Not the Boss's Baby

“Yes, Chadwick.”

Then she closed his door.

Two (#uf657ffbe-8e9c-5632-b608-49d0b8b22c04)

This was the point in his morning where Chadwick normally reviewed the marketing numbers. Bob Larsen was his handpicked Vice President of Marketing. He’d helped move the company’s brand recognition way, way up. Although Bob was closing in on fifty, he had an intrinsic understanding of the internet and social media, and had used it to drag the brewery into the twenty-first century. He’d put Beaumont Brewery on Facebook, then Twitter—never chasing the trend, but leading it. Chadwick wasn’t sure exactly what SnappShot did, beyond make pictures look scratched and grainy, but Bob was convinced that it was the platform through which to launch their new line of Percheron Seasonal Ales. “Targeting all those foodies who snap shots of their dinners!” he’d said the week before, in the excited voice of a kid getting a new bike for Christmas.

Yes, that’s what Chadwick should have been thinking about. He took his meetings with his department heads seriously. He took the whole company seriously. He rewarded hard work and loyalty and never, ever allowed distractions. He ran a damn tight ship.

So why was he sitting there, thinking about his assistant?

Because he was. Man, was he.

Several months.

Her words kept rattling around in his brain, along with the way she’d looked that morning—drawn, tired. Like a woman who’d cried her eyes out most of the weekend. She hadn’t answered his question. If that prick had walked out several months before—and no matter what she said about what ‘we decided,’ Chadwick had heard the ‘he’ first—what had happened that weekend?

The thought of Neil Moore—mediocre golf pro always trying to suck up to the next big thing every time Chadwick had met him—doing anything to hurt Serena made him furious. He’d never liked Neil. Too much of a leech, not good enough for the likes of Serena Chase. Chadwick had always been of the opinion that she deserved someone better, someone who wouldn’t abandon her at a party to schmooze a local TV personality like he’d witnessed Neil do on at least three separate occasions.

Serena deserved so much better than that ass. Of course, Chadwick had known that for years. Why was it bothering him so much this morning?

She’d looked so...different. Upset, yes, but there was something else going on. Serena had always been unflappable, totally focused on the job. Of course Chadwick had never done anything inappropriate involving her, but he’d caught a few other men assuming she was up for grabs just because she was a woman in Hardwick Beaumont’s old office. Chadwick had never done business with those men again—which, a few times, meant going with the higher-priced vendor. It went against the principles his father, Hardwick, had raised him by—the bottom line was the most important thing.

Hardwick might have been a lying, cheating bastard, but that wasn’t Chadwick. And Serena knew it. She’d said so herself.

That had to be why Chadwick had lost his mind and done something he’d managed not to do for eight years—touch Serena. Oh, he’d touched her before. She had a hell of a handshake, one that betrayed no weakness or fear, something that occasionally undermined other women in a position of power. But putting his hand on her shoulder? Running a finger along the sensitive skin under her chin?

Hell.

For a moment, he’d done something he’d wanted to do for years—engage Serena Chase on a level that went far beyond his scheduling conflicts. And for that moment, it’d felt wonderful to see her dark brown eyes look up at him, her pupils dilating with need—reflecting his desire back at him. To feel her body respond to his touch.

Some days, it felt like he never got to do what he wanted. Chadwick was the responsible one. The one who ran the family company and cleaned up the family messes and paid the family bills while everyone else in the family ran amuck, having affairs and one-night stands and spending money like it was going out of style.

Just that weekend his brother Phillip had bought some horse for a million dollars. And what did his little brother do to pay for it? He went to company-sponsored parties and drank Beaumont Beer. That was the extent of Phillip’s involvement in the company. Phillip always did exactly what he wanted without a single thought for how it might affect other people—for how it might affect the brewery.

Not Chadwick. He’d been born to run this company. It wasn’t a joke—Hardwick Beaumont had called a press conference in the hospital and held the newborn Chadwick up, red-faced and screaming, to proclaim him the future of Beaumont Brewery. Chadwick had the newspaper articles to prove it.

He’d done a good job—so good, in fact, that the Brewery had become the target for takeovers and mergers by conglomerates who didn’t give a damn for beer or for the Beaumont name. They just wanted to boost their companies’ bottom lines with Beaumont’s profits.

Just once, he’d done something he wanted. Not what his father expected or the investors demanded or Wall Street projected—what he wanted. Serena had been upset. He’d wanted to comfort her. At heart, it wasn’t a bad thing.

But then he’d remembered his father. And that Chadwick seducing his assistant was no better than Hardwick Beaumont seducing his secretary. So he’d stopped. Chadwick Beaumont was responsible, focused, driven, and in no way controlled by his baser animal instincts. He was better than that. He was better than his father.

Chadwick had been faithful while married. Serena had been with—well, he’d never been sure if Neil was her husband, live-in lover, boyfriend, significant other, life partner—whatever people called it these days. Plus, she’d worked for Chadwick. That had always held him back because he was not the apple that had fallen from Hardwick’s tree, by God.

All of these correct thoughts did not explain why Chadwick’s finger was hovering over the intercom button, ready to call Serena back into the office and ask her again what had happened this weekend. Selfishly, he almost wanted her to break down and cry on his shoulder, just so he could hold her.

