“What would you do if you were mine?”

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.

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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.”

Fine with Tuck. “What were you to my brother?”

She enunciated carefully. “I was his confidential assistant.”

He found himself easing forward. “And which of your duties were confidential?”

“All of them.”

“You know what I’m asking.”

“Then, ask it.”

Despite her attitude, he liked her. There was something about her straightforward manner that he admired very much. “Were you sleeping with my brother?”

As he looked into her simmering blue eyes, he suddenly and unexpectedly cared about the answer. He didn’t want her to be Dixon’s mistress.

“No.”

He was relieved. “You’re sure?”

“That wouldn’t be something I’d forget. My car keys, maybe. To pick up cat food, yes. But, oops, having sex with my boss just slipped my mind?” Her tone went flat. “Yes, Tuck. I’m sure.”

He wanted to kiss her. He was suddenly seized by an overwhelming desire to pull her close and taste those sassy lips.

“You have a cat?” he asked instead.

“Focus, Tuck. Dixon’s not coming back. At least not for a while. I know you’ve had a cushy run here, but that’s over and done with. You’ve got work to do now, and I am not letting you duck and weave.”

Now he really wanted to kiss her. “How’re you going to do that?”

“Persuasion, persistence and coercion.”

“You think you can coerce me?”

“What I think is that somewhere deep down inside you must be a man who wants to succeed, a man who actually wants to impress his father.”

She was wrong, but he was curious.

“Why do you think that?” he asked.

“You strike me as the type.”

“I never imagined I was a type.”

Truth was he didn’t want to impress his father. But he did want to impress Amber, more than he’d wanted to impress a woman in a very long time.

Unfortunately for him, she wasn’t about to observe him in the part of suave, worldly, wealthy Tuck Tucker. She was about to watch him fumbling around the helm of a multimillion corporation. He couldn’t have dreamed of a less flattering circumstance.

Two

Amber was torn between annoyance and sympathy.

For the past week, Tuck had arrived at the office promptly at eight. He seemed a little groggy for the first hour, and she’d fallen into the habit of having a large coffee on his desk waiting for him. She could only guess that he hadn’t yet modified his playboy nights to fit his workday schedule.

She’d moved from her desk near Dixon’s office to the desk outside Tuck’s office. Tuck didn’t have his own assistant, since he was so rarely there, but now he was taking on Dixon’s work. He was also taking on Jamison’s. Margaret had been out sick most days since Jamison’s heart attack, so Amber was keeping in communication with directors and managers and all of their assistants, trying to be sure nothing fell through the cracks.

This morning, voices were raised behind Tuck’s closed door. He was meeting with Zachary Ingles, the marketing director. They were two weeks from the New York trade show and deadlines were rapidly piling up.

“You were tasked with approving the final branding,” Zachary was shouting. “I sent three options. It’s all in the email.”

“I have two thousand emails in my in-basket,” Tuck returned.

“Your disorganization is not my problem. We’ve missed the print deadline on everything—signs, banners and all the swag.”

“You need to tell me when there’s a critical deadline.”

“I did tell you.”

“In an email that I didn’t read.”

“Here’s a tip,” said Zachary. But then he went silent.

Amber found herself picturing Tuck’s glare. Tuck might be out of his depth, but he wasn’t stupid, and he wasn’t a pushover.

A minute later, Tuck’s office door was thrown open and Zachary stormed past her desk, tossing a glare her way. “Tell your boss he can pay rush penalties on every damn item for all I care.”

Amber didn’t bother to respond. She’d never warmed up to Zachary. He was demanding and entitled, always running roughshod over his staff and anyone else below him in the corporate hierarchy. Dixon put up with him because he was favored by Jamison, and because he did seem to have a knack for knowing how to appeal to big clients with expensive shipping needs.

Tuck appeared in the office doorway.

“Lucas will be here at ten,” she told him. “But your schedule is clear for the next half hour.”

“Maybe I can read a few hundred emails.”

“Good idea.”

He drew a breath, looking like he wanted to bolt for the exit. “What am I doing wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“I’m behind by two thousand emails.”

“Dixon was very organized.”

Surely Tuck didn’t expect to rival his brother after only a single week. It had taken Dixon years to become such an effective vice president.

Tuck frowned at her. “So everyone tells me.”

“He worked very long and hard to get there.”

