CEO's Expectant Secretary (7 page)

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Dirk did the right thing by following you home,” Brock said. “I never realized what a stubborn streak you have.”

“When I worked for you, my job was to make sure I anticipated your every need to make your life as easy as possible,” she said. “Now I’m your wife.”

“You mean the job description has changed,” he said, and chuckled.

Silence stretched between them and he shot a quick glance at her. She looked pensive. “Elle, what’s wrong?”

“I worry about how we’re going to negotiate everything. I’m not like your mother,” she said.

“Thank God,” he said.

“What I mean is, I’m not the corporate super-wife type. If you married me expecting me to agree with your every thought, then we’re going to have some problems. Do you realize that you and I haven’t even discussed parenting? Based on what your mother said,
your father was determined to raise you as some kind of super Maddox CEO. I can tell you now that I want our child to have a much more balanced upbringing.”

Offended by her assessment of his father, Brock tightened his hands on the steering wheel. “My father made sure I had the best of everything, the best education—”

“The best nanny,” Elle interjected. “What if I don’t want a nanny raising my child? What if I don’t want my child sent away to boarding school?”

Hearing fear and panic in Elle’s voice, Brock realized where all this was coming from and took a mind-calming breath. “Carol’s got you all worked up for nothing. You should know that she loves causing trouble. I think she was just trying to intimidate you, Elle.”

“She brought up some important issues, Brock. For one thing, I’m not going to sign on to a bunch of high-brow clubs and societies if it means our child will be getting leftovers from me. Tell the truth. When you married me, didn’t you expect me to step into a role just like your mother did?”

Brock shook his head, feeling something inside him twist and tighten, angry that his mother had made an already challenging situation more difficult. “I honestly didn’t think that far,” he said. “I just knew that I wanted us to do the right thing for the baby, and that meant getting married.”

Elle was silent again for a long moment. “Well, you can check that off your list,” she said. “But there are other things we’ll need to settle.”

He raked his hand through his hair in frustration. “She’s always causing trouble,” he muttered. “Thank
God she’s out of the house now. You’ll see soon enough that everything will work out.” Brock would make sure of it. He may have had one failed engagement, but there would be no failed marriage. “Relax. It’s time for you to take a break.”

Despite the worries sprouting like weeds in her mind, Elle dozed off. As they pulled into a clearing, she got her first glimpse of the mountain chalet, and the serene setting immediately eased some of her tensions. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “So peaceful.”

“It was a mess when I first bought it. I redid the whole thing.” He nodded toward the chalet. “A caretaker looks after it while I’m gone and stocks the refrigerator when I tell him I’m on my way. His wife usually prepares a couple of meals for me and leaves them in the freezer for reheating, so we won’t have to cook.”

“You’ve seemed so restless and busy since I’ve met you. It’s hard for me to imagine you being able to relax enough to enjoy this. What’s the longest amount of time you’ve ever stayed here?” she asked as he pulled to a stop.

“A week in the winter. There’s a ski resort not far. I spent another week working on it during one summer. And then I came up here every weekend for a while,” he said. “But I bought it more for short breaks. Come on. I want to show you inside.”

He got out of the car and led her to the front porch, where a wooden swing hung from the roof. Two rocking chairs and a table echoed the cozy, laid-back ambience. She followed him through the front door to a foyer that was two stories high. Light spilled in through the tall
windows onto the tile floors dotted with soft rugs. The natural flow of the house led her to a large room filled with brown leather couches and chairs, golden wood tables and an HDTV that bore a strong resemblance to the one she’d chosen for the den in Brock’s home.

She met his gaze and laughed. “It’s the same size as the one I got, isn’t it?”

He smiled and took her hand. “You must know my taste,” he said, lifting her hand to his mouth.

Her heart skittered at his charming maneuver. She knew he had plenty of charm, but he’d displayed little of it toward her during the last few weeks. Understandably so.

“Come outside,” he said. “The view will take your breath away.”

He led her out glass doors to a two-story deck that revealed peaks and valleys as far as the eye could see. “It’s amazing. It’s so wonderful, I’m surprised you’re not up here nearly every weekend.”

