One Big Little Secret: A Secret Baby Romance (The Rory Brothers Book 2)

If there’s one thing anyone needs to know about my mother, Delly Rory, it’s that she never takes no for an answer.

It’s a trait we’ve picked up as her sons. While it’s invaluable as hell in a business setting, it makes turning down dinner dates impossible.

No matter how much work I’ve got piled up, or how little I want to see everyone playing at happy family time, there’s no skipping the dinners.

When I pull up to the huge, wide house with its massive porch behind the gate, my brothers’ vehicles are already there.

“Sorry I’m late,” I say when I get to the sitting room.

Mom leans against the fireplace, Colt sits with Archer on the sofa, and Dexter and Juniper are talking to someone else in the corner.

“That’s all right, darlin’.” Mom kisses me on the cheek. “Come say hello to Evelyn! She just flew in today and she’ll be joining us for dinner.”

The grey-haired lady Dexter was talking to turns, and I’m confronted with a familiar face.

Evelyn Hibbing has been Mom’s best friend since they were schoolgirls, and she’s come to see us over the years for extended visits. She’s a small woman, almost owlish with her glasses, rounded shoulders, and a preference for wearing cardigans and sweaters in soft neutral colors.

“Patton,” she beams, holding out her hands as she walks toward me. She’s been part of the family for so long, it’s like seeing your favorite aunt. “So good to see you again, dear. Have you been behaving? Are you engaged yet?”

“Hell no. And behaving, yeah. Just enough.” I grin. “Hope you asked Dex the same question.”

Dexter catches my eye and smiles, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Next to him, his wife elbows him in the side. She’s decked out in a stunning green dress today.

“Don’t even start,” Junie mouths. “We’re having a good time.”

That man is whipped.

I hold in a laugh. It’s honestly amusing to see my stick-up-the-ass brother so domesticated.

“Evelyn, how was your trip down? Surviving another winter back home? I hear it’s nasty this year, even for Minnesota.” I accept her kiss as she laughs. Right on the mouth—damn, no wonder Dexter pulled that face. “It’s nice to see you. I didn’t know you were visiting.”

“Oh, you know I can’t stay away for too long. There’s no turning down good company and days that are a few degrees warmer.” She looks around the room appreciatively. “Plus, your mom knows how to keep a house to die for.”

“Well, perhaps I can keep a house, but if I so much as touch an indoor plant, it dies.” Mom smiles and glances around fondly now that the party’s here. She leads us into the dining room without even asking.

“Just wait until you try the cheesecake I made for dessert,” Juniper whispers to me as we head to the table. “Get this—churro cinnamon, slathered in caramel. Dex will keel right over if a single crumb touches him.”

That wins her a smile. My brother’s nonexistent sweet tooth might’ve softened since he shacked up with her, but he’ll always be a health freak at heart.

She’s made him a better man, aside from the sweets. No question.

I’m also impressed with how easily she’s made herself one of us, faster than I could’ve imagined. They’ve only been married a little over a year, but now I can barely remember a time when she wasn’t at these dinners.

“Is that the secret to married life?” I ask. “Tormenting your spouse?”

“Only if your partner’s worth tormenting,” she throws back.

“Noted. I’ll keep that in mind,” I lie, knowing full well I’ll be dead before I ever put a ring on any chick.

She slips her arm through mine and smiles. “Careful, Pat. Don’t say something like that with your mom around, or she’ll think you’re wife hunting… So, are you?”

“Hunting? Do I need to mark myself with fake piss to lure in a mate?”

“Patton!” Her voice is scandalized, but I know it takes more than that to shock Juniper. There’s laughter in her eyes.

“Charming my wife again, idiot?” Dexter asks, slapping my arm.

She slaps his harder.

“Don’t take the bait,” she whispers.

“When I’m so good at it? Let him live and learn,” I say.

“Don’t be a prick, Pat. It isn’t always easy keeping the peace, and your mom’s friend is here.” Juniper doesn’t miss a beat. That’s why we like her.

“Is there any universe where you guys don’t almost come to blows?” Archer glares at us.

I smirk back at him. “Not sure. Is it the universe where you’re not an uptight bearwad made of—”

“Dinner!” Mom says brightly, her voice hard enough to cut through our shit-flinging. She glares at us, and unlike Archer’s bullshit, which I get near daily, it’s enough to make us shut our yaps and find our seats.

Evelyn beams at us like she’s missed our dysfunctional little family.

