Buying His Bride (The Donovan Brothers Trilogy Book 1) (2 page)

Now the sight of Connor in the hospital, first in intensive care and then in a private room, had shaken all three sons more than any of them had wanted to admit.

Michael rolled his shoulders. It was true that Connor had been exerting pressure on him to settle down. As the eldest son, he’d fulfilled his end of any family business duty, entering the firm when he had graduated from college and learning it from the ground up. Now he’d taken over the day-to-day operations of the family empire.

But Rafe and Gabe were right. Sick and prohibited from working, Connor was focusing much more on Michael’s personal life.

Or lack thereof.

The lack didn’t bother him. In fact, he preferred to keep things casual, taking up only with women who were as uninterested in long-term commitments as he was. Life was simpler all around that way. It suited him fine.

Rafe spoke again. “We’re not talking about you settling down in any real sense. That’s the whole point. We’re talking about a business arrangement. A temporary one. For Father’s sake.”

Michael splashed a second finger’s worth of whisky into his glass and frowned. Fretting was not good for Connor’s temper or his blood pressure. If his worries could be relieved, then perhaps his brothers’ idea was worth considering.

He stared into the amber liquid in the glass. Even as an unconventional business arrangement, it would mean a great deal of inconvenience. Not to mention cost.

Still, wasn’t the investment in his father’s recovery worth a short-term sacrifice, if it worked? Rafe was right. The family could well afford it.

Michael put down his glass and turned to his brothers. It could be a contractual arrangement. No strings attached. Nothing more. And it could be short, though his father wouldn’t have to know that during this critical period in his recovery.

“Okay, I’ll consider it. That’s all I’m willing to say for now. Let’s call Murdoch and find out what would be involved in buying myself a bride.”

****

“Look, I’ll pay for your cab over there. Just talk to Murdoch.” Brian handed Sierra half his sandwich during their lunch at McKinley, the branding firm for which they both worked. “He asked if I knew of a discreet young woman of character who might be open to a temporary public relations assignment on the side for one of his clients. It all sounded old-school and a little mysterious, but John said the opportunity pays well, and I thought of you.”

“Why me?” Sierra took the sandwich. One less lunch she’d have to pay for.

“Murdoch’s an ethical guy, and his law firm represents the most reputable people in the city. I thought, depending on what the job turns out to be, McKinley might accommodate your working on a freelance basis for a short time. It could be worth investigating. I know things are tight for you and your mother right now.” Brian was not only her boss but her friend.

Tight didn’t begin to describe it.

“Yeah, it’s pretty bad. We’re going to lose the house as well as our pub if we don’t come up with several hundred thousand dollars in cash in the next month. I don’t see that happening.” She glanced at the clock on Brian’s desk. “What time did you say the appointment is for?”

“One thirty. You have time to make it. I’ll cover for you here. Just go!”

A brief cab ride later, Sierra followed an executive assistant into a plush corner office on the nineteenth floor of one of the Embarcadero towers. Her first impression of the room was of an enormous view of the San Francisco bay, now blocked by clouds, and an office with a doorway to a second space beyond. A cordial, middle-aged man shook her hand, introduced himself as John Murdoch, and led her to a leather-upholstered chair in front of his desk.

“Ms. Callahan, thank you for meeting me here today. I appreciate your flexibility in working me into your schedule.”

“Not at all, Mr. Murdoch. I’m pleased to find out more about the opportunity you’re offering.” Crossing one trousered leg over the other, Sierra smoothed a hand along her thigh and forced a confident smile.

“Coffee?”

“That’d be great.”

Murdoch poured her a cup, putting it on a small table next to her, and took his own seat.

“Ms. Callahan, may I get straight to the point?”

No small talk, then. Fine. She wasn’t very good at it. “Certainly.” The more direct the better, as far as she was concerned.

“You look very young for the opportunity I’m looking to fill.”

She lowered the cloth to her lap, hands fisting. The last time Sierra checked, age wasn’t up for discussion in job interviews. Her heart sank at the inauspicious beginning, even as her temper rose.

“Mr. Murdoch, may I be equally direct?”

“Of course.”

“Why don’t you tell me why I’m here today, and then perhaps I can decide for myself if my age is even relevant.”

