“You’re the kind of guy who plays by the rules.”

“Normally, yes.” He moved closer. “But this isn’t normal.”

Becca agreed with him. She fought the urge to step back. “Being here?”

Caleb stopped in front of her, only inches away. “Being here with you. I’m tired of playing by the rules.”

Her heart slammed against her ribs. She should step back. Way back. Put distance between them. For her own good.

But her feet wouldn’t move. She remained rooted to the spot, waiting, hoping, anticipating.

He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her. Hard.

Becca had never known what it was like to be possessed, but she felt possessed by Caleb’s kiss. She didn’t mind one bit.

About the Author

With a degree in mechanical engineering from Stanford University, the last thing MELISSA McCLONE ever thought she would be doing was write romance novels. But analyzing engines for a major US airline just couldn’t compete with her “happily-ever-afters.” When she isn’t writing, caring for her three young children or doing laundry, Melissa loves to curl up on the couch with a cup of tea, her cats and a good book. She enjoys watching home decorating shows to get ideas for her house—a 1939 cottage that is slowly being renovated. Melissa lives in Lake Oswego, Oregon, with her own real-life hero husband, two daughters, a son, two lovable but oh-so-spoiled indoor cats and a no-longer-stray outdoor kitty that has decided to call the garage home.

Melissa loves to hear from her readers. You can write to her at PO Box 63, Lake Oswego, OR 97034, USA, or contact her via her website, www.melissamcclone.com.

The Man Behind the Pinstripes
Melissa McClone

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Jan Herinckx for introducing us to Chaos and the world of dog-showing!

Special thanks to: Terri Reed, Jennifer Shirk, Jennifer Short.

And the Immersion Crew: Margie Lawson, Elizabeth Cockle and Lori Freeland.

CHAPTER ONE

THE INCESSANT BARKING from the backyard of his family’s palatial estate confirmed Caleb Fairchild’s fear. His grandmother had gone to the dogs.

Cursing under his breath, he pressed the doorbell.

A symphony of chimes filled the air, drowning out the irritating barks. Forget Mozart. Forget Bach. Only a commissioned piece from a respected New York composer would do for Gertrude Fairchild, his grandmother who had founded a billion-dollar skin care company with his late grandfather in Boise, Idaho.

Caleb was here to put an end to her frivolous infatuation with man’s best friend. It was the only way to keep Fair Face, the family company, successful and profitable.

The front door opened, greeting him with a blast of cold air and a whiff of his grandmother’s floral scent perfume.

Grams.

Short white curls bounced every which way. She looked fifty-seven not seventy-seven, thanks to decades of using her own skin care products.

“Caleb! I saw your car on the security camera so told Mrs. Harrison I would answer the door.” The words rushed from Grams’s mouth faster than lobster tails disappeared from the buffet table at the country club. “What are you doing here? Your assistant said you didn’t have any free time this week. That’s why I mailed you the dog care prototypes.”

He hadn’t expected Grams to be so excited by his visit. He kissed her cheek. “I’m never too busy for you.”

Her cornflower blue eyes danced with laughter. “This is such a lovely surprise.”

Sweat trickled down his back. Too bad he couldn’t blame the perspiration on the warm June day.

He adjusted his yellow tie then smoothed his suit jacket. But no matter how professional he looked, she wasn’t going to like what he had to say. “I’m not here as your grandson. I need to speak with you as Fair Face’s CEO.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” The warmth in her voice added to his discomfort. “I raised you. You’ll always be my grandson first.”

Her words hit him like a sucker-punch. He owed Grams … everything.

She opened the door wider. “Come in.”

“Nice sari,” he said.

Grams struck a pose. “Just something I had in my closet.”

He entered the foyer. “Better add Bollywood to your bucket list.”

“Already have.” She closed the door. “Let’s go out on the patio and chat.”

Chat, not speak or discuss or talk. Not good.

Caleb glanced around. Something was … off.

Museum-worthy works of art hung in the same places. The squeaky dog toys and ravaged stuffed animals on the shiny hardwood floor were new. But the one display he expected to see, what he wanted to see, what he longed to see was missing from its usual spot.

His throat tightened. “Where are the—”

“In the living room.”

Caleb walked around the corner and saw the three-foot U.S. Navy aircraft carrier replicas showcased on a brand-new wooden display case. He touched the deck of the USS Ronald Reagan.

Familiar. Soothing. Home.

“I’ve been making some changes around here,” Grams said from behind him. “I thought they deserved a nicer place than the foyer.”

He faced her. “Gramps would like this.”

“That’s what I thought, too. Have you eaten lunch?”

“I grabbed something on my way over.”

“Then you need dessert. I have cake. Made it myself.” She touched Caleb’s arm with her thin, vein-covered hand. “Carrot, not chocolate, but still tasty.”

Grams always felt the urge to feed him. He knew she wouldn’t give up until he agreed to have a bite to eat. “I’ll have something before I leave.”

A satisfied smile graced her glossed lips.

At least one of them was happy.

Back in the foyer, he kicked a tennis ball with his foot. “It’s a miracle you don’t break a hip with all these dog toys laying around.”

“I might be old, but I’m still spry.” His grandmother’s gaze softened. She placed her hand over her heart. “Heavens. Every time I see you, you remind me more and more of your father. God rest his soul.”

Caleb’s stomach churned as if he’d eaten one too many spicy Buffalo wings. He strived hard to be nothing like his feckless father. A man who’d wanted nothing to do with Fair Face. A man who’d blown through money like a hedge fund manager’s mistress. A man who’d died in a fiery speedboat crash off the Cote d’Azur with his girlfriend du jour.

Grams’ gaze ran the length of Caleb. She clucked her tongue. “But you’ve got to stop dressing like a high-class mortician.”

“Not this again.” Caleb raised his chin, undaunted, and followed her out of the foyer. “You’d have me dress like a rugged, action-adventure movie star. A shirtless one, given the pictures you share on Facebook.”

They walked by the dining room where two elaborate chandeliers hung above a hand-carved mahogany table that sat twenty.

“You’re a handsome man,” Grams said. “Show off your assets.”

“I’m the CEO. I have a professional image to maintain.”

“There’s no corporate policy that says your hair can’t touch your collar.”

“The cut suits my position.”

“Your suits are a whole other matter.” She pointed at his chest. “Your tie is too understated. Red screams power. We’ll go shopping. Girls these days are looking for the whole package. That includes having stylish hair and being a snazzy dresser.”

And not taking your grandmother’s fashion advice.

They walked into the kitchen. A basket of fruit and a covered cake stand sat on the marble counter. Something simmered on the stove. The scent of basil filled the air. Normal, everyday things, but this visit home felt anything but normal.

“Women only care about the balance in my bank account,” he said.

“Some. Not all.” She stopped, squeezed his hand, the way she’d done for as long as Caleb remembered. Her tender touch and her warm hugs had seen him through death, heartbreak and everyday life. “You’ll find a woman who cares only about you.”

Difficult to do when he wasn’t looking, but he wasn’t telling Grams that today. One piece of bad news a day met her quota. “I like being single.”

“You must have one-night stands or friends with benefits.”

He flinched. “You’re spending too much time on Facebook.”

A disturbing realization formed in his mind. Discussing sex might be easier than talking to Grams about her dog skin care products.

She placed her hands on her hips. “I would like great grandchildren one of these years while I can still get on the floor and play with them. Why do you think I created that line of organic baby products?”

“Everyone at the company knows you want great grandchildren.”

“What’s a woman to do?” She put her palms up. Gold bracelets clinked against each other. “You and your sister are in no rush to give me grandbabies while I’m still breathing.”

“Can you imagine Courtney as a mom?”

“She has some growing up to do,” Grams admitted, but without any accusation or disappointment. She walked into the family room with its leather couches, huge television and enough books on the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves to start a library. “Though I give you credit for at least proposing to that money-grubbing floozy, Cash-andra.”

Unwelcome memories flooded him. His heart cried foul. Cheat. Sucker. “Cassandra.”

