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“Your money can’t buy me, Mr. O’Brien,” the waitress said sharply. “I’m not for sale.”
Cameron leaned back. So that was it. Being poor, she disliked the infinitely wealthy. “I don’t need to buy women, Darci. That’s the least of my problems.”
She glared at him “You’re a pig.”
“Give me a chance to prove you wrong. Come see the sunrise with me.”
She planted her hands on her hips. “Why should I?”
He leaned forward and took one of her hands—and a wanton shock coursed through him, burning him. It wasn’t easy to maintain his composure. “Because you intrigue me.” He caressed her fingers. “I simply want to get to know you.”
“Oh.” She detached her hand from his. “I’m off in fifteen minutes, but—”
“Perfect. I’ll wait.” As she moved off, he smiled to himself and sipped his coffee. When it really came down to it, who could resist him…?
Dear Reader,
Heartwarming, emotional, compelling…these are all words that describe Harlequin American Romance. Check out this month’s stellar selection of love stories, which are sure to please.
First, the BRIDES OF THE DESERT ROSE continuity series continues with At the Rancher’s Bidding by Charlotte Maclay. In the delightful story, a princess masquerades as her lady-in-waiting to save herself from an arranged marriage—and ends up falling for a rugged rancher.
Also available this month, bestselling author Judy Christenberry’s Randall Honor resumes her successful BRIDES FOR BROTHERS series about the Randall family of Wyoming. Although they’d shared a night of passion, Victoria Randall wasn’t in the market for a husband…and Dr. Jon Wilson had some serious romancing to do if he was going to get this Randall woman to love and honor him!
Next, when an heiress-in-disguise overhears a handsome executive bet his friend that he could win any woman—including her—she’s determined to teach him a lesson. Don’t miss Catching the Corporate Playboy by Michele Dunaway. And rounding out the month is Stranded at Cupid’s Hideaway, a wonderful reunion romance story from talented author Connie Lane, making her series romance debut.
Best,
Melissa Jeglinski
Associate Senior Editor
Harlequin American Romance
Catching the Corporate Playboy
Michele Dunaway
www.millsandboon.co.uk
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For Charlie Thompson for telling me to always be true to my vision, and to Julie Beard for encouraging me to be true to my voice.
And to Dave Brinkmann, whose attitude and actions have always provided me with hours of inspiration.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
In first grade Michele Dunaway knew she wanted to be a teacher when she grew up, and by second grade she wanted to be an author. By third grade she was determined to be both. Born and raised in a west-county suburb of St. Louis, Michele recently moved to five acres in the rolling hills of Labadie. She’s traveled extensively, with the cities and places she visits often becoming settings for her stories.
Michele currently teaches high school English, raises her two young daughters and describes herself as a woman who does too much but doesn’t want to stop.
Michele loves to hear from readers, and you can write to her at P.O. Box 45, Labadie, MO 63055. Please enclose a SASE.
Books by Michele Dunaway
HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE
848—A LITTLE OFFICE ROMANCE
900—TAMING THE TABLOID HEIRESS
921—THE SIMPLY SCANDALOUS PRINCESS
931—CATCHING THE CORPORATE PLAYBOY
To: LeeRein@obrien.com
From: JulieRein@lovingwife.com
Re: Your Playboy Best Friend
Dear Husband,
Say it isn’t so. Cameron O’Brien is coming to St. Louis? Tell me you two aren’t going to get involved in one of your stupid bets. The city—and its debutantes—aren’t safe when he’s in town.
See you tonight, Sailor
XOX Julie
To: JulieRein@lovingwife.com
From: LeeRein@obrien.com
Re: Your Playboy Best Friend
Dear Wife,
It’s true. Cameron’s due to arrive any minute in St. Louis. I have a devious plan in mind that will set my best friend on his ear. If all goes well, Cameron O’Brien will be as happy as I am. In other words, he will find the woman of his dreams and marry her.