Yes, Tuck was arriving on time. And really, that was more than she’d expected. But Dixon had taken on far more than his fair share of early mornings and late nights working out systems and processes for covering the volume of work. Tuck seemed to expect to become a boy wonder overnight.

Tuck’s tone hardened. “I’m asking for some friendly advice. Can we not turn it into a lecture about my sainted brother?”

“You can’t expect to simply walk through the door and be perfect.”

“I’m not expecting anything of the sort. Believe me, I know that Dixon is remarkable. I’ve heard about it my entire life.”

Amber felt a twinge of guilt.

Tuck did seem to be trying. Not that he had any choice in the matter. And it didn’t change the fact that he’d barely bothered to show up at the office until he was backed into a corner. Still, he was here now. She’d give him that.

“Zachary should have given you a heads-up on the branding,” she said. “He should have pointed out the deadline.”

“I shouldn’t have missed it,” said Tuck.

“But you did. And you’re going to miss other things.” She saw no point in pretending.

“Your confidence in me is inspiring.”

She found herself annoyed on Tuck’s behalf, and the frustration came through in her voice.

“Tell him,” she said. “Tell them all. Tell them that it’s their job to keep you appraised of critical deadlines, and not just in an email. Make it a part of your regular meetings. And make the meetings more frequent if you have to, even daily. I mean, if you can stand to see Zachary every day, that is.”

Tuck cracked a smile.

It was a joke. But Amber shouldn’t have made it. “I know that was an inappropriate thing to say.”

He took a couple of steps toward her desk. “I don’t have a problem with inappropriate. It’s a good idea. I’ll send them an email.”

“You don’t have to send them an email.” Her sense of professionalism won out over her annoyance at his past laziness. “I’ll send them an email. And I can triage your in-basket if you’d like.”

His expression brightened and he moved closer still. “You’d read them for me?”

“Yes. I’ll get rid of the unimportant ones.”

“How will you do that?”

“I have a delete key.”

He leaned his hands down on the desk, lowering his voice. “You can do that? I mean, and not have the company fall down around my ears?”

Amber found herself fighting a grin. “With some of them, sure. With others, I’ll take care of them myself, or I’ll delegate the work to one of the unit heads. And I’ll flag the important ones for you.”

“I swear, I could kiss you for that.”

It was obviously a quip. But for some reason his words resonated all the way to her abdomen.

Her gaze went to his lips, triggering the image of a kiss in her imagination.

She caught the look in his eyes and the air seemed to crackle between them.

“Not necessary,” she quickly said into the silence.

“I suppose the paycheck is enough.”

“It’s enough.”

He straightened, and a twinkle came into his silver-gray eyes. “Still, the offer’s open.”

She considered his handsome, unapologetic face and his taut, sexy frame. “You’re not like him at all, are you?”

“Dixon?”

She nodded.

“Not a bit.”

“He doesn’t joke around.”

“He should.”

Her loyalty reasserted itself. “Are you criticizing Dixon’s performance on the job?”

“I’m criticizing his performance in life.”

“He’s been through a lot.”

She didn’t know how close Tuck was to his brother, but she had seen firsthand the toll Kassandra’s infidelity had taken on Dixon. Dixon had been devoted to his wife. He’d thought they were trying to start a family while she had secretly been taking birth control pills and sleeping with another man.

“I know he has,” said Tuck.

“He was blindsided by her lies.”

Tuck seemed to consider the statement. “There were signs.”

“Now you’re criticizing Dixon for loyalty?”

“I’m wondering why you’re so blindly defending him.”

“When you’re an honest person—” as Amber knew Dixon was “—you don’t look for deceit in others.”

Tuck’s gaze was astute. “But you saw it, too.”

Amber wasn’t going to lie. “That Kassandra had a scheming streak?”

“Aha.” There was a distinct ring of triumph in Tuck’s tone.

“I saw it, too,” she admitted.

He sobered. “I don’t know what that says about you and I.”

“Maybe that we should be careful around each other?”

“Are you out to get me, Amber?”

“No.” She wasn’t.

She didn’t find him particularly admirable. An admirable man would have shown up to help long before now. But now that he was here, she’d admit he wasn’t all bad.

“Are you going to lie to me?”

“No.”

“Will you help me succeed?”

She hesitated over that one. “Maybe. If you seem to deserve it.”