The woman had introduced herself to him at a benefit dinner. Smart and sexy as hell, Cassandra knew what buttons to push to become the center of his universe. She’d made him feel more like a warrior than a businessman. Marriage hadn’t been on his radar screen, but when she gave him an ultimatum, he’d played right into her hand with a romantic proposal and a stunning three-carat engagement ring only to find out everything about her and their relationship had been a scam, a ruse, a lie.

“Cash-andra fits.” Grams held up three fingers. “Refusing to sign the agreed-upon prenup. Two-timing you. Hiring a divorce attorney before saying I do. No wonder you’re afraid to date.” He squared his shoulders. “I’m not afraid.”

Not afraid of Cassandra.

Not afraid of any woman.

But he was … cautious.

After Cassandra wouldn’t sign the prenup, he’d called off the wedding and broken up with her. She’d begged him for a second chance, and he’d been tempted to reconcile, until a private investigator proved the woman was a gold digger in the same league as his own mother.

Grams waved a hand in the air, as if she could brush aside bad things in the world. Light reflected off her three diamond rings, anniversary presents from his grandfather. “I shouldn’t have mentioned the Jezebel.”

At least Caleb had gotten away relatively unscathed except for a bruised ego and broken heart. Unlike his father who’d wound up with two kids he’d never wanted.

She exited the house through the family room’s French doors.

Caleb followed her outside to see new furniture—a large gleaming, teak table surrounded matching wood chairs, a hammock and padded loungers.

The sun beat down. He pulled out a chair for his grandmother, who sat. “It’s hot. Let me put up the umbrella.”

Grams picked up a black rectangular remote from the table. “I’ve got it.”

She pressed a button.

A cantilevered umbrella opened, covering them in shade.

He joined her at the table.

“What do you think about the dog products?” Gertie asked.

No birds chirped. Even the crickets seemed to be napping. The only thing he heard was an occasional bark and his grandfather’s voice.

Do what must be done. For Fair Face. For your grandmother.

Caleb would rather be back in his office dealing with end-of-quarter results. Who was he kidding? He’d rather be anywhere else right now.

“Interesting prototypes,” he said. “Appealing fragrance and texture.”

Gertie whistled. “Wait until you see them in action.”

Dogs ran full speed from around the corner. A blur of gray, brown and black. The three animals stopped at Grams’s feet, mouths panting and tails wagging.

“Feel how soft they are.” Pride filled her voice as if the dogs were as much a part of her gene pool as Caleb was.

He rested his hands on the table, not about to touch one of her animals. “Most fur is soft if a dog is clean.”

“Not Dozer’s.” She scooped up the little brown dog, whose right eye had been sewn shut. Not one of her expensive show dogs. A rescue or foster. “His hair was bristly and dry withflakes.”

“Doggy dandruff?”

“Allergies. Animals have sensitivities like humans. That’s why companies need to use natural and organic ingredients. No nasty chemicals or additives. Look at Dozer now.” She stared at the dog with the same love and acceptance she’d always given Courtney and him. Even before their father had dumped them here after their mother ran off with her personal trainer. “That’s why I developed Fair Face’s new line of animal products.”

Ignoring the gray dog brushing against his leg, Caleb held up his hands to stop her. “Fair Face doesn’t manufacture animal products.”

Grams’s grin didn’t falter. “Not yet, but you will. I’ve tested the formulas on my consultant and myself. We’ve used them on my dogs.”

“I didn’t know you hired a consultant.”

“Her name is Becca. You’ll love her.”

Caleb doubted that. Most consultants were only looking for a big payday. He’d have to check this Becca’s qualifications. “You realize Fair Face is a skin care company. Human skin.”

“Skin or fur. Two legs or four. Change … expansion is important if a company wants to remain relevant.”

“Not in this case.” He needed to be careful not to hurt Grams’s feelings. “Our resources are tied up with the launch of the organic baby care line. This isn’t the time to expose ourselves to more risk.”

Lines tightened around her mouth. “Your grandfather built Fair Face by taking risks. Sometimes you have to put yourself out on a limb.”

“Limbs break. I have one thousand one hundred thirty-three employees who count on me to make sure they receive paychecks.”

“What I’m asking you to do is not risky. The formulas are ready to go into production. Put together a pilot sales program and we’re all set.”

“It’s not that simple, Grams. Fair Face is a multinational company. We have extra product testing and research to ensure ourselves against liability issues.” The words came out slowly, full of intent and purpose and zero emotion. His grandmother was the smartest woman he knew, used to getting her way. If he wasn’t careful, he would find himself not only manufacturing her products, but also taking one of her damn dogs home. Likely the one-eyed mutt with soft fur. “I won’t expose Fair Face to the additional expense of trying to break into an unknown market.”

Grams sighed, a long drawn out sigh he hadn’t heard since Courtney lost her passport in Prague when she was supposed to be in Milan.

“Sometimes I wish you had a little more of your father in you instead of being so buttoned-down and by-the-book.”

The aggravation in her voice matched the tension cording in Caleb’s neck. The tightness seeped to his shoulders, spilled down his spine. “This isn’t personal. I can’t afford to make a mistake, and you should be enjoying your retirement, not working in your lab.”

“I’m a chemist. That’s what I do. You didn’t have this problem with the organic baby line.” Frustration tinged each of her words, matching the I-wish-you’d-drop-it look in her eyes. “I see what’s going on. You don’t like the dog care products.”

“I never said that.”

“But it’s the truth.” She studied him as if she were trying to prove a hypothesis. “You’ve got that look. The one you got when you said it didn’t matter if your father came home for Christmas.”

“I never needed him here. I had you and Gramps.” Caleb would try a new tactic. He scooted his chair closer. “Remember Gramps’s marketing tagline.”

“The fairest face of all …”

“His words still define the company today. Fifty years later.” Caleb leaned toward her, as if his nearness would soften the blow. “I’m sorry to say it, but dog products, no matter how natural or organic or aromatherapeutic, have no place at Fair Face.”

“It’s still my company.” She enunciated each word with a firm voice punctuated by her ramrod posture.

Disappointing his grandmother was something his father did, not Caleb. He felt like a jerk. One with a silk noose around his neck choking him.

“I know that, but it’s not just my decision.” A plane flew overhead. A dog barked. The silence at the table deepened. He prepared himself to say what he’d come here to say. “I met with the department heads before coming over here. Showed them your prototypes. Ran the numbers. Calculated margins.”

“And …”

“Everyone has high expectations for your baby skin care line,” he said. “But they agree—moving into animal products will affect Fair Face’s reputation, not enhance our brand and lead to loss of revenue, anywhere from 2.3 to 5.7 percent.”

Caleb expected to see a reaction, hear a retort. But Grams remained silent, her face still, nuzzling the dog against her neck. “Everyone thinks this?”

He nodded once.

Disbelief flickered across her face. She’d looked the same way when she learned his grandfather had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. But then something sparked. A spark of resignation. No, a spark of resolve.

“Well, that settles it. I trust you know what’s best for Fair Face.” She sounded doting and grandmotherly, not disappointed and hurt. “Becca and I will figure out another way.”

“Another way for what?”

Grams’s eyes darkened to a steely blue. “To manufacture the products. You and those suits at Fair Face are wrong. There’s a market for my dog skin care line. A big one.”

The sun’s rays warmed Becca Taylor’s cheeks. The sweet scent of roses floated on the air. She walked across the manicured lawn in Gertie’s backyard with two dogs—Maurice, a Norwegian elkhound, and Snowy, a bichon frise.

The two show dogs sniffed the ground, looking for any dropped treats or a place to do their business.

She tucked her cellphone into her shorts pocket. “Don’t get sidetracked, boys. Gertie is waiting for us on the patio.”

Becca had no idea what her boss wanted. She didn’t care.

Gertie had rescued Becca the same way she’d rescued the foster dogs living at the estate. This was only a temporary place, but being here gave them hope of finding a forever home.

Maurice’s ears perked.

“Do you hear Gertie?”

The two dogs ran in the direction of the patio.

