A Bargain With The Boss

The question caught her off guard while her brain zipped off on a disorienting, romantic tangent. To be Tuck’s. In his arms. In his life. In his bed.

“Sorry?” She scrambled to bring her thoughts back to the real world.

“If you were my confidential assistant, what would you do?”

“I’m not.” She wasn’t his anything, and she had to remember that.

“But if you were?”

If she were Tuck’s assistant, she’d be in the middle of making one colossal mistake. Eventually, she would kiss her boss. She was thinking about it right now. And if the dusky smoke in his eyes was anything to go by, he was thinking about it, too.

* * *

A Bargain with the Boss is part of the Chicago Sons series— Men who work hard, love harder and live with their fathers’ legacies …

A Bargain with

the Boss

Barbara Dunlop

www.millsandboon.co.uk

BARBARA DUNLOP writes romantic stories while curled up in a log cabin in Canada’s far north, where bears outnumber people and it snows six months of the year. Fortunately she has a brawny husband and two teenage children to haul firewood and clear the driveway while she sips cocoa and muses about her upcoming chapters. Barbara loves to hear from readers. You can contact her through her website, www.barbaradunlop.com.

Thanks to Kieran Slobodin for the title.

And thanks to Shona Mostyn and Brittany Pearson for the shoes!

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Extract

Copyright

One

Saturday night ended early for Lawrence “Tuck” Tucker. His date had not gone well.

Her name was Felicity. She had a bright smile, sunshine-blond hair, a body that could stop traffic and the IQ of a basset hound. But she also had a shrill, long-winded conversational style, and she was stridently against subsidized day care and team sports for children. Plus, she hated the Bulls. What self-respecting Chicagoan hated the Bulls? That was just disloyal.

By the time they’d finished dessert, Tuck was tired of being lectured in high C. He decided life was too short, so he’d dropped her off at her apartment with a fleeting good-night kiss.

Now he let himself into the expansive foyer of the Tucker family mansion, shifting his thoughts ahead to Sunday morning. He was meeting his friend Shane Colborn for, somewhat ironically, a pickup basketball game.

“That’s just reckless.” The angry voice of his father, Jamison Tucker, rang clearly from the library.

“I’m not saying it’ll be easy,” said Tuck’s older brother, Dixon, his own voice tight with frustration.

Together the two men ran the family’s multinational conglomerate, Tucker Transportation, and it was highly unusual for them to argue.

“Now, that’s an understatement,” said Jamison. “Who could possibly step in? I’m tied up. And we’re not sending some junior executive to Antwerp.”

“The operations director is not a junior executive.”

“We need a vice president to represent the company. We need you.”

“Then, send Tuck.”

“Tuck?” Jamison scoffed.

The derision in his father’s voice shouldn’t have bothered Tuck. But it did. Even after all these years, he still felt the sting in his father’s lack of faith and respect.

“He’s a vice president,” said Dixon.

“In name only. And barely that.”

“Dad—”

“Don’t you Dad me. You know your brother’s shortcomings as well as I do. You want to take an extended vacation? Now?”

“I didn’t choose the timing.”

Jamison’s voice moderated. “She did you wrong, son. Everybody knows that.”

“My wife of ten years betrayed every promise we ever made to each other. Do you have any idea how that feels?”

Tuck’s sympathies went out to Dixon. It had been a terrible few months since Dixon had caught Kassandra in bed with another man. The final divorce papers had arrived earlier this week. Dixon hadn’t said much about them. In fact, he’d been unusually tight-lipped.

“And you’re angry. And that’s fine. But you bested her in the divorce. We held up the prenup and she’s walking away with next to nothing.”

All emotion left Dixon’s voice. “It’s all about the money to you, isn’t it?”

“It was to her,” said Jamison.

There was a break in the conversation, and Tuck realized they could easily emerge from the library and catch him eavesdropping. He took a silent step back toward the front door.

“Tuck deserves a chance,” said Dixon.

Tuck froze again to listen.

“Tuck had a chance,” said Jamison, his words stinging once again.

