And Malcolm hated losing.
“Well, let’s hope they find some way to make this happen. Don’t think you have time to play Hobo Hal again, and truthfully, I don’t wanna sit in that Dumpster again. Got a sensitive nose, and I still can’t get rid of the scent of rotten milk and molding bread.”
“Pansy-ass,” Malcolm drawled, spinning toward the window and the busy city cranking like gears on a clock spread before him.
“Managing mama hen,” Gator said.
Malcolm had to think about that. “Oh, I don’t have to do any managing of those two. I’m banking on something wonderful happening this Christmas.”
Gator harrumphed.
“Besides Brennan knows the score. He wants to be CEO. I want Mary Paige as my Spirit of Christmas. He better make it happen.”
“And you always get what you want.”
Malcolm smiled. “Usually.”
* * *
MARY PAIGE SCOOTED to one side of the elevator and pretended that she hadn’t made a fool of herself.
Of course, he had been looking at her stupid Spanx and not her butt. It was very evident the man wasn’t interested in someone like her. She’d seen his preferred type of woman earlier and Mary Paige was as far from put-together sophistication as a gal could get.
Not that she didn’t try.
She wanted to be a confident, well-dressed career girl. To have a duplex uptown, shop in decent stores and get her hair cut in salons that offered tea while she waited.
But she hadn’t gotten there yet. And she may never arrive at that particular destination if she let herself get sidetracked.
“I’m assuming you like coffee since my grandfather has sent us out on a playdate for the stuff?” Brennan asked, shrugging into his overcoat as the elevator descended. An older woman with puffy graying hair had handed it to him as they’d approached the lobby of MBH, making Mary Paige wonder how the woman had known he needed the coat. Psychic assistant?
“Uh, sure. Though I usually go for tea.”
“They have tea.”
And that was their brilliant conversation in the elevator.
They walked out of the building, greeted by a cold wind whipping around the corner. Mary Paige shivered and wished she hadn’t left her sweater behind that morning. Brennan quickly took off his coat and handed it to her.
“No, I’m fine. It’s a short walk.”
He jabbed it toward her again. “I insist.”
She tried not to sigh her frustration. He was already acting as though he had to babysit her. She didn’t need his damn coat because it wasn’t like they were in Minnesota. It was only forty-three degrees—she wouldn’t freeze walking three doors down. But she took the dark cashmere coat and draped it over her shoulders.
It was warm and smelled like expensive men’s cologne and for a brief moment, she felt safer.
Which was idiotic.
“Thank you. You’re quite the gentleman.”
He looked at her and stuck his hands into his pants pockets. “I try.”
Monday morning in New Orleans swirled around them with businessmen hurrying toward offices, tourists sleepily contemplating maps and street signs and the French Quarter homeless folks lolling in doorways, siphoning heat from open souvenir shops.
CC’s smelled like her mama’s kitchen, resplendent with the scents of comforting coffee and pound cake baking. Tinkling jazz was overshadowed by the hum of conversation and the hiss of the espresso machine.
She approached the counter and perused the menu board. She didn’t usually go to coffeehouses for tea because the prices added up fast. She was an at-home Celestial Seasonings kind of girl. “I’ll have a cup of green tea. That’s it.”
She pulled her wallet from her purse.
“I’ve got it,” Brennan said.
“No, you do not,” she said, shoving a five-dollar bill at the girl behind the register, who took it with an unsure look.
Brennan shrugged, ordered a plain black coffee then reclined in a chair at one of the wooden tables, crossing his legs and looking very intense even in a relaxed posture.
Mary Paige took the cup steaming with fragrance and sat opposite him. “So?”
He gave a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Kind of an annoyed smile. A make-the-best-of-this smile. “My grandfather has an iron will, if you haven’t noticed.”
“I noticed,” she said, pulling the tea bag from the water and setting it on a pile of napkins. She added one sugar packet then took a sip. It warmed her instantly. “Oh, here’s your coat. Thank you for letting me borrow it.”
He waved a hand. “Keep it until we get back.”
She nodded, mostly because it seemed stupid to argue over a coat when they had more important things to iron out. “About this whole Spirit deal, I get the feeling you’re not on board with it, and I’m unsure exactly what it is I’m taking on and how I can do anything near what your grandfather wants.”
Brennan nodded, pausing a moment as if he were gathering the right words to say. She studied him in the yellowish light of the café…at the slight shadow of his beard, the intelligent gray eyes and the thick shock of brown hair, glinting with reddish highlights. He had nice broad shoulders and strong, blunt fingers, and though he wore a well-tailored suit, she could tell he’d look spectacular in athletic shorts and a T-shirt.
Something more than tea warmed her insides.
Okay, horny girl. Stop fantasizing about Scrooge as a man and see him for what he is—a not-so-nice person.
But could she really say that?
No.
She didn’t know the man, and judged him based only on his reaction to the crazy scheme his grandfather had dreamed up and his intent to make a buck from the campaign. That didn’t mean Brennan threw kittens in the lake or elbowed old ladies.
“I agree with you. This whole thing is absurd, but my grandfather’s nutty Spirit of Christmas idea isn’t a bad one. It could be brilliant for our company, bring in a load of customers buying into the whole true-meaning crap. It’s just bothersome to have to spend the time making it happen.”
Okay, he was a bit of an ass.
“Bothersome?” she asked.
“Well, don’t tell me you want to skip all over the city doing Lord only knows what for the entire season? With me?”
He looked hard at her and something crackled between them.
What if?
That
