“Ultimately this is about what’s best for our son.”
To hear Nathan refer to Max as “our son” made Ana’s heart twist. For a long time he had been just “her son”. She wasn’t sure if she was ready to give that up, to share him. But this wasn’t about what she wanted. The only thing that mattered was what was best for Max.
“I guess a trial period would make sense,” she told him. “Supervised visits of course.”
“Of course,” he agreed.
It meant having to spend time with Nathan, which she was sure would be heart-wrenching for her. Just having him in her home, remembering all the times they had spent there together, made her feel hollowed out inside. Alone. Since they split, she hadn’t so much as looked at another man.
If a year and a half apart hadn’t dissolved her feelings for Nathan, maybe she was destined to love him forever.
Dear Reader,
I must confess, I have a really hard time writing these letters. I can’t help feeling a bit like a broken record. I find myself, over and over, going on about my characters, and how special they are. How unique and inspiring. But this time I thought I would try something different. I thought it might be fun to tell you about the character writing the characters.
Me.
So here goes. I’m a little shy when I’m in a group of people I don’t know. I cannot function without my morning coffee—at least two cups. I hate to blog because I never know what to say. I am married to, hands down, the best husband ever. My children are the most talented and most brilliant in human history and ditto for my grandchildren. I used to love to sew and craft, but now I only have time to crochet. I am also an avid gardener when I can find the time. I am the youngest of three, and when my two older brothers weren’t torturing me, they spoiled me rotten. I love animals, spring and poker night. I can not play an instrument, or sing my way out of a paper bag, and my family always, always comes first.
So there you have it. Now, forget about me, and enjoy the book!
Best,
Michelle
About the Author
Bestselling author MICHELLE CELMER lives in southeastern Michigan with her husband, their three children, two dogs and two cats. When she’s not writing or busy being a mum, you can find her in the garden or curled up with a romance novel. And if you twist her arm really hard, you can usually persuade her into a day of power shopping.
Michelle loves to hear from readers. Visit her website, www.michellecelmer.com, or write to her at PO Box 300, Clawson, MI 48017, USA.
A Clandestine
Corporate Affair
Michelle Celmer
MILLS & BOON
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To Jim, for being the best big brother a pesky younger sister could ask for.
One
Oh, this was not good.
Ana Birch glanced casually over her shoulder to the upper level of the country club deck, hoping to catch a glimpse of the man in the dark leather jacket, praying that she had been mistaken, that her eyes had been playing tricks on her. Maybe it just looked like him. For months after he dumped her she would see his features in every stranger’s face. The dark, bedroom eyes and the sensual curve of his lips. She would see his broad shoulders and lean physique in men she passed on the street. Her breath would catch and her heart would beat faster … then sink miserably when she realized it was only someone who looked like him. In the eighteen months since he’d ended their affair, he hadn’t so much as called her.
She finally caught sight of him standing by the bar, drink in hand, talking with one of the other guests. Her heart bottomed out, then climbed back up into her throat and lodged there. This was no illusion. It was definitely him.
Oh, God. How could Beth do this to her?
Hitching her nine-month-old son, Max, higher on her hip, she crossed the pristine, rolling green lawn, her heels sinking into the soft, spongy sod. Note to self: never wear spiked heels to an outdoor kids’ party. Or a silk jacket, she added with annoyance, as Max wiggled and slid south again down her side.
In her skinny jeans and knee-high boots, with her freshly dyed, siren-red hair, she was the antithesis of the society mothers who drank and socialized while harried nannies chased their children. A fact that clearly escaped no one as curious glances followed in her wake. But no one dared insult the heiress to the Birch Energy empire, at least not to her face, which Ana found both a relief and an annoyance.
She spotted her cousin Beth standing by the gigantic, inflatable, plastic-ball-filled, germ-breeding monstrosity, watching her six-year-old daughter, Piper, the birthday girl, screaming and flailing inside with a dozen other children.
She loved Beth like a sister, but this time she had gone too far.
Beth saw them approaching and smiled. She didn’t even have the decency to look guilty for what she had done, which didn’t surprise Ana in the least. Beth’s own life was so abysmally uneventful and boring, she seemed to take pleasure meddling in other people’s business. But there was more at stake here than harmless gossip.
“Maxie!” Beth said holding out her arms. Max screeched excitedly and lunged for her, and Ana handed him over. Beth probably figured that Ana couldn’t physically assault her while she was holding a baby.
“Why is he here?” Ana demanded under her breath.
“Who?” Beth asked, playing the innocent card, when she knew damned well who.
“Nathan.”
Ana shot a look over her shoulder at Nathan Everette, chief brand officer of Western Oil, standing by the railing, drink in hand, looking as conservatively handsome and casually
