My Fair Brady E-Book

K.C. Wells

• Herausgeber: Dreamspinner Press
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 279

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

A spur of the moment invitation changes two lives. Jordan Wolf's company runs like a well-oiled machine. At least until his PA, Brady Donovan, comes down with the flu and takes sick leave. Then Jordan discovers what a treasure Brady is and who really keeps his business—and Jordan in particular—moving like clockwork. So when Jordan needs a plus-one, Brady seems the obvious choice to accompany him. After a major shopping trip to get Brady looking the part, however…. Wow. Brady has a whole new wardrobe, and now his boss is whisking him away for a weekend party. Something is going on, something Brady never expected: Jordan is looking at him like he's never seen him before, electrifying Brady's long-hidden desires. But can the romantic magic last when the weekend is over and it's back to reality?

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

Sneak Peek

Blurb

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Epilogue

About the Author | By K.C. Wells

Coming in March 2019

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Copyright

Jordan leaned in close. “You okay?”

Brady slowly turned his head to look Jordan in the eye. “I’m good. And I like Belinda. Drake, on the other hand, seemed a little surprised to see me.”

Jordan sighed. “Which means at some point this evening, he’ll corner me, dying to know more.” His hand was still resting against Brady’s back, and the intimacy of his stance set up a fluttering in Brady’s belly.

Before he could give himself time to change his mind, Brady shifted even closer and whispered, “Want to really give him something to talk about?” He cupped Jordan’s cheek and moved in for a kiss.

Jordan stilled for a moment but then seemed to melt under his touch, and he realized with a shock that Jordan was returning the kiss.

Oh my God.

My Fair Brady

By K.C. Wells

A spur of the moment invitation changes two lives.

Jordan Wolf’s company runs like a well-oiled machine. At least until his PA, Brady Donovan, comes down with the flu and takes sick leave. Then Jordan discovers what a treasure Brady is and who really keeps his business—and Jordan in particular—moving like clockwork. So when Jordan needs a plus-one, Brady seems the obvious choice to accompany him. After a major shopping trip to get Brady looking the part, however…. Wow.

Brady has a whole new wardrobe, and now his boss is whisking him away for a weekend party. Something is going on, something Brady never expected: Jordan is looking at him like he's never seen him before, electrifying Brady's long-hidden desires.

But can the romantic magic last when the weekend is over and it’s back to reality?

For Jason. This one needed a lot, and you were AWESOME (as usual).

For my wonderful beta team. Thank you SO MUCH for your continuing support and advice.

Chapter One

September

“OKAY, you can put your shirt back on now.” Dr. Peters put away his blood pressure monitor and sat behind his desk.

Jordan Wolf smiled as he did up his cuffs. “Any reason why you scheduled me for an appointment first thing on a Monday morning? Not that I’m complaining. At least this way, I get your perpetual nagging over sooner rather than later.” He flashed the doctor a grin. Dr. Peters had been his physician for sixteen years, and they were pretty much used to each other.

Dr. Peters peered at him over his glasses. “So you already know what I’m about to say. Your blood pressure is still too high for my liking. And as for scheduling your appointment, it was deliberate. I like to ease into my workweek with patients who won’t give me a headache. Mondays are enough of a ballache without that.” He grinned. “By the way, I didn’t schedule this appointment—your personal assistant did that. Because you don’t schedule appointments.”

Jordan put on his jacket and sat back in his chair. “I don’t see what all the fuss is about. I don’t think Mondays are so bad.”

Dr. Peters gave a wry smile. “That’s because your workweek isn’t like most people’s.”

Jordan sighed. “And there you go, just like all the rest who think I have it easy. I don’t sit back and let everyone else do the work, you know.”

Dr. Peters arched his eyebrows. “Jordan, you’re the CEO of one of the largest accounting firms in New York. I don’t think for a second that you got to where you are without a lot of hard work, but I’m sure that by now you have things running just how you want them. The point is not about how stressful your work is—my point is about how many hours you spend in that office. How many business trips you take. How little time you spend in a gym. How much crap you’re eating.”