“There’ve been too many demands at work,” he said, staring at the view. “Especially over the last several months.”

Elle felt a stab and twist of guilt. “Because of me,” she said.

His gaze flickered, but he didn’t look at her. “It’s water under the bridge,” he said. “I have to focus on repairing damage and making sure the company is secure and ready for the future.”

More than ever, she hated that she had made Brock’s job even more demanding and difficult than it should have been. She put her hand on his arm. “I really am sorry,” she said.

He shrugged away. “Like I said, we can’t focus on that. We have to move on. Speaking of which, let me show you the rest of the house.”

She slipped her hand inside his, wishing she could get beneath the surface of Brock’s veneer. Although she’d suspected he’d let her closer than most, she still sensed that he kept a protective wall around his heart. For example, she knew nothing about his failed engagement. She hesitated to talk about it, but she was growing impatient with the secrets between them. Plunging into uncharted territory, she glanced up at him. “Did you ever bring your ex-fiancée here?” she asked softly.

He glanced at her in surprise and shook his head. “No. I thought about it, but there was never time. Claire didn’t understand the demands of my position. She wanted a man who could take off and travel whenever she felt the urge. I couldn’t be that man. It wasn’t all her fault, though. Toward the end, I could tell things weren’t going to work out between us and I buried myself in my job even more.”

“Was the breakup difficult for you?”

He gave a wry smile. “I don’t like to fail,” he said. “At anything. I’d had a crush on her during college, but she was always in a relationship with someone else. We bumped into each other when she was finally single and I decided I’d finally gotten my chance.”

Elle’s heart twisted at the idea of Brock waiting so long for a woman. He hadn’t had to wait any time at all for Elle. She’d tumbled head over heels for him right away. “If you had loved her so long, how could you let her go?”

“She wasn’t happy. Besides, I’m not sure I would call
it love back in college. It was more a case of unrequited lust then. The dream and reality didn’t match up. We weren’t well suited.”

Digesting his explanation, she smiled cautiously in return. “And you think you and I
are
well suited?” she asked.

“Things are only going to get better for you and me. Trust me,” he said.

Walking into the large master bedroom with the same beautiful view as the deck downstairs, she watched him meet her gaze with pride. “Not bad, is it? I put money down on this place after I’d been working for my father for three years and had won a new account. He was pissed that I hadn’t consulted him first.”

“I don’t think you needed to consult with anyone about this,” she said. “It’s your secret baby, isn’t it?”

He lifted an eyebrow. “That’s an interesting way of putting it,” he said, glancing out the window.

“Well, it is. How many people have you told about this place?” she asked.

“Not many. My brother knows about it.”

“Your one act of rebellion,” she said.

“Oh, I rebelled more than once. This was just my most productive act of rebellion,” he said.

“Did your father ever see it after you renovated it?”

His eyes narrowed. “No. My father was a great man, but he never liked to admit when he was wrong.”

“You don’t have that trait,” she said. “That was one of the things that drew me to you. You are extremely confident, and can made decisions at the speed of lightning. So many of the decisions you made when we were working together, I would have second- or third-guessed.
But you went ahead and made them. In the rare moments when you were wrong, you admitted it and took another track.”

“The ad business requires decisiveness. If you stay in the same place too long, you’ll get run over. I have too many people counting on me to allow that to happen,” he said, meeting her gaze with laser-blue intensity. “I can’t let them down.”

He would never allow himself to let them down, just as he would never surrender the responsibility of his child. His sense of obligation was fierce and steadfast. She felt a shudder ripple through her at his expression and she found herself wondering if he would be the compassionate father she hoped he would be, or the hard taskmaster his father had been for him.

“Are you hungry?” he asked. “I called ahead and the caretaker said he would put cold cuts in the refrigerator for us. After that, perhaps you’d like to rest again.”

“A sandwich sounds good, but I’d rather go for a hike than take a nap. I can nap in San Francisco,” she said.

“Not that I could see,” he said. “According to Anna, you were barely taking breaks for meals during the last week.”