See you at six,
XOX Lee
Prologue
Jacobsen Enterprises Internal Memo
From: Joe Jacobsen, CEO
To: Darlene C. Sanders
CC: Andrew Sanders, President
Re: Job placement
Congratulations on your successful completion of your first assignment. Reorganizing the mailroom to make it more efficient is a good idea and a committee will study your report.
As for the next two weeks, you will report to Val at Grandpa Joe’s Good Eats. She will fill you in on the specifics of your assignment Monday at 4:00 p.m.
J.J.
Jacobsen Enterprises Internal Memo
From: Joe Jacobsen, CEO
To: Andrew Sanders, President
Re: Job placement
As you can see from my previous memo, Darci is at Grandpa Joe’s for the next two weeks. Shall we up our wager regarding her success?
J.J.
Jacobsen Enterprises Internal Memo
From: Andrew Sanders, President
To: Joe Jacobsen, CEO
Re: Job placement
You’re on. I still say you don’t know your granddaughter like you think you do. Prepare to lose.
A.S.
Contents
Prologue
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
Epilogue
Chapter One
It took only three days, but that was all she needed. Darci Sanders now knew that she absolutely, positively hated grease.
Surely some man had invented it, she rationalized. That had to be the reason why it was so obnoxious, and why she was literally up to her elbows in the slimy, oily stuff.
Sure, when the family cook had allowed, Darci had occasionally dipped into the blue tub of Crisco shortening and greased a cake pan. She’d even once been allowed to drain fried bacon. But none of her “cooking lessons” had prepared her for the amount of grease she’d wiped up and/or been splattered with during her short tenure at Grandpa Joe’s Good Eats.
And if she didn’t love her dear old Grandpa Joe so much, she would have told him exactly where he could put the hideous white congealing substance that filmed over her every pore. Not even scrubbing with a loofah sponge could get rid of it.
“I can’t believe I’m thinking about grease!” Darci chastised herself aloud before adjusting the apron covering her ruined uniform. It was trashed worse than burnt toast.
“Don’t let all this get you down, Darci,” Val said. Grandpa Joe’s manager for the past twenty years blew a big pink bubble, the gum making a crackling sound as it popped and went back beneath her chewing teeth.
Darci pushed a wayward blond hair back up underneath her pink cap. She began moving to fetch the plates of food currently being shoved out the opening from the restaurant’s kitchen.
Get her down? She was down. There was no way she could be any lower. Except for washing dishes, this was it.
Grandpa Joe’s grand plan to indoctrinate his granddaughter into the family corporation started at the bottom. Of course, her brother, Harry, expected her to give up, and he’d bet her a thousand bucks she wouldn’t make it.
But what he hadn’t counted on was Darci’s determination and grit, qualities even she hadn’t realized she possessed in such abundance. No way was she giving her brother any satisfaction. She wouldn’t fail. Jacobsen Enterprises was her legacy, her future. And she wanted it badly enough that she’d agreed to Grandpa Joe’s outrageous rite-of-initiation demand: working at a restaurant he kept for sentimental reasons—and because it not only made a profit, but the land became more valuable every day.
After Darci finished putting the plates on the brown tray, she shot Val a reassuring smile. “Now don’t you worry about me, too. My mother’s doing that enough for all of us. Besides, I may have given up on my nails, my hair and my clothes, but I’m not giving up on my grandpa’s challenge. No way. I want to work at the corporation and eventually take my father’s spot when he retires, and I’m going to.”
Val scratched her ash-white skin. “You go girl. That’s what I like to hear. You’ll make a darn fine businesswoman.”
“Yeah, but I would have thought my previous work experience and my MBA from Harvard would have been enough. But not for Grandpa.” Darci rolled her blue eyes as the smell from Grandpa Joe’s famous chili and eggs assaulted her nose. She tried to ignore the odor as she added some soda crackers to the tray.
St. Louisans had nicknamed the combination of chili and eggs “pellers,” for the way the concoction propelled its way down one’s throat, but how anyone could actually eat the stuff was beyond Darci’s comprehension. Personally she couldn’t stand the lethal combination that had launched her grandfather’s now multi-million-dollar restaurant conglomerate.