“I think my diet is just fine as it is. You should see the stuff I eat for lunch. All of it is healthy.”

“I’m sure it is, only that’s probably not down to you, is it? Someone orders in your food when you’re in the office. At least that assistant has your best interests at heart,” Dr. Peters remarked dryly. “It’s what you eat outside of work that bothers me. And you know what I mean. You need to eat less salt. Less fat. Less red meat. More vegetables and greens.” He sighed. “Look, the fact is, your blood pressure is too high. Period. So maybe you need to start thinking about making some changes.”

Jordan sighed. “Such as what? I’m forty. It’s not like I’m about to step down from the company.”

“And I’m not suggesting that. But you need to do something. Otherwise, we are going to continue having this same conversation for a good while longer. And I don’t want to get to the point where we’re talking medication. Prevention is better than a cure, remember.” Dr. Peters shook his head. “Why am I wasting my breath? You’re already focused on tackling another week head-on. I know you too well.”

Jordan rose to his feet. “I’ll watch the diet, I’ll try not to live in the office, and I’ll attempt at least two sessions a week in the gym. Is that good enough for you?”

Dr. Peters laughed. “Jordan, this is me you’re talking to. If you manage all that, I’ll eat my prescription pad. Now, if you get your PA to schedule in a couple of gym visits and stick them on your calendar, then I’d believe you might actually get there. Now, get out of here and go run your company.” He shook his head again. “Two sessions a week at the gym. Yeah, tell me another one.”

He was still chuckling as Jordan left his office.

JORDAN smiled to himself as he stepped into the elevator. In spite of Dr. Peter’s usual message of doom and gloom, he was feeling positive.

I have it pretty good. Not perfect, but yeah, pretty good.

Perfect would be having someone to share it all with, but he’d been there, tried that. Not one of his previous relationships had made it past two or three months. It had gotten to the point where Jordan was convinced every guy he met had read the same script: “You work too hard.” “You never have time for me.” “I feel like I’m competing with your company.”

Yeah, they just didn’t get it. Success required effort. Time. Sweat. And all of that was nonnegotiable.

Jordan stepped out of the elevator and pushed open the glass door that led to his offices. Just like clockwork, there was Brady Donovan, his personal assistant, waiting for him, pushing his glasses higher onto the bridge of his nose as usual.

He handed Jordan a bundle of folded newspapers and magazines. “Good morning, sir. Here are your copies of the Financial Times, the Wall Street Journal, and the Economist. The International Business Times is already on your monitor, and I’ll be in with your coffee in a moment.”

“Thanks, Brady.” Jordan went past him, along the hallway that was flanked by department offices, past the staff room, until he reached the door at the end. That was Brady’s office. No one got to see Jordan without going through Brady, which was just how Jordan liked it. He walked past Brady’s desk to the door of his office. Once inside, he strolled over to the wide desk, which was devoid of clutter, and sank into the high-backed leather chair behind it.

Seconds later, Brady was there with a coffee tray. He placed it on the desk and poured a cup. “When you’re ready, sir, I’ll go through your schedule for today and the rest of the week.”

“Fine,” Jordan said absently, already engrossed in the article on his monitor. By the time he’d read through the posts that interested him, forty minutes had passed, the coffeepot was empty, and he was ready for the day. The office door opened and Brady entered, tablet in hand.

Jordan smiled to himself. He has my routine down to the second, doesn’t he? Sometimes he put Brady’s uncanny sense of timing down to mind-reading.

“Your schedules are in your inbox, sir. You have a meeting at eleven with Paul Dudley, with regards to the new branch opening in Boston next month. There will be a conference call at two, with the manager of the Tallahassee branch. Those are the two most important points for today.”

“Thanks, Brady.” Jordan glanced at Brady’s red bow tie. “Is that a new one?”

Brady smiled. “Not really. I’ve been wearing it for about two years now.” He cleared his throat. “Will there be anything else?”

Jordan shook his head. “I’ll call if I need anything. Besides, it looks like you have my day organized for me.”

