The Bride and the Bargain Page 7

  His brother Alex ran the philanthropic arm of HuntCom. But he wasn’t the only one engaged in such efforts. Only Gray’s version of giving was considerably less altruistic in nature than Alex’s. He did it for financial reasons. Not because he liked to “give until it felt good,” as Alex was wont to say. “Maybe. Who’s the librarian?”

  If she was curious about his reasons for asking, she kept it to herself. “Beverly Osborne.”

  His mood darkened and the fact that it did pissed him off no end. “There’s only one librarian position?”

  “Hold on.” He heard the tap of a keyboard. “I’m looking at their organization chart that was in the RFP they sent us a few months ago for this year’s awards. Yup. One position.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’ve got a conference call scheduled in ten minutes.”

  “I’m on the road. Put it through to my cell,” he told her. “I’ll be in the office later.” He disconnected, but continued to sit there, watching the school.

  Eventually the security guard came over to his car. “Mind moving along, sir?” He leaned down, looking in the window that Gray lowered. “Oh. Mr. Hunt. Didn’t realize it was you.” He looked uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, but buses will begin arriving, and they need this lane to turn into.”

  “No sweat.” He took in the discreet name plate on the man’s uniform, “Marcus. I’m on my way.”

  He looked relieved. “Thank you, sir.” He began to straighten.

  “Marcus—”

  The security guard bent over, looked through the window once more. “Sir?”

  “That young woman you let through the gate a while ago. Dark hair. Gray suit. You know her?”

  Marcus’s aged face looked vaguely insulted. “We only let staff and students through. They all have to have their badge. Visitors have to be on the list. She had her badge.”

  Badges, Gray knew, could be faked easily enough. HuntCom didn’t use only ID badges, but biometric authentication, from fingerprints to iris recognition, depending on the level of security required for the work in question. “Thanks, Marcus.”

  The man nodded, and stepped back from the car as Gray drove away from the curb.

  Thanks to the hour, he took the conference call sitting in a gridlock of rush hour traffic, and once he’d exchanged the “Matt” getup for his usual suit and made it to the office, there wasn’t any time left for him to be thinking about Amelia White.

  There shouldn’t have been, anyway.

  Yet the woman kept sliding into his thoughts, between meetings, between calls, between reports. As usual, the day had slid past before Gray realized it. But Loretta came in, putting a fat folder of correspondence requiring his signature in front of him. His gray-haired secretary already had her briefcase slung over her arm.

  Gray sighed slightly and flipped open the folder, grabbing his pen. “Thanks.”

  “Here.” Loretta slid another piece of paper onto his desk. “I got hold of a fresh staff roster from Brandlebury this afternoon.”

  He paused. “Why?”

  Loretta shrugged. She’d been with him since before he was appointed president of the company. She was ten years his senior; looked like someone’s middle-aged mother from her gray curls to her sturdy, flat shoes; and was the most organized soul he knew. “You seemed interested,” she said. “So I figured I would follow up. The roster we had was dated two months ago.”

  “And?” He dropped his palm over the paper and drew it closer.

  “And the librarian’s name changed. Amelia White. I spoke with the headmaster. He told me she’d been with them about five weeks now. She also has a niece and nephew who are students there. Have been for three years.”

  Gray looked at the roster. Her name seemed to leap out at him. So Amelia hadn’t lied about the job, after all. The ID badge had been authentic.

  “On scholarship,” Loretta added.

  He looked at her and she shrugged again, looking innocent. “Just in case you were interested.”

  “I’m not,” he lied. “Have a good weekend.”

  She smiled faintly and headed for the door. “You, too, Gray.”

  “Loretta. Get her name to Marissa before you leave, if you would. I want a report on her by morning. Employment, family. The works.”

  “Anything you say, boss.”

  “Don’t look at me like that.”

  “Like what?”

  He snorted impatiently and turned back to the letters he needed to sign. “Tell her it’s for my eyes only.” He should have had Marissa pull together the information the first time he got it into his head that Amelia might fill the wife slot. But no. Pride had kept him from doing so.

