Maureen Child - The Elliotts - Bedrooms Not Boardrooms!

Liam signaled for the waitress and ordered his regular sandwich. Aubrey ordered the same, but he had the feeling it was more because she didn’t want to be bothered with a menu than from any real interest in a bookmaker’s special.

“I can’t help you. Nothing about the way EPH does business with its advertisers has changed.” Nothing except the magazines’ personnel were going at each other’s throats with fangs bared. His grandfather had decreed that the magazine with the highest profit margin proportionally at the end of the year would see its editor in chief become CEO of EPH. Nobody wanted to lose.

As financial operating officer Liam was in charge of tracking the numbers. The weight rested heavily on his shoulders. He’d had to take his personal feelings out of the equation, forget the people involved and deal strictly with the cold, hard facts. It wasn’t easy. He worried about EPH and worried about his mother even more.

And while his extended family self-destructed around him Liam realized life was passing him by. He was thirty-one. His parents had been married and had four children by his age. Even his brothers and sister had wised up. Gannon had married in February. He and his wife Erika were expecting their first child. Liam’s younger brother Tag was engaged, and his sister Bridget had recently married a Colorado sheriff and left the family business. He also had a handful of cousins and an uncle who’d recently found their significant others.

All Liam had was a long history of hooking up with the wrong women, a job in the family business, a Porsche he rarely drove—but shelled out a fortune for in parking fees—and a Park Avenue apartment he only used for sleeping. He had no one to stand by and support him the way his father had supported Liam’s mother through her ordeal.

His workaholic father had risen several notches in Liam’s opinion over the past nine months by getting his priorities straight. Family first. Work second. It hadn’t always been that way. It had taken almost losing his wife to set Michael Elliott straight.

The sandwiches arrived and the server departed.

Aubrey’s violet eyes met Liam’s and the impact hit him like a fist in the gut, knocking the breath out of him. “How is your mother? I read about her illness in the paper.”

What was she—psychic? “She’s improving. She’s finished chemotherapy and her hair’s growing back.”

“Her diagnosis must have been terrifying for all of you.”

“Yes.” He could have lost his mother, and while she wasn’t out of the woods yet and wouldn’t be until she’d been cancer-free for five years, optimism was on the upswing. The doctors gave her a good prognosis.

“You’re close to her?”

“Now more than ever. Are you close to your mother?”

Sadness filled Aubrey’s eyes. “No. She left my father when I was eleven. She couldn’t stand always coming in second to Dad’s mistress—work.”

“You didn’t keep in touch?”

“I shuffled back and forth for a while, but then she remarried.” Aubrey ducked her head and the curtain of her shiny hair swung forward. “The sandwich is good and you’re right about the vinaigrette. It’s delicious.”

He ignored her bid to switch topics. “You didn’t get along with the new husband?”

Color leeched from Aubrey’s face. “He liked me a little too much.”

The sandwich turned to rubber in Liam’s mouth. “He came on to you?”

Aubrey abandoned her lunch. “Yes.”

Anger percolated in Liam’s veins. “How old were you?”

“Sixteen.”

“Did your mother divorce the bastard?”

“No. Look, could we talk about something else?”

His appetite deserted him. He wanted to ask how her mother could stay with the pervert and if her father had beaten the crap out of him. But he didn’t. “Sure.”

“I heard Patrick is considering retirement. Any idea who will replace him?”

Liam rested his fists beside his plate. “Aubrey, I’m not going to discuss EPH.”

She abandoned the pretzel she’d been nibbling. “I understand. I’m sorry I wasted your time.”

He didn’t understand the emotions chasing across her face. Disappointment was easy to identify, but he’d swear he saw failure in Aubrey Holt’s eyes. Why? “You haven’t. Until you started with the EPH interrogation I was having the best time I’ve had in months.”

Her lips parted and color washed her cheeks. Before she could reply his cell phone rang. He unclipped it from his belt. “Excuse me. Liam Elliott.”

“Mr. Elliott, this is Trisha at the Davenport Gallery. Gilda Raines has agreed to talk about parting with the painting you wanted for your mother. I’d suggest you come now. Gilda is … unique. She wants to meet you before she makes her decision.”

“I’ll be right there.” He snapped the phone shut and signaled for the waitress. “I hate to cut this short, but I have to go.”

“Problem at work?”

A wry smile tugged his lips. Did Aubrey never give up? “No. I’ve been trying for months to buy a painting by my mother’s favorite artist. The artist has finally agreed to discuss selling. I don’t want to give her time to change her mind. I’m going to meet her now.”

“Which artist?”

He reached for his wallet. “Gilda Raines.”

Aubrey sat up, alert and radiating excitement. “Are you serious? She’s my favorite, too. And you’re going to meet her! She’s a recluse who never meets anyone.” Her hand covered his on the table and sparks hopped up his arm. “May I come with you?”

Liam looked across the table at the enemy’s daughter, at her pale, slender hand over his. A wise man would cut his losses and say goodbye. Now. Evidently he wasn’t as smart as he thought he was because the shine in those violet eyes and the curve of her lips overrode his conscience’s objections.

“You can ride along. But I’m not answering questions about EPH. If you ask even one I’ll have the cab pull over and put you out. Are we clear?”

Her grin stole his breath. “As clear as the Hope Diamond.”

Aubrey wanted to get to know Liam better, but putting her hand in his lap wasn’t quite what she had in mind. She hadn’t hit ground zero, but she’d come close enough that he inhaled sharply and his warm thigh muscles tensed beneath her fingers.

“Sorry.” She snatched her hand away and dug her nails into the armrest on the car door, bracing herself as the taxi zigzagged around slower cars.

“Not a problem.” His voice sounded tight.

Her palm continued to tingle long after it left Liam’s rock-hard thigh behind, all the way down Lexington Avenue, in fact. Awareness whizzed through her veins. The cabbie drove like a carjacker evading the law, but that wasn’t surprising considering Liam had offered to double his fare if he’d get them to the gallery fast.

Another swerve pitched her back against the hard-muscled, good-smelling, taboo man beside her. Their shoulders bumped and their eyes met. Liam’s gaze slowly lowered to her mouth. Aubrey’s breath caught and her heart raced.

How would he kiss? Soft or hard? Reserved or passionate? She’d never know. She turned to look back out the window and a disappointed sigh slipped past her lips.

The cab pulled to the curb in front of the gallery. Aubrey said a silent prayer of thanks and climbed out while Liam paid the fare.

He joined her on the sidewalk. “You said you like this artist?”

“Yes. Her paintings are very sensual.”

“They’re flowers,” he said with a straight face.

Aubrey studied the confused frown on Liam’s face. Did he not know anything about the artist? “Have you ever studied Georgia O’Keeffe?”