When? Tuck wanted to shout. When had he had a chance to do anything but sit in his executive floor office and feel like an unwanted guest?

But as quickly as the emotion formed, he reminded himself that he didn’t care. His only defense against his father was not to care about respect or recognition or making any meaningful contribution to the family business. Most people would kill for Tuck’s lifestyle. He needed to shut up and enjoy it.

“I knew this was a bad idea,” said Dixon.

“It was a terrible idea,” said Jamison.

Tuck reached behind himself and opened the front door. Then he shut it hard, making a show of tromping his feet over the hardwood floor.

“Hello?” he called out as he walked toward the library, giving them ample time to pretend they’d been talking about something else.

“Hi, Tuck.” His brother greeted him as he entered the dark-hued, masculine room.

“I didn’t see your car out front,” Tuck told him.

“I parked it in the garage.”

“So you’re staying over?”

Dixon had a penthouse downtown, where he’d lived with Kassandra, but he occasionally spent a day or two at the family home.

“I’m staying over,” said Dixon. “I sold the penthouse today.”

From the expression on his father’s face, Tuck could tell this was news to him, as well.

“So you’ll be here for a while?” Tuck asked easily. He loosened his tie and pulled it off. “What are you drinking?”

“Glen Garron,” Jamison answered.

“Sounds good.” Tuck shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it onto one of the deep red leather wingback chairs.

With a perimeter of ceiling-high shelves, a stone fireplace, oversize leather chairs and ornately carved walnut tables, the library hadn’t changed in seventy years. It had been built by Tuck’s grandfather, Randal, as a gentleman’s retreat, back in the days when gentlemen thought they had something to retreat from.

Tuck didn’t fill the silence, but instead waited to see where his father and brother would take the conversation.

“How was your date?” his father asked.

“It was fine.”

Jamison looked pointedly at his heavy platinum watch.

“She wasn’t exactly a rocket scientist,” Tuck said, answering the unspoken question.

“You’ve dated a rocket scientist?” asked Jamison.

Tuck frowned at his father’s mocking tone.

The two men locked gazes for a moment before Jamison spoke. “I merely wondered how you had a basis for comparison.”

“First date?” Dixon queried, his tone much less judgmental.

Tuck crossed to the wet bar and flipped up a cut crystal glass. “Last date.”

Dixon gave a chopped laugh.

Tuck poured a measure of scotch. “Interested in the game with Shane tomorrow?” he asked his brother.

“Can’t,” said Dixon.

“Work?” asked Tuck.

“Tying up loose ends.”

Tuck turned to face the other men. “With the penthouse?”

Dixon’s expression was inscrutable. “And a few other things.”

Tuck got the distinct feeling Dixon was holding something back. But then the two brothers rarely spoke frankly in front of their father. Tuck would catch up with Dixon at some point tomorrow and ask him what was going on. Was he really looking at taking a lengthy vacation? Tuck would be impressed if he was.

Then again, their father was right. Tucker Transportation needed Dixon to keep the corporation running at full speed. And Tuck wasn’t any kind of a substitute on that front.

* * *

Amber Bowen looked straight into the eyes of the president of Tucker Transportation and lied.

“No,” she said to Jamison Tucker. “Dixon didn’t mention anything to me.”

Her loyalty was to her boss, Dixon Tucker. Five years ago, he’d given her a chance when nobody else would. She’d been straight out of high school, with no college education and no office experience. He’d put his faith in her then, and she wasn’t going to let him down now.

“When was the last time you spoke to him?”

Jamison Tucker was an imposing figure behind his big desk in the corner office on the thirty-second floor of the Tucker Transportation building. His gray hair was neat, freshly cut every three weeks. His suit was custom-made to cover his barrel chest. He wasn’t as tall as his two sons, but he more than made up for it in sturdiness. He was thick necked, like a bulldog. His brow was heavy and his face was square.

“Yesterday morning,” said Amber. This time she was telling the truth.

His eyes narrowed with what looked like suspicion. “You didn’t see him last night, sometime after the office closed?”