“How am I doing so far?”

“You’re no Dixon.”

“I’m never going to be Dixon.”

“But you seem to have Zachary’s number. I can respect that.”

It was a moment before Tuck responded. “How’d he get away with that crap with my dad?”

“He didn’t pull that crap with your dad.”

“He’s testing me.”

“We all are.”

“Including you?”

“Especially me.”

But Tuck was faring better than she’d expected. And she seemed worryingly susceptible to his playboy charm. She was definitely going to have to watch herself around him.

* * *

At home in the mansion, Tuck found himself retreating to the second floor, spreading work out in the compact sitting room down the hall from his own bedroom. Stylistically, it was different from the rest of the house, with earth tones, rattan and stoneware accents. He found it restful.

The big house had been built in the early 1900s, with hardwood floors, soaring relief ceilings, elaborate light fixtures and archways twenty feet in height. It was far from the most welcoming place in the world, full of uncomfortable antique chairs and somber paintings. And right now it echoed with emptiness.

Last week, they’d moved his father to a specialized care facility in Boston. His mother had gone with him to stay with her sister. His mother had asked her trusted staff members to come along for what looked to be an extended stay.

Tuck could have replaced the staff. But he was one man, and he had no plans to do any entertaining. Well, maybe a date or two, since he didn’t plan to let his responsibilities at Tucker Transportation keep him celibate. But the house still had two cooks, two housekeepers and a groundskeeper. He couldn’t imagine needing any more assistance than that.

For now, he headed down the grand staircase to meet his college friend, Jackson Rush, happy with both the opportunity for conversation and the break from office work. While Tuck had studied business at the University of Chicago, Jackson had studied criminology. Jackson now ran an investigations firm that had expanded around the country.

“I hope you have good news,” said Tuck as Jackson removed his worn leather jacket and handed it to the housekeeper.

“Dixon took a private jet from Executive Airport to New York City,” said Jackson.

“But not a Tucker Transportation jet.” Tuck had already checked all the company records.

“Signal Air,” said Jackson.

“Because he didn’t want my dad to know where he went.”

“That seems like a solid theory.”

The two men made their way into the sunroom. It was dark outside, not the perfect time to enjoy the view through the floor-to-ceiling windows, but the sunroom was less ostentatious than the library.

“So he’s in New York.” As far as Tuck was concerned, that was good news. He’d worried his brother had taken off to Europe or Australia.

“From there, it looks like he took a train to Charlotte.”

“A train?” Tuck turned his head to frown at Jackson. “Why on earth would he take a train? And what’s in Charlotte?”

“Secrecy, I’m guessing.” Jackson eased onto a forest-green sofa. “He wouldn’t need ID to buy a train ticket. You said your dad tried to stop him from leaving?”

Tuck took a padded Adirondack chair next to a leafy potted ficus. “Dad was terrified at the thought of me actually working at Tucker Transportation.”

“Then, I guess things didn’t work out so well for him, did they?”

“Are you making a joke about his heart attack?”

“I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. From Charlotte, our best guess is Dixon went on to either Miami or New Orleans. Anything you know of for him in either of those cities?”

Tuck racked his brain.

“A woman?” asked Jackson.

“He’s barely divorced from Kassandra.”

Jackson shot Tuck a look of incredulity.

“She was the one who cheated, not him. I doubt his head was anywhere near to dating again.”

“Well, we’re checking both cities, but so far he’s not using his credit cards or hitting any bank machines. And there’s no activity on his cell phone.”

Tuck sat back. “Does this strike you as bafflingly elaborate?”

“Your brother does not want to be found. The question is, why?”

“He doesn’t know about my dad,” said Tuck. “He doesn’t know he’s abandoned Tucker Transportation to me alone. If he did, he’d be here in a heartbeat.”

“Anything else going on in his life? Any chance he’s got an enemy, committed a crime, embezzled from the company?”

Tuck laughed at that. “Embezzle from himself? He’s got access to all the money he could ever want and then some.”

“An enemy, then. Anybody who might want to harm him? Maybe the guy who slept with Kassandra?”

“Dixon’s not afraid of Irwin Borba.”

“What, then?” asked Jackson.

“He said he needed a vacation.”

