The CEO Daddy Next Door (3 page)

“They do if there's a reason to. Like a big piece of media attention or a celebrity endorsement. Something that could go viral.”

“The media plan is solid and very aggressive. We just got confirmation that
International Spirits
wants to interview me and put it on the cover. That's big.”

Joanna closed her eyes, rested her head on her shoulder and unleashed a snore. “I'm sorry. Did you say something? I was so bored by the thought of
International Spirits
magazine that I fell asleep.”

“Hey, that's a big coup, and it's an important player in our industry. Oscar Pruitt is a very influential journalist. Dad's been courting him for years.”

“It's not going to set the world on fire. We need to find something for people to get excited about. Really excited. Something unexpected. Something sexy.”

Marcus sat back in his chair. Viral videos, memes and celebrities were not at all what he'd envisioned for Chambers No. 9, but he could be onboard with sexy and unexpected. “You're right. Tell you what. We'll do some brainstorming with the rest of the marketing team tomorrow. Perhaps we just need to get a bit more creative.”

Marcus's phone lit up with a text. The message was from Ashley, their first interaction since the night before, when she'd grabbed his arm and managed to annoy him with her nonsense about hiding.

Busy? I need to ask you a question.

He tapped out a reply.
What is it?
The last thing he wanted was Ashley springing a surprise on him, like asking if her contractor could start running saws at five a.m. tomorrow.

An invitation. May I call?
Ashley replied.

“Who are you texting?” Joanna asked nonchalantly. At twenty-eight, she might've been three years younger than him, but she could be a mother hen. She'd certainly kept close tabs on him since things went south with his marriage.

“My neighbor. Ms. George. Something about an invitation.”

“An invitation? From Ashley George? Have you two patched things up? Whatever it is, you should say yes.” Joanna sounded entirely too optimistic for his taste. And pushy. Joanna hadn't even tried to disguise her hope that Marcus would jump into the dating pool with both feet, starting with Ashley. She was, after all, the toast of the entire city, drop-dead gorgeous and, conveniently enough, right across the hall.

Ashley also wasn't a real option. He'd learned that on their date. Their conversation sent up red flag after red flag, culminating with the story of how she and her last boyfriend had broken up because she wasn't ready to have children. That had prompted him to ask for the check and give her nothing more than a handshake at the end of the night. It wasn't like he'd been on the verge of proposing marriage, but he had no business spending time with a woman who didn't share his vision for a relationship. He and Lila were a package deal. No getting around that.

And there was great urgency to his situation. Lila would soon be old enough to remember growing up without a mum. His mother was one of the most important people in his life. He wasn't about to let Lila go without. Watching that would be even worse than seeing Chambers Gin go belly-up. “No patching anything up for me and Ms. George. We're doing our best to tolerate each other.” He looked down at his phone again. How he despised texting. Dialing Ashley's number, he shooed Joanna away, but she shook her head, making it clear she was staying.

“Is there a problem, Ms. George?” he asked when she answered.

“No. And please, call me Ashley.”

He sat back in his seat, avoiding eye contact with his sister. “What can I do for you?”

Joanna pulled out a pad of paper and wrote furiously. She shoved it across the table and thumped it with her finger.
Be nice!

“I'm calling with a business proposition.”

He'd been bracing for bad news about her apartment project. Business was indeed the last thing he'd expected to be brought up. “Go on.”

“Before I say anything, you have to promise me that you won't breathe a word of this to anyone.”

Now she really had his curiosity piqued. A secret? “I don't like making promises I'm not certain I can keep.”

She huffed on the other end of the line. “You relish any opportunity to be a pain in my side, don't you? Look, I understand you're expanding Chambers Gin in the States. The network is throwing a big party for the premiere of my new season. They'd like to offer you a sponsorship spot that night, at no cost to your company aside from providing your new gin for the guests. Your logo will be everywhere. The guest list is chock-full of celebrities, and they'll all be drinking your gin. The network publicists can work their magic for you.”

“Why would you do that for me? And why would I need to keep that a secret?”

She grumbled, “I'm getting to that part. I need you to come to the party. With me. As my date.”

For a moment, Marcus wasn't entirely sure of what she'd just said. “I only date women I'm serious about. Because of Lila.”

