Not the Boss's Baby

If Phillip was embarrassed that he hadn’t recognized her, he gave no sign of it. He didn’t even break eye contact with her. Instead, he favored her with the kind of smile that probably made the average woman melt into his bed. As it was, she was feeling a little dazzled by his sheer animal magnetism.

“How could I forget Ms. Chase? You are,” he went on, leaning into her, “unforgettable.”

Desperate, she looked at Frances, who gave a small shrug.

“That’s enough.” No mistaking it this time—that was nothing but a growl from Chadwick.

If Chadwick had growled at anyone else like that, he would have sent them diving for cover. But not Phillip. Good heavens, he didn’t even look ruffled. He did give her a sly little wink before he touched her hand to his lips again. Chadwick tensed next to her and she wondered if a brawl was about to break out.

But then he released his grip on her hand and turned his full attention to his brother. Serena heaved a sigh of relief. No wonder Phillip had such a reputation as a ladies’ man.

“So, news,” he said in a tone that was only slightly less sultry than the one he’d been using on her. “I bought a horse!”

“Another one?” Frances and Chadwick said at the same time. Clearly, this was something that happened often.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Chadwick looked...murderous. There really was no other way to describe it. He looked like he was going to throttle his brother in the middle of the Art Museum. “I don’t suppose this one was only a few thousand?”

“Chad—hear me out.” At this use of his shortened name, Chadwick flinched. Serena had never heard anyone call him that but Phillip. “This is an Akhal-Teke horse.”

“Gesundheit,” Frances murmured.

“A what?” Chadwick was now clutching her fingers against his arm in an almost desperate way. “How much?”

“This breed is extremely rare,” Phillip went on. “Only about five thousand in the world. From Turkmenistan!”

Serena felt like she was at a tennis match, her head was turning back and forth between the two brothers so quickly. “Isn’t that in Asia, next to Afghanistan?”

Phillip shot her another white-hot look and matching smile. “Beautiful and smart? Chadwick, you lucky dog.”

“I swear to God,” Chadwick growled.

“People are staring,” Frances added in a light, singsong tone. Then, looking at Serena for assistance, she laughed as if this were a great joke.

Serena laughed as well. She’d heard Chadwick and Phillip argue before, but that was usually behind Chadwick’s closed office door. Never in front of her. Or in front of anyone else, for that matter.

For once, Phillip seemed to register the threat. He took an easy step back and held out his hands in surrender. “Like I was saying—this Akhal-Teke. They’re most likely the breed that sired the Arabians. Very rare. Only about five hundred in this country, and most of those come from Russian stock. Kandar’s Golden Sun isn’t a Russian Akhal-Teke.”

“Gesundheit,” Frances murmured again. She looked at Serena with a touch of desperation, so they both laughed again.

“He’s from Turkmenistan. An incredible horse. One to truly found a stable on.”

Chadwick pinched the bridge of his nose. “How much?”

“Only seven.” Phillip stuck out his chest, as if he were proud of this number.

Chadwick cracked open one eye. “Thousand, or hundred thousand?”

Serena tried not to gape. Seven thousand for a horse wasn’t too much, she guessed. But seven hundred thousand? That was a lot of money.

Phillip didn’t say anything. He took a step back, though, and his smile seemed more...forced.

Chadwick took a step forward. “Seven what?”

“You know, one Akhal-Teke went for fifty million—and that was in 1986 dollars. The most expensive horse ever. Kandar’s Golden Sun—”

That was as far as he got. Chadwick cut him off with a shout. “You spent seven million on a horse while I’m working my ass off to keep the company from being sold to the wolves?”

Everything about the party stopped—the music, the conversations, the movement of waiters carrying trays of champagne.

Someone hurried toward them. It was Matthew Beaumont. “Gentlemen,” he hissed under his breath. “We are having a charity event here.”

Serena put her hand on Chadwick’s arm and gave it a gentle tug. “A very good joke, Phillip,” she said in a slightly too-loud voice.

Frances caught Serena’s eye and nodded in approval. “Chadwick, I’d like to introduce you to the director of the food bank, Miriam Young.” She didn’t know where, exactly, the director of the food bank was. But she was sure Ms. Young wanted to talk with Chadwick. Or, at least, had wanted to talk to him before he’d started yelling menacingly at his relatives.

“Phillip, did I introduce you to my friend Candy?” Frances added, taking her brother by the arm and pulling him in the opposite direction. “She’s dying to meet you.”

The two brothers held their poses for a moment longer, Chadwick glaring at Phillip, the look on Phillip’s face almost daring Chadwick to hit him in full view of the assembled upper crust of Denver society.

Then the men parted. Matthew walked on the other side of Chadwick, ostensibly to lead the way to the director. Serena got the feeling it was more to keep Chadwick from spinning and tackling his brother.

“Serena,” Matthew said simply. “Nicely done. Thus far,” he added in a heavy tone, “the evening has been a success. Now if we can just get through it without a brawl breaking out—”

“I’m fine,” Chadwick snapped, sounding anything but. “I’m just fine.”

“Not fine,” Matthew muttered, guiding them into a side gallery. “Why don’t I get you a drink? Wait here,” he said, parking Chadwick in front of a Remington statue. “Do not move.” He looked at Serena. “Okay?”

She nodded. “I’ve got him.”

She hoped.





Nine


Chadwick had never really believed the old cliché about being so mad one saw red. Turns out, he’d just never been mad enough, because right now, the world was drenched in red-hot anger.

“How could he?” he heard himself mutter. “How could he just buy a horse for that much money without even thinking about the consequences?”

“Because,” a soft, feminine voice said next to him, “he’s not you.”

The voice calmed him down, and some of the color bled back into the world. He realized Serena was standing next to him. They were in a nearly empty side gallery, in front of one of the Remington sculptures that made the backbreaking work of herding cattle look glorious.

She was right. Hardwick had never expected anything from Phillip. Never even noticed him, unless he did something outrageous.

Like buy a horse no one had ever heard of for seven million damn dollars.

“Remind me again why I work myself to death so that he can blow the family fortune on horses and women? So Frances can sink money into another venture that’s bound to fail before it gets off the ground? Is that all I’m good for? A never-ending supply of cash?”

Delicate fingers laced through his, holding him tightly. “Maybe,” Serena said, her voice gentle, “you don’t have to work yourself to death at all.”