“Okay, sir.”

It took Jordan a minute or two to realize Brady had left the room. Not that that was unusual—Brady seemed to come and go so quietly sometimes that Jordan was barely aware of his presence.

He was halfway through the Financial Times when his phone rang.

“Sir? Your mother is on line two.”

“Thank you.” Jordan pressed the button beside the blinking light. “Good morning, Mom.”

“It is now,” she commented, her voice decidedly cheerful. “The flowers just arrived. Jordan, they’re beautiful. Thank you. And they smell divine.”

For a second he was lost, but then he caught sight of his schedule: Mom—birthday. “I’m glad you like them. Sorry I didn’t call you first thing. I was—”

“Sweetheart, I know how busy you are. Actually, I’m always surprised when you remember to send cards and gifts. You have so much to do, and yet you always manage to choose the perfect present. Your father still talks about that model ship kit you sent him for his birthday last year. Just what he wanted. And you know how much I love fragrant flowers. So difficult to find them—everything is reared in a hothouse for speed these days—but you do it every time.” She paused. “Thank you again, darling. I’ll let you get back to running your little empire.” She laughed. “Nice to know that such a successful businessman still finds time to shop for his mother’s birthday.” She said her goodbyes and disconnected.

Jordan stared at the phone thoughtfully, then pressed the intercom. “Brady?”

“Sir?”

“What exactly did I send my mother for her birthday?”

“A hand-tied bouquet of roses, lilies, and freesia, sir. Oh, and a box of her favorite chocolate truffles.”

Jordan blinked. “You know what my mom’s favorite chocolates are?”

There was a small pause. “Of course. That’s my job.” Another pause. “Anything else, sir?”

“No, that will be all. Thank you, Brady.” It wasn’t until he’d finished the call that Jordan realized he should have thanked Brady for remembering her birthday. Because Jordan had completely forgotten.

Ten minutes later, his intercom buzzed. “Sir? Do you have time to go over the details for the Business & Financial Conference next week?”

It took Jordan a moment to recall the trip. Not that he was forgetful—conferences were solely Brady’s terrain. “Sure, come on in.”

A minute later, Brady was there, armed with his ever-present tablet.

Jordan gestured for him to sit on the couch. “Where is the conference again?” He had some vague recollection, but it had been months since he’d told Brady to book spots on it.

“At the Nashville Convention Center. We have rooms at the Renaissance Nashville Hotel. We fly in on Sunday morning, and the conference runs for three days. I’ve booked you in several of the breakout sessions, but I’ve made sure to schedule you some downtime too. There is also a preconference session on financial trends at one thirty on Sunday afternoon, and that’s followed by the evening welcome reception.”

“You’ve got the room next to mine as usual?”

Brady nodded. “And I’ll be taking notes throughout the three days. I’ve also taken the liberty of booking you into the hotel spa.” He smiled. “I know how much you like a good sauna and massage.” He glanced at his tablet. “Our car to JFK is organized, as is the car when we land. I’ll also liaise with Donna, to make sure she packs your tux—there are evening events planned for every night. There are networking continental breakfasts planned for each morning, but let me know if you want to skip them and I’ll organize something to be brought to you.”

“When do we fly home?” Jordan liked how he didn’t have to concern himself with any of the details—Brady had taken care of everything, including getting his housekeeper, Donna, to do his packing.

“The conference concludes Wednesday before lunch. The flight will be roughly two and a half hours, so we should be back in New York in time for dinner.”

“That all sounds great.” Jordan smiled. “Just remind me ahead of—”

“I’ll make sure you have all the details in writing, sir.” Brady got up from the couch. “I’ll be in my office if you need me.” And with that, he left the room.

Jordan smiled to himself again. Brady had been with him for three years, and in all that time, his wardrobe hadn’t varied in the slightest. His had a somewhat… muted style. He regularly wore beige chinos, with a white shirt and a pale cardigan, and always with a bow tie of some description. With clothing like that, Brady should have stood out, but remarkably, he seemed to fade into the background. That didn’t make him any less efficient, however. Brady didn’t fuss but merely got on with the job, and Jordan had to admit that things had gone smoothly around the office since his arrival.