Becca quickened her pace. She rounded a corner.

Gertie and a man sat at the teak table underneath the shade of the umbrella. Five dogs vied for attention, paws pounding on the pavement. Gertie waved.

The man next to her turned around.

Whoa. Hello, Mr. Gorgeous.

Tingles skittered from Becca’s stomach to her fingertips.

None of the dogs growled or barked at the guy. Points in his favor. Dogs were the best judges of character, much better than hers.

She walked onto the patio.

The man stood.

Another wave of tingles made the rounds.

Most guys she knew didn’t stand. Didn’t open doors. Didn’t leave the toilet seat down. This man had been raised right.

He was handsome with classical features—high cheekbones, straight nose, strong jawline. The kind of handsome women showed off to girlfriends.

The man stepped away from the table, angling his body toward her. His navy pinstriped suit was tailored, accentuating wide shoulders and tapering nicely at the hips. He moved with the grace of an athlete, making her wonder if he had sexy abdominal muscles underneath.

Very nice packaging.

Well, except for his hair.

His short, cookie-cutter, corporate hairstyle could be seen walking out of every high rise in downtown Boise. With such a gorgeous face, the man’s light brown hair should be longer, a little mussed, sexy and carefree, instead of something so … businesslike.

Not that his hair mattered to Becca. Or anything about him.

His top-of-the-line suit shouted one thing—Best in Show.

She might be a dog handler, but she didn’t handle his type.

They didn’t belong in the same ring. He was a champion with an endless pedigree. She was a mutt without a collar.

She’d tried playing with the top dogs, the wealthy dogs, once before and landed in the doghouse, aka jail.

Never again.

But looking never hurt anybody.

Gertie looked up from the dogs at her feet. “Becca. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

He was tall, over six feet. The top of her head came to the tip of his nose.

Becca took two steps closer. “Hello.”

His green eyes reminded her of jade, a bit cool for her taste, but hey, no one was perfect. His eyelashes more than made up for whatever reserve she saw reflected in his gaze. If she had thick, dark lashes like his she would never need to buy mascara again.

She wiped her hand on her shorts then extended her arm. “I’m Becca Taylor.”

His grip was strong, his skin warm.

A burst of heat shot up her arm and pulsed through her veins.

“Caleb Fairchild.” His rich voice reminded her of melted dark chocolate, rich and smooth and tasty.

Wait a minute. Fairchild. That meant he was …

“My grandson,” Gertie said.

The man who could make Becca’s dream of working as a full-time dog handler come true. If the dog products sold as well as Gertie expected, Becca would have the means to travel the dog show circuit without needing to work extra part-time jobs to cover living expenses.

Caleb Fairchild. She couldn’t believe he was here. That had to mean good news about the dog products.

Uh-oh. Ogling him was the last thing she should be doing. He was the CEO of Fair Face and wealthy. Wealthy, as in she could win the lottery twice and not come close to his net worth.

“Nice to meet you.” Becca realized she was still holding his hand. She released it. “I’ve heard lots about you.”

Caleb’s gaze slid over her as if he’d reviewed the evidence, passed judgment and sentenced her to the not-worth-his-time crowd. “I haven’t heard about you until today.”

His formal demeanor made Jane Austen’s Mr. Darcy seem downright provincial. No doubt Mr. Fairchild thought he was too good for her.

Maybe he was.

But she wouldn’t let it bother her.

Her career was not only at stake, but also in his hands.

“Tell me about yourself,” he said.

His stiff tone irritated her like a flea infestation in the middle of winter. But she couldn’t let her annoyance show.

She met his gaze straight on, making sure she didn’t blink or show any signs of weakness. “I’m a dog person.”

“I thought you were a consultant.”

A what? Becca struggled for something to say, struggled and came up empty. Still she had to try. “I … I—”

“Becca is a dog consultant,” Gertie said. “She’s a true dog whisperer. Her veterinary knowledge has been invaluable with product development. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

If Becca wasn’t already indebted to Gertie Fairchild, she was now.

Gertie shot a pointed look at Caleb. “Perhaps if you dropped by more often you’d know what’s going on.”

Caleb directed a smile at his grandmother that redefined the word charming.

Not that Becca was about to be charmed. The dogs might like him, but she was … reserving judgment.

“I see you every Sunday for brunch at the club.” Caleb’s affection for his grandmother wrapped around Becca like a thick, warm comforter, weighing the scales in his favor. “But you never talk about yourself.”

Gertie shrugged, but hurt flashed in her eyes so fast Becca doubted if Caleb noticed. “Oh, it just seems like we end up talking about you and Courtney.”

“Well, I’m here now,” he said.

Gertie placed her hand over her heart and closed her eyes. “To dash all my hopes and dreams.”

Becca’s gaze bounced between the two. “What do you mean?”

Caleb touched Gertie’s arm. “My grandmother is being melodramatic.”

Opening her eyes, Gertie pursed her lips. “I’m entitled to be a drama queen. You don’t want our pet products.”

No. No. No. If that was true, it would ruin … everything. Gertie wouldn’t go forward with the dog products without her company backing them. Becca forced herself to breathe. “I don’t understand.”

Gertie shook her head. “My grandson, the CEO, and his closed-minded cronies at my company believe our dog skin care line will devalue their brand.”

“That’s stupid and shortsighted,” Becca said.

Caleb eyed her as if she were the bounty, a half-eaten mouse or bird, left on the porch by an outdoor cat. “That’s quite an opinion for a … consultant.”

“Not for a dog consultant.” The words came out more harshly than Becca intended, but if she couldn’t change his mind she would be back to living in a singlewide behind Otto. Otto, her parents’ longtime trailer park manager, wore stiletto heels with his camouflage, and skinned squirrels for fun. “Do you know how much money is spent annually on pets?”

“Billions.”

“Over fifty billion dollars. Food and vet costs are the largest portion, but analysts project over four billion dollars are spent on pet services. That includes grooming. Gertie’s products are amazing. Better than anything on the market.”

Gertie nodded. “If only my dear husband were still around. He’d jump on this opportunity.”

“Gramps would agree with me.” Caleb frowned, not a sad one, more of a do-we-have-to-go-through-this-again frown. “Fair Face is not being shortsighted. We have a strategic plan.”

Becca forced herself not to slump. “So change your plan.”

“Where’d you get your MBA?” he asked.

Try AA degree. “I didn’t study business. I’m a certified veterinary technician, but my most valuable education came from The School of Hard Knocks.”

Aka the Idaho Women’s Correctional Center.

“As I explained to my grandmother, the decision about manufacturing the dog skin care line is out of my hands.”

Caleb’s polite tone surprised Becca, but provided no comfort. Not after she’d poured her heart and soul into the dog products. “If the decision was all yours?”

His hard, cold gaze locked on hers. “I still wouldn’t manufacture them.”

The words slammed into Becca like a fist to her jaw. She took a step back. But she couldn’t retreat. “How could you do this to your grandmother?”

Caleb opened his mouth to speak.

Gertie placed her hand on his shoulder. “I’ll help Becca understand.”

He muttered a thank-you.

“This decision is in the best interest of Fair Face.” Gertie sounded surprisingly calm. “It’s okay.”

But it wasn’t.

Becca had thought that things would be different this time. That she could be a part of something, something big and successful and special. That maybe, just maybe, dreams could come true.

She should have known better.

Things never worked out for girls—women—like Becca.

And never would.

CHAPTER TWO

A FEW MINUTES LATER, Becca stood where the grass met the patio, her heart in her throat and her back to Gertie and Caleb. Dogs panted with eagerness, waiting for the ball to be thrown again.

And again. And again.

Playing fetch kept Becca’s shoulders from sagging. She would much rather curl up in the kennel with the dogs than be here. Dogs gave her so much. Loyalty, companionship and most importantly love. Dogs loved unconditionally. They cared, no matter what. They accepted her for who she was without any explanations.

Unlike … people.

“Come sit with us,” Gertie said.

Us.

A sheen of sweat covered Becca’s skin from the warm temperature, but she shivered.