“Then it's perfect, because I don't date at all right now. And I'm not talking about anything more than you taking me to the party and pretending you like me. The network wants me on the arm of a handsome man, I'm not seeing anyone, and you're literally the last man I've been on a date with.”

The part of him that warred with her over her apartment wanted to snicker that he was her only option, but the situation also genuinely struck him as a bit sad. “I'm not entirely sure that
Manhattan Matchmaker
and Chambers Gin is the right match. I don't see the correlation between the two brands.”

“You want to appeal to young, hip customers? My demographic is all about young and hip.”

“And Mrs. White.”

“She's a lot hipper than you.”

“That's up for debate.” He was making her angry, which didn't entirely bother him. Nothing like some good verbal sparring with a beautiful woman to get the blood pumping.

“Well? Will you? Just think of what this could do for your business.”

She might have been right about that. He and Joanna had been discussing exactly that, and judging by the look on his sister's face, she'd pop off at him if he said no to this. “Yes. I'll do it.”

“You will?”

“Yes, I will. Please don't tell me you're angry with me for saying yes.”

“No. Not angry. Just surprised, that's all. You fight me on everything.”

It's easier to convince myself I'm not so damn drawn to you.
“I won't lie. Chambers Gin could use the help. The American market is a big mountain to conquer.”

“Okay, then. It's Thursday night. Eight o'clock. I'll have a car for us at seven thirty.”

“I'll come round your place at seven-fifteen.”

“I'm capable of meeting you at the elevator, you know.”

“Ashley, I'm a gentleman. A gentleman always picks a lady up for a date.”

Three

A
shley hardly recognized the woman in the mirror. Same face as hers, same hair and nose. Same eyes. But this was the familiar wrapped up in an entirely new and very expensive package. Poised on a pedestal, she twisted from side to side, admiring the sublime lines of the gown designed for her by Peter Richie.
Designed for her.
Since the
Manhattan Matchmaker
ride had started, there had been countless times when she'd wondered whether she was awake or dreaming. Today was just another to add to the list.

Peter shook his head slowly as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. “Absolutely. Stunning.”

He planted both hands at his waist, studying her. A woman with a mouth full of straight pins kneeled at Ashley's feet, adjusting the hem of the gown.

Ashley wrestled with her innate need to deflect attention from herself. “The dress is beautiful. You're absolutely right. Thank you so much for doing this. You have no idea how much I appreciate it.” She glanced down, only to catch the woman rolling her eyes. Had she said something stupid? Was it uncool to be thankful? She wasn't entirely sure what she was supposed to say in this situation other than thank you. Her mother had always been emphatic when she was growing up:
“No one will ever fault you for having good manners.”

Peter let out a deep belly laugh. “No, doll. Not the dress. You. You're stunning. All eyes are going to be glued to you at that party.”

Ashley swallowed, or at least attempted to. It was hard to get past the lump in her throat. The thought of all eyes glued to her made her exponentially more nervous about the party. Those gatherings were difficult—everyone vying for a piece of her, but it was always a bit superficial. Lots of compliments and praise, but not much in the way of real conversation. No, it was all “keep doing what you're doing” and “we just want more.” How much more of this was there? One day the world would tire of the Manhattan Matchmaker. It happened to everyone who ended up in the spotlight as she had, and when it ended, it always seemed to end badly. Tastes changed. Fads came and went. She didn't want to be reduced to that, but someday she would. In some ways, it would be a big relief, but it would mean that her fabulous ride was over.

People assumed that since she was on TV, she'd wanted the limelight. That wasn't the case for her at all. Her confidence in what she was doing and in her ability to do it were unwavering, but it was the other piece of the puzzle that gave her problems. She didn't want her face on the sides of buses. She wanted to match people. She wanted the world to believe in true love. In a world where there was so much bad, she wanted people to remember that there was good.

“I'll be sure to tell everyone that all of the credit for the world's most perfect dress goes to you,” Ashley said to Peter.

“Keep talking like that and I'll keep you in party dresses forever.” He winked at Ashley then held out his hand to help her step off the pedestal. “You're done, sweetie. The girls will have your dress ready by the end of the day. We'll have it sent to your apartment.”

“Oh no. Send it to my office, please. I'm in the middle of a huge apartment project, and it's a total mess.”