“Isn’t it so nice to see everyone here?” she asks as Mom brings out plates of steaming duck breast and fried biscuit gravy. “Promise me you’ll never take it for granted.”

“We wouldn’t dream of it, Evie,” Mom assures her. “This is always a special occasion, isn’t it, boys?”

“We’re here every week,” Archer grumbles.

Colt pushes his glasses up his nose. They’re a recent addition, making him look especially studious, and he seems hyperaware of them.

“Please don’t tell me you guys are going to start fighting again,” he says, in such a world-weary voice it sounds just like Archer.

“Hey, dude, we don’t fight,” I say. “We bicker. Big difference. You’re lucky you don’t have a brother.”

“And I promise there’ll be murder on the menu tonight if this bickering doesn’t stop,” Mom warns, stabbing her duck breast with her fork while she flashes a smile full of teeth. “What will it take to have one nice dinner together without so much ribbing?”

“A miracle?” I wait for her to laugh, but she doesn’t.

That’s what I get for being the single one, I guess. Flat jokes and a heap of fucking work waiting back at the office.

Dexter used to be the family workhorse, but ever since his wedding day, he decided Romeo time was more important and work should take a back seat to his personal life. Fine, but someone has to pick up the slack. And since Archer has Colt and it’s a second job being a dad, now that workhorse is me.

“You must tell me more about the business.” Evelyn fixes her shiny brown eyes on Archer. “Your expansions, your success, it’s all very impressive. Especially for someone with an interest in real estate. I’m just fascinated.”

She has an interest in property? That’s news to me.

I glance at Mom, but she’s discussing comics with Colt. Or rather, he’s educating her about the comics he prefers and why. Mother looks lost when the kid starts talking about anime. I don’t think she ever broadened her horizons past the household name superheroes and cartoons from the 1960s.

Thankfully, Archer steps up and gives Evelyn a few details about our current projects. I add a little about The Cardinal and what we’re hoping to make it.

“Wow.” She frowns like she’s struggling to understand the concept, but that’s nothing new. I’ve found that the older the person, the less comfortable they are with today’s vacation rentals, even though the market keeps changing rapidly to embrace fresh concepts. “So you acquire properties you lease out as hotels?”

“You’ve heard of AirBnB and Vrbo?” Dexter asks. “We run on the same principle, but we specialize in high-end properties. Think hotels with great service, but exclusive. Many people don’t want old-school hotels anymore—at least, not in the traditional way we think of them.”

Evelyn nods. “I see. And you have properties in Omaha?”

I’m surprised she knows about our most recent acquisitions.

From the way Archer hesitates, I can tell he wasn’t expecting this, either.

“That’s right,” he says. “It’s a real work in progress and we won’t have anything running until next year. For now, we’re only operating in Missouri.”

“Ah, that’s sensible.” Evelyn clears her throat. “You see, if you’re expanding out of state… I just wondered if you ever might consider anything farther north? Like Minnesota?” She smiles at each of us. “I have a few proposals I think you’d love to hear.”

Archer blinks.

Dexter glances at both of us to check we’ve heard her right.

It’s hard to process what’s happening.

Evelyn Hibbing, Mom’s oldest friend, who only seconds ago could barely understand our company and never normally talks business at all, suddenly has a suggestion for expansion.

The silence goes on too long.

“I’d be happy to talk anytime, Evelyn. You’ll have to buy me coffee, though,” I tease. Mom smiles at me approvingly.

The surprise isn’t lost on her. She probably knows I offered out of politeness, but that’s more important to her than anything else.

Still, by stepping up here and being the model son in a business sense, I can stay in Mom’s good graces. I’d like to think it helps make up for never being the big family man Dexter and Archer turned out to be.

And if I can keep Mom smiling with my head to the grindstone, maybe it’ll keep her from forcing any matchmaking bullshit on me.

True to her word, Salem isn’t late.

I get to The Cardinal at nine o’clock sharp and find her waiting by the front door in black pants and a pinkish blouse, her dark hair pulled back from her face. She climbs into my SUV quickly.

“Mr. Rory,” she says stiffly as she settles in her seat.

“Again with the Mr. Rory shit? I said you could call me Patton.”

“What if I prefer Mr. Rory?” Her gaze darts to me and away again.

I snort loudly.

Goddamn, I hate being Mr. Rory.Original from NôvelDrama.Org.

That was my dad’s name, not mine. I’ve never felt big enough to fill his shoes just yet—but if that’s what she wants to call me, I sure as hell can’t force her to do otherwise.

Especially considering—well, fuck, everything.

