“Juice’s family is in Maine. He volunteered when he saw how upset I was. I thought it was sweet of him.”
“Sweet of him?” He clamped his lips together so he wouldn’t say the word that came to mind instead of sweet. Juice might be enormous and terrifying, but he obviously fit just fine around Aimee’s little finger. “Call him off, Aimee. Now. If he so much as touches her, even just to scare her, we could have a lawsuit on our hands so big it would—”
“I’m not calling him off. You’ve done nothing. It’s up to me now.”
“Aimee.”
“No.” She hung up the phone, a toddler throwing a toy, a preteen stamping her foot.
Seth roared so loudly his grandmotherly and extremely efficient secretary, Sheila Bradstone, came to the door and asked him if he was all right. He blinked at her, undoubtedly bright red with fury, clutching his cell phone as if he’d like to hurl it through his corner-office window, kept frighteningly clean by the nightly janitorial crew.
“Fine.” He managed a clenched-teeth smile. “Just a tad frustrated. Anything I can do for you?”
“Now that you mention it, I’m ordering Christmas gifts for the board members and wondered if you wanted me to take care of your family gifts again this year.”
He resisted groaning. Since his mom had died and the warm traditions of his childhood died with her, holidays had become just another pain-in-the-ass obligation. “Sure, thanks. Whatever I got them is fine again. In a different color or something. Use your judgment.”
She gave him a maternal look of concern. “Aimee causing trouble again?”
“What else?”
Sheila shook her gray head and tsk-tsked sympathetically. She’d lived through the battles Seth had getting Aimee to agree to be spokesperson for Wellington in the first place. “If she’d been my daughter…”
Seth laughed, albeit grimly, at the mental picture of Sheila taking a belt to Aimee’s backside. His stepmother had no time for discipline, too busy spending Wellington money as fast as his financially conservative father let her get her hands on it. “I wish she had been your daughter. Then I wouldn’t be at risk of developing ulcers.”
“If you’ll excuse me…” Sheila hesitated, frowning slightly. Which could only mean she had some opinion she was pretty sure he wasn’t going to like.
“Yes?”
“Behavior like Aimee’s is often a cry for attention.”
“Attention?” He shook his head in disbelief. “She doesn’t get enough attention from fans and her bodyguard and the press and hangers-on and—”
“Not from her family.”
He sighed. Possible. But Seth was only a stepbrother, and he and Aimee had never been close. In addition, he had no time for nurturing a spoiled twenty-one-year-old kid. That was his father’s job and his stepmother’s—if they’d ever care to do it.
“You could be right. But if I haul out the mop and bucket every time she makes a mess, how is she going to learn to clean it up herself?”
Except this time there were others who didn’t deserve to be soiled. Like Krista, in spite of what Aimee saw as justifiable provocation. And the Wellington stores. And him.
“Also a good point.” Sheila clucked sympathetically and withdrew. One of the things he liked so much about her. She said her piece and shut up. A lot of women could learn from her example. Like Aimee. And Krista.
He briefly replayed the punch of attraction he felt when their eyes met at Thai Banquet, after he’d knocked over his water like a complete ass. But what man could hear an attractive woman admit to needing sex and remain unmoved? Smart, passionate and sexually open, with an invitation in her eyes that still haunted him—Krista had definitely made an impression, about as far from the one he’d expected as she could get.
Which was why he’d hightailed it out of the restaurant before he did something stupider than spilling his water, like stopping to chat her up. Once she found out he was Seth Wellington, the invitation would be to his own hanging.
So. He glanced at his watch. He had a meeting in half an hour with his hostile, old-fashioned board and George, the head buyer, brilliant at what he did but about as far out of the closet as they came, which meant an hour and a half of exhausting damage control and diplomacy for Seth, similar to what he’d gone through when he’d fired the company’s stodgy advertising agency and brought in a fresh, young batch of talent.
On top of that, Aimee in her infinite generosity, had handed him a situation more potentially damaging than any of Krista’s posts ever had been, one for which no immediate solution came to mind.
So. Start with the facts.
One: Giuseppi “Juice” Viegro was at this moment pursuing Ms. Krista Marlow up to the Pine Tree Inn, two states away, where Seth Wellington had been idiotic enough to mention to Aimee she was planning a visit.
Two: The only person who could call off Juice was Aimee, who apparently had no intention of doing so.
Three: Aimee’s tantrums lasted approximately two days to a week, after which time she could generally be coaxed back into her usual cheerful borderline sanity.
Four: He did not have two days to a week.
Five: The police might be able to stop Juice, but not without risking unpleasant publicity, and he had no favors to call in with any law enforcement in Maine.
Six: He was screwed.
Less than three weeks to the grand opening, featuring commercials starring Aimee’s lovely brunette head, and she was trying her hardest to cause him a premature heart attack.
Possible solution: Leave it alone, hope for the best and assume the worst wouldn’t happen.
But…there was the image of Juice’s huge build threatening Krista Marlow’s tiny body, which brought on a surprising rush of outrage and protectiveness.
No way. He glanced at his watch and eyed the threatening sky to the west. Snow predicted for the evening, the first big storm of the season, sixty percent chance, too much to risk.
But…there were those vibrant blue eyes meeting his at Thai Banquet, the shock of his own powerful attraction reflected in equal measure. And the fun he’d had today when he threw off the CEO mantle and let himself play the casual charmer, free of the mold he’d been encased in for far too long.
Ridiculous. He had too little time as it was to prepare for the upcoming meeting, let alone keep on top of running the rest of the company.
But…he had nothing scheduled after the meeting, and it being Friday, he had some leeway with his schedule this weekend.
Come on, what was he thinking? He’d get hold of Juice’s family and convince someone to let Seth have access to the gentle giant’s cell phone number.
Twenty minutes later, after having his every turn blocked, he admitted it wouldn’t be that easy. He’d done what he could.
But…Krista Marlow was alone in a hotel room in a lodge somewhere in the wilds of Maine, desperately in need of sex, harboring a fantasy of having it anonymously within minutes of meeting a stranger she was attracted to.
Someone please stop him thinking what he was thinking.
He could stay here and pretend none of it was happening, leave Aimee to clean up her own mess, as he felt she should.
Or…
He could go after Juice…and maybe Krista…himself.
“HOW ABOUT THAT DRINK?”
Lucy nearly dropped the file she was about to put away. “Oh. Josh. Hi.”