex was taken off-guard and for a moment and couldn’t think how to answer her. “Thanks, Carrie, but I have to be going myself.”

She pouted. “Oh, do you? Darn. I was really hoping to get to know you better.”

And Alex had been hoping to have dinner there , with the others, especially if P.J. should show up, but now there was no way he could. Damn . He’d have to figure out a way to head little Miss Carrie off at the pass. She wasn’t even being subtle about her intentions. But she was definitely too young for him, no matter how pretty and sexy she was. More important, he couldn’t imagine his aunt approving of someone like her, even if he were interested.

After draining his beer, he stood. “Have a good weekend, everyone. I’ve got to be going, too.”

“Sure you won’t change your mind?” Carrie asked.

Alex just shook his head and said his goodbyes, making a quick exit.

As he drove home to his apartment, he wondered if J.T. and Gray were faring any better than he was in finding a suitable candidate to be the next Mrs. Hunt. Justin, of course, had already found his—the mother of his year-old daughter, Ava. A daughter Justin’d had no idea even existed, because Lily, Ava’s mother and Justin’s former lover, had never told him about her after their breakup.

Alex smiled thinking of Ava. He hadn’t met his niece yet but he’d seen a photo of her, and she was a winner. With her dark hair and dimples, she was clearly a Hunt. In fact, she looked exactly like Justin. And from the look on Harry’s face when he’d seen that photo, she’d already captured his heart.

For a moment when Justin had told them about Lily, Ava’s mother, Alex had hoped Harry would drop the challenge for the rest of them. After all, he had his much-coveted grandchild now. But no such luck. Harry had only said the rest of them had better get busy.

Alex knew he’d have to make up his mind soon. Pick one of the women he’d met or make an effort to meet someone new. It was already entering the second week of September and he needed a bride and a baby on the way by next July.

What would Harry do if one of the brides wasn’t pregnant by July? Hell, there were no guarantees. Surely the old man would be fair. If they’d fulfilled their part by marrying suitable women, surely Harry would give them some leeway on the pregnancy question.

But what if he didn’t?

What if, after finding brides, they ended by losing their stakes in Harry’s empire, anyway?

P.J. was just about to walk out the door when her cell phone rang. Checking the number, she saw it was her brother.

She pressed the talk button. “Hey, Peter, what’s up?”

“Nothing much. Just haven’t talked to you in a couple of weeks and thought I’d better see if you were still alive.”

Why was it Peter always made her feel guilty? “I’ve been busy. For some reason, lots of people have decided they need Hunt products this month.”

“So business is good?”

“Very good.”

“And you still like that…job?”

“I still like my job.” Peter asked the same questions every time they talked. It was as if he couldn’t believe anyone could possibly enjoy the kind of work she did. He was always telling her she was wasting her education, not to mention her brain. His lack of respect for what she did used to make P.J. mad. Now she just patiently gave him the same answers and ignored his jabs.

“Allison said to tell you hello. She’s looking forward to seeing you at Dad’s birthday dinner next week.”

P.J.’s father would turn seventy the following Saturday and they were celebrating with a big family dinner at her parents’ home.

“I still haven’t figured out what to buy him,” she said. “He has everything. What’re you and Allison giving him?”

Peter laughed. “You’re not going to believe this.”

“What?”

“A guitar.”

“A guitar!”

“It was Allison’s idea.”

P.J. was laughing now, too. “Did he say he wanted a guitar?”

“Nope. But you know how he is. A total workaholic. Allison said he needed something to do that was relaxing and fun. A hobby of some kind. So we settled on a guitar. I mean, he used to like Dylan. I actually heard him listening to Dylan’s music once.”