Seeing Darci’s disgusted expression, Val clucked like a mother hen and opened her mouth in a wide toothy grin. “Now, sweetie. You don’t have to eat it. Just serve it. And after seeing your grandpa take this company from nothing, I know he knows best.”
“Yeah. So you say.” Darci grimaced and studied her last remaining fingernail. Hopeless. Disgusted, she ripped off the barely attached nail fragment and tossed it in the trashcan.
If she didn’t love Grandpa Joe…She savored that thought. Hands that used to play concert piano for the youth orchestra now served food. That’s what political correctness called it these days. Even her own mother couldn’t bring herself to call Darci’s current employment for what it really was— “waitressing.”
Her mother still clung to Grandpa Joe’s semantics, of calling it “exploring all avenues of the company.” Darci bit back a groan. She would succeed, but it sure wasn’t fair. “So why didn’t he make Harry do this?”
She realized she’d spoken the words aloud when Val answered her.
“Because your older brother is too stupid to take over running a billion-dollar corporation. You ain’t, and your grandpa wants you to prove yourself. Now you best serve that food before it ices over.”
Darci lifted up the tray. Despite the fact she played a mean game of tennis, lately she’d been discovering muscles she never knew she had. A slimy film on the underside of the tray coated her skin as she moved out from behind the counter. Great. More grease.
VAL SHOOK HER HEAD as she watched Darci weave slowly through the tables. Darn if that girl didn’t have gumption. She’d pushed that pretty blond hair up under her cap and gotten down to work. It didn’t matter that she could just live off her trust fund.
No, she’d broken every nail and put up with every obscene pat on her bottom. Darci’s cute face, with the nose turned up just so, beaded with sweat, but she hadn’t really complained. That impressed sixty-two-year-old Val the most.
Darci was night and day from that whiny twenty-eight-year-old brother of hers. Three years older than Darci, he’d lasted less than a day before begging Grandpa Joe to get him out. But Darci didn’t need to know that. Val didn’t want her to quit. Not when she knew Darci would succeed.
Val turned her attention away from her protégé and to the customer waiting to pay his bill.
“How was it?” she asked.
“Great,” the guy slurred slightly.
Val smiled and hoped the girl clinging to his arm was his designated driver. “Of course it was,” she told him matter-of-factly. Grandpa Joe knew what he was doing when he made his pellers, and he knew what he was doing with Darci. There was a method to his madness and eccentricities, and Darci would learn that soon enough.
CAMERON O’BRIEN sat on the red vinyl bench of Grandpa Joe’s Good Eats and frowned at the man seated across from him. “You swear this place is good?”
Lee Reinhart, whom Cameron considered his best friend, grinned. “Would I steer you wrong? This is one of those authentic places, all family-owned.”
“Mmm,” Cameron said noncommittally. From the various ethnic appearances of the people the restaurant employed, it didn’t look too family-operated.
“Although I hear the man who owns it ventured out into a whole bunch of other areas,” Lee added.
Cameron gazed around. Despite the fact it was three in the morning, a crowd of people mingled. “There are a lot of people here for it being so late.”
“It’s Saturday night, well, early Sunday morning, and the bars on Laclede’s Landing have just closed.”
Great, Cameron thought with a pucker of his lips. Lee had taken him somewhere where drunken patrons headed to detox. That didn’t say much for the quality of the food.
Grandpa Joe’s obviously catered to the eclectic. Cameron had never seen an odder assortment of people gathered in one place, which intrigued him, considering the condo where he made his home was on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. New York, famous for its variety of people, had nothing on Grandpa Joe’s.
Cameron focused on his friend and shrugged in resignation. “I hope the owner’s other ventures were more successful. This place is a dump. It looks like a truck stop that hasn’t been updated since the fifties.” He shifted his six-foot bulk, and, to his dismay, found his legs sticking to the red vinyl seat. Given it was July he would have thought it was safe to wear shorts. “Good grief. What possessed you to bring us here?”
Much to Cameron’s chagrin, his best friend chuckled. Lee leaned forward and put his elbows on the yellowing white Formica tabletop. “If the press could only see you now. New York City’s most eligible bachelor at Grandpa Joe’s.”