“I’m surrounded by tattletales,” she said in frustration. “You have these people watching me like hawks.”

“I’m your husband now, Elle. It’s my responsibility to make sure you’re safe and well-cared for. “

Responsibility. Obligation. Duty.
She didn’t want to be any of those to Brock, but she was certain he wouldn’t understand her gripe, especially since she was pregnant with his child.

“Sandwich and hike, then,” she said, lifting her
chin. “You can take a nap if you’re feeling tired,” she suggested, unable to resist the urge to goad him a little.

He chuckled and pulled her toward him. “You’ve forgotten. You always fell asleep before I did at my apartment.”

She lifted her hand in surrender. “I can’t argue with that,” she said as he planted a kiss on her mouth.

Several hours later, after lunch, hiking, and consuming a warmed-up chicken pot pie, Brock sat on the sofa and Elle brought him a scotch on the rocks. He noticed she did it as if she hadn’t thought twice about it.

“Thanks,” he said and studied her for a long moment. “It occurs to me that you may know more about my preferences than I know about yours,” he said as she sank onto the couch beside him with a bottle of water.

“Hmm,” she said and laughed with a self-satisfied smile. “You’ve never been anyone’s assistant, let alone
my
assistant.”

Brock took a sip of the perfectly chilled scotch. “You don’t have to be arrogant about it,” he said with a grin.

She slid a sideways glance at him. “I am not, nor have I ever been, arrogant. The concept is completely foreign to me.”

“Okay, then you’re a show-off,” he said, taking another sip.

She dropped her jaw. “I am
not
a show-off. If anyone is a show-off, it’s you,” she said. “Look at you, with you laser-blue eyes and dark hair. You’re charming when you’re inclined…”

He frowned at her. “When I’m inclined?” he echoed.

“It’s not every day,” she said.

Brock shook his head. There were so many people who sucked up to him on a daily basis—but not Elle, and he liked her for that. “So what’s your favorite cocktail?” he asked.

“Strawberry martini with sugar rim,” she said and licked her lips. “Delicious.”

The sight of her tongue on her plum-colored lips made his gut draw tight. “Noted. Favorite meal?”

“Depends on the day,” she said. “Especially since I’ve been pregnant. Lately I’ve been craving macaroni and cheese,” she said with a wince. “That’s gonna do terrible things to my hips.”

“Your hips are perfect. Favorite sandwich?” he continued.

“When I’m good, I’ll take a chicken and vegetable wrap. When I’m bad, open-faced turkey with gravy and mashed potatoes or roast beef.”

“I like that about you,” he said, shooting her a smile. “I like that you are a red-meat eater,” he said, remembering the way she’d once savored a steak with béarnaise sauce.

“Not lately,” she said.

“Are you telling me you never want me to take you out for a steak?” he asked.

“No,” she admitted. “Just later.”

“Okay, I’ll take a raincheck. Same for that strawberry martini,” he said. “Favorite toy from childhood?”

She blinked. “My little pony,” she said. “I always
wanted a pony, but I knew that was an impossible dream.”

“Favorite dessert?” he continued, losing himself in her ocean-blue gaze.

“Chocolate anything,” she said.

He smiled. “If you could travel anywhere, where would you go?”

“Europe.”

“That’s a whole continent,” he said.

“And your point is?” she said, lifting her eyebrow.

He laughed, drinking in her audacity. “I wish my father had met you,” he said.

“Why?” she asked. “I’m just an assistant.”

He shook his head. “No, you’re more. Observant, responsive and fascinating.”

“Now, you flatter me,” she said, flashing her eyes at him.

“Technically, I don’t need to flatter you anymore. You married me, so I can coast.”

“Oh, I think that would be a huge mistake,” she said. “For both of us. Don’t you?”

B
rock made love to Elle through the night until she was too exhausted to continue. She curled up against his chest, slid her arms around his neck and fell asleep. The next morning she awoke to an empty place beside her. Elle lifted her head. She heard his voice, but not close by.

Pushing aside the covers, she rose from the bed and listened as she pulled on her robe. Was he downstairs? She crept closer to the bedroom door, and pushed it open.