He sincerely hoped Brady didn’t decide to move on to greener pastures. Jordan doubted he could find another PA who was so damned easy to work with.

BRADY glanced at his phone. It was already seven o’clock, and Jordan was still there. That man…. Brady sighed and shut down his computer, his gaze drifting to Jordan’s door, through which came the tapping of keys. Brady got up and went over to it, then paused as he listened. Come on, Jordan. Time to call it a day.

He knocked quietly and waited. When there was no response, he ducked his head around the door. Jordan was at his desk, typing on his keyboard, his brow furrowed. He wore his earbuds, which accounted for the lack of response. Brady walked over to the desk and stood in front of it.

Jordan glanced up and gave a start. “Christ!” He pulled the earbuds from his ears and gave Brady a hard stare. “Do you have to sneak up on me like that? Did you want something?”

Brady sighed. “One, it was hardly sneaking, and two, have you glanced out of the window lately?” When Jordan’s frown deepened, Brady shook his head. “Everyone went home an hour ago.”

Jordan peered at his monitor. “Is that the time?” He sagged in his chair. “I started making notes for an article in the Economist, and I guess I got carried away.”

“I’ll call your car service, sir. They’ll be here in about ten minutes.” Thankfully they were used to Jordan’s timekeeping by now.

“Thank you.”

“Donna will have left for the day, so I’ll arrange for dinner to be delivered. It should be there not long after you get home.” Home was a two-bedroom apartment on East Eighty-Second Street in the Upper East Side of Manhattan, nearly thirty streets—and a whole world—away from Brady’s place. Jordan didn’t really need a housekeeper with a property that size, but once Brady had started working for him, it hadn’t taken him all that long to realize his boss needed looking after.

He probably has no idea what I do on a daily basis to make sure his company—and his life—runs smoothly.

Brady walked behind the desk, peered at the screen, and saved Jordan’s notes. Then he shut down the computer. “Come on, sir. Time to go home,” he said gently.

Jordan smiled. “What would I do without you, Brady?”

As much as Brady did for him, he knew there was no such thing as an indispensable man. If he walked out the following day, Jordan could easily find someone to replace him. Not that he had any such plans. Brady loved his job. He loved putting his organizational skills to good use.

Then there was the tiny but not insignificant fact that he was crushing on his boss.

And he will never, ever find that out. Because that would be a disaster in the making.

Chapter Two

“HEY, Jordan! I thought I’d missed you.”

Jordan smiled at the familiar voice, then turned to greet Drake Daniels. “And I thought it weird not to have seen you before today.” He shook his head. “Cutting it fine, Drake.” The conference would finish later that day, and Jordan had come to the networking breakfast to catch up with a few of his business acquaintances. Drake Daniels, however, was more of a friend. They’d gone to college together, and although their paths diverged, they’d kept in touch.

Drake laughed. “I usually skip these breakfasts. It’s too damn early for power talks.” He patted Jordan on the arm. “So, how is life in the Big Apple? Still aiming to be on the Fortune 500?”

Jordan chuckled. “No such aspirations, but I’m doing well. I take it you’re doing well?”

“The business is ticking over. I can’t complain,” Drake said with a modest shrug. Jordan knew better. Drake was doing very well indeed.

“How are Belinda and the kids?”

Drake’s face glowed. “Great. Marty and Dawn are in high school now, and Belinda’s gotten involved in a lot of charity work.” His eyes widened. “Actually, I was going to call you. It’s our fifteenth wedding anniversary next month, and we’re having a weekend party at our place in the Hamptons. I was going to invite you to join us.”

“Aw, that’s great. I’d have to look at my calendar, of course.”

“Sure. I’ll send an invite for you and a plus-one.” Drake’s eyes gleamed. “Anyone special on the horizon I should know about?”

Jordan shook his head. “Sorry. Nothing to tell.”