The question took her aback. “I... Why?”

“It’s a yes-or-no answer, Amber.”

“No.”

Why would Jamison ask that question, and why in such a suspicious tone?

“Are you sure?” Jamison asked her, skepticism in his pale blue eyes.

She hesitated before answering. “Do you have some reason to believe I saw him last night?”

“Did you see him last night?” There was a note of triumph in his voice.

She hadn’t. But she did know where Dixon had been last night. He was at the airport, boarding a private jet for Arizona. She knew he’d left Chicago, and she knew he wouldn’t be back for a very long time.

He’d told her he’d left a note for his family so they wouldn’t worry. And he’d made her promise not to give anyone more information. And she was keeping that promise.

Dixon’s family took shameless advantage of his good nature and his strong work ethic. The result was that he was overworked and exhausted. He’d been doing an increasing share of the senior management duties at Tucker Transportation over the past couple of years. And now his divorce had taken a huge toll on his mental and emotional state. If he didn’t get some help soon, he was headed for a breakdown.

She knew he’d tried to explain it to his family. She also knew they refused to listen. He’d had no choice but to simply disappear. His father and his lazy, good-for-nothing younger brother, Tuck, were simply going to have to step up.

She squared her shoulders. “Are you implying that I have a personal relationship with Dixon?”

Jamison leaned slightly forward. “I don’t imply.”

“Yes, you do. You did.” She knew she was skating on thin ice, but she was angry on her behalf and Dixon’s. It was Dixon’s wife who had cheated, not Dixon.

Jamison’s tone went lower. “How dare you?”

“How dare you, sir. Have some faith in your own son.”

Then Jamison’s eyes seemed to bulge. His complexion turned ruddy. “Why, you—”

Amber braced herself, gripping the arm of the chair, afraid she would be fired on the spot. She could only hope Dixon would hire her back when he returned.

But Jamison gasped instead and his hand went to his chest. His body stiffened in the big chair and he sucked in three short breaths.

Amber shot to her feet. “Mr. Tucker?”

There was genuine terror in his expression.

She grabbed the desk phone, calling out to his assistant as she dialed 911.

Jamison’s assistant, Margaret Smithers, was through the door in a flash.

While Amber gave instructions to the emergency operator, Margaret called the company nurse.

Within minutes, the nurse had Jamison on his back on the floor of his office and was administering CPR.

Amber watched the scene in horror. Had his heart truly stopped? Was he going to die right here in the office?

She knew she should get word to his family. His wife needed to know what had happened. Then again, Mrs. Tucker probably shouldn’t be alone when she heard. She probably shouldn’t hear news like this from a company secretary.

“I need to call Tuck,” Amber said to Margaret.

All the blood had drained from Margaret’s face. She dropped to her knees beside Jamison.

“Margaret?” Amber prompted. “Tuck?”

“On my desk,” Margaret whispered, as if it was painful for her to talk. “There’s a phone list. His cell number is there.”

Amber left for Margaret’s desk in the outer office.

While she punched Tuck’s cell number, the paramedics rushed past with a stretcher. The commotion inside Jamison’s office turned into a blur.

“Hello?” Tuck answered.

She cleared her throat, fighting to keep from looking through the office door, afraid of what she might see. She thought she could hear a defibrillator hum to life. Then the paramedics called, “Clear.”

“This is Amber Bowen,” she said into the phone, struggling to keep her voice from shaking.

There was silence, and she realized Tuck didn’t recognize her name. It figured. But this wasn’t the time to dwell on his lack of interest in the company that supported his playboy lifestyle.

“I’m Dixon’s assistant,” she said.

“Oh, Amber. Right.” Tuck sounded distracted.

“You need to come to the office.” She stopped herself.

What Tuck really needed to do was to go to the hospital and meet the ambulance there. She searched for a way to phrase those words.

“Why?” he asked.

“It’s your father.”

“My father wants me to come to the office?” His drawling tone dripped sarcasm.

“We had to call an ambulance.”