Caleb had multi-millions. Gertie had hundreds of millions. Becca had $8,428.

She didn’t want much—a roof over her head, a dog to call her own and the chance to prove herself as a professional handler. Not a lot to ask.

But those dreams had imploded thanks to Caleb Fairchild.

Becca didn’t want to spend another minute with the man.

She glanced back at her boss.

“Please, Becca.” Gertie’s words were drawn out with an undertone of a plea. Gertie might be more upset about Fair Face not wanting to take on her new products than she acted.

Becca whipped around. Forced a smile. Took a step onto the patio. “Sure, I’ll sit for a few minutes.”

Caleb was still standing, a tall, dream-crushing force she did not want to reckon with ever again.

Walking to the table, she didn’t acknowledge his presence. He didn’t deserve a second look or an “excuse me” as she passed.

Gertie had to be reeling, the same as Becca, after what he’d said.

I still wouldn’t manufacture them.

Becca’s blood boiled. But she couldn’t lose it.

She touched Gertie’s thin shoulder, not knowing how else to comfort her employer, her friend. The luxurious feel of silk beneath Becca’s palm would soon be a thing of the past. But it wasn’t the trappings of wealth she would miss. It was this amazing woman, the one who had almost made Becca believe anything was possible. Almost …

“I’m so sorry.” A lump burned in her throat. Her eyes stung. She blinked. “You’ve worked so hard and wasted so much time for nothing.”

Gertie waved her hand as if her arm were an enchanted wand that could make everything better. Diamonds sparkled beneath the sun. Prisms of lights danced. If only magic did exist …

“None of this has been a waste, dear.” Gertie smiled up at Becca. Not the trying-hard-to-smile-and-not-cry of someone disappointed and reeling, but a smile full of light and hope. “The products are top-notch. You said so yourself. Nothing has changed, in spite of what Caleb thinks.”

He gave a barely perceptible shake of his head.

Obviously he didn’t agree with his grandmother. But Gertie didn’t seem deterred.

That didn’t make sense to Becca. Caleb was the CEO and had final say. She sat next to Gertie. “But if Fair Face doesn’t want the products …”

“You and I are starting our own company.” Gertie spoke with a singsong voice. “We’ll manufacture the products without Fair Face.”

Our own company. It wasn’t over.

Becca’s breath hitched. Her vision blurred. She touched her fingers to her lips.

The dream wasn’t dead. She could make this work. She wasn’t sure how …

Gertie had always spoken as if working with Fair Face on the products was a done deal, but if going into business was their only option that would have to do. “O-kay.”

“Your consultant doesn’t sound very confident,” Caleb said to Gertie. “Face it, you’re a chemist, not a businesswoman.” He looked at Becca. “Maybe you can talk some sense into my grandmother about this crazy idea of hers.”

Becca clenched her hands. She might not know anything about business, but she didn’t like Caleb’s condescending attitude. The guy had some nerve discounting his grandmother.

Forget jade. The color of his eyes reminded her of cucumbers or fava beans. Not only cool, but uninspiring.

Change and taking a risk weren’t part of his vocabulary. But they were hers. “Makes perfect sense to me. I’m in.”

“Wonderful.” Gertie clapped her hands together. “We’ll need an advisor. Caleb?”

A horrified look distorted his face, as if he’d been asked to face the Zombie Apocalypse alone and empty-handed. He took a step back and bumped into a lounge chair. “Not me. I don’t have time.”

His words—dare Becca say excuse?—didn’t surprise her. The guy kept glancing at his watch. She’d bet five bucks he had his life scheduled down to the minute with alarms on his smartphone set to ring, buzz or whistle reminders.

“You wouldn’t leave us on our own to figure things out.” Gertie fluttered her eyelashes as if she were some helpless female—about as helpless as a charging rhino. “You’ll have to make the time.”

His chin jutted forward. Walking across burning coals on his hands looked more appealing than helping them. “Sorry, Grams. I can’t.”

Good. Becca didn’t want his help any more than he wanted to give it. “We’ll find someone else to advise us.”

Gertie grinned, the kind of grin that scientists got when they made a discovery and were about to shout “Eureka!” “Or …”

“Or what?” Becca said at the same time as Caleb.

“We can see if another company is interested in partnering with us.” Gertie listed what Becca assumed to be Fair Face’s main competitors.

Caleb’s lips tightened. His face reddened. His nostrils flared.

Well played, Gertie.

Becca bit back a smile. Not a scientific breakthrough, but a way to break Caleb. Gertie was not only intelligent, but also knew how to get her way. That was how Becca had ended up living at the estate. She wondered if Caleb knew he didn’t stand a chance against his grandmother.

“You wouldn’t,” he said.

“They are my formulas. Developed with my money in my lab here at my house,” Gertie said. “I can do whatever I want with them.”

True. But Gertie owned the privately held Fair Face.

Becca didn’t need an MBA from a hallowed ivy-covered institute to know Gertie’s actions might have repercussions.

Caleb rested his hands on the back of the chair. One by one, his fingers tightened around the wood until his knuckles turned white.

Say no.

Becca didn’t want him to advise them. She and Gertie needed help starting a new business. But Becca would rather not see Caleb again. She couldn’t deny a physical attraction to him. Strange. She preferred going out with a rough-around-the-edges and not-so-full-of-themselves type of guy. Working-class guys like her.

Being attracted to a man who had money and power was stupid and dangerous. Men like that could ruin her plans. Her life. One had.

Of course, Caleb hadn’t shown the slightest interest in her. He wouldn’t. He would never lower his standards. Except maybe for one night.

No, thanks.

Becca wanted nothing to do with Caleb Fairchild.

Caleb was trapped, by the patio furniture and by his grandmother. This was not the way he’d expected the meeting to go. He was outnumbered and had no reinforcements. Time to rein in his grams before all hell broke loose.

He gave her a look, the look that said he knew exactly what she was doing. Too bad she was more interested in the tail-wagging, paw-prancing dogs at her feet. No matter, he knew how to handle Grams. Her so-called consultant was another matter.

Becca seemed pleased by his predicament. She sat with her shoulders squared and her lips pursed, as if she were looking for a fight. Not exactly the type of behavior he would have expected from a consultant, even a dog one.

He would bet Becca was the one who talked Grams into making the dog products. Nothing else would explain why his grandmother had strayed from developing products that had made her and Fair Face a fortune.

It had to be Becca behind all this nonsense.

The woman was likely a con artist looking to turn this consulting gig into a big pay off. She could be stealing when Grams wasn’t paying attention. Maybe a heist of artwork and jewelry and silver was in the works. His wealthy family had always been a target of people wanting to take advantage of them. People like Cassandra. Grams could be in real danger.

Sure, Becca looked more like a college student than a scammer. Especially wearing a “No outfit is complete without dog hair” T-shirt and jean shorts that showed off long, smooth, thoroughbred legs.

She had great legs. He’d give her that.

But looks could be deceiving. He’d fallen for Cassandra and her glamorous façade.

Not that Becca was glamorous.

With her short, pixie-cut brown hair and no makeup she was pretty in a girl-next-door kind of way. If he’d ever had a next-door neighbor whose house wasn’t separated by acres of land, high fences and security cameras.

But Becca wasn’t all rainbows and apple pie.

Her blue eyes, tired and hardened and wary, contradicted her youthful appearance. She wasn’t innocent or naïve. Definitely not one of the princess types he’d known at school or the social climbers he knew around town. There was an edge to her he couldn’t quite define, and that … intrigued him.

Worried him, too.

He didn’t want anyone taking advantage of Grams.

Speaking of which, he faced his grandmother. “It’s not going to work.”

Grams glanced up from the dogs. The five animals worshipped at her feet as if she were a demigod or a large slice of bacon dressed in pink. “What’s not going to work, dear?”

A smile tugged on the corners of Becca’s mouth, as if she were amused by the situation.

Caleb pressed his lips together. He didn’t like her.

