Emeralds, Rubies, and Camouflage (5 page)

There was no happily ever after for him. Not anymore.

‡

“I
think Fiona
has some of that roasted chicken left from last night’s dinner. Could you please ask her to make each of us a sandwich for lunch? She knows my usual but you’ll need to tell her how you want yours.”

Holt didn’t even look up from his laptop as he directed
Myra to order lunch. She’d been here five days and so far things were going well. Although he wasn’t around all that much, he was a good boss that appreciated her efforts. Rather remote and a little cold at times, he didn’t smile much, didn’t make small talk, and didn’t suffer fools gladly. She’d seen that up close and personal when he’d spoken to a contractor that had submitted a bid to build
the additional garage on the grounds. That man probably now wished he’d been a little more honest and much less slimy. Holt had seen right through him and hadn’t minced words.

He did however say please and thank you whenever he asked her to do a task and always said something nice about her work each and every day. All in all, he was a good boss and he certainly didn’t overwork her like her last
job where she’d barely had time for a trip to the bathroom. Holt was all about balancing work and life.

Every day at noon they’d both head into the kitchen and join Fiona and her husband Bart at the large marble island in the beautifully appointed gourmet kitchen. Sometimes lunch was leftovers from the day before or sandwiches, but they’d spend the next half hour or so chatting about the morning.
It was at those times Holt seemed the most relaxed and friendly, especially with Bart who shared Holt’s love of all things with tires and an engine.

“Yes, sir.”

Myra stood and hurried toward the door but Holt calling her name made her stop and turn back.

“Yes, sir?”

Holt’s lips turned up into an almost smile. “You don’t have to call me ‘sir’, Myra, or even Mr. Winslow. Holt will do.”

Fiona
and Bart called him Holt but Myra felt uncomfortable with it. As handsome as she found her new boss, it had been a relief to keep him at a distance with the formality.

“Of course…Holt.”

Turning on the high heel of the black pumps Lily had insisted on buying for her Myra fled the office, breathless at the mere sight of Holt’s firm, masculine lips curved up. She needed to get a grip.

Fiona was
in the kitchen chopping up fruit and singing along to the radio. “Hi, Fiona. Holt would like sandwiches from the roast chicken last night. He said you knew how he liked it.”

Laughter bubbled from the older woman’s lips, her green eyes sparkling with joy. Fiona was always happy and smiling, especially in the kitchen. They were all the lucky recipients of her enthusiasm and skill.

“You can tell
him that I’m way ahead as usual. We’re having roast chicken sandwiches, fruit salad, and brownies for dessert. It will all be ready in about fifteen minutes. I just need to know what you want on your sandwich.”

“Lettuce and some of that spicy and sweet mustard, please.”

Fiona scooped up the cut-up sections of orange and dropped them into a bowl already filled with pineapples, bananas, and apple.
The smell of chocolate hung in the air and Myra’s stomach growled loudly.

“Oops! Sorry. I guess I’m hungrier than I thought.” Myra pressed a hand against her stomach. “It sounds delicious. You’re an amazing chef. If I’m not careful I’ll need a whole new wardrobe of larger sizes.”

She was already carrying around an extra fifteen pounds as Bobby had so often reminded her. Every weekend she promised
herself that on Monday she’d start a diet and begin to exercise and every Monday morning she groaned and rolled over in her bed, going back to sleep.

“Holt is a real foodie,” Fiona chuckled. “You should have seen him when he got out of the hospital. Thin and gray. I’ve been feeding him up. Of course with the way he works out he burns off almost every single calorie he ingests. I consider it a
personal challenge to keep him well fed.”

There wasn’t any spare flesh on Holt’s lean, muscular body, although she’d never seen him work out. When she’d been given a tour of the house he had shown her the exercise room that any gym would have been proud of. He’d said she was welcome to use it at any time but so far she’d avoided most areas of the house except the office, kitchen, and her own
suite of rooms. She hadn’t wanted to intrude on Holt’s life.

“I’m sure Holt is appreciative. You even managed to get Amelia to eat asparagus last night. I’ve never had any luck with green vegetables.”

“The secret is cheese and butter.” Fiona waved a spoon in the air and grinned. “You put enough of those two ingredients on food and it becomes something else. As your daughter gets older you can
back off a little until eventually she’s eating her vegetables without a lot of toppings. My daughter was the same way and I wasn’t above a little kitchen trickery to get her to eat better. Now that she’s in college she’ll eat most everything.”

“You must be talking about me, Fiona, because I’ll eat anything you make.”

That statement came from a deep voice right behind Myra and she whirled around
to see a tall, handsome man in a beautifully cut, dark blue business suit right behind her. Fiona came around the island and gave the man a big hug.

“Beck, when did you get back? It seems like you’ve been gone forever.”

The man gave Fiona a peck on the cheek. “A couple of days. Is my brother hiding in the office again?”

“I’d hardly call it hiding. I was working when I heard you stomping into
the house.” Holt joined them in the kitchen, slapping Beck on the shoulder. “I thought you were still in London. You could text me once in awhile.”

Beck grimaced and pulled his phone from his jacket pocket, tossing it on the island. “You know I hate these things. Give me old-fashioned snail mail any day of the week. How does a man woo a beautiful woman with texts or emails?”

