The Playboy's Office Romance. Karen Whittenburg Toller
checked the figures,” Lara told him. “All you need to do is initial beside Adam’s name.”
Peter grinned. “It may take a couple of years to get your name on the stationery.”
“It takes longer than a week.” Lara glanced at Bryce, her luscious lips curved upward in a smile, her eyes letting him know she doubted he’d be around long enough to have his name on the letterhead.
“I’ll just read these reports anyway,” Bryce said.
Lara was too professional to shrug, so she turned to Peter with another warm smile. “Any word from Adam and Katie?”
Peter shook his head. “Not even a postcard.”
“They are on their honeymoon, you know.” Bryce carried the stack of reports to his desk and put them on top of yet another stack. He was beginning to think the only thing Braddock Industries built, was a mountain of paperwork.
“Honeymoon or not, it isn’t like Adam not to check in.” Lara took the putter from Peter.
“I think we’re all seeing a new, wholly unexpected side of Adam.” Peter winked at Bryce in an exchange of fraternal understanding. “Our grandmother always told us, the love of a good woman would make us better men, but I thought she was being overly optimistic.”
“I always thought she was teasing,” Bryce said. “It’s hard to believe she thought we could get any better.”
“There’s always room for improvement, and some people have more room than others.” Lara bent to position the golf ball on the mat, her body curving like a slender willow, smooth and graceful.
Bryce admired the view, deciding there was at least one thing in this office which needed no improvement whatsoever. “Are you a golfer, Lara?”
“No,” she replied absently, lining up the putt and sinking it like a pro. “Never had the time to learn.” With a smile, she handed the putter back to Peter and dusted her hands, adding yet another accomplishment to her long list of efficiencies. No muss. No fuss. No bother.
Bryce seemed to be the odd man out in this competition. He frowned and turned his attention to the reports, reading the first one in a glance and reaching for a pen to etch in his initials. His hand came up empty. “I need a pen,” he said.
“A pen?” Lara asked as if he’d requested a breath of fresh air. “You don’t even have a pen?”
He refused to let her needle him and offered, instead, his best and most professional smile. “Why should I keep up with my pens when I have a lovely assistant who will gladly fetch one for me?”
She bristled. “I don’t fetch for any man, gladly or otherwise.”
“Hmm,” Bryce said. “I thought surely I listed that under your new job description. I’ll ask Nell to check on it because if we left off fetching for boss, we’ll certainly need to make an amendment.”
Her lips tightened. “Just give those reports to Nell when you’re done. Goodbye, Peter. It’s always a pleasure to see you.” Emphasis on the last word, of course. Take that! her body language said to Bryce as she walked to the door, head high, shoulders back, hips swaying tightly with her agitation. But he missed the point because even when she was angry, her backside provided a very intriguing view. The door closed behind her with a definitive click!
“Some resistance to the new management style?” Peter asked, a grin lurking in his eyes.
Bryce shrugged good-naturedly. “Change is more of a challenge for some than others.”
“That particular challenge could turn out to be more than you bargained for, brother. I’d be careful with her if I were you.”
“What could happen?” he asked with a laugh. “Are you afraid she might mastermind a mutiny? Instigate a paper clip rebellion? Murder me with kindness?”
“I think it could be worse than that.” Peter picked up the putter and returned to the indoor green. “There was a lot of intensity in this office just now.”
Locating a pen, Bryce initialed the first report and moved on to the second. “There always is whenever Lara and I are in the same space. I’m used to it.”
“Mmm.” Peter positioned the golf ball on the mat. “She’s certainly a beautiful woman.”
“Yes, and I’ve always thought that was particularly unfair. The soul of an ice maiden in the body of a sex goddess. Somewhere in heaven, the angels must be laughing at what a great joke that is.”
“Maybe. Or maybe they’re just pulling up chairs for a ringside seat.”
Bryce looked up. “To watch what? Don’t think for a second that I can’t appreciate her beauty without getting close enough to freeze to death. Right now, I need her business expertise. I know that. But if she gets to be more trouble than she’s worth, she’s history.”
“Mmm.” Peter sank yet another putt. “All I’m saying is you need to be careful with her. Any time you see that much smoke, somewhere there’s a fire.”
Bryce laughed, initialing faster as the reports became monotonous. “Thanks for the laugh, Pete, as well as the indoor golf. There’s been a dearth of humor in this office. Maybe I’ll ask Nell to subscribe everybody to the joke of the day on the Internet. What we need around here is more fun, don’t you agree?”
“Next time I come by, I’ll bring a basketball goal.”
“Great. I’ll have my lovely assistant suit up for a game.”
“Wouldn’t you rather beat me yourself?”
Bryce grinned. “Yes, but Lara would look much better in the uniform and I figure that’s a fair tradeoff, regardless of who wins.”
SKIRT HIKED UP on her thighs, belly flat to the floor, Lara reached as far as she could under the bed in a fruitless attempt to nab her nephew. “Calvin, I mean it. Give me my keys right now.”
He giggled with the high-pitched glee of a child who knows he’s in trouble, but is still pretending it’s all a big game.
“Cal,” she repeated, extending her arm another fraction of an inch and wondering why she’d ever bought such a big bed in the first place. Stretching her fingers, she just managed to brush against the nubby flannel hem of his boxers. He flatly refuted any need for pajamas, stating he was a big boy and old enough to sleep in his underwear, sounding like something her idiot brother would have said to a four-year-old, but Lara didn’t feel pajamas were worth a struggle. Although on mornings like this one, she wondered why she didn’t put the kid to bed in a straitjacket.
She wiggled her shoulder, scrunched lower under the wooden side rail and managed to gain enough ground to reach his bony elbow. But he jerked away with another giggle and her hand closed on the rim of a plastic bowl, her fingers plunging knuckle-deep into the slimy concoction Cal fondly called breakfast. “Oh, Calvin,” she said, disgusted. “Yuck. Couldn’t you at least have left your breakfast on the table when you took off with my keys?”
“I’m eatin’ bre’kf’ss under your bed, Aunt Lara.” And he sounded plenty proud of himself for the accomplishment, too.
Lara withdrew her hand, trying not to attract dust bunnies with the slimy pulp clinging to her fingers. Peanut butter and banana smashed into mush was the kid’s favorite food. He wanted it for breakfast, he wanted it for lunch, he wanted it for dinner, he wanted it for snacks. The pediatrician had said she should try to vary his diet, but considering the drama Cal’s life had been for several weeks, it wasn’t all that surprising the child wanted one thing in his life to remain constant, at least until he felt more settled.
Settled seemed to be an elusive feeling for Calvin, though, because he refused every other option offered. It was peanut butter and banana or nothing. So Lara gave him peanut butter and mashed up banana in a bowl—bread seemed to be out of the