The dirty look Cameron shot Lee didn’t have any impact. Disgusted, Cameron raked his left hand through his short blond hair. “If I hadn’t gone to college with you, I’d fire you for bringing me here and risking another exposé.”
Lee laughed, and Cameron knew his former roommate didn’t feel in the least bit threatened.
“I’m absolutely sick and tired of being that stupid tabloid’s front cover just so they can sell papers,” Cameron said.
Lee took a sip of water. “Must suck to be you. Thirty-four years old and women are still throwing themselves at you, begging for sex. Heck, I’m sure being named one of America’s one hundred most eligible bachelors really hurt your feelings.”
Hardly, but Cameron wasn’t about to admit it. “Shut up, married man. You don’t know anything anymore.”
Lee laughed. “That’s right, and I like it that way. You should try it, you know. Marriage might suit you.”
Cameron scowled. Marriage was the last thing on his mind, even though it seemed as if everyone else around him was trying it. He drummed well-manicured fingers on the yellowing tabletop. “You’re just a sore loser. It still pains you that you had to fork over the cash when I won our bet.”
“It was an unfair bet.”
Cameron arched an eyebrow. To this day, he and Lee always had some bet going, from their yearly Superbowl and Final Four bets to the more outrageous ones that became more a matter of male pride and principle than of money to win.
A prime example of male pride had been their bet involving that M word. He tried staring Lee down. “It’s not my fault you tied the knot first.”
Lee simply shrugged. “Yes, but my bed’s warm and I don’t have to worry about her turning psycho the next morning. Unlike some people I know.”
Cameron deliberately ignored his friend’s jibe. He’d long ago purged that memory. “Oh look, here’s our food. Finally. I’d about given up.”
He swept the feathered layer falling in his eyes away from his face and managed a tight smile as the waitress came forward. His blue eyes narrowed, missing nothing. She balanced the tray cautiously, a strand of her own blond hair plastered to the side of her face.
The tray wobbled as she transferred it to only one hand. A bit of some unnameable brownish substance flowed over the rim of a plate, and Cameron jumped to avoid being hit with the drips that instead splattered on the vinyl seat right next to his leg.
“Oops,” she said, catching the tray before it completely upended. She placed it on the tray caddy and grinned, as if proud of her accomplishment. Finding her perfect white teeth an odd contrast to her grease-shiny face, Cameron busied himself with wiping up the spill. He emptied the napkin holder before he was through.
“Let’s see,” she said, her voice making a nervous tinkling sound. “You both ordered the special. That makes it easy.” She placed a plate of something he couldn’t describe in front of him.
“Anything else right now?” She barely waited for him to answer as she tossed packages of soda crackers on the table. Already she was inching away, ignoring the used napkins he’d piled up. “No? Great. Ketchup’s on the table. Pay the cashier before you leave.”
And with that she walked off, her pink uniform flaring behind her. A strange smell assaulted his nose, and he looked at the source of the odor, the plate in front of him. Was that grease floating on top?
He glanced up to find Lee choking back another laugh. Cameron practically groaned aloud with exasperation. “Now what? I’ve been in town less than five hours and I think you’re over your quotient of gotchas for the next five years.”
“I can’t help it. The look on your face is priceless. Haven’t you ever eaten anywhere that wasn’t chic or five-star?”
“If chic means somewhere the waitresses pick up dirty napkins, then no, I haven’t.” Cameron frowned.
“You are so cloistered.”
Cameron’s jaw dropped open and he managed not to sputter. He ran a hand across his three a.m. shadow. “I’m cloistered? Are you kidding? Are you really suggesting that I should have checked out some dump like this in New York?”
As if in disbelief, Lee shook his head, sending his brown hair forward. He pushed it back. “How did I miss this side of you when we were at Yale? You’re such a snob.”
“No, I’m not. I just expect not to wear my food. Geez, now I know I’m in a cow town. Come on. You know me. I’m not snobby, just picky.”
Lee ignored that and feigned indignation instead. “So St. Louis is a cow town?”