Tuck’s voice became more alert. “Did he fall?”

“He, well, seems to have collapsed.”

“What? Why?”

“I don’t know.” She was thinking it had to be a heart attack, but she didn’t want to speculate.

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“The paramedics are putting him on a stretcher. I didn’t want to call Mrs. Tucker and frighten her.”

“Right. Good decision.”

“You should probably meet them at Central Hospital.”

“Is he conscious?”

Amber looked at Jamison’s closed eyes and pale skin. “I don’t think so.”

“I’m on my way.”

“Good.”

The line went silent and she set down the phone.

The paramedics wheeled Jamison past. He was propped up on the stretcher, an oxygen mask over his face and an IV in his arm.

Amber sank down onto Margaret’s chair, her knees wobbly and her legs weak.

Margaret and the nurse emerged from Jamison’s office.

Margaret’s eyes were red, tears marring her cheeks.

Amber rose to meet her. “It’s going to be all right. He’s getting the best of care.”

“How?” Margaret asked into the air. “How could this happen?”

The nurse excused herself to follow the paramedics.

“Do you think he has heart problems?” Amber asked quietly.

Margaret shook her head. “He doesn’t. Just last night...” Another tear ran down her cheek.

“Did something happen yesterday?” Amber assumed Margaret had meant yesterday, maybe late in the afternoon.

“He was in such a good mood. We had some wine.”

“You had wine in the office?”

Margaret stilled. Panic and guilt suddenly flooded her expression, and she took a quick step back, glancing away.

“It was nothing,” she said, focusing on some papers in her in-basket, straightening them into a pile.

Amber was stunned.

Jamison and Margaret had been together last night? Had they been together, together? It sure looked like it.

Margaret moved briskly around the end of her desk. “I should... That is...” She sank down in her chair.

“Yes,” Amber agreed, not sure what she was agreeing to, but quite certain she should end the conversation and get back to her own desk.

She started for the hallway, but then she paused, her sense of duty asserting itself. “I’ll call the senior managers and give them the news. Did Jamison tell you about Dixon?”

Margaret looked up. “What about Dixon?”

Amber decided the news of Dixon leaving could wait a couple of hours. “Nothing. We can talk later.”

Margaret’s head went back down and she plunked a few keys on her keyboard. “Jamison had a lunch today and a three o’clock with the board.”

Amber left Margaret to her work, her mind racing with all that would need to be handled.

Dixon was gone. Jamison was ill. And that left no one in charge. Tuck was out there somewhere. But she couldn’t even imagine what would happen if Tuck took the reins. He wasn’t a real vice president. He was just some partier who dropped by the office now and again, evidently giving heart palpitations to half the female staff.

* * *

A week later, Tuck realized he had to accept reality. His father was going to be weeks, if not months, in recovery from his heart attack, and Dixon was nowhere to be found. Somebody had to run Tucker Transportation. And that somebody had to be him.

The senior executives seated around the boardroom table looked decidedly troubled at seeing him in the president’s chair. He didn’t blame them one bit.

“What I don’t understand,” said Harvey Miller, the finance director, “is why you’re not even talking to Dixon.”

Tuck hadn’t yet decided how much to reveal about his brother’s disappearance. He’d tried calling, text messaging and emailing Dixon. He’d had no response. And there was nothing to go on except the cryptic letter his brother had left for their father, saying he’d be gone a month, maybe even longer.

“Dixon’s on vacation,” said Tuck.

“Now?” asked Harvey, incredulity ringing through his tone.

Mary Silas’s head came up in obvious surprise and chagrin. “I didn’t hear about that.”

She was in charge of human resources and Tuck knew she prided herself on being in the know.

“Get him back,” said Harvey.

Instead of responding to either of them, Tuck scanned the expressions of the five executives. “I’d like a status report from each of you tomorrow morning. Amber will book a one-on-one meeting for each of you.”

“What about the New York trade show?” asked Zachary Ingles, the marketing director.