Chadwick forced himself to turn back to his monitor and call up the latest figures. Bob had emailed him the analytics Sunday night. Chadwick hated wasting time having something he could easily read explained to him. He was no idiot. Just because he didn’t understand why anyone would take pictures of their dinner and post them online didn’t mean he couldn’t see the user habits shifting, just as Bob said they would.

This was better, he thought, as he looked over the numbers. Work. Work was good. It kept him focused. Like telling Serena he was taking her to the gala—a work function. They’d been at galas and banquets like that before. What difference did it make if they arrived in the same car or not? It didn’t. It was business related. Nothing personal.

Except it was personal and he knew it. Picking her up in his car, taking her out to dinner? Not business. Even if they discussed business things, it still wouldn’t be the same as dinner with, say, Bob Larsen. Serena usually wore a black silk gown with a bit of a fishtail hem and a sweetheart neckline to these things. Chadwick didn’t care that it was always the same gown. She looked fabulous in it, a pashmina shawl draped over her otherwise bare shoulders, a small string of pearls resting against her collarbone, her thick brown hair swept up into an artful twist.

No, dinner would not be business-related. Not even close.

He wouldn’t push her, he decided. It was the only compromise he could make with himself. He wasn’t like his father, who’d had no qualms about making his secretaries’ jobs contingent upon sex. He wasn’t about to trap Serena into doing anything either of them would regret. He would take her to dinner and then the gala, and would do nothing more than enjoy her company. That was that. He could restrain himself just fine. He’d had years of practice, after all.

Thankfully, the intercom buzzed and Serena’s normal, level voice announced that Bob was there. “Send him in,” Chadwick replied, thankful to have a distraction from his own thoughts.

He had to fight to keep his company. He had no illusions that the board meeting on Wednesday would go well. He was in danger of becoming the Beaumont who lost the brewery—of failing at the one thing he’d been raised to do.

He did not have time to be distracted by Serena Chase.

And that was final.

* * *

The rest of Monday passed without a reply from Neil. Serena was positive about this because she refreshed her email approximately every other minute. Tuesday started much the same. She had her morning meeting with Chadwick where, apart from when he asked her if everything was all right, nothing out of the ordinary happened. No lingering glances, no hot touches and absolutely no near-miss kisses. Chadwick was his regular self, so Serena made sure to be as normal as she could be.

Not to say it wasn’t a challenge. Maybe she’d imagined the whole thing. She could blame a lot on hormones now, right? So Chadwick had stepped out of his prescribed role for a moment. She was the one who’d been upset. She must have misunderstood his intent, that’s all.

Which left her more depressed than she expected. It’s not like she wanted Chadwick to make a pass at her. An intra-office relationship was against company policy—she knew because she’d helped Chadwick rewrite the policy when he first hired her. Flings between bosses and employees set the company up for sexual harassment lawsuits when everything went south—which it usually did.

But that didn’t explain why, as she watched him walk out of the office on his way to meet with the divorce lawyers with his ready-for-battle look firmly in place, she wished his divorce would be final. Just because the process was draining him, that’s all.

Sigh. She didn’t believe herself. How could she convince anyone else?

She turned her attention to the last-minute plans for the gala. After Chadwick returned to the office, he’d meet with his brother Matthew, who was technically in charge of planning the event. But a gala for five hundred of the richest people in Denver? It was all hands on deck.

The checklist was huge, and it required her full attention. She called suppliers, tracked shipments and checked the guest list.

She ate lunch at her desk as she followed up on her contacts in the local media. The press was a huge part of why charities competed for the Beaumont sponsorship. Few of these organizations had an advertising budget. Beaumont Brewery put their name front and center for a year, getting television coverage, interviews and even fashion bloggers.

She had finished her yogurt and wiped down her desk by the time Chadwick came back. He looked terrible—head down, hands jammed into his pockets, shoulders slumped. Oh, no. She didn’t even have to ask to know that the meeting had not gone according to plan.

He paused in front of her desk. The effort to raise his head and meet her eyes seemed to take a lot out of him. Serena gasped in surprise at how lost he looked. His eyes were rimmed in red, like he hadn’t slept in days.

She wanted to go to him—put her arms around him and tell him it’d all work out. That’s what her mom had always done when things didn’t pan out, when Dad lost his job or they had to move again because they couldn’t make the rent.

The only problem was, she’d never believed it when she was a kid. And now, as an adult with a failed long-term relationship under her belt and a baby on the way?

No, she wouldn’t believe it either.

God, the raw pain in his eyes was like a slap in the face. She didn’t know what to do, what to say. Maybe she should just do nothing. To try and comfort him might be to cross the line they’d crossed on Monday.

Chadwick gave a little nod with his head, as if he were agreeing they shouldn’t cross that line again. Then he dropped his head, muttered, “Hold my calls,” and trudged into his office.

Defeated. That’s what he was. Beaten. Seeing him like that was unnerving—and that was being generous. Chadwick Beaumont did not lose in the business world. He didn’t always get every single thing he wanted, but he never walked away from a negotiation, a press conference—anything—looking like he’d lost the battle and the war.