“It’s Sunday, for God’s sake,” Brock said, his voice carrying from downstairs. “Can’t this wait?”

Silence followed. She heard Brock swear. “Okay, okay. I’ll be back in town by this afternoon and in the office this evening.” He swore again. “This better be worth it,” he muttered.

Elle felt a twist in her stomach. The short, sweet time they’d shared together was over. Her chest hurt. Her heart hurt, but she didn’t want him to feel bad after he’d made such an effort for them to get away. She bit her lip. “Hey,” she called downstairs. “This has been wonderful, but I’m ready to return to civilization if you don’t mind.”

Brock walked out from under the second-floor landing so she could see him. Shirtless, he wore silk pants low on his hips. His bare chest was mesmerizing, his hair tousled by her fingers. He was the sexiest thing alive.

“You don’t like the cabin?”

Her heart wrenched in her chest, but she forced herself to step up and give the response he needed. “No, I love it. But I have a ton to do and I’m starting to feel a little antsy,” she said. “Do you mind?”

His gaze wrapped around hers for a long moment and he shook his head. “No,” he said. “No problem. Let me know when you’re ready. I’ll load the car.”

As soon as Elle and Brock arrived home in San Francisco, he returned to the office. Elle returned to redecorating the house. With the assistance of Bree, she’d found a decorator who helped her combine some of the older elements in the house with some of Brock’s taste. Elle decided to retain a semi-formal tone for the living room and dining room for entertaining.

Brock was so busy he often didn’t come to bed until after eleven o’clock, but he always rose early. She knew he was still feeling pressured by Golden Gate Promotions. Despite her grandfather’s heart attack, he
still hadn’t given up his fight against Maddox. More than ever, Elle was aware of how much her deceit was costing Brock. It seemed as if all he did was work. She didn’t see how they could possibly rebuild their relationship under the current circumstances, but she also couldn’t exactly stomp her foot and demand he spend more time with her.

He surprised her one evening when he arrived home before dinner. She was eating a club sandwich in front of the television and debating whether to visit her mother again.

“Hey,” he said, looking unbearably handsome in the doorway. “I like what you’ve done with the downstairs,” he said. “You combined the old with the new and lightened it up.” He glanced at her sandwich. “That looks good, too.”

“I can fix you one,” she said, standing, filled with the instant pleasure of just being with him.

He shook his head. “No, I can get the housekeeper. It won’t take a—”

As if on cue, Anna stepped inside the room. “Good evening, Mr. Maddox. Mrs. Maddox.” Glancing at Elle’s plate, she shot her a disapproving glance. “Is there something I can get you?”

“I’ll have the same thing she’s having,” Brock said. “With a beer.”

“Club sandwich,” Elle supplied with a sheepish smile.

“What was that about?” he asked curiously as he sat down beside her.

“Your staff gets really upset when I fix my own food. I think they consider it an insult,” she said.

Brock chuckled. “Trust me, they’re not used to anyone doing for themselves around here. Anna probably doesn’t know what to do with you.”

“How’s work?” she asked, noticing that his lack of rest was visible around his eyes. “You look tired.”

“You know I’m in the race for the gold against your grandfather. Can’t take a lot of breaks.”

Frustration filled her. “I don’t understand him. I would have thought his heart condition would slow him down, or at least make him see reason.”

“He and my father have a lot in common. My father was determined to leave the business for future generations of the Maddox family.”

“Is that the way you feel?” she asked. “That you’re building Maddox for your heirs?”

“At this point in the company’s growth, it’s more about taking care of the employees who are counting on me, and securing our growth for the future. I haven’t spent a lot of time thinking about what my heir will ultimately do.” Anna delivered the sandwich and beer. “Thank you,” he said to her. “Why do you ask, Elle?”

“Just curious. Your father instilled in you a strong sense of family tradition and I wondered if you planned the same path for our child.”

“You don’t like that idea,” he concluded, then shot her a sly smile. “You don’t think I turned out well?”

“I didn’t say that,” she said, giving in to the urge to smile. “I just wouldn’t want our child to feel locked in to only one choice.”