Drake stroked his chin. “Hmm. There’s a guy in my PR department that would be right up your alley. Are you into blonds?”

“To be honest I don’t really go for a particular type. And no, you are not going to set me up with anyone. Rest assured, I’ll be bringing a guest.” Jordan made a mental note to call Clive. His first college roommate was always up for a party, and they got along really well. And if it kept Drake from arranging a hookup…. He knew Drake’s ways of old. There was always the chance that he’d remember Clive from back then, but it was a risk Jordan was willing to take.

“Excellent. I look forward to seeing you there.” Drake peered over his shoulder. “Don’t look now, but there’s a geeky guy hovering behind you, like he’s waiting to claim your attention.”

Jordan glanced around and smiled. “Be nice. That ‘geeky guy,’ as you put it, is the best damn personal assistant I’ve ever had.”

Drake bit his lip. “My apologies. What he lacks in appearance, he obviously makes up for in efficiency.”

Jordan couldn’t help feeling somewhat irked. “Ever heard the saying ‘Don’t judge a book by its cover’? So what you’re saying is, I should have some dishy guy working for me, who probably can’t do a quarter of what Brady does but who provides me with eye candy around the office? Give me someone like Brady every time. He’s reliable, trustworthy—and yes, he’s goddamn efficient.”

Drake held up his hands as if to placate him. “Again, my apologies. I seem to have hit a nerve. I hope you’ll still accept the invitation to the party. It’ll be a lot of fun, and I know Belinda would love to see you again.”

Slightly mollified, Jordan sighed. “We’ll see. And now I’d better find out what Brady wants. Good to see you again, Drake.” They shook hands, and Jordan turned to face Brady.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt, sir, but you’ve had an email that requires your immediate attention,” Brady said apologetically.

Jordan waved a hand. “You weren’t interrupting.” He took the tablet Brady proffered and scanned the email. “Thanks. You were right. Email them back and tell them they can go ahead.” He gestured to a table. “Have you had breakfast?”

Brady smiled. “I grabbed a cup of coffee in my room.” He grimaced. “The less said about that, the better.”

Jordan pulled out a chair. “Then sit. I’ll fetch you a decent cup of coffee and some pastries.” Brady started to protest, but Jordan shook his head. “Pardon my bluntness, but you’ve worked your ass off these last three days. And seeing as I’m being honest….” He peered closely at Brady, noting his pallor and the lines around his eyes. “Are you feeling okay?”

Brady’s smile faded. “Not exactly. I… I didn’t sleep well, and I’m not feeling 100 percent.”

That did it. Jordan indicated the chair. “Sit. You’re going to have some breakfast, and then you’re going to take the rest of the morning off until we leave.” He cocked his head to one side. “You’ve already packed my bag, haven’t you?”

“Well, checkout is at eleven. I’ve left out your toiletries in your bathroom, but yes, you’re all set.” Brady sat down.

“Perfect. Then you sit tight while I get you that coffee I promised.” Jordan grinned. “Which is probably way better than what passes for coffee in our rooms.” He left Brady and went over to the buffet. As he filled a cup, Jordan realized Drake’s comments still bothered him.

What does it matter what Brady looks like? He gets the job done.

Jordan always liked to dress sharply, but that didn’t mean he was a slave to the latest fashion. He liked good-quality, well-fitted suits and no-nonsense ties in a solid color. So what if Brady had a style that was all his own? It worked fine for the office, so what was the problem?

Jordan glanced over to where Brady sat, studying his tablet. Today’s bow tie was a deep bronze that seemed to go with his eyes. Then Jordan shook himself.

Since when do I notice his eyes?

THE driver took Jordan’s luggage and suit bags, then placed them in the trunk. Jordan gestured toward the rear of the car. “Yours too.”

Brady shook his head. “I’ll get the train.”

Jordan gave him a mock glare. “You most certainly will not. Uh-uh. Not when I have a car ready to take me home. We can drop you off too.”

“You’re not going my way,” Brady protested. He didn’t need this, not when he was still feeling like shit.

