Michelle Celmer - A Clandestine Corporate Affair

“If you’re sure it’s no trouble,” Nathan said, a part of him hoping she would say it was.

“No trouble.”

She walked to the kitchen and he sat back down. He wasn’t sure what the hell he thought he was doing. He came here to discuss his son, and now that they had, he had no reason to stay. The problem was, he didn’t want to leave.

Maybe it was time to admit what deep down he had known all along. He still had unresolved feelings regarding his relationship with Ana. Despite what she probably believed, ending it hadn’t been easy for him, either. Ana was the only woman who had ever made him feel like a whole person. Like he didn’t have to hide. Almost … normal. But he knew that eventually his demons would get the best of him—they always did—and she would see the kind of man that he really was. Knowing Ana, and the kind of woman she was, she would want to try to fix him. Well, it wouldn’t work. He wasn’t fixable. And the less time he spent with her, the better. Especially in situations where Max wasn’t there to act as a buffer. So why wasn’t he stopping her as she walked to the kitchen and pulled two wineglasses down from the cupboard? Why didn’t he get up, grab his coat and get the hell out?

Damned if he knew. Although he was sure good old-fashioned stupidity played a major part.

“So,” she said from the kitchen. “You said you’re up for the CEO position?”

He turned to face her. She was standing at the counter opening a bottle of red wine. “It’s between me, the CFO Emilio Suarez and my brother Jordan.”

“Your brother, huh? That must be dicey.” The cork popped free and she poured the wine. “If I recall correctly, your relationship has always been … complicated.”

“Is that the polite way of saying he’s an arrogant jerk?”

“I actually met him at a fundraiser last year,” Ana said, carrying the two glasses into the room.

“Did he hit on you?”

“Why? Are you jealous?” She handed him one, their fingertips touching as he took it from her. It was an innocent, meaningless brush of skin, but boy, did he feel it. Way more than he should have. If she noticed or felt it, too, she wasn’t letting on. She sat back down in the chair, curling her legs beneath her, looking young and hip and sexy as hell. And yes, maybe a little tired.

“I ask,” he said, “because Jordan hits on all beautiful women. He can’t help himself.”

“I believe he was there with a date.”

Nathan shrugged. “That’s never stopped him before.”

“No, he didn’t hit on me. Although maybe it had something to do with the fact that I was eight months pregnant and as big as a house.”

“Somehow I can’t see that stopping him either.”

She laughed. “Come on, he’s not that bad.”

He didn’t used to be. When they were growing up, Nathan had been his brother’s protector. He couldn’t begin to count how many times, when they were kids, that he had taken the blame for things his brother had done to shelter him from their father’s wrath, or stepped between Jordan and their father’s fists. As the older brother he felt it was his responsibility to shelter Jordan, who was quiet and sensitive. A sissy , their father used to call him. But instead of the loyalty and gratitude Nathan would have expected, Jordan learned to be a master manipulator, always pointing the finger at Nathan for his own misdeeds. At home, in school. He became the golden child who could do no wrong, and Nathan had been labeled the troublemaker. Not that Nathan hadn’t gotten into enough trouble all on his own. But after all these years it still chapped his hide.

“Jordan is Jordan,” Nathan said. “He won’t ever change.”

“When will the new CEO be announced?” Ana asked.

Not until the investigation into the explosion at Western Oil was complete, but he couldn’t tell her that. Only a select few even knew there was an investigation. The explosion was caused by faulty equipment—equipment that had just been checked and rechecked for safety—and as a result thirteen men were injured. The board was convinced it had been an inside job, and they suspected that Birch Energy— specifically Ana’s father—was behind it. The goal was to flush out whoever was responsible. But it had been a slow, arduous and frustrating process.

“We haven’t been given a definitive date,” he told Ana. “A few more months at least.”

“And how will you feel if it goes to Jordan?”

“It won’t.” Of the three candidates, in his opinion, Jordan was the least qualified, and Nathan was sure that the board would agree. Jordan used charm to get where he was now, but that would only take him so far.

“You sound pretty sure about that.”

“That’s because I am. And no offense, but I don’t want to talk about my brother.”

“Okay. What do you want to talk about?”

“Maybe you could tell me a little about my son.”

“Actually, I can do better than that.” Ana set her wine down, got up from her chair and walked to the bookcase across the room. She pulled a large book down from the shelf and carried it over. He expected her to hand it to him; instead she sat down beside him. So close that their thighs were almost touching.

He liked it better when she was across the room.

“What’s this?” he asked.

She set the book in her lap and opened it to the first page. “Max’s baby book. It has pictures and notes and every milestone he’s reached up until now. I’ve been working on it since before he was born.”

Clearly she had, as the first few pages consisted of photos of her in different stages of her pregnancy, and even a shot of the home pregnancy stick that said “pregnant” in the indicator window. And her earlier self-description that she was “as big as a house” in her eighth month was obviously a gross exaggeration. Other than looking like she had swallowed a basketball, her body appeared largely unchanged.

“You looked good,” he said.

“I was pretty sick the first trimester, but after that I felt great.”

The next page was sonogram photos—with one that clearly showed the baby was a boy—and notes she’d taken after her doctor visits. The pages that followed were all Max. And damn, maybe Nathan was partial, but he sure was a cute baby. But as Ana sat beside him slowly turning the pages, he caught himself looking at her instead. The familiar line of her jaw and the sensual curve of her lips. The soft wisps of hair that had escaped the clip and brushed her cheek. Eighteen months ago he wouldn’t have thought twice about reaching up to tuck it back behind her ear. To caress her cheek, stroke the column of her neck. Press his lips to the delicate ridge of her collar bone …

Damn. He would have thought that over time his desire for her would have faded, but the urge to put his hands on her was as strong as ever. And for her sake as much as his own, he couldn’t.

“He’s a cute kid,” he said, as she reached the end of the book and flipped it closed. “He actually looks a lot like Jordan did at that age.”

She got up and carried the book back to the shelf, sliding it in place. A part of him hoped she would return to the couch and sit beside him, and the disappointment he felt when she didn’t was a clear indication that he needed to get the hell out of there. He should be concentrating on his son, but all he could think about was her.

He swallowed the last of his wine and pulled himself to his feet. “It’s late,” he said, even though it was barely past nine. “I have an early morning. I should get going.”

If his leaving disappointed her, she didn’t let on. She followed him as he walked to the door. “So, we’ll see you tomorrow around seven?” she asked.