“If it’s a boy, he may want to play baseball,” he said.

“Or sing opera,” she said, choosing the polar opposite to watch Brock’s reaction.

“Not if he gets my musical ability,” Brock muttered, taking a bite of the sandwich and washing it down with a swig of beer. He let out a long sigh. “This is the most relaxed I’ve been since we left the mountain house. Thank God my dinner meeting had to cancel tonight.”

Elle couldn’t decide whether to feel offended or flattered. “Well, it’s good to see you,” she said. “I’ve missed you.”

He glanced up and met her gaze for a long moment. “I can see how it would get lonely around here.”

“It’s not that,” she said. “I was just used to seeing you at the office, so I spent most of my days with you.”

He nodded. Something about him seemed restless, unsettled. “It won’t always be this busy. I’ll be around more.”

“Will you really?” she asked, keeping her voice light even though her feelings were anything but. “That workaholic gene is pretty strong.”

“You’re not the first to notice,” he said, his gaze turning moody. “After we get through this crisis, I want to shift things so that I can delegate more often. But in the meantime, you and I have received our first social invitation,” he said, changing the subject. “Walter and Angela Prentice are having a cocktail party on Friday night and they specifically requested your presence.”

The Prentice name was familiar to Elle—Walter’s company was Maddox’s most important client. “Do they know about the baby?” she asked, acutely aware that Walter was very image-conscious and wouldn’t tolerate even a whiff of a scandal.

“I didn’t mention it, but Walter’s such a family man, I’m sure he’ll be delighted with the news, since we’re married.”

“Family is everything,” she said, repeating the Prentice slogan.

“Yes, it is,” Brock said, taking a bite of his sandwich and leaning his head back against the sofa.

She felt a shot of sympathy for him, remembering the challenging days he’d endured when she’d worked for him. Finished with her dinner, she rose and stood behind him. “Take a deep breath and let the day go,” she said, repeating what she’d told him in his apartment so many times.

“Hmm,” he said as she sank her fingers into his shoulders.

“You can’t work 24/7,” she whispered. “You can’t work right now, so you may as well rest. Rest and get stronger for when you
can
do something.”

Brock inhaled and exhaled. “I remember how much I craved these massages at the end of the day,” he murmured.

She gently rubbed his shoulder muscles with her thumb and forefinger. “Good?” she asked.

He groaned in response.

She continued to knead his shoulders as she brushed her mouth against his ear. “Does it feel good?”

“Yes,” he said. “Too good. I want more,” he continued. “I want to feel you every way I can. Inside and out,” he said and turned around to meet her gaze. “Let’s go upstairs.”

“You haven’t finished your sandwich,” she said.

“I’m hungry for something else.”

The next evening, Brock asked her to meet him at the Prentices’ home, since he was running late. Elle dressed carefully, eager to convey just the right tone as
Brock’s wife. After all, this was their first major public outing together. Fighting butterflies, she exited the car and climbed the steps to the Prentices’ mansion.

With marble columns, a valet in the driveway and a man greeting guests in black tie at the door, the major clothing manufacturer’s property oozed success, as it should.

“Good evening,” the man at the door said. “Your name?”

“Elle Linton,” she said, then corrected herself. “Elle Linton Maddox.”

His gaze flicked over her in assessment and he nodded. “Welcome,” he said and opened the door for her to enter.

Elle was immediately hit with the sights and sounds of an opulent party. The scents of gourmet food and wine filled the air. She heard a string quartet and smelled fresh-cut roses. Mirrors reflected guests dressed in couture fashions. She hoped the black gown with dark embroidered rosettes just below the bodice would pass muster. She brushed a strand of hair from her face and searched for Brock. She’d waited a few extra minutes to leave, not wanting to arrive before him.

A waiter offered her a glass of champagne and she shook her head. “No, thank you. Do you have water?”