Ashley left Peter Richie's design studio in the Garment District and opted to walk along 8th Avenue to her building on the Upper West Side. She probably wouldn't make it all the way in heels, but she'd try. It was too beautiful a spring day to not enjoy the splendor of the city. Sporting her biggest Jackie O sunglasses and with her hair tucked up in a hat to avoid being spotted on the street, she set out on her way.

What was left of the afternoon sun peeked between the buildings, the late-April air warming her enough to make her shed her cardigan, draping it over her arm. South Carolina would always be home, but she couldn't see herself living anywhere but New York for the foreseeable future. The city was simply too much fun, brimming with its own kind of beauty. Sure, it could also be a very lonely place, but changing that, one couple at a time, was her charge. There was love to be found in the city that never sleeps. And she was just the girl to give it a push.

After a good twenty blocks, her feet had had all they could take, and she hailed a cab. It didn't take long before they were stuck in rush hour traffic, so she took the chance to call her mom.

“Hello, sugarplum,” her mother answered.

As welcome as the sun she'd soaked up along her walk, Vivian George's sugary South Carolina accent was all Ashley needed to shake off the vestiges of her stressful day and feel much more like herself. “Hey, Mama.” Her voice cracked simply out of happiness. If she closed her eyes, she could smell her mother's cooking and remember exactly what it was like to grow up in a house where there might have been little money to pay the bills, but love made it seem as if they wanted for nothing.

“You'll be happy to know we're having nearly thirty people over for the premiere of
Manhattan Matchmaker
. I wish we could have you here, honey, but I know you're busy.”

It'd been two months since she'd been home, and that'd been only for a few days. It was difficult for her to get away. Work was a constant demand on her time. And that didn't assuage even an ounce of guilt. “I need to come home. And I will. Or maybe you and Daddy could come up to see me. I can book you first-class tickets, and you can stay in my guest room. It'll be so beautiful when the apartment is done. I really want you both to see it.”

“I know you do. I really do. We'll have to see how your dad is doing. Travel would take an awful lot out of him.”

“I could pay a nurse to travel with you. You wouldn't have to do anything. I swear it wouldn't be much trouble.”

“And that's so generous of you, really. But I don't want to make any promises, Ash. He doesn't even like it when we go to the grocery store. New York would be a big undertaking. We'll talk about it.”

Ashley saw through the cab window that they were close to arriving at her building. “I just really want you to see it. That's all.” She knew deep down that her parents understood her success. Still, she wanted them to see the physical manifestation of it, outside the things she paid for that they saw every day. She wanted to show them that she had done well for herself, and done well for the family.

Four

T
he antique rocker in Lila's nursery was the perfect place for a daddy-daughter summit. “So, Lila, Daddy's going on a date tonight, but it's very important that you know that you will always be the most important woman in my life.”

Lila looked up at him quizzically. “Hi.” She palmed the side of his face and smiled, rubbing her tiny fingers over the stubble along his jaw.

He chuckled quietly.
Hi
was her new word, and she was eager to use it. “Hi, yourself.”

“Hi,” Lila replied.

Joanna, over that night as babysitter, was listening in, leaning against the doorway. She stretched out her arms. “Want me to take her? You really don't want to be holding a baby while wearing a tux, do you? You're begging for a disaster. She'll drool all over you.”

Begging for a disaster.
Fitting description of what he was all dressed up for. “I'm getting my last few kisses before I have to go to this wretched party.”

Sure enough, a droplet of drool fell from the corner of Lila's mouth, dropping down onto his black suit jacket.

“See?” Joanna grabbed a clean washcloth from the top of the nursery bureau. “She's going to ruin your suit.” She crouched down next to them, wiping away the moisture that had collected on Lila's lips. “Daddy just needs those teeth to come in so he can get a little more sleep and we can all stop doing so much laundry.”

Marcus shrugged. “It doesn't bother me at all. It means she's still a baby. I'm in no hurry for her to grow up.” Indeed, he wasn't. He'd take millions more moments exactly like this one. Freeze time and let him stop the clock on the impossible search for the one woman on the planet to take on the role of his wife and Lila's mother.

“I'm glad you're going tonight, Marcus. Really, I am. I hope you are, too.”

“Happy for our business. This is nothing but a business arrangement. You know that. Ideally it'll be a productive one. You wanted something out of the ordinary. This is certainly that.”