  “Anything else?”

  He snapped off the lid of his pen, ignoring the knowing note in her tone. “Don’t let it get back to Harry,” he muttered.

  She chuckled softly and returned to her adjoining office. He could hear the murmur of her voice as she made the call to Marissa, and then she headed out, calling a last g’night as she went.

  Gray finished signing the letters—a task that took longer than it should, given the way he kept pulling the Brandlebury roster on top of them.

  She’d worked at the school for five weeks. That, in itself, was no proof that she wasn’t scamming him. But the fact that her niece and nephew had been students at the academy for three years niggled at him.

  Irritated with the way the woman kept plaguing his thoughts, he left his office. But he had no particular place to go, or reason to be there, and merely ended up pacing the executive floor hallways.

  HuntCom ran shifts 24-7 in many departments. But not on the executive floor. Fortunately, the place had cleared out for the weekend, so there wasn’t anyone around to witness his uncharacteristic activity.

  He passed by the office that used to be occupied by J.T. before he’d decided to hang out his own architectural shingle. They hadn’t yet made the announcement that he was resigning, but he was staying on only long enough to finish the projects he’d been working on when he’d met Amy. Before Amy, J.T. had been away on business as often as he’d been in town. Now, he and Amy were definitely stateside, but Gray realized that since their wedding he’d seen even less of J.T. than when he’d been traveling.

  He was glad J.T. was happy. That he’d found a silver lining—Amy—inside Harry’s marriage demands. Yet he found himself missing him.

  He leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb, looking into the darkened interior. The last time he’d spent any time with J.T. was at a Sonics game. Not the suite that HuntCom held, either. They’d picked up a pair of cheap seats the way they sometimes did—Alex, too, when he was free—and had sat among the masses pretty much incognito, drinking their beer and watching their beloved team lose their shirts.

  He sighed faintly and turned back for his own office.

  When he got there, his cell phone was buzzing against the desktop where he’d left it. He looked at the display, smiling faintly as he answered. It wasn’t the first time he and J.T. found themselves oddly on the same wavelength. “Hey, bro.

  I was just thinking about you. What’s up?”

  “You want the good or the bad?” J.T.’s voice was terse.

  Gray’s nerves prickled. “Bad?”

  “Harry’s been taken to the hospital again.”

  Gray was already striding out of the office. “His heart?”

  “We’re assuming. The doctors haven’t come out to tell us squat, yet.”

  “Who notified you?”

  “Nobody. Amy and I were having dinner at the shack.”

  The elevator doors slid open in front of Gray the second he punched the call button, but he hardly took any notice.

  “You two were having dinner with Harry.” J.T. and Harry may have come to a better understanding of one another in the past several months, but that didn’t mean they’d taken to having father-son get-togethers.

  “We had news to tell him.” Gray could hear the murmur of a soft, female voi
ce in the background. “Amy’s pregnant.”

  Something inside Gray pinched, hard. Justin and Lily had Ava, nearly two years old already, though his baby brother hadn’t found out about his daughter until he’d been reunited with Lily. Now the three of them were as happy as pups in clover.

  And now, J.T. and Amy were having a baby, too.

  At this rate, Gray would probably wake up in the morning and Alex and P.J. would be picking preschools, as well.

  “Congratulations.” The word seemed to dredge up from somewhere dark and hollow. “Have you told anyone else?”

  “I know. Strange to tell the old man first,” J.T. admitted, his voice rough. He knew what Gray meant without him having to elaborate. “Amy’s doing. You know how she feels about family.” Since Amy had only a stepsister and stepmother to her name, Gray supposed he understood that. Plus, his brother’s wife—like all of the new Hunt brides—was ending up far more charmed by Harry than was at all reasonable.

  “And you can’t resist Amy,” Gray concluded.

  “What can I say?” J.T. didn’t sound remotely apologetic.