Murdoch smiled and leaned back in his chair. “Brian said you were a no-nonsense kind of person. That’s good. You see, the opportunity I want to discuss is an unusual one. I feel bound to consider not only my client’s interests but any prospective employee’s as well. That’s the only reason I commented on your age.”

“We already know she’s twenty-five, John.” A deep, masculine voice broke into their conversation.

Startled, she turned her head. The owner of the voice entered the office from an inner room. Her eyes widened. He wasn’t wearing a raincoat or holding an umbrella now, but she recognized him in an instant.

“We meet again, Ms. Callahan. You look a trifle drier than the last time we saw each other, I’m happy to say.”

Sierra realized her mouth was hanging open and shut it with a snap. “I didn’t expect to see you again!”

“Nor I you. I’m surprised to learn you’re one of our applicants, I assure you.” He gave her an assessing look. “No ill effects from our first meeting, I hope?”

At a distinct disadvantage for the second time she found herself in this man’s company, Sierra shook her head. “You seem to know my name, but I still don’t know yours.”

“Ms. Callahan, this is Michael Donovan.” Murdoch made the introduction and, Sierra extended her hand. “Michael, may I present—”

“Sierra Callahan,” said Michael, taking her hand. As soon as she could, she removed her hand from his. “As you can see, John, we’ve met. Once. Under wetter circumstances.”

Donovan. Michael Donovan. Something about the name teased the edge of her brain as he seated himself in the twin of her chair.

Like the older man, Michael was dressed in a suit, but nothing could disguise the sheer animal presence of his form or an innate grace of movement. Broad-shouldered, lean-hipped, with legs that were long and powerful, he had an equally compelling face. She remembered it well.

He was of no personal interest, though. Her alcoholic father, now dead, hadn’t given her reason to trust men, and her ex-college boyfriend William had confirmed her lack of faith in them. William had caused her a great deal of misery back in the day. She shuddered and suppressed the flutter of dread that still surfaced on the rare occasions she thought about him.

She’d made it a habit to tune out men long ago. Especially the good-looking ones.

Michael addressed his next comment to her. “We’ve run a report. We know everything we need to know. Except whether you’d be willing to take the position I’m offering.”

Was he kidding? They’d run a background report on her? Without her knowledge or permission?

With difficulty, she corralled her temper.

“I don’t want to be rude, but who exactly do you think you are?” If it was possible to be angry and intrigued at the same time, then she was both. “Brian Smith sent me here for what I thought would be a business interview, and suddenly it’s all cloak-and-dagger and I’ve had my privacy invaded by two people I don’t know!”

“Nothing so mysterious as cloaks and daggers,” said Michael. “I apologize for the intrusion of the report. It was necessary under the circumstances, as I think you’ll understand in a moment. I may have a unique proposition for you.”

Shivering from the combined effects of office air-conditioning and nerves, Sierra was in no mood for prevarication. “What is it?”

“We have it on good authority from your associate Mr. Smith that you might be exactly the kind of person I need.” Michael paused, as if choosing his next words carefully. “But in this assignment, discretion will certainly be the greater part of valor, as will a certain amount of courage and maturity. Hence Murdoch’s unusual remark about how young you look.”

The two men exchanged a glance.

“Believe it or not, I haven’t come straight from the schoolroom.” Sierra retrieved her coffee and took a sip to steady her nerves and her temper. The warmth of the cup was an added bonus. “Brian isn’t only my supervisor but a good friend. You both trusted him enough to invite me here. He seemed to feel that I might be suitable for this mysterious opportunity.”

Michael nodded, studying her. “You might be, at that.”

“But he didn’t have any real information about the position. Except that it wasn’t a typical consulting assignment, and that it would fall outside the purview of McKinley’s usual expertise.”

He smiled. “I gave Murdoch strict instructions to save the details for our interview today. Your friend isn’t aware of them himself.” He continued to watch her with a speculative look and Sierra’s tension grew.

“Well, here I am, Mr. Donovan. Perhaps now might be a good time for those details.” She set down her cup once again, prepared to listen. “What is it that you feel I might be able to do for you?”