Tuck wanted to believe that was the simple answer. Because if Dixon was at a beach bar somewhere drinking rum punch and watching women in bikinis, he’d be back home soon. It had already been two weeks. Maybe Tuck just had to hang on a few more days without sinking any ships—either figuratively or literally—and he’d be off the hook. He sure hoped so.

“There’s a major trade show coming up in New York,” he told Jackson. “And we’re launching two new container ships in Antwerp next week. Surely he’ll return for that.”

“He’s expecting your dad will be there.” Jackson restlessly tapped his blunt fingers against his denim-covered knee.

That was true. Dixon would assume Jamison would represent the company in Antwerp.

“Have you checked his computer?” asked Jackson. “Maybe he’s got a personal email account you don’t know about.”

“Maybe.” Tuck wasn’t crazy about the idea of snooping into Dixon’s business, but things were getting desperate.

“Check his office computer,” said Jackson. “And check his laptop, his tablet, anything he didn’t take with him. It looks to me as though he’s traveling light.”

Tuck had to agree with that. “What’s he up to, switching transportation in two different cities?”

“He’s up to not being found. And he’s doing a damn good job of it. Any chance he’s got a secret life?”

“A secret life?”

“Doing things that he can’t tell anyone about. He does travel a lot. And he runs in some pretty influential circles.”

“Are you asking if my brother is a spy?”

Jackson’s shrug said it was possible.

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned in the past week, it’s that Dixon couldn’t have had time for anything but Tucker Transportation. You wouldn’t believe the amount of work that crosses his desk.”

“Don’t forget you’re doing your dad’s job, as well,” Jackson pointed out.

“Even accounting for that. I’m starting to wonder...”

Tuck wasn’t crazy about saying it out loud. But he had to wonder why they hadn’t asked for his help before now. Was he truly that inept?

“You’re a smart guy, too.” Jackson seemed to have guessed the direction of Tuck’s thoughts.

“I don’t know about that.”

“Well, I do. Your dad and Dixon, they probably got into a rhythm together early on. And you never seemed that interested in working at the company.”

“I tried.” Tuck couldn’t keep the defensiveness from his voice. “In the beginning, I tried. But I always seemed to be in the way. Dad definitely didn’t want me around. Dixon was his golden boy. After a while you get tired of always barging your way in.”

“So you’re in it now.”

“I am. And it’s scaring me half to death.”

Jackson grinned. “I’ve been in the thick of it with you before. I can’t picture you being afraid of anything.”

“This isn’t the same as a physical threat.”

“I’m not just talking about a barroom brawl. Remember, I’m running a company of my own.”

“That’s right.” Tuck perked up at the thought of getting some free advice. “You are. How big is it now?”

“Four offices, here in Chicago, New York, Boston and Philly.”

“How many employees?”

“About two hundred.”

“So you could give me a few tips?”

“Tucker Transportation is on a whole different scale than I am. You’re better off talking to your friend Shane Colborn.”

“I’m better off finding Dixon.”

“I’ll fly to Charlotte in the morning.”

“You need a jet?”

Jackson cracked a grin. “I’m not going to say no to that offer. Sure, hook me up with a jet. In the meantime, check out his computer.”

“I’ll get Amber to help.”

“Amber?”

“Dixon’s trusty assistant.”

An image of Amber’s pretty face came up in his mind. He wasn’t normally a fan of tailored clothes and no-nonsense hairstyles. But she seemed to look good in anything.

And then there were those shoes. She wore a different pair every day, each one sexier than the last. Something was definitely going on beneath the surface there. And the more time he spent with her, the more he wanted to figure out what really made her tick.

* * *

When Tuck strode into the office Monday morning, Amber’s hormones jumped to attention. He was dressed in a pair of faded jeans, a green cotton shirt and a navy blazer. His dark brown hair had a rakish swoop across the top, and his face had a sexy, cavalier day’s growth of beard.

He definitely wasn’t Dixon. Dixon’s confidence was never cocky. And Dixon had never made her heart pump faster and heat rise up her neck.

“I need your help,” he stated without preamble.

Amber immediately came to her feet. “Is something wrong?”

“Come with me.” His walk was decisive and his voice definitive.

She experienced a new and completely inappropriate shiver of reaction.

This was a place of business, she told herself. He wasn’t thinking about her as a woman. He sure wasn’t thinking the same things she was thinking—that his commanding voice meant he might haul her into his office, pin her up against a wall and kiss her senseless.