  It was still hard for Gray to believe that even J.T.—globe-trotting cynic—had been taken to his knees by the love of a good woman.

  He finally stepped into the patiently yawning elevator. “So how’d it happen?”

  “We told him the news over aperitifs. Had dinner. Old man’s steak was practically tartar. Crème brûlée for dessert. All the things we all know he shouldn’t be eating. Insisted on an after-dinner brandy, and the next thing we knew, he collapsed. Helicopter lifted him to Harborview, same as last time. No doubt it’ll hit the newswires any minute.”

  “Call Justin at the ranch.” Gray stepped off the elevator when it hit the lobby and he nodded briefly to the security guards on duty as he headed toward the tunnel leading to the parking garage. “I’ll get Alex. He can meet us at the hospital.”

  “He and P.J. are in D.C. wringing money out of wallets there. Remember?”

  Gray swore. It wasn’t like him to forget such things. Up until recently the Hunt Foundation had been funded strictly from the family. But Alex and his new wife, P.J.—born of wealth and just as philanthropically minded as Alex—had decided to up the ante, take their work to even higher levels.

  “Right. I’ll track him down. I’ll find Aunt Cornelia, too. Is Amy all right? Seeing Harry collapse and all—”

  “I’m just fine, Gray.” Amy’s voice came on the line. “Don’t you worry yourself about me. Now are you driving yourself to the hospital, or is Peter standing by?”

  He frowned, stepping into the parking garage where his car waited in its well-monitored slot. “I am.”

  “Promise me you’ll be careful. Don’t run any lights or anything. Harry’s not going anywhere.”

  “You’re married to the speed demon in the family,” Gray murmured as he climbed behind the wheel.

  She wasn’t deterred by the observation. “Gray,” she prompted, her voice gently warning.

  He let out a short breath. Aside from Cornelia and her girls, and maybe Loretta and Marissa, he wasn’t used to feeling much affection for any woman. But lately his sisters-in-law had been messing with his status quo. “I promise. And I’ll see you in a few. Now go, go put your feet up or something. That’s my niece or nephew you’re carrying.” He dropped the phone on the passenger seat and gunned the engine perhaps slightly less than he ordinarily would have.

  Amelia had a niece and nephew.

  He pushed away the unwelcome thought and squealed out of the parking lot. By the time he arrived at the hospital, he’d reached Alex at his hotel room in Alexandria. He and P.J. would be returning immediately.

  He found J.T. and Amy sitting together in the emergency room’s waiting room. The second Amy spotted him, she hopped up and wrapped her arms around Gray, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

  Gray eyed his brother over the top of her brunette head and awkwardly patted her shoulder. J.T. just shrugged, as if to say, get used to it.

  Unfortunately, Gray was beginning to realize that he could get used to it.

  Then Amy moved away, sliding her arm around J.T.’s waist and leaning her head against his arm. They looked…right together, Gray realized. Perhaps for the first time.

  He pulled at his tie, loosening it, but the sensation of envy wasn’t so easily loosened. “So, what do we know? Have you seen Harry yet?”

  J.T. shook his head. “Justin and Lily will be here as soon as the jet can land. Alex?”

  “Same. They’re on their way.” Gray looked around them.

  The waiting room was crowded with people. Coughing, sneezing, bundled in blankets, holding compresses to every body part imaginable.

  If he’d had his way, he’d have brought Amelia to this same hospital that early morning in the park.

  He scrubbed his hand down his face. “I’m going to find the doctor.”

  Looking into his father’s condition was a lot more productive than standing around allowing that woman to keep boring into his head.

  Chapter Six

  Gray stared at the file lying open on his lap.

  Marissa had delivered Amelia’s dossier to the hospital early that morning.

  The item stacked on top of the thin contents was the most telling of all—Marissa’s letter to Amelia’s sister, one Daphne Mason, dated seven months earlier, warning the woman to discontinue her attempted communication with Gray or face legal repercussions.