Any consultant with an ounce of integrity would have taken his side on this. But what did he expect from a woman who wore sports sandals with neon-orange-and-green toenail polish to work? He bet she was covered with tattoos and piercings beneath her clothing.

Sexy images of her filled his mind.

Focus.

He rocked back on his heels. “If you partner with one of Fair Face’s competitors, the media will turn this into a firestorm. Imagine how the employees will react. You’re the creative influence behind our products. How will you reconcile what you do for one company with the other?”

“Animal products for them. Human products for Fair Face.” A sheepish grin formed on Grams’s lips. “It was only a thought.”

A dog tried to get his attention, first rubbing against Caleb’s leg then staring up at him. Seemed as if everyone was giving him the soulful-puppy-look today. “A ploy.”

Grams tsked. “I can’t believe you think I’d resort to such a tactic.”

Yeah, right. Caleb remembered looking at what colleges to attend and Grams’s reaction. Naval Academy, too dangerous. Harvard, too far. Cal Berkeley, too hippy. She’d steered him right where she’d wanted him—Stanford, her alma mater. “I’m sure you’d resort to worse to get your way.”

That earned him a grin from Becca.

Glad someone found this entertaining. Though she had a nice smile, one that made him think of springtime and fresh flowers. An odd thought given he had little time to enjoy the outdoors these days. Maybe it was because they were outside.

“I shouldn’t have to resort to anything,” Grams said. “You promised your grandfather you’d take care of us.”

Something Caleb would never forget.

That promise was directing the course of his life. For better or worse given his grandmother, his sister, Fair Face and the employees were now his responsibility. He grimaced. “I’m taking care of you the best way I know how.”

Grams rubbed a gray dog named Blue, but she didn’t say a word.

He knew this trick, using silence to make him give in, the way his grandfather had capitulated in the past. But Caleb couldn’t surrender. “Grams—”

“Gertie, didn’t you mention the other day how busy Fair Face keeps your grandson?” Becca interrupted. “It might be better to find someone else to help us, since Caleb is so busy.”

Whoa. Becca wanted to be his ally?

That sent Caleb’s hinky-meter shooting into the red zone. No one was that nice to a total stranger. She must want him out of the way so she could run her scam in peace.

“Good idea,” he said, playing along. Maybe he could catch Becca in a lie or trip her up somehow. “I’m not sure I’d have a few minutes to spare until the baby product line launches, if then. You know how it is.”

“Yes, I do.” Grams tapped her fingers against her chin. “But I like keeping things in the family.”

So much for taking her formulas to a competitor. “You wouldn’t want me to ignore the company, would you?”

His grandmother’s gaze narrowed as if zooming in on a target—him. “Who’s trying to guilt who now?”

He raised his hands in surrender. “Fair enough.”

“Maybe Caleb knows someone who can help us,” Becca said.

He would rather his grandmother drop this whole thing, but once Grams saw what starting her own business entailed, she would decide retirement was a better alternative. He would get someone he trusted to advise them, someone to keep an eye on Becca, someone to steer his grandmother properly. Caleb would still be in control, by proxy. “I’m happy to give you a few names. I know one person who would be a good fit.”

“I suppose it’s worth a try,” Gertie said.

“Definitely worth a try.” Enthusiasm filled Becca’s voice. “We can do this.”

We? Us? Caleb straightened. Becca acted more like a partner. He needed to talk to his grandmother about what sort of contract she had with her “consultant.” Something about Becca bothered him. She had to be up to no good. “I’ll text you the names and numbers, Grams.”

“Send Becca the list. As you said, I’m a chemist not a businesswoman.”

“Will do.” Caleb glanced at his watch, bent and kissed his grandmother’s cheek. “Now, if you ladies will excuse me, I need to get back to the office.”

Grams grabbed hold of his hand. Her thin fingers dug into his skin. “You can’t leave. You haven’t had any cake.”

The carrot cake. Caleb had forgotten, but he couldn’t forget the pile of work waiting for him on his desk. He checked his watch again.

“Gertie baked the carrot cake herself. You need to try a piece.” Becca’s voice sounded lighthearted, but her pointed look contained a clear warning. Caleb had better stay if he knew what was good for him.

Interesting. The consultant was being protective of his grandmother. Usually that was his job. Becca’s concern could be genuine or a ruse—most likely the latter—but she was correct about one thing. Eating a slice of cake wouldn’t take that long. No reason to keep disappointing Grams. He could also use the opportunity to ask his grandmother for more information about her dog consultant.

Caleb placed his arm around his grandmother. “I’d love a piece of your cake and a glass of iced tea.”

Dogs raced around Becca, jumping and barking and chasing balls. She stood in the center of the lawn while Gertie went into the house to have Mrs. Harrison prepare the refreshments.

Playing with the dogs was more fun than sitting with Caleb on the patio. Becca saw no reason to make idle chitchat with a man eager to eat his cake and get out of there. At least, she couldn’t think of one.

She much preferred four-footed, fur-covered company to dismissive CEOs. Dogs were her best friends, even when they were a little naughty.

“You’re a mess, Blue.” Becca picked strands of grass and twigs from the Kerry blue terrier’s gray hair. “Let’s clean you up before Gertie returns.”

Dogs—no matter a purebred like Blue or a mutt like Dozer—loved to get dirty. Gertie didn’t mind, but Becca tried to keep the dogs looking half decent even when playing.

Blue licked her hand.

Bending over, she kissed his head. “Such a good boy.”

“You like dogs.”

Becca jumped. She didn’t have to turn around to know Caleb was right behind her, but she glanced over her shoulder anyway. “I love dogs. They’re my life.”

His cool gaze examined her as if she were a stock he was deciding to buy or sell, making her feel exposed. Naked.

Her nose itched. Her lungs didn’t want to fill with air.

He stepped forward to stand next to her. “Your life as a dog consultant?”

“Gertie came up with that title,” Becca said. “But I am a dog handler, groomer and certified vet tech.”

“A jill of all trades.”

That was one way to look at it. Desperate to make a living working with animals and to become a full-time professional dog handler was another. “When it comes to animals, particularly dogs.”

Snowy and Maurice chased each other, barking. Dozer played tug-of-war with Hunter, a thirteen-inch beagle, growling. Blue sat at Becca’s feet, waiting. “I need to put the dogs in the kennel.”

Confusion clouded Caleb’s gaze. He might as well have spoken the question on his mind aloud.

“Yes, Gertie has a kennel.”

“How did you know what I was thinking?”

“Your face.” Becca almost laughed. “I’m guessing you don’t play a lot of poker. Unless you prefer losing money.”

Caleb looked amused, not angry. That surprised her.

“Hey,” he said. “I used to be quite good.”

“If the other players were blind.”

“Ha-ha.”

“Well, you don’t have much of a poker face.”

At least not with his grandmother. Or with Becca.

He puffed out his chest. “We’re not playing cards. But you’re looking at a real card shark.”

She liked his willingness to poke fun at himself. “I believe you.”

“No, you don’t.”

Heat rushed up her neck. “Okay, I don’t.”

“Honest.”

“I try to be.” He wasn’t talking about poker any longer. She picked up one of the balls. “It’s important to play fair.”

Caleb’s eyebrow twitched. “Do you have a good poker face?”

“You realized I didn’t believe you, so probably not.”

“No aces up your sleeve?”

“Not my style.”

“What is your style?”

“Strategy over deceit.” Becca couldn’t tell if he believed her, but she hoped he did. Because he was Gertie’s grandson, she rationalized. “That’s why I’d never sit at a poker table with you. You’re too easy to read. It would be like stealing a bone from a puppy.”

“A puppy, huh?”

“A manly pup. Not girly.”

He grinned wryly. “Wouldn’t want to be girly dog.”

His gaze held hers. Becca stared mesmerized.

Something passed between them. A look. A connection.

Her pulse quickened.

He looked away.

What was going on? She didn’t date guys like him. Even if she did, he was too much of a Boy Scout. And it was clear he didn’t like her. “I have to go.”

“I want to see the kennel.”