“Actually, I believe I said I wanted something sexy and exciting. It could be that, too.”

He'd been bracing for sexy and exciting. He was ill-equipped to deal with either, especially the former.

Joanna stood and took Lila from him. “Now go, before I shoo you out the door. Stay out as late as you want. I certainly don't want you coming home before midnight.”

“Why not?”

“Because if you do, it means you haven't had any fun, and Lord knows you could use some fun, Marcus. Loosen that tie at some point. Live a little.”

He got up out of the chair, stopping to give Lila one more kiss on her cheek. “Good night, darling. Tell barmy Auntie Jo that I'll be home by midnight.”

He strolled out of the apartment and across the hall. He knocked at Ashley's door, not surprised she didn't answer immediately. Muffled strains of popular dance music came from her apartment—another way in which they were polar opposites. He preferred '60s soul.

He tugged at his shirtsleeves and straightened his collar, which felt a bit as if it was choking him. He had to wonder what a woman with a career in reality television would wear to a party thrown in her honor. An ostentatious monstrosity—pink, he guessed—most likely with sequins. Lord help him. He was going to need several drinks tonight. Luckily there'd be plenty of Chambers No. 9 on hand.

He knocked again. The music stopped.

The door flung open. “Don't even say it,” Ashley blurted. Her cheeks were flushed. Her eyes flashed in their usual near-manic state. “I'm late. I know it.”

Marcus didn't speak. Or blink. Ashley's hair and makeup were done up. The rest of her was...wrapped in a fluffy white bath towel.

“I need two minutes to get dressed. The hair and makeup people just left, and my phone has been ringing like crazy.” With a wave, she invited him inside.

Marcus closed the door behind him, his eyes as dry as parchment. He still hadn't blinked. Not once, and it wasn't from shock that Ashley might be late for her own party. It was the damn towel. He hadn't been so close to a beautiful woman in that state of undress in a while, and this wasn't just any woman. This was the woman he'd been trying like hell to stay away from. Every inch of his body felt a prodigious tug as Ashley rushed down the hall, showing slender legs, bare feet and naked shoulders. She left a damning smell of summer rain and vanilla in her wake. The sweet fragrance begged him to follow her. He cleared his throat, feeling as though he needed an oxygen mask. “No worries,” he muttered, but she was already gone.

Eager to set his mind straight, he turned away and surveyed the apartment. The layout mirrored Marcus's, but it was otherwise in disarray—tarps draped over furniture, building supplies in every corner of the open space. A patchwork of construction paper blanketed the floor, and an enormous chandelier, cocooned in plastic, hung over the dining room table. How could she live in such bedlam? He wouldn't have lasted five minutes. It would have had him at sixes and sevens—completely crazy—in no time. The room smelled of fresh paint, with the faintest trace of Ashley's perfume not just shadowing him but needling him. Taunting him. Reminding him that the woman he
wanted
and the woman he
needed
were two entirely separate people.

“I told you it would only take me a minute,” Ashley said from behind him.

He turned, ill-prepared for her wardrobe change. No pink monstrosity. Oh no. That would've made things too easy on him. Instead, she wore a silvery gray gown of impeccable taste. Delicate, silky straps skimmed her shoulders. The neckline was sublime, dipping just low enough to please him greatly...and make him wish his pants were a bit roomier. Her golden-blond hair was in an elegant twist to the side. She closed in on him as if she floated on air, quite possibly the breath that had been knocked from his lungs by surprise.

She was grace in motion, not at all what he'd expected. Just like a few nights ago in the hall, when she'd grabbed his arm, he struggled to understand why his libido had formed one opinion of Ashley and his logical mind had formed another.

“What?” she asked, looking down at her dress and turning, again afflicting him with her intoxicating smell. “Is it too much? Too fancy?”

It's perfect. You're perfect.
Except that she was otherwise the opposite. He needed to forget the way she made him feel at this moment, and remember the way she'd made him feel every time she did or said something that screamed, “I'm not the right woman.” He shook his head as fog encroached on his thoughts. “No. You look fine.”

She arched both eyebrows, making her vibrant brown eyes appear even larger. “At least I don't have to worry about you killing me with kindness.”

He had to change the course his mind kept veering onto, one where their business arrangement abruptly ended with a deep kiss and his hands dragging those skinny dress straps off her shoulders. “Remember, tonight is all about business.” He gestured to the front door. “Shall we?”