  As usual, Marissa had done exactly what she was paid to do. Protect him. Protect HuntCom, particularly against a claim she’d have known had no merit, since he’d been in Europe during the alleged “relationship” that produced Daphne’s child. It had been so easily dismissed by Marissa that she hadn’t even thought to discuss it with Gray.

  In contrast, the rest of the file had been ordinary in the extreme. Amelia White, second daughter of Victor White and Janice White née Townsend. Unmarried. Employed since graduating cum laude with the Oregon State University system. Small savings account recently closed. Same with checking. Only significant asset, a townhome near the university, recently sold for less than market value, indicating a rushed sale. No new mortgage on record, only credit card already charged to its very modest limit.

  Mother died more than ten years ago. Father’s whereabouts unknown. Sister, Daphne Mason, currently a patient at the Biggs-Tolley convalescent hospital—condition unavailable.

  For now, Gray thought. He closed the folder and looked across the hospital bed where his father lay, still sleeping.

  J.T. had insisted on taking Amy home around midnight when they’d learned that Harry hadn’t had another heart attack.

  Not that Harry’s doctor was pleased with the cardiac episode. If anything, he was positively grim, warning Gray that unless Harry made serious changes to his lifestyle—and not just giving up the steaks and rich desserts that had been slowly creeping back into his world since last year—but changing his very lifestyle, he believed that Harry was leading up to another attack. Probably worse than the first one.

  Which had nearly felled the old man.

  Dr. Richardson was adamant. Harry had to retire. Not next year. Not when it was convenient. Now.

  “How is he?” The hushed voice brought Gray’s attention around to the door of the private room. Cornelia Fairchild stood there. She was a slender, tall woman who carried her age—just a few years Harry’s junior—as elegantly as everything else in her life. Even now, despite the early hour, she wore pristine ivory slacks and a soft blue blouse that made her waving hair look even more fair. But now, her gaze on Harry, she didn’t just look typically stylish and elegant.

  She looked frail.

  Gray rose, setting aside the file and went to her, taking her hands and kissing her softly lined cheek. “He’s sleeping,” Gray told her. “See for yourself.”

  She squeezed his hand and walked into the room, stopping only when her hip brushed the mattress. She seemed to sigh a little
, then leaned over and kissed Harry’s forehead. “Darned fool,” she whispered.

  Harry opened his eyes then, and spotted the slender woman hovering over him. He made a gruff sound. “Stop looking as if you’re at my wake.”

  Cornelia huffed slightly and straightened. But Gray noticed the way her hand trembled, as she gave Harry his glasses, then closed it over Harry’s, carefully avoiding the IV lead taped to the back of his hand. “Stop giving us all such a scare,” she returned smoothly. “I’ve a good mind to fire your cook myself. He’s already admitted to me the kinds of meals you’ve been taking. What were you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking that I’m sick of fish and consommé,” Harry retorted, though his voice lacked its usual steam. He looked past the woman Gray knew he counted as his oldest friend and slid his glasses into place as he peered at the manila file Gray had left sitting on the chair beside the bed. “What’s that?”

  Gray moved over to retrieve it and tucked it beneath his arm. “Few things Marissa is handling.”

  “Hmm.” Harry began pushing against the mattress. “Sit me up.”

  “Be still,” Cornelia chided. She reached for the panel on the wall above his head and pushed a button that slowly raised the mattress several inches. Then she began plumping the pillows behind Harry’s back.

  “That Birchman deal? I warned you he’d hold out for more money.”

  “No business,” Cornelia warned. “Not one word of it.”

  “You’re getting awfully bossy, Corny.”

  “Maybe you need someone to boss you,” she returned.

  Harry just harrumphed again. He crossed his arms over the blue hospital gown covering his chest. “J.T.’s done his part,” he said, eyeing Gray. “What’re you holding out for?”

  There was no question to what Harry referred. “Who says I’ve been holding out?”

  “This entire agreement is ridiculous,” Cornelia interrupted.

  Harry shot her a look. “You saying that Justin and Alex and J.T. aren’t finally happy?”