“Uh, sure.” But she felt uncertain, unsettled being near him. She pointed to the left. “It’s down by the guest cottage.”

Caleb fell into step next to Becca, shortening his stride to match hers. “How did you meet my grandmother?”

She called the five dogs. They followed. “At The Rose City Classic.”

He gave her a blank stare.

Funny he didn’t know what that was, given Gertie’s interest in dog showing. “It’s in Portland. One of the biggest dog shows on the West Coast. Your grandmother hired me to take Snowy into the breed ring. Ended up with a Group third. A very good day.”

Blue darted off, as if he were looking for something—a toy, a ball, maybe a squirrel.

Becca whistled for him.

He trotted back with a sad expression in his brown eyes.

Caleb rubbed his chin. “I have no idea what you just said.”

“Dog show speak,” Becca said. “Snowy won third place in the Group ring. In his case, the Non-Sporting group.”

“Third place is good?”

“Gertie was pleased with the result. She offered me a job taking care of her dogs, including the fosters and rescues, here at the estate.”

“And the dog skin care line?”

“She sprang that on me after I arrived.”

A look of surprise filled his eyes, but disappeared quickly. “Sounds like you’re a big help to her.”

“I try to be,” Becca said. “Your grandmother’s wonderful.”

“She is.” He looked at her. “I’d hate to see anyone take advantage of her kindness.”

Not anyone. Becca.

The accusation in his voice made her feel like a death row inmate. Each muscle tightened in preparation for a fight. The balls of her sandals pressed harder against the grass. She fought the urge to mount a defense. If this were a test, she didn’t want to fail. “I’d hate that to happen, too.”

The silence stretched between them.

His assessing gaze never wavered from hers.

Disconcerted, she fiddled with a thread from the hem of her shorts.

Caleb put his hand out to Dozer, who walked next to them. Funny, considering he’d ignored the dogs before.

Dozer sniffed Caleb’s fingers then nudged his hand.

With a tender smile, he patted the dog’s head.

Becca’s heart bumped. Nothing was more attractive than a man being sweet to animals. A good thing Caleb’s physical appearance was pretty easy to overlook given his personality and suspicions.

“You helped me with my grandmother,” he said. “Trying to get me out of the way?”

At least he was direct. She wet her lips, not liking the way he raised her hackles and temperature at the same time. “It’s obvious you don’t want to work with us.”

“I don’t have time,” he clarified.

“There’s never enough time.”

Dozer ran off, chasing a butterfly.

“It’s a valuable commodity,” Caleb said.

“Easy to waste when you don’t spend it in the right ways.”

“Experience talking?”

“Mostly an observation.”

Maurice, the Norwegian elkhound, approached Caleb. The dog could never get enough attention and would go up to anyone with a free hand to pet him.

He bent over.

And then Becca remembered. “Wait!”

Caleb touched the dog. He jerked back. A cereal-bowl-sized glob of dark and light hair clung to his hand. “What the …”

Maurice brushed against Caleb’s pant leg, covering the dark fabric in hair also.

Oh, no. She bit the inside of her cheek.

“This overweight husky is shedding all his fur.” The frown on Caleb’s face matched the frustration in his voice. “Enough to stuff a pillow.”

“Maurice is a Norwegian elkhound. He’s blowing his coat.” The guilty expression on the dog’s face reminded her of the time he’d stolen food out of the garbage can. She motioned him over and patted his head. This wasn’t the dog’s fault. Unlike Caleb, she was used to the shedding, a small price to pay for his love. “They do that a couple times a year. It’s a mess to clean up.”

“Now you tell me.”

His tone bristled, as if she were the one to blame. Becca was about to tell him if he spent any time here with his grandmother he would know about Maurice, but decided against it. If she lightened the mood, Caleb might stop acting so … upset. “Look at the bright side.”

His mouth slanted. “There’s a bright side?”

“You could be wearing black instead of navy.”

He didn’t say anything, then a smile cracked open on his face, taking her breath away. “I guess I am lucky. Though it’s only dog hair, not the end of the world.”

If he kept grinning it might be the end of hers.

Caleb brushed the hair away, but ended up spreading it up his sleeve and onto the front of his suit.

“Be careful.” She remembered he had to return to the office. “Or you’ll make it …”

“Worse.” He glanced down. Half laughed. “Too late.”

It was her turn to smile. “I have a lint roller. I can clean up your suit in a jiffy.”

Amusement filled his eyes. “I thought you liked dog hair.”

“Huh?”

“Your T-shirt.”

She read the saying. “Oh, yes. Dog hair is an occupational hazard.”

“Yet you keep a lint brush.”

“You never know when it’ll come in handy.”

“Do you make a habit of cleaning men’s clothing?”

His tone sounded playful, almost flirty. That made no sense. Caleb wouldn’t flirt with her. She rubbed her lips together. “Not, um, usually.”

Something—interest or maybe it was mischief—flared in his eyes. “I’m honored.”

Nerves overwhelmed her. A guy like Caleb was nothing but trouble. He could be trying to cause trouble for her now. She took a deep breath. “Do you have other clothes with you? Getting the dog hair off your pants will be easier if you aren’t wearing them.”

“Easier, but not impossible.”

Becca pictured herself kneeling and rolling the lint brush over his pants. Her temperature shot up ten degrees. She crossed her arms over her chest. “You can use the roller brush yourself.”

He grinned wryly. “My gym bag is in the car.”

An image of him in a pair of shorts and a T-shirt stretched across his muscular chest and arms rooted itself in her mind.

Wait a minute. Did he say gym bag? That meant he had time to work out, but no time to spend with Gertie.

Becca’s blood pressure rose, but she knew better than to allow it to spiral out of control. Judging him wasn’t right. People did that with her and usually got it wrong. Maybe his priorities had gotten mixed up. She’d give him the benefit of the doubt. For now.

“Go change,” she said. “I’ll put the dogs in the kennel and grab the lint brush out of guest cottage.”

“Using the guest cottage as your office?”

“I live there.”

His mouth dropped open. He closed it. “You live here at the estate?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

The one word dripped with so much snobbery Becca felt as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice-cold water on her head. He waited for her to answer.

A hundred and two different answers raced through her mind. She settled on one. “Because Gertie thought it would be for the best.”

“Best for you.”

“Yes.” But there was more to it than that. “Best for Gertie, too.”

Confusion filled his gaze. “My grandmother doesn’t lack anything.”

He sounded so certain, not the least bit defensive. A good sign, but still …

Becca shouldn’t have brought this up, but her affection for Gertie meant Becca couldn’t back down now. She wanted Caleb to stop blowing off his grandmother. “Gertie thought living here would make it easier for me to do my job without having to drive back and forth all the time. But I also think she wants me here because she’s lonely.”

“My grandmother lonely?”

The disbelief in his words irritated Becca. She’d realized this as soon as she got to know Gertie, yet her own grandson couldn’t see it. “Yes.”

“That’s impossible,” he said without hesitation. “Gertie Fairchild has more friends than anyone I know. She’s a social butterfly who turns down invitations—otherwise she’d never be home. She has the means to go out whenever she wants. She has an entire staff to take care of the house and the grounds. No way is she lonely.”

What Caleb said might have been true once, but no longer. “Gertie does have a staff, but we’re employees. She has lunch twice a week with friends. But she hasn’t attended any parties since I moved in. She prefers to spend time in her lab.”

“The lab is keeping her from her friends.”

“I believe your grandmother would rather spend time with her family, not friends.”

“You believe?” He grimaced. “My sister and I—”

“See her every Sunday for brunch at the club, I know. But since I arrived neither you nor your sister have stopped by. Not until you today.”

“As I said—”

“You’ve been busy,” Becca finished for him.

Caleb shot a sideways glance at the house. “All Grams has to do is call. I’ll do whatever she asks.”

“Gertie asked for your help with the dog care products.”

“That’s …”

“Different?”

A vein at his neck throbbed. “You’ve got a cush job living here at the estate. I’m sure my grandmother’s paying you a bundle to take care of a few dogs and prance them around the ring. What’s it to you anyway?”