Sierra’s words hung in the air for a moment, taking on a suggestive connotation she hadn’t intended. She swore she saw a glint in Michael’s eyes.

“An intriguing question,” he murmured.

Without thinking, she rolled her eyes. Seriously? To his credit, he laughed.

Okay, point one for him. The man could laugh at himself.

“Tell me what you do for McKinley,” he suggested.

On firm ground for the first time, Sierra relaxed a little. “I’m a junior marketing consultant. As I’m sure you know, it’s a boutique firm south of Market. We specialize in rebranding existing products and services, as well as in launching new ones. Our clients range from Fortune 500 companies to mid-sized and emerging firms. I’ve been lucky to work with Brian since I came on board two years ago.”

“Do you have your own client list?”

She shook her head. “Not yet. One of the things Brian was hoping might come out of this interview is I would be able to do some freelance strategy work. I need the money, and I’m ambitious.”

“Your family owns a pub, I understand?”

The question seemed to come from left field.

Sierra stiffened. “One of the findings of your background report? Yes.”

“How does that figure into your ambitions?”

“Is this relevant to the position we’re discussing now?” Claddagh and its financial difficulties were none of his business, but of course a background report would have revealed them.

“Oh yes, I think it is.”

“Fine.” Sierra held on to her temper. “I did a business degree in college, had some internship experience in marketing”—she didn’t want to think about that—“and eventually I got hired at McKinley. I don’t plan to stay there forever. I’d like to grow my own client list to allow me to strike out on my own in time. Eventually I’d like to use my skills to expand Claddagh.”

If it didn’t go belly-up first, which looked more likely every day.

“More coffee, Ms. Callahan?” Murdoch’s offer broke into the interview and Sierra was aware of Michael’s eyes upon her as she accepted another cup. He was sizing her up, as any potential employer would. She sipped coffee and engaged in a survey of her own.

He certainly was something to look at. Good genes had done their part, but men didn’t have bodies as well defined as his unless they were very active or worked out. Or both. No wonder an expensive suit looked like a tailor’s dream on him. Thickly lashed blue eyes simply accentuated his masculinity, as did the arched brows above them. Sierra had never encountered a nose she’d have termed “aquiline” outside the pages of a novel, but if there were such a thing in real life, Michael had it. Very imperious, very Roman Emperor. His hair was a deep brown, almost black, his skin bronzed. He must spend time outside. And his mouth…sensual…a slight cleft in his chin…

“Ms. Callahan?”

Sierra snapped to attention. She’d missed his question. All because she’d been contemplating his damn mouth. “Sorry, what did you say?”

As if he’d been able to read her mind, he smiled. Sierra felt a blush creep over her neck, then her face. Dammit. Blushing was the bane of redheads and had plagued her since childhood. She thought she’d gotten it under control in recent years. Apparently not.

“I asked you if your schedule at McKinley allows for some flexibility. The job I have in mind will be very time-intensive, and I’m wondering if you would be able to juggle it and your other work commitments.”

“I can’t say for sure, can I, until I know what the job would entail.” Sierra bit back her irritation. “Brian has assured me McKinley will be supportive as long as I’d be working a case that falls outside its own expertise and poses no competition to the firm.”

“That sounds fair.”

“And for a client that’s reputable, of course.”

“Of course.”

She shot Michael a glance at his bland tone, but his expression revealed nothing. Again she had the niggling sense that he was familiar, but she was certain she’d never met him before his car had drenched her in water.

He wasn’t the kind of man people forgot. Particularly women.

“So, the details, Mr. Donovan?” she asked. “I’m afraid I can’t be more specific until you tell me why you and Mr. Murdoch have brought me here.”

He studied her a moment longer, and then, as if having come to a conclusion, he glanced at Murdoch, nodded once, and stood. “Mr. Murdoch will handle the details, as you call them, which is why he’s here today. But the basic proposition is this.” He smiled, his tone turning ironic. “Or perhaps I should rephrase…this is the basic proposal.”

He caught and held her gaze, and she had the oddest feeling that he was suddenly ill at ease, though she would have bet a month’s paycheck from McKinley, which she could ill afford, that very little made this man uncomfortable in the course of an ordinary day.