“Coffee?” I ask, hoping to clear the awkward silence in the air. “I haven’t had my morning cup yet.”

“Sure.”

My usual place, The Silver Swan, is just down the road. I pull up in the parking lot.

“Best brew in the city in my not-so-humble opinion. The dark chocolate mocha will keep you on your toes all day,” I tell her as we walk inside.

“Right.” She tenses when we step inside and she looks up at the menu.

It’s the prices, I think. Her fingers go white as she grips her purse.

Damn. I never thought this place might be too expensive for her. She’s a mom on a budget with a kid, and somehow, I get the impression there’s no man in the picture.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s on me. Company perk,” I growl, grabbing her little hand as she reaches into her purse and gently pushing it aside.

“…are you sure?” She blinks at me. “I can afford a basic cup of—”

“Screw basic. Nobody comes here for drip coffee unless they have a screw loose. Pick something off the real menu.”

She stares at me like I’ve lost it.

Hell, maybe I have.

The girl behind the register greets us and I order my usual: double espresso mocha with plenty of dark chocolate.

Salem scans the menu and orders a latte that sounds like a splash of decaf in a glass of cream with honey.

Fuck everything about decaf.

I don’t know how people drink the stuff and pretend they’re doing anything to jump-start their day.

She glances at the drink in my hand and smiles while we head for the car.

“If I drank that, I’d be bouncing off the walls for days,” she says.

“When you work as many hours as I do, you need rocket fuel. How do you function without caffeine?”

“Oh, I actually had a little coffee while I was waiting at The Cardinal. I didn’t realize we were going to stop.”

“Common courtesy,” I lie, trying not to grit my teeth. “I thought you’d enjoy something from the best coffeehouse in Kansas City.” It takes all my willpower not to point out that the cup she’s holding now doesn’t actually contain real coffee.

Still, it’s nice to know she’s not a caffeine-hating lunatic.

“Thanks. It’s tasty enough,” she says, though she doesn’t sound like she means it. She glances at my cup as I put it in the cupholder between us. “Do you always like your drinks so sugary? You asked for extra chocolate.”

“You sound like my brother Dexter,” I tell her.

“The big hero?”

“Yeah. He likes to think he’s wearing a cape or whatever after one fight with a mobster.”

“I meant it as a compliment. You can’t deny what he did was pretty brave.”

“You compared me to a guy who took down a criminal enterprise.”

“I still think it’s a compliment.” She shrugs and fastens her seat belt, taking a sip of that awful concoction masquerading as coffee.

“He’s also a fun-hating health nut who melts on contact with sugar,” I tell her. “He only learned to tolerate a pinch of the stuff for his wife’s sake. She’s a baker.”

Salem bursts out laughing.

I hate how that sound sinks through me until I can feel it in my bones—and not in a bad way.

“Oh, wow. How’d that happen?”

“Long-ass story. Let’s just say it was a fake relationship that turned real.”

“Fake? You mean like the setup you see in rom-com movies?” She blinks at me.

“I don’t watch rom-com, but probably. It was the dumbest move Dex ever made, yet somehow it paid off for him. Lucky idiot.” Her face drops after I say ‘lucky’ as I put the car in drive. “For the record, I don’t share his mission to purge the Earth of sugar. I just don’t like too much cream. If I want coffee, I want its soul.”

“You mean you like it bitter?” Like you? The implication in her voice is clear.

“I like to taste coffee. I’m sure you’re aware that’s not why we’re here, though.”

I take a deep breath.

Business, business.

She knows the real reason.

Now, let’s see if we can get through one whole day together without someone being arrested for murder.

Our first stop is a small, but cozy rental home near the edge of the city. Salem’s face lights up and she gasps joyfully when we step inside.

It’s far from the first time this place has triggered that reaction.

Nobody expects the tropical-looking interior, bright and airy with plenty of natural light, reclaimed wooden walls, and vibrant greens and pinks bursting on the walls behind impressive plants.

“Holy crap. It’s like a trip to the Florida Keys without leaving Missouri,” she whispers. “You worked on this design?”

“My older brother, Archer, he pushed for this look,” I say, showing her around. She fingers the wicker furniture. “A taste of paradise, he calls it. He always loved my mother’s old place down there, back when she had it. She used to spend a lot of time hopping around Florida and the Caribbean when she was young.”

“Well, I love it. All this color, whoa.” We step into the master bedroom. Even the colorful bedspread catches her eye—a brightly colored woven blanket—and she opens the wooden shutters to let the sun in. “Awesome light, even in here. Your brother must’ve had the windows modified.”