Myra could see the
resemblance now although Beck’s hair was a lighter shade of brown than Holt’s, almost caramel color. Both of the men had light blue eyes, square jaws, and imposing builds, easily over six feet tall. Beck, however, appeared younger and happier. His skin was also not scarred or mottled which might explain why Holt looked older.

“I wasn’t asking you to romance me,” Holt retorted. “I was simply saying
you could check in every now and then. Are you staying for lunch?”

Fiona laughed and headed for the refrigerator. “I’m already on it. But I want to hear all about England in return.”

“I promise, Fiona. I have lots of stories to tell.” Beck’s gaze swung to Myra. “And who is this lovely one, Holt? Please tell me she’s available and doesn’t belong to you.”

His admiring head to toe appraisal made
her blush clear to the roots of her copper-colored hair. He’d picked up her hand and had pressed a kiss to it in true gallant fashion only to have Holt’s fingers wrap around her wrist, gently pulling her arm away from his brother. Her skin tingled where he’d touched it and she rubbed the flesh with her other hand to try and erase the feeling.

“This is Myra Burke, my PA, and she belongs to herself.”
No one could fail to hear the tone of dire warning in Holt’s voice but it didn’t seem to bother the brother in the least. “Myra, this is my brother, Beckett Winslow. He runs the family finance business. He does a pretty good job of it too, despite his almost non-stop womanizing.”

“Half-brother,” Beck clarified with a grin. “Same father. Different mother. It explains why I’m so charming and Holt
is a pain in the ass.”

He was so charming and friendly Myra found herself smiling back. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Does my brother bore you with all his talk about legal precedent and briefs?”

Beck Winslow must have been in London for awhile. Myra detected an ever-so-slight British accent in his deep tones. Paired with his handsome face and sexy body she had no doubt he had his choice of beautiful
women.

“She’s my PA, not my legal secretary,” Holt answered before she had a chance. “Why don’t we sit at the dining table and have some lunch? Did you have a business meeting today, Beck? You’re dressed for it.”

“That’s what I came to talk to you about, little brother. We need to discuss the overseas operations.”

“Fine. After lunch.”

Bart had come in the French doors off the kitchen and was
washing up in the sink as Fiona waved everyone into the dining room. With Beck joining them there weren’t enough stools at the island. She began to follow Beck when she felt a staying hand on her arm. It was Holt. He held her back until the kitchen was empty.

“I think I should say something about Beck. He’s a good man but don’t take anything he says very seriously. He goes through women like
other men change their shirts. He’s not someone a woman like you should get involved with.”

Myra didn’t have red hair for nothing. She had a temper and took great pains to keep the flare-ups to a minimum but this was too much. She wasn’t going to allow her employer to decide whom she could date.

“First off, I doubt your brother is interested in me, Mr. Winslow. I think he was just being friendly.
I bet he flirts with everyone he meets.” Her temper was really simmering now. She could feel the heat in her cheeks and on the back of her neck. “Secondly, I’m not sure what you mean by
a woman like me
. Are you saying that I’m not good enough for your brother? Is it because I’m a single mother? Or is it that I’m not attractive or rich enough? And third, I’m not dumb or have fairy dust in my eyes.
I’m perfectly aware that a rich man like Beckett Winslow isn’t going to sweep me off my working mother feet and turn me into a princess. Boy, am I aware. So you can stop worrying about me. I can take care of myself.”

As was typical of her temper, now that she’d had her say her anger had drained away, leaving her rather mortified about what she’d just said to her brand new employer. Holt had at
first opened his mouth to speak and then snapped it shut as she’d gone on. Now his eyes were narrowed as if he was trying to decide if she was completely serious. So far no one she had met this week had dared to speak to Holt in that impertinent manner.

Well, crap.
She didn’t want to lose this job.

“Mr. Winslow, I’m so–”

“Don’t ruin it now,” Holt cut off her apology. To her ever-loving shock
her usually taciturn boss was actually laughing. “You get all fiery when you’re mad. You’ll need that spirit working for me. And I certainly wasn’t intimating that you’re not good enough for Beck. If anything, he’s not good enough for you.”

With that Holt turned and exited the kitchen, leaving Myra standing rooted to the spot and dumbfounded. Every moment that she spent with Holt made her more
intrigued by the man. And as a single working mother Myra could afford precious few things, especially not an interest in her handsome wealthy boss.

‡

H
olt rubbed his
stiff neck and slapped the lid down on his laptop. Every evening for the last two weeks he’d buried himself in work as much as possible. Concentrating on clients and cases was supposed to keep him from thinking about his more than attractive assistant
but so far it hadn’t worked very well.

He liked Myra’s smile when she greeted him every morning. He liked the way she smelled – not flowery but clean and fresh like after a rain shower. He even liked the way her tongue peeked out of the corner of her mouth when she was concentrating.

“You need something to do,” he muttered to himself as he closed the office door behind him and ascended the stairs
to his room two at a time. What he really needed was to break a sweat. He’d had a deposition early this morning and hadn’t been able to work out as he normally did and that always played havoc with his mood. Exercise not only kept his body in shape but it also kept him sane. In his bedroom he quickly shed his work clothes, threw on a pair of shorts, t-shirt, and tennis shoes, and headed down
to the exercise room.

An hour later and dripping with sweat, his left leg ached from the exertion. When he’d woken up in the hospital the doctors had given him the bad news that he would walk with a limp the rest of his life. That news had been the least of his worries as he underwent several surgeries and skin grafts.