He sounded defensive. She would, too. Realizing you’d screwed up was never easy. Boy, did she know that. “Gertie’s helped me a lot. I want her to be happy.”

“Trust me, she’s happy. But you have some nerve sponging off my grandmother, helping her with her wild dog-product scheme and then telling me how I should act with my family.”

Not defensive. Overconfident. Cocky. Clueless.

Caleb Fairchild was no different than the other people who saw her as dirt to be wiped off the bottom of their expensive designer shoes.

At least she’d tried. For Gertie’s sake.

Becca reached out her hand. “Give me your jacket.”

“You’re going to help me after trying to make me feel like a jerk?” he asked.

Mission accomplished. If he felt like a jerk he had only himself to blame. “I said I’d help. I only told you the truth.”

He didn’t look as if he believed her. They were even. She didn’t trust him.

“As you see it,” he said.

She met his gaze straight on. “I could say the same about your truth.”

They stood there locked in a stare down.

Stalemate.

“At least we know where we stand,” he said.

Becca wasn’t so certain, but she knew one thing. Being with Caleb was like riding a gravity-defying roller coaster. He left her feeling breathless, scared to death, and never wanting to get on again. She didn’t like it. Him.

She held up his jacket. “And just so you know, I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it for Gertie.”

CHAPTER THREE

BY THE TIME Caleb changed into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt and then returned to the patio, the table had been transformed with china, crystal glasses and a glass-blown vase filled with yellow and pink roses from the garden. Very feminine. Very Grams. “You’ve gone all out.”

“I enjoy having company.” Beaming, Grams patted the seat next to her. “Sit and eat.”

Caleb sat next to her. He stared across the table at Becca.

What was she doing here?

He wanted to speak to Grams alone, to talk about Becca and his concerns about the so-called dog consultant and if she was exploiting his grandmother’s generosity.

Sneaky scam artist or sweet dog lover? Becca seemed to be a contradiction, one that confused him.

On their way to the kennel, he’d sensed a connection. Something he hadn’t felt in over a year. Maybe two. Not since … Cassandra. But he knew better than to trust those kinds of emotions with a total stranger.

Becca wasn’t his usual type—Caleb casually dated high-powered professional women—but he’d found himself flirting and having fun with her until she’d had to ruin the moment with her ridiculous grandmother-is-lonely spiel.

Becca was wrong. He couldn’t wait to prove how wrong.

He sliced through his cake with his fork. The silver tines pinged against the porcelain plate.

As if he wanted or needed anything from Becca Taylor other than her lint roller.

“You must be hungry,” Grams said.

Nodding, he took a bite.

Becca drank from her glass of ice water.

“Do the dogs usually stay in the kennel all day?” he asked. A rivulet of condensation rolled down her glass. She placed it on the corner of the yellow floral placemat. “No, they are out most of the time, but if they were here they’d be going crazy over the cake.”

“Dogs eat cake?” he asked.

Becca refilled her water from a glass pitcher with lemons floating on the top.

A guilty expression crossed Grams’s face. “I never give them a lot. Never any chocolate. But when they stare up at me as if they’re starving, it’s too hard not to give them a taste.”

“Those dogs know exactly how to get what they want.” Laughter filled Becca’s eyes. “They’re spoiled rotten.”

“Nothing wrong with being spoiled and pampered,” Grams agreed.

“Not at all.” Becca sounded wistful. “I’d love to be one of your dogs.”

Her words surprised Caleb. She didn’t seem like the primping and pampering type. But what did he really know about her? He sipped his iced tea.

She picked up her fork and sliced off a bite of cake. Her lips parted.

Fair Face made a lipstick that plumped lips, making them fuller and, according to the marketing department, more desirable. Becca’s lips were perfect the way they were.

She raised the fork.

Like a moth to a blowtorch, Caleb watched her, unable to look away. He placed his glass on the table.

She brought the fork closer to her mouth until her lips closed around the end.

The sweat at the back on his neck had caused the collar on his T-shirt to shrink two sizes in the past ten seconds.

She pulled out the empty fork. A dab of enticing frosting was stuck on the corner of her mouth.

A very lickable position.

What the hell was he thinking? Caleb wasn’t into licking. At least not his grandmother’s employee, one who claimed to know more about Grams’s than he did.

The woman was dangerous. Caleb forced himself to look away.

If making him feel worse had been Becca’s goal, she’d succeeded. Not only worse, but also aggravated. Annoyed. Attracted.

No, not attracted. Distracted. By the frosting.

His gaze strayed back to the creamy dab on Becca’s face.

Yes, that was it. The icing. He placed his fork on the plate. Not the lick …

“Please don’t tell me you’re finished?” Grams asked, sounding distressed he hadn’t eaten the whole slice.

The last thing Caleb wanted was more cake. He needed to figure out what was going on with Becca, then get out of here. “Letting the food settle before I eat more.”

He sneaked a peek at Becca.

The tip of her pink tongue darted out, licking her top lip to remove the bit of frosting before disappearing back into her mouth.

Caleb stuck two fingers inside his collar and tugged. Hard. The afternoon heat was making him sweat. Maybe he should head to the gym instead of back to work. Doing today’s workout at the gym might clear his head and help him focus on the right things.

He wiped his mouth with a yellow napkin. Becca should have used hers instead of her tongue to remove the icing.

Maybe Becca was trying to be provocative and flirty. Maybe Becca saw dollar signs when she looked at him as Cassandra had. Maybe Becca didn’t want him to object to her involvement with Gertie. His grandmother had to be the mark here, not him.

“The cake is delicious. Moist,” he said. “The frosting has the right amount of sweetness.”

Eyes bright, Grams leaned forward over the table. “I’m so happy you like it. I’ve been working hard on the recipe.”

With a sweet grin that made him think of cotton candy, Becca motioned to her plate. Only half the slice remained. “I think you’ve perfected it.”

Grams chuckled. “Took me enough attempts.”

“I’ve enjoyed each and every slice.” Becca patted her trim waistline. “As you can tell.”

“Nonsense,” Grams said. “You have a lovely figure. Besides, a few slices of cake never hurt anybody. Men like curves, isn’t that right, Caleb?”

He choked on the cake in his mouth. Becca’s curves were the last thing he should be looking at right now. Not that he hadn’t checked them out before. “Mmmm-hmmm.”

“See,” Grams said lightheartedly.

Warm affection filled Becca’s eyes. “I’m sold.”

Caleb’s gaze darted between the two women. Grams treated Becca more like a friend than an employee. That was typical of his grandmother’s interactions with her staff, including the dowdy Mrs. Harrison, a fortysomething widow who preferred to go by her last name.

Still, Grams and Becca’s familiarity added to his suspicions given the differences in their social status, personalities and ages. His grandmother always took in strays and treated them well. Becca seemed to be playing along with her role in that scenario, but adding a twist by making sure she was becoming indispensable and irreplaceable.

Something was definitely off here. “Grams is an excellent baker.”

“You should have been here on Monday,” Becca said. “Gertie knocked it out of the park with her Black Forest cake. Seriously to-die-for.”

“Black Forest cake?” he asked.

Grams nodded with a knowing gleam in her eyes. “Your favorite.”

That had been only three days ago. Caleb stared at his plate.

Carrot cake was Courtney’s favorite. Grams had made his favorite earlier in the week. Puzzle pieces fell into place like colored blocks on a Rubick’s Cube. A seven-layer lead weight settled in the pit of Caleb’s stomach. “How many cakes do you bake a week?”

“It depends on how long it takes us to eat one,” she answered.

The question ricocheted through him, as if he were swinging wildly and hitting only air. “Us?”

“Becca. The estate staff. My lab assistants. Whoever else happens to be working here,” Grams explained. “Sometimes Becca takes the leftovers to the vet clinic when she covers shifts there.”

Wait a minute. He assumed his grandmother paid Becca well and allowed her to live in the guest cottage rent-free. Why would Becca work at a vet clinic, too? Especially if she was running a con?