Tuck’s understanding of the annual trade show, a marquee event, was sketchy at best. He’d attended a couple of times, so he knew Tucker Transportation created and staffed a large pavilion on the trade-show floor. But in the past he’d been more focused on the booth babes and the evening receptions than on the sales efforts.

“Bring me the information tomorrow,” he said.

“I need decisions,” said Zachary, his tone impatient.

“Then, I’ll make them,” Tuck replied.

He might not have a clue what he was doing, but he knew enough to hide his uncertainty.

“Can we at least conference Dixon into the meetings?” asked Harvey.

“He’s not available,” said Tuck.

“Where is he?”

Tuck set his jaw and glared at the man.

“Do you want a full quarterly report or a summary?” asked Lucas Steele. He was the youngest of the executives, the operations director.

Where the others wore custom-made suits, Lucas was dressed in blue jeans and a dark blazer. His steel-blue shirt was crisp, but he hadn’t bothered with a tie. He moved between two worlds—the accountants and lawyers who set strategic direction, and the transport managers around the world who actually got things from A to B.

“A summary is enough for now.” Tuck appreciated Lucas’s pragmatic approach to the situation.

Lucas raised his brows, silently asking the other men if there was anything else.

Tuck decided to jump on the opportunity and end the meeting.

“Thank you.” He rose from his chair.

They followed suit and filed out, leaving him alone with Dixon’s assistant, Amber.

He hadn’t paid much attention to her before this week, but now she struck him as a model of fortitude and efficiency. Where his father’s assistant, Margaret, seemed to be falling apart, Amber was calm and collected.

If she’d wandered out of central casting, she couldn’t have looked more perfect for the part of trustworthy assistant. Her brunette hair was pulled back in a tidy French braid. Her makeup was minimal. She wore a gray skirt and blazer with a buttoned white blouse.

Only two things about her tweaked his interest as a man—the fine wisps of hair that had obviously escaped the confining braid, and the spiky black high-heeled sandals that flashed gold soles when she walked. The loose wisps of hair were endearing, while the shoes were intriguing. Both could have the power to turn him on if he was inclined to let them.

He wasn’t.

“We need to get Dixon back,” he told her, setting his mind firmly on business. His brother was priority number one.

“I don’t think we should bother him,” she replied.

The answer struck Tuck as ridiculous. “He’s got a corporation to run.”

Her blue eyes flashed with unexpected annoyance. “You’ve got a corporation to run.”

For some reason, he hadn’t been prepared for any display of emotion from her, let alone something bordering on hostility. It was yet another thing he found intriguing. It was also something else he was going to ignore.

“We both know that’s not going to happen,” he stated flatly.

“We both know no such thing.”

Tuck wasn’t a stickler for hierarchy, but her attitude struck him as inappropriately confrontational. “Do you talk to Dixon this way?”

The question seemed to surprise her, but she recovered quickly. “What way?”

He wasn’t buying it. “You know exactly what I mean.”

“Dixon needs some time to himself. The divorce was very hard on him.”

Tuck knew full well that the divorce had been hard on his brother. “He’s better off without her.”

“No kidding.” There was knowledge in her tone.

“He talked to you about his wife?” Tuck was surprised by that.

Amber didn’t reply right away, and it was obvious to him that she was carefully formulating her answer.

He couldn’t help wondering how close Dixon had become to his assistant. Was she his confidante? Something more?

“I saw them together,” she finally said. “I overheard some of their private conversations.”

“You mean you eavesdropped?” Not exactly an admirable trait. Then again, not that he was one to judge.

“I mean, she shouted pretty loud.”

“You couldn’t leave and give them some privacy?”

“Not always. I have a job that requires me to be at my desk. And that desk is outside Dixon’s office.”

Tuck couldn’t help but wonder exactly how far-reaching her duties had become when Dixon’s marriage went bad. He took in her tailored clothes and her neat hair. She might be buttoned down, but she was definitely attractive.

“I see...” He thought maybe he did.

“Stop that,” she snapped.

“Stop what?”

“Stop insinuating something without spitting it out. If you’ve got something to ask me, then ask me.”