“Arch insisted. He was proud of it in the end. It was one of our first acquisitions and it turned out a hell of a lot better than we imagined.”

“So, are you guys always this hands-on with design?” She glances at me expectantly.

“Not exactly. When it’s something as big as The Cardinal, or even our typical multi-unit place, we work off consensus and turn the rest over to designers. We do have a few smaller passion-projects that we handle ourselves, though.”

“Interesting strategy. I love how this turned out; it’s exotic and stunning. Archer Rory must have an eagle eye for detail.” She can’t stop smiling.

Why the hell does my blood heat?

Somehow, I get the feeling she wouldn’t be showering it with so much praise if the idea was mine.

Later, I prove my point when we head to one of my projects. It’s a modern, elegant home, and she wanders around in total silence.

“This is yours,” she says without prompting.

I stare at her, resisting the sinking urge to ask how she knows.

“That’s right,” I say. “What do you think?”

“It reminds me a little of The Cardinal’s look.” She peers out of the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the peaceful backyard. “It’s definitely nice and all.”

“How generous,” I bite off. “You called the other place stunning.”

“I did.” She clears her throat. “I mean, look—Archer’s house uses a lot of color. That stands out in a Midwestern city that loves its historic brick buildings and pretty basic neutrals for anything more modern.”

“It’s garish. Too whimsical for many,” I snarl.

“I think you mean stylish.”

“This is stylish.”

Brutal pause.

Her eyes flare with challenge.

“This is expensive, Mr. Rory,” she says firmly. “And it could really use some blinds. The sun must get blinding in the morning, and what about privacy?”

I look at the view, the fenced-in yard and old trees behind the house, and the fact that nobody could see into this room.

“Blinds would ruin the aesthetic. Clearly,” I tell her.

“But just imagine walking around this place naked.” She gestures at the almost wall-length window. “Imagine being on show like that if any neighbors looked through the fence.”

Shit.

I blink away the thought of seeing her naked like I have sand in my eyes.

However annoying she is, she’s got curves for miles, a body made to rock and fucking roll.

Otherworldly tits, and I should know because I—

No. Fuck you and your monkey brain, man.

We are not revisiting that night.

“This is an excellent neighborhood. I assure you no one goes creeping around here, peeping through windows, Miss Hopper,” I say.

“It’s not about that, though. You feel exposed here.” She shivers and turns her back firmly on the window. “I don’t like it, but maybe it’s just me.”

“You don’t like it because it’s mine.” I immediately regret those words.

Something about dealing with this woman destroys every thread of professionalism I own. I’m sure it has everything to do with the fact that we’ve slept together.

“Anyway, look, it doesn’t matter,” I say, swiping my hand to regain composure. “If you’re so desperate to strut around naked, we have a dozen other properties that would be a great fit for that. This house does solid revenue and we have no shortage of bookings.”

A blush sweeps up her face.

“I mean, I don’t—I don’t want to walk around naked,” she sputters.

Her delay amuses me. She’s adorably awkward.

I give her a tight smile.

“Then there’s nothing else to discuss here, is there? You raise an interesting point about the nudity factor. I’ll mention it in our next senior leadership meeting.”

“Oh my God, no. We weren’t discussing me walking around naked. That was just a silly joke.” She hurries to catch up with me as I lead her outside and lock up before she can rip more of my ego to shreds. “Dude, wait. Are you really going to be weird about me not liking your baby? You’re the one who made this personal.”

Slowly, I turn and look at her, hating that I love the defiance in her eyes.

“And you’re the one who brought up parading around naked. What was I supposed to think?” Anything except about her naked.

I wonder if her nipples still look the same, large and round and suckable.

Does she still moan like molten caramel when they’re trapped between a man’s teeth?

Fuck.

She looks like she can read my filthy thoughts.

But she shuts her mouth, and I think I hear her molars grinding.

With the damage done, we head back to the SUV.

A tense silence hangs over us, as smothering as the ice-cold sleet that slicks the windshield.

“Look, Miss Hopper—Salem,” I say as I pull away, desperately scraping my teeth over my tongue as I try to throw my imagination off teasing her nipples. “Why don’t you choose the radio station before our next stop?”

“You want me to pick the music?” She glances at me, a hint of disbelief crossing her face.

“Usually, I listen to podcasts or audiobooks about business when I’m short on time to read them,” I say through gritted teeth. “I thought maybe you’d like to listen to music. A simple courtesy.”

“Oh. Okay.” Her face softens.