He pointed to a waitress as the other end of the room where the chandeliers flashed light and brilliance that was reflected in the mirrors. “Thank you,” she murmured, searching the crowd for Brock. She didn’t see a soul she knew in the entire room, and wondered where the hosts were. She should at least be able to identify Walter Prentice since he had been in Brock’s
office before. Accepting a glass of water from the server, she nodded her thanks and backed against the wall. Perhaps she would be able to see Brock from here.

A group of men on one side of her discussed the terrible performance of the Giants. A group of women on her other side discussed plastic surgery. Elle caught fragments of each conversation.

“They need to trade the pitcher. He can’t do anything,” one man lamented.

“Have you heard about Dr. Frazier? He does amazing things with filler.”

“If you ask me, it’s not the pitcher, it’s the management,” another man said.

“I hear he worked on Carol Maddox. She looks a little too tight to me,” a woman said.

Elle’s ears perked up at the mention of her mother-in-law.

“She looks better now that he’s plumped up her face a little. Speaking of Carol, did you hear about Brock? He’s off the market,” a woman said.

“Oh, no,” several women murmured. “Who got him?”

“I hear he knocked up his assistant. The only reason he married her is because she’s pregnant,” the woman said.

Elle felt her face heat with embarrassment. Even though she knew the woman’s words were true, the humiliation struck at the core of her. She wanted to defend her relationship with Brock. She wanted to tell the woman that she and Brock had experienced a closeness that neither of them had expected, yet both had cherished. But she wouldn’t. Because the bottom
line was, Elle had betrayed him and he’d married her because of the baby.

Taking a long drink of water, she strongly considered leaving. She could tell Brock she hadn’t felt well…

“Well, well, Mrs. Maddox, what are you doing in the corner?” Walter Prentice said with a big smile and booming voice. “Come and meet my wife. She’s been dying to see who finally slayed Brock Maddox and brought him to his knees.”

Elle forced her lips into a smile and accepted the arm he offered. “Good evening, Mr. Prentice. You have a lovely home. And I wouldn’t call it slayed,” she said, referring to Brock. “I definitely didn’t bring him to his knees.”

“Oh, don’t tell me Brock didn’t give you a proper old-fashioned proposal?” he asked, ushering her through the crowd.

“Well, you know Brock. He’s a breathtaking combination of tradition and cutting edge,” she managed.

“Too true,” he said. “Now, here’s my wife, Angela. Angela, this is Brock’s new bride, Elle.”

The elegant woman gave her a warm, curious glance. “How lovely,” she said. “Walter and I were so happy when we heard Brock had gotten married, although you two did a good job keeping it secret. Shame on you. Everyone loves a wedding.”

“Brock wanted to keep it low-key. Neither of us expected our feelings to grow like they did,” Elle said, working hard to keep the smile on her face.

“Brock has a good head on his shoulders,” Walter said in approval. “Where is he?”

“I’m not sure,” Elle said. “He was running a little late at the office. I’m certain he’ll be here soon.”

“He shouldn’t keep his bride waiting,” Mrs. Prentice said. “Let me introduce you to a few of my friends.”

For the next half hour, Elle’s head swam with new names. Mrs. Prentice, clearly an overachiever like her husband, introduced her to several people. When Mrs. Prentice emphasized the fact that Elle was Brock Maddox’s new wife, Elle felt curious glances sizing her up. After fielding questions about their small wedding and nonexistent honeymoon, Elle managed to slip away to call Brock.

He picked up on the fifth ring. “Brock Maddox,” he said curtly.

“Elle Linton Maddox,” she returned just as curtly. “Where are you?” she asked. “The Prentices are asking for you.”

“This cosmetics contract is a major headache,” he said. “I’m running late.”

“You said you were running late an hour and a half ago. What am I supposed to say to Mr. and Mrs. Prentice?”

“I’ll leave now,” he said. “See you in fifteen minutes.”

He disconnected the call and Elle tucked her cell phone inside her evening bag. The house felt as if it were closing in on her. Desperately needing some fresh air, she walked outside to the patio where guests mingled, enjoying the beautiful night. She moved toward a column in a dark corner and sucked in the air. She looked up at the cloudy sky, shielding the stars, remembering a
similar party that could have been a thousand years ago, or just yesterday.