What was wrong with her?

Tuck headed into Dixon’s office and she forcibly shook off her silly fantasy.

“Do you know his password?” Tuck asked, crossing the big room and rounding the mahogany desk.

“His password to what?” she asked.

“To log on to the system.” Tuck leaned down and moved the mouse to bring the screen to life.

She didn’t answer. Dixon had given her his password a couple of months back on a day when he was in Europe and needed her to send him some files. She still remembered it, but she knew he’d never intended for her to use it again. What she technically knew, and what she ought to use, were two different things.

Tuck glanced up sharply. “Tell me the password, Amber.”

“I...”

“If you don’t, I’ll only have the systems group reset it.”

He made a valid point. As the acting head of Tucker Transportation, he could do whatever he wanted with the company computer system.

“Fine. It’s ClownSchool, capital C and S, dollar sign, one, eight, zero.”

Tuck typed. “You might want to think about whose side you’re on here.”

“I’m not taking sides.” Though she was committed to keeping her promise to Dixon. “I’m trying to be professional.”

“And I’m trying to save Tucker Transportation.”

“Save it from what?” Had something happened?

“From ruin without my father or Dixon here to run it.”

“What are you looking for?” she asked, realizing that he was exaggerating for effect and deciding to move past the hyperbole.

Tucker Transportation was a solid company with a team of long-term, capable executives running the departments. Even from the top, there was a limited amount of damage anyone could do in a month.

“Clues to where he went,” said Tuck.

Then Tuck seemed to have an inspiration. He lifted the desk phone and dialed.

A moment later, a ring chimed inside Dixon’s top drawer.

Tuck drew it open and removed Dixon’s cell phone, holding it while it rang.

“How does it still have battery power?” he asked, more to himself than anything.

“I’ve been charging it,” said Amber.

His attention switched to her, his face crinkling in obvious annoyance. “You didn’t think to tell me his cell phone was in his desk drawer?”

Amber wasn’t sure how to answer that.

“And how did you know it was there anyway? Were you snooping through his drawers?”

“No.” She quickly shook her head. She was intensely respectful of Dixon’s privacy. “He told me he was leaving it behind.”

Tuck’s piercing gray eyes narrowed, his brows slanting together in a way that wrinkled his forehead. “So he told you he was leaving? Before he left, you knew he was going?”

Amber realized she’d spoken too fast. But now she had no choice but to give a reluctant nod.

Tuck straightened and came to the end of the desk, his voice gravelly and ominous. “Before you answer this, remember I’m the acting president of this company. This is a direct order, and I don’t look kindly on insubordination. Did he tell you where he was going?”

Dixon had given her an emergency number. And she’d recognized the area code. But he hadn’t flat-out told her where he was going.

“No,” she said, promising herself it wasn’t technically a lie. “He needs the time, Tuck. He’s been overworked for months, and Kassandra’s betrayal hit him hard.”

“That’s not for you to decide.”

She knew that was true. But it wasn’t for Tuck to decide, either.

“He doesn’t even know about our father,” said Tuck.

“If he knew, he’d come home.”

Tuck’s voice rose. “Of course he’d come home.”

“And then he’d be back to square one, worse off than he was before. I know it must be hard for you without him.”

“You know? You don’t know anything.”

“I’ve worked here for five years.” It was on the tip of her tongue to say that it was a whole lot longer than Tuck had worked here, but she checked herself in time.

“As an assistant.”

“Yes.”

“You don’t have the full picture. You don’t know the risks, the critical decisions.”

“I know Dixon.”

Tuck’s tone turned incredulous. “You’re saying I don’t?”

Amber’s voice rose. “I’m saying I’ve been here. I watched how hard he’s worked. I saw how much your father slowed down these past months. I watched what Kassandra’s infidelity did to him. He was losing it, Tuck. He took a break because he had no other choice.”

Tuck gripped the side of the desk, his jaw going tight.

Amber mentally braced herself for an onslaught.

But his voice stayed steady, his words measured. “My father was slowing down?”

“Yes. A lot. Margaret was funneling more and more work to Dixon. Dixon was scrambling. He was staying late, coming in early, traveling all over the world.”

“He likes traveling.”

“You can’t constantly travel and still run a company. And then Kassandra.”

“Her behavior was despicable.”