“Where do you live?”

“Nowhere near the Upper East Side,” Brady fired back. He sighed. “I’m sorry. That was rude.”

Jordan regarded him closely. “You still don’t feel so good, do you? Well, we’re dropping you off, so deal with it.” He nodded to the driver. “His bag too, please.”

Brady was in no shape to argue. Besides, he knew better. Jordan wasn’t about to take no for an answer. Then a horrible thought occurred to him. “What if I’m coming down with something and I infect you?”

Jordan opened the rear door. “Get in.” He smiled. “And I’ll open a window.”

There was nothing to do but comply.

Brady got into the car and sank thankfully against the leather seat. Maybe this was better than taking the train after all. Jordan got in beside him and gazed at him expectantly. It took Brady’s befuddled brain a moment to realize he was waiting for the address. “West 111th Street, near Lenox Avenue. Harlem.”

Jordan blinked but then nodded before passing it along to the driver. The car pulled away from the curb, and they left the airport behind them.

“How long have you lived in Harlem?” Jordan asked after they’d been traveling for a while. Traffic on the 678 wasn’t that bad as they headed through Queens.

“Since I started working for you,” Brady replied. “Before that I had this teeny little apartment in the East Village. Not that this place is all that much bigger, but it’s right around the corner from Central Park, and it’s handy for the subway.”

“Is it just you, or do you share?”

Brady chuckled. “Just me. There’s one bedroom. And I’ve had my share of weird roommates, so no, not gonna do that again. It might cost me more, but it’s worth it for the peace and quiet.” Not that he’d brought anyone back there. And how sad is that? Brady rested his aching head against the seat and closed his eyes, hoping Jordan would forgive him. He wasn’t being rude. He just didn’t have the energy or the willpower to indulge in small talk.

What the hell is wrong with me? He’d been right as rain the previous day, but this had come down on him like a ton of bricks with no warning. Brady fervently hoped an early night with some Tylenol and whatever else he could find in his medicine cabinet would do the trick, because no way was he about to miss a day of work.

Brady might not be indispensable, but when it came to knowing Jordan’s ways inside and out, he doubted there was anyone else in that building who could keep his boss on track.

THURSDAY already? After three days of conferences, Jordan was more than ready to get back to work. He exited the elevator, pushed open the door, and—

No Brady.

Jordan stopped dead in his tracks.

Celia, the receptionist at the front desk, gave him a knowing glance. “Yeah, he called in sick about a half hour ago. I don’t think I’ve ever known Brady to take a sick day.”

Jordan had never known it either, not that he was totally surprised. He’d figured whatever Brady had come down with in Nashville, it had to be pretty virulent, judging by the speed with which Brady had succumbed. By the time they’d dropped Brady outside his building the previous evening, he’d been almost wilting. He was still stubborn enough to refuse Jordan’s offer of help up to his apartment, however.

“Can I get you anything, Mr. Wolf?” Celia asked with a bright smile. “Coffee, perhaps?”

“Thank you, that would be great.” Jordan walked along the hallway, noting the conversations already taking place in several of the offices. He entered Brady’s office and stilled at the sight of the empty desk. Not having Brady there felt… weird. Jordan went through to his own office, dropped his briefcase on the couch, and strolled over to the large expanse of glass that offered a view of the Manhattan skyline. North of there was Brady, in God knew what state.

Get well soon, Jordan said silently, aiming his thoughts in the general direction of Harlem.

“Your coffee, sir.” Celia placed a tray on his desk and withdrew.

Jordan poured himself a cup, then switched on his laptop. It was only then that he realized he was missing something: there were no newspapers on his desk.

Jordan shook his head. It’s not as if I can’t find a copy of the FT somewhere.

It took him a moment to realize that he had no idea if Brady had them delivered or if he picked them up on his way to work or what. Having them waiting for him on arrival had become as second nature as… getting dressed in the morning.

Jordan took a sip of coffee and grimaced. It was slightly bitter and nothing like his regular coffee. He buzzed Celia’s intercom. “Celia? As a matter of interest, what coffee am I drinking?”