They met the limousine down in the parking garage after Ashley explained that some of her fans had been spotted outside their building. He added that to the list of reasons Ashley was all wrong for him—the intrusion of her public. He didn't like the idea of tallying negatives and essentially building a case against Ashley, but most of the time, the list made it easier to ignore his attraction.

Ashley fidgeted in her seat, repeatedly opening a compact mirror, checking her makeup and sighing.

“Everything alright?” he asked.

“Oh, sure. Just a few butterflies.”

He wasn't sure what sort of wildlife had chosen to inhabit his own chest and stomach. He only knew that something was going on in there. He took a deep breath. Tonight was about saving his family's business. Nothing else. Tomorrow he and Ashley would go right back to their semiregular spats over drywall dust and construction noise. That he could manage much better.

“We should probably get our stories straight,” Ashley said. “People will want to know how we met. How serious we are.”

The notion of constructing a romance struck him as all wrong. That wasn't the way things were supposed to happen, but Ashley was used to it. Her job was orchestrating love, or at least the appearance of it. “Can't we keep it simple and truthful? We met because we're neighbors and we're taking it one day at a time. That's satisfactory, isn't it?”

“What if people ask about our first date? If we're truthful about that, everyone will know we're not a real couple.”

Marcus cleared his throat. “Is it any of their business?”

“The press will say it's their business. We'll get skewered if we don't say something.” She sat back in her seat, compulsively closing and opening the jeweled clasp of her small silver handbag. “We'll tell people we went to dinner and sparks flew. We'll skip the part about how you shook my hand at the end of the night and essentially started the Wars of the Roses the next day.”

The woman had no fear of uncomfortable subjects. “I was being a gentleman that night. I didn't want to lead you on.”

“Nor did you allow me to explain myself. I had one too many glasses of wine that night, you know. I was nervous. I say stupid things when I'm nervous.”

Flashes of light came through the darkened limousine windows as they pulled up to the curb, thankfully putting an end to that particular strain of conversation. The car stopped and idled. The photographers outside continued taking pictures.

“Just follow my lead with the photographers. I've trained myself to do exactly what they want. It's fairly painless. I promise.” She reached over and patted his knee. “And please relax tonight. I know you can be charming. I've seen you do it. That's the Marcus I need at this party, not your normal grumpy self.”

His spine stiffened. Why did she continue to use those words?
Grump. Curmudgeon.
She had no idea what he'd been through, the trials that necessitated his serious nature. He wasn't about to launch into an explanation now. “I know how to act at a party. Don't you worry about me.”

“Fine. Let's see how you do.”

The driver opened the door. The instant Ashley rose from the car, the crowd roared with excitement, fans and photographers shouting her name. She stepped on to the red carpet and turned to him, taking his hand, offering an enchanting smile with plump pink lips that begged for a gentle nip. He was transfixed by that look on her face, so genuine and warm. It made a surreal moment even more so—the object of his mysterious weakness, reaching for him. He had no choice in front of this audience but to go with it. He clutched her impossibly soft fingers and trailed behind her, stepping square into the lion's den.

Cameras were everywhere, all pointed at the two of them. The more persistent the flashes, the tighter Ashley gripped his hand, the closer she pulled him. She seemed to crave the security of someone by her side, and his instinct told him to protect her, even when he knew it was the wrong inclination, one to fight with everything he had.

She smiled wide as the photographers snapped their pictures, beguiling the masses before them as if she'd been born to do this.
Butterflies, my ass.
Seeing the Manhattan Matchmaker in action, he knew he was being sucked in just as the rest of the world was, but there was only so much he could do about it. He was there to be the handsome man on her arm, and he had to play that role. That meant drinking in the vision of her so the cameras could snap their pictures, even when every second had him further under her spell and it would take a lengthy internal dialogue to wrench himself from it later.

One photographer asked to see the back of Ashley's dress. She let go of Marcus's hand for a moment and turned, flashing a sexy look over her shoulder that nearly left him flat on the red carpet. He was already losing all sense of direction. This was not good. He had four long hours ahead of him of pretending to be her charming, smitten date. He needed a mantra, something he could repeat until it became innate.
Don't fall for her, Marcus. Don't fall for her.