“Sounds like a lot of cake.” Caleb tried to reconcile what he was learning about Becca as well as Grams’s cake. “I didn’t realize you enjoyed baking so much.”

Grams raised a shoulder, but there was nothing casual or indifferent in the movement. “Can’t have one of my grandchildren stop by and not have any cake to eat.”

But I also think she wants me here because she’s lonely.

Damn. His chest tightened. Becca was right. Grams was lonely. Regret slithered through him.

Thinking about the number of cakes being baked with anticipation and love and a big dose of hope made it hard to breathe. He figured Grams would be out and about doing whatever women of her age did to pass the time. Lunches, museums, fundraisers. He’d never thought she would go to so much trouble or imagined she would be sitting at home and waiting for her grandchildren to stop by.

His promise and his efforts blew up like a fifty-megaton bomb.

So much for taking care of Grams. He’d failed. He hadn’t taken care of her. He’d let her down.

Just like his … dad.

Guilt churned in Caleb’s gut. He opened his mouth to speak, but wasn’t sure what to say. “I’m sorry” wasn’t enough. He pressed his lips together.

“Did you have something you wanted to say?” Grams asked.

Caleb looked up. His grandmother was speaking to Becca.

Of course that woman would have something to say, a smug remark or a smart-aleck comment to expose his failure aloud. Anything so she could rub a ten-pound bag of salt into the gaping hole over his heart.

“No,” Becca said, but that didn’t soothe him, because she had an I-told-you-so smile plastered on her face. She looked pleased, almost giddy that she’d been proven correct.

How deeply had she ingrained herself in Grams’s life? He was concerned how well Becca could read his family. He needed to find his grandmother a new consultant, one with a better education, wardrobe and manners. One he trusted.

Becca’s silly, sheep-eating grin made the Cheshire cat look as if he were frowning. She raised a forkful of cake to her mouth. Each movement seemed exaggerated, almost slow motion as if she knew he was waiting for her to make the next move and she wanted to make him suffer.

Good luck with that.

Caleb couldn’t feel any worse than he was feeling. He had to do something to make this up to Grams.

“You can have another slice after you finish yours,” Grams said.

“One is enough for today,” he said. “But let me know when you bake another Black Forest cake, and I’ll stop by.”

A dazzling smile on his grandmother’s face, the kind that could power a city for a day, reaffirmed how lonely she must be in spite of her money and friends. That loneliness made her vulnerable to people who wanted to take advantage of her, people like Becca.

“I’ll do that,” Grams said.

He ground the toe of his running shoe against the tile.

In spite of his thinking he’d been a doting grandson, his phone calls, text messages and brunch on Sunday hadn’t been enough. Grams wanted to spend face-to-face time with her grandchildren, to chat with them and to feed them.

Caleb’s overbooked calendar flashed in his mind. His arm and shoulder muscles bunched, as if he’d done one too many Burpees at the gym.

He was so screwed.

No, that wasn’t right.

This was his grandmother, not some stranger.

He’d made a promise, one he intended to honor if it killed him. And it might do that unless Caleb could figure something out. A way to spend more time with Grams. Make more time for her. Find time …

Becca’s fork scraped against the plate.

Food.

That gave him an idea.

He had to eat. So did Grams.

Mealtimes would allow him to eat and appease his grandmother’s need to see her grandson at the same time. The question was how often. Brunch was a standing date. Dinner once a week would be a good start.

“Let’s have dinner next week on Wednesday. Invite Courtney to come,” he suggested. “I’m sure your cook can whip up something tasty for us. You can make dessert.”

Grams shimmied her narrow shoulders, as if she were a teenager bursting with excitement, not an elderly woman.

Maybe once a week wouldn’t be enough. His chest tightened.

“That sounds wonderful,” Grams said. “Do you think Courtney can make it?”

The anticipation in Grams’s voice made one thing certain. His sister would be at the dinner if he had to buy her a pretty, expensive bauble or a new pair of designer shoes. Grams was worth it. “Yes. She’ll be here.”

Grams looked as if she might float away like a helium balloon. “Excellent, because I can’t wait for Courtney to meet Becca.”

Caleb rolled his shoulders, trying to loosen the knots. He didn’t want Becca at dinner. The woman had overstayed her welcome as far as he was concerned. This meal was for his family, not employees.

He flashed her a practiced smile, so practiced people never saw through it. But the way Becca studied him made Caleb wonder if she was the exception to the rule. He tilted his head. “Join us for a glass of wine on Wednesday.”

Becca brushed her knuckles across her lips. “I don’t want to intrude on your evening.”

“You aren’t intruding,” Grams said before Caleb could reply. “You’re having dinner with us.”

“No,” he said at the same time as Becca.

His gaze locked on hers for an uncomfortable second before he looked away. Only ice remained in his glass, but he picked it up and sipped.

The woman was … unpredictable. One more thing not to like about her. He was more of a “load the dice ahead of time so he knew what he was going to roll” kind of guy. He didn’t like surprises. He’d bet Becca thrived upon them.

Grams’s lip curled. “Caleb.”

Becca studied her cake as if a magic treasure were hidden inside. “It’s okay, Gertie.”

No, it wasn’t. Caleb deserved his grandmother’s sharp tone. “What I meant is Courtney is a lot to take in if you’re not used to being around her. I have no doubt they’ll name a Category 5 hurricane after her one of these days.”

“Your sister can be … challenging at times,” Grams said.

Understatement of the year. Courtney was the definition of drama princess. The rest of the earth’s population was here to make his sister look good or help her out. Nothing he tried stopped her from being so selfish. Not even making her work at Fair Face in order to gain access to her trust fund. “We don’t want Courtney to overwhelm Becca and make her want to hightail it out of here.”

On second thought getting Becca out of the picture was exactly what he wanted to happen. No way would Grams start a business venture on her own. Caleb might have to rethink this.

“Becca won’t be overwhelmed. She’s made of stronger stuff than that,” Gertie said.

“Thanks, but you need this time alone with your grandchildren.” Becca’s eyelids blinked rapidly, like the shutter on a sport photographer’s camera. “I can’t make it anyway. I’m covering a shift for a vet tech at the twenty-four hour animal hospital on Wednesday.”

“That’s too bad,” he said.

She toyed with her napkin, her fingers speeding up as if someone had pressed the accelerator. A good thing the napkin was cloth or it would be shredded to bits.

“It is,” Becca said. “But I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time together.”

Her saccharine sweet voice sounded relieved not to be a part of the dinner. Maybe she had seen through him. That would be a first. “You’ll be missed.”

As much as a case of poison oak.

A dismayed expression crossed Grams’s face, washing over her like a rogue wave. Her shoulders hunched. “You’re working that night, Becca?”

The tremble in her voice sent Caleb’s pulse accelerating like a rocket’s booster engine. Unease spiraled inside him. He reached for his grandmother’s hand, covering hers with his. Her skin felt surprisingly warm. Her pulse wasn’t racing. Good signs, he hoped. “Grams? You okay?”

She stared at her hands. “I forgot about Becca working on Wednesday. I do have an assistant who reminds me of things, but …”

Grams shook her head slowly, as if she were moving through syrup not air.

Caleb understood her worry. His grandfather had suffered from Alzheimer’s, a horrible disease for the patient as well as the family. Being forgotten by the man who’d held their lives together for so long hadn’t been easy. But even at the worst of times, Grams had dealt with the stress of the disease with raw strength and never-ending grace and by making jokes. He’d never seen his grandmother act like this. Not even when she’d been stuck in bed with an upper respiratory infection over a year ago. “No worries. You’ve had a lot on your mind.”

“That’s right,” Becca agreed.

Caleb wondered if she knew something about Grams’s health, but hadn’t told anyone. Except Becca looked genuinely concerned.

Grams gave his hand a feeble squeeze. “I should be able to remember a detail like Becca’s work schedule.”

“I never told you about next week’s schedule.” Becca’s voice was soft and nurturing and oh-so-appealing. “I received the call this morning about what shifts I’ll be covering. You haven’t forgotten anything.”

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