“It hurt him, Tuck. Yes, he was disgusted and angry. But he was also very badly hurt.”

Tuck rocked back on his heels, his expression going pensive. “He didn’t let on.”

Amber hesitated but decided to share some more information. If it would help Tuck understand the gravity of the situation, it would do more good than harm.

“There were times when I heard more than I should,” she said. “I know Dixon was ready to be a father. He thought they were trying to get pregnant. Instead, she was taking birth control pills and sleeping with another man.”

It was clear from Tuck’s expression that Dixon hadn’t shared that information with him. He sat down, and his gaze went to the computer screen. “He still needs to know about our father.”

She knew it wasn’t her place to stop Tuck. “Do what you need to do.”

He glanced up. “But you’re not going to help me?”

“There’s nothing more I can do to help you find Dixon. But I’ll help you run Tucker Transportation.”

“Finding Dixon is the best thing we can do to run Tucker Transportation.”

“I disagree,” she said.

“Bully for you.”

“The best thing you can do to run Tucker Transportation is to run Tucker Transportation.”

Tuck was silent while he moved the mouse and typed a few keys. “You should have told me.”

“Told you what?” She found herself moving around the desk, curious to see what he would find on the computer.

“What he was planning,” said Tuck as he scrolled through Dixon’s email. “That he was secretly leaving.”

She recognized the headers on the email messages, since they automatically copied to her account. “I’m Dixon’s confidential assistant. I don’t share his personal information with anyone else.”

“There’s nothing here but corporate business,” said Tuck.

Amber knew that would be the case. Dixon was always careful to keep his personal email out of the corporate system. And he’d been doubly careful with the details of his secret vacation.

Tuck swiveled the chair to face her. “What would you do if you were mine?”

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.

He rose in front of her. “Amber?”

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

His voice was rich and deep, laced with an intimacy she knew she had to be imagining. “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 was Tuck’s assistant, she’d be in the middle of making one colossal mistake. Because that would mean she was sexually attracted to her boss. She’d want to kiss her boss. 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.

She plunged right in with the truth. “I would probably make a huge and horrible mistake.”

The lift of his brows told her he understood her meaning. And he slowly raised his hand to brush his fingertips across her cheek. “Would it be so horrible?”

“We can’t,” she managed to respond.

He gave a very small smile. “We won’t.”

But he was easing closer, leaning in.

“Tuck,” she warned.

He used his other hand to take hold of hers, twining their fingers together. “Professionally. On a professional level, given the current circumstances, what would you do if your loyalty was to me?”

She called on every single ounce of her fortitude to focus. “I’d tell you to go to the New York trade show. It’s the smart thing to do and the best thing to do for the company.”

“Okay.”

His easy answer took her aback.

She wasn’t sure she’d understood correctly. “You’ll go?”

“We’ll both go. I’m still going to find Dixon. But until I do, I’m the only owner this company has got. You’re right to tell me to step up.”

Amber moved a pace back and he released her hand.

New York? Together? With Tuck?

She struggled for a way to state her position. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. I’m definitely not going to—”

“Sleep with me?” he said, finishing her thought.

“Well. Okay. Yes. That’s what I meant.” She hadn’t planned on being that blunt, but that was it.

“That’s disappointing. But it’s not the reason I want you in New York. And I promise, there’ll be no pressure on that front.” He smoothly closed the space between them and leaned down.

She waited, her senses on alert for the kiss that seemed inevitable.

But he stopped, his lips inches away from hers, his voice a whisper. “I really like your shoes.”

She reflexively glanced to her feet, seeing the jazzy, swirling gold-and-red pattern of her high-heel pumps.

“They’ll look good in New York.” He backed off, his voice returning to normal as he took his place in front of the computer screen. “Let’s stay at the Neapolitan. Book us on a flight.”

Once again, she fought to regain her emotional equilibrium. She swallowed. “Do you want an airline ticket or should I book a company plane?”

“What would Dixon do?”

“Dixon never flies commercial.”

Tuck grinned. “Then, book us a company plane. If I’m going to take Dixon’s place, I might as well enjoy all his perks.”

Amber wanted to ask if he considered her one of Dixon’s perks. But the question was as inappropriate as it was dangerous. Her relationship with Dixon was comfortably professional. By contrast, her relationship with Tuck grew more unsettling by the day.

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