There was a moment of silence. “Er, the same coffee we all drink, sir?” she said slowly. “It came from the coffeepot in the staff room.”

One thing was clear: wherever Brady got his coffee, it certainly wasn’t there. “Okay, thanks, Celia.” He took one look at the dark brown liquid and shuddered. Have I become a coffee snob? Is that it? Then he shook his head. Brady had obviously found a coffee that Jordan liked and stuck to that, though where he kept it was anybody’s guess.

Jordan opened his weekly schedule, thankful to have some idea of what the day held in store for him. It wasn’t the same as the detailed daily notes Brady usually provided, but it would do at a pinch.

God, I hope he’s back to work tomorrow.

The thought made him chuckle aloud. Had he become so reliant on Brady that he couldn’t cope on his own? It was just a change in coffee, an absence of newspapers, and a not-so-detailed schedule, for God’s sake.

Time to just deal with it.

Jordan had a company to run, and he’d managed just fine before Brady had even put his nose through the door. He had no doubt that he would manage just fine now.

Chapter Three

JORDAN glanced at his phone for the tenth time in about the last half hour. Where the hell is my lunch? No delivery, no box of something that managed to be nutritious and delicious—which was a minor miracle in Jordan’s book, because in his experience, healthy food bore more than a passing resemblance to cardboard. Yet what arrived in his office every day like clockwork was amazing.

Only today? It hadn’t. Obviously someone’s clock was busted.

When it got to an hour later and still no lunch, Jordan got up and walked into Brady’s office, staring at his desk as if that would tell him something. He couldn’t for the life of him figure out what the problem was. There’d been a delivery on Thursday and Friday, and Brady had been off sick then. So what the hell was wrong with Monday’s delivery?

Then it came to him. The previous week’s lunches had been organized by Brady before he came down with the flu. And then the full force of that revelation hit: there would be no lunches delivered as long as Brady was off sick.

Well, shit.

Jordan hadn’t been having the best of days up until that point. This new knowledge just took a dump on the rest of his week. His stomach growled, and that was just a reminder of what hadn’t arrived. Jordan retreated into his office, buzzed Celia, and asked her to organize some sandwiches or something. Anything.

When his intercom flashed, it was Celia, not with news of the impending arrival of food, but to announce a call from his sister. Great. That’s all I need. With a sigh, Jordan connected the call.

“Hey, what’s up?”

Fiona chuckled. “Good to hear you too. You sound miserable. You okay?”

He stifled another sigh. “Fi, to what do I owe the pleasure? Not that I’m unhappy to get a call from my little sister, but now is not a good time.”

Her voice softened. “Aw, what’s wrong? I only called to say I went to see Mom on her birthday, and I saw the flowers you sent her. They’re gorgeous. You can smell them as soon as you go into the house.” Another wry chuckle. “Definitely scored yourself a point with those.”

“Except I didn’t send them. Or the chocolates. That would be Brady, my personal assistant.”

“Wow. Obviously a man with taste. Pass him my compliments.”

Jordan huffed. “I would, but he’s off sick.”

There was a pause. “Okay, Jordan, out with it. What’s going on?”

He leaned back in his chair, the phone cradled against his ear. “I guess I’m having a bad day, that’s all.” More like a bad three days, and it certainly didn’t look like there’d be an improvement anytime soon.

“Why? What’s happened?”

Jordan snickered. “It’s more a case of what hasn’t happened. That man goes off sick for three days, and the place is falling down around my ears. Okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration, but that’s how it feels.”

“For example?”

He sighed inwardly. Where do I start? “My lunch didn’t arrive today.”

Fiona snorted. “Why—did it miss the bus or something?”

“Do you know how long it took me to work out that Brady hadn’t ordered it? He organizes all my meals that come into the office. He even makes sure they’re healthy. I swear, he and Dr. Peters are in cahoots with each other.”

“Good for him. Someone has to watch out for you. Is that it? Your company’s falling down around your ears because you got no lunch?” She snickered.