The Billionaire's Baby Plan / Marrying the Northbridge Nanny: The Billionaire's Baby Plan
“You invested in Fare.”
“I’m a partner in Fare.”
Lisa’s gaze finally fell, but not quickly enough to hide the defeat that filled it. She set down the fork with care. Dabbed the corner of her lips with her linen napkin before laying it on the table. “I believe I’ve wasted enough of your time. Clearly you agreed to this meeting only because of your friendship with Ted.” She pushed her chair back a few inches and picked up her briefcase as she rose. Her gaze flicked back to him for a moment. “Please assure Raoul that my departure is no reflection on his excellent meal.”
She turned away and started to leave the dining room.
“I’m surprised you would give up so quickly,” he said. “So easily. I would have thought you were all about duty to the institute.”
He saw her shoulders stiffen beneath the stylish jacket. She slowly turned, clasping the handle of her briefcase in both hands in front of her. “I am. And that duty dictates that my time is better served on prospective investors. Not dallying over amazing risotto and good wine with a man who has a different agenda. Whatever that may be.”
He had no agenda where the institute was concerned. With the single exception of his unwelcome attraction to her, anything to do with the Armstrong family put a vile taste in his mouth.
“The institute is on the brink of financial collapse,” he said evenly. “I’m not in the habit of throwing away good money.”
“The institute is experiencing some financial hiccups,” she returned coolly. “Nothing from which we cannot recover. And if you didn’t have some burr under your saddle that I still fail to understand, you’d be able to recognize that fact, too.”
“That’s what you really believe.” It was almost incomprehensible. The losses that the institute had incurred were nearly insurmountable.
Her chin angled slightly.
Too thin. Too tense.
But undeniably beautiful and certainly dutiful to her cause.
“Fine. We’ll meet in the morning.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Where? Your favorite breakfast shop?”
He very nearly smiled. The ice princess did have a claw or two. “My office. Nine o’clock.”
Her eyebrow lowered. Her eyes flared for a moment. She nodded. “Very well.”
“And don’t be late. I’ll be squeezing you into the day as it is.”
“I’m never late,” she assured him and, with a small smile, turned on her heel and strode out.
He watched her go, waiting to see if she’d glance back.
She did. But not until she was nearly out of sight. He still managed to hold her gaze for a second longer than was comfortable.
Her cheeks filled with color. This time when she turned to go, there was a lot more run in her stride.
How far would duty take her?
He picked up his wine, smiling faintly. It would be interesting finding out.
Chapter Two
“Of course he’s going to invest.” Sara Beth Bonner’s voice was bright and confident through the cell phone’s speaker. “Why else would he ask you to come to his office this morning?”
“I don’t know.” Lisa shook her head, glancing from the phone that was sitting on the vanity in her hotel room, to her reflection in the mirror. She’d already smudged her mascara once and had had to start over. She didn’t have time to mess up again, or—despite her falsely confident assurance to Rourke the day before—she would be late for their appointment that morning. “I know he’s an old friend of your brand-new husband, but the man’s a player. I don’t know what he wants.”
“Ted keeps saying Rourke is rock-solid.”
Lisa made a face at her reflection. The man was rock-solid—she’d found that out for herself when they’d danced together at the Founder’s Ball. But that, of course, wasn’t what Ted meant. “Just because Rourke was Boy Scout material once, doesn’t mean he still is.”
“What does Paul say?”
Lisa decided her mascara was finally acceptable and closed the tube with one hand while reaching for her lipstick with the other. “The same thing. That of course I can convince Devlin to jump on board.” She smoothed the subtle pink onto her lips. “Unfortunately, Paul doesn’t seem to grasp the fact that such blind faith only makes the pressure worse.”
“It’s not blind faith,” Sara Beth assured her. “It’s confidence. Come on, Lisa. Don’t start doubting yourself now. You can do this.”
“When did you trade in your nurse’s uniform for a cheerleader’s?”
“Hmm.” Laughter filled Sara Beth’s voice. “I wonder how Ted would feel about me in a short little skirt, waving pompoms around.”
Lisa groaned. “Newlyweds,” she returned. “Listen, I’ve gotta run. My flight gets in around three so I’ll probably see you at the institute before you get off. Shift, I mean.”
“Nice.”
“What are friends for?” She disconnected the phone, but she was finally smiling.
Thank goodness for Sara Beth. Her friend never failed to cheer her up.
She smoothed her hand once more over her pulled-back hair and pushed the phone into the pocket of her briefcase. She hadn’t come to New York the day before prepared for an overnight, which had necessitated a quick trip out to find something suitable to wear for today’s meeting because she refused to meet with Rourke again looking like day-old bread.
Since she’d already spent a small fortune on her Armani ensemble for the debacle of the day before, her personal budget was definitely taking a hit. But the black skirt she wore with the same black jersey tee from yesterday looked crisp and suitably “don’t mess with me” teamed with the new taupe blazer. She looked good and wasn’t going to pretend that it didn’t help bolster her confidence where the man was concerned.
She pushed her bare feet into her high-heeled black pumps, snatched up the briefcase and hurried out the door.
The morning air was brisk and breezy, tugging both at her chignon and her skirt as she waited for the cab that the doorman hailed for her.
The traffic was heavy—no surprise—and she wished that she hadn’t taken time to phone her mother that morning. It would have been one less item taking up time, and it wasn’t as if Emily Stanton Armstrong had had anything helpful or productive to say, anyway.
The only thing that Lisa had in common with her mother was a devotion to the man they had in common—Gerald. The great “Dr. G.” She’d given up, years ago, trying to understand what made her mother tick, much less trying to gain her approval. Emily already had the perfect daughter in Olivia, anyway. Olivia was the wife of a senator, for heaven’s sake. Jamison Mallory was the youngest member of the U.S. Senate and the eldest son of Boston’s most powerful family. He might as well be royalty. And he was probably headed for the White House. Olivia and Jamison had even recently adopted two children who’d lost their own parents, completing their picture of the perfect family. Rarely did a week pass when Lisa’s sister and brother-in-law weren’t featured in either the society section or the national news.
Not that Lisa was jealous of her older sister. Olivia looked better—happier—now than she had in years. Lisa just never felt as if they were quite on the same page. The things they wanted in life had always been so different.
She sighed a little, brushing her hands nervously over her skirt. She had to pull the institute out of the fire.
The