“Compared to New York, yes, this is a secondary market, which is why I’m buying your excuse for a weekly newspaper in the first place. Remember?”
“I remember. It’s a good purchase, but just relax a little. This isn’t New York.”
“That’s for sure, and you’ve never lived there.”
“Thank the gods for that.” Laugh lines surrounded Lee’s mouth. He leaned forward. “St. Louis is just fine for me. I’ll take it over New York any day.”
“Hmph.” Cameron snorted as Lee spooned some of the chili and eggs into his mouth.
“Pellers are really good,” Lee said with a wave of his empty spoon. “Eat.”
Cameron rolled his eyes heavenward. As his blue-eyed gaze returned to earth, their waitress again came into view. From a distance he could tell she had decent legs. At least she had one point in her favor. The way he figured it, if the only job she could get was working in a diner in the middle of the night then she needed all the breaks she could get.
“So, honestly, what do you think?”
Cameron snapped to attention and returned his gaze to meet Lee’s. After years of being friends, he knew Lee wasn’t referring to their errant waitress, but rather the Mound City Monitor.
“I’m pleased,” Cameron said. “It’s a great newspaper, and the acquisition is going well. It impressed me the way you put the issue to bed tonight. I’ll admit, I had my doubts when you first planted the idea about buying the paper.”
“I assume O’Brien Publications is pretty picky on what they purchase?” Lee’s brown eyes danced with mirth as he teased Cameron. Once Cameron had delayed making a deal, ending up losing the next “hot” magazine. While he hadn’t lost any money, his learning experience at twenty-two was still a sore spot.
“You know, one day you’ll go too far,” Cameron threatened with a wave of his finger.
“And then what?” Lee continued to rib his best friend. It had been too long since they’d simply hung out as they were now. “You New Yorkers call your lawyers. Out here in the cow towns we take it out back and settle it like real men.”
Cameron choked on the last of his cola. “Now I know that wife of yours is an alien. You’re brain-dead.”
“I’ll tell Julie you said that. She’ll be pleased. One more success in husbandly indoctrination besides me putting down the toilet seat.”
Cameron suddenly grinned. His former roommate had always been the life of the party, the one who made everyone laugh and feel right at home. “You know, I’ve missed bantering with you.”
For a moment Lee became serious. “Me, too. I’m glad you decided to supervise the sale personally. It’ll give us some time to play golf.”
Golf. In guy-speak this meant spending some quality time together. “Well, you need a way to win some of our bets. In the overall scheme of things, I’m still way in the lead.”
“Ha. Dreamer.”
“Besides,” Cameron ignored Lee’s jibe, “I knew this arrangement had to have other merits besides you being an editor of the paper.”
“Mainly your escape.”
Despite his jovial side, his friend’s brain was razor-sharp. “How well you know me. Kit’s married now and pregnant—”
“And now that your sister’s settled, your dad’s on your case again.” Lee waved a spoon, motioning that he understood. “Time to get him an heir with the surname O’Brien.”
“Exactly.” Cameron nodded. Michael O’Brien wasn’t known as a fiery Irishman for nothing. “Ever since that bachelor list appeared he’s repeated his mantra quite a bit.”
Lee looked pleased. “Ah, so you finally admit it! The real reason for your sojourn comes forth.”
Cameron twisted his straw, jabbing it between the ice cubes. He could use a refill, but their errant waitress was paying no attention to their table. “Yeah. Well, you try having your Irish father breathing down your neck. Hell, he’s made me his new quest. So I figured I’d come out here, supervise my very expensive newspaper purchase, see you and the wife, and get away from dear old dad and my hormonally unbalanced sister.”
“Who, while you love both of them, are still on your case to find the right woman and settle down.”
“That about sums it up.” Cameron pushed his untouched plate aside, too keyed up to eat whatever the greasy substance was in front of him. It had been satisfying seeing the presses run on the local alternative weekly he purchased for O’Brien Publications. The Mound City Monitor marked O’Brien’s first newspaper venture into a smaller secondary market such as St. Louis.