I switch on the satellite radio and she flicks through stations, listening to a few seconds of each until settling on one she likes.

An eighties station.

Kill me now.

I’ve never been one of those people who needs to revisit the era he was born in. We get through half a song before I worry about the murder factor ruining this day after all.

That’s when Salem starts singing, cupping her hands in front of her face like she’s holding a microphone.

She croons out “Time After Time” in perfect sync to the music. Apparently, she knows this song word-for-word even though it had to be well before her time.

Murder is starting to look like the easy way out of this.

She sucks in a deep breath, ready to belt out another verse.

“I read your résumé last night,” I say loudly, cutting off her next warbled line. “You’ve had a lot of business ventures in the past.”

She drops her hands into her lap and finally—thank the fucking universe—stops singing.

“You really want to talk about my résumé?” she asks blankly.

Anything but the singing, yes.

“I was curious about your experience before you came here, aside from the three years at the motel.”

“Say what you really mean. The failed ventures, you mean.” Her tone hardens, and she turns down the music as she gives me her full attention. Somehow, that makes it worse. “That’s what really caught your eye, isn’t it?”

Shit. No. Maybe?

“I didn’t mean—”

“Well, you’re right. I have tried a lot of things and they haven’t panned out,” she whispers. “That’s one of the reasons I went for this opportunity. So maybe I could learn enough to keep a real business alive.”

I don’t dare ask if she regrets it yet as much as I do.

“What inspired you to try entrepreneurship in the first place?”

She muses for a second, tapping her finger against her pants.

She has neat, trim nails. Not manicured, but well tended. Dangerously appealing when they’re attached to nimble fingers that feel too good wrapped around my cock.

“I wanted to carve my own path,” she says finally. “Everyone I knew was going off to college and doing whatever other people wanted. But I’ve always wanted to be my own boss and forge my own path, I guess. I didn’t want to put a limit on how much money I could make, trading away my time and effort for a salary.”

I nod firmly.

“That’s the funny thing, though. I’d be making a lot more if I’d just settled with some company and climbed the corporate ladder. They don’t tell you how many businesses go bust until you live it.” She smiles sadly, staring out the windshield. “And if you put your chips on the wrong bet, you can work your face off and still wind up broke.”

That gambling reference takes me back to the casino.

She looks away quickly. I wonder if some part of her remembers, too.

“Must’ve been hard, throwing yourself into new ventures with a kid.” Especially a kid who was put on this planet to raise more hell than a nest of cobras.

“You know what’s hard?” she snaps. “Everyone assuming I’m this fragile thing who never had a fighting chance because I’m a single mom.”

“I never said—”

“Being a mom is hard, sure. Sometimes, the juggling act gets tricky. I’m sure you noticed the other day. But that doesn’t mean I can’t do it.”

“That’s not what I meant. Don’t take it so personally. I never said you couldn’t do it. Obviously, you’re still trying like hell, or we wouldn’t be stuck in traffic, driving each other goddamned bonkers.”

“Right.” Like she finally figured out maybe she didn’t need to fly off the handle at me, she takes a shaky breath. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to go off on you. I guess I just—a lot of people make assumptions, you know? I thought you were ready to give me the same lecture. Anyway, for now, I’ve got my eye on real estate.”

I do my best to nod politely.

“Actually, I’ve already cobbled together a few suggestions for enhancing The Cardinal’s look, if you’re interested.”

“Suggestions?” This time I look at her, and she shrinks back in her seat.

Fine.

If her suggestions are anything like her instincts today, I’m not sure this will work.

“Don’t you think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself? This is still your first week on the job.”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“You haven’t developed a taste for the luxury market yet.”

Her eyes narrow, but she folds her arms.

“I’m sorry I didn’t like your place. It felt stuffy and cold.”

“That’s not the issue. You’re new to this industry. You clearly have a talent for starting businesses”—and not finishing them, but that’s not the point—“but this isn’t something you can do on a whim. The shotgun approach doesn’t work here. If you want to go places, you need to do what we did when we first stepped in—observe. Listen. Think.”

She grips her seat belt with white-knuckled fingers.

“Okay,” she says quietly. “I get it. I’m sorry.”

Goddamn.

I never meant to snap at her, much less hammer down her ego.

Too bad she’s gotten on my last nerve.

Even so, I’m trying to help her. I’m acting like a mentor. I want her to understand this is a long game with tons of moving pieces, and one stumble early on in this industry can hurt you down the line.

Everyone has long memories here.

I should know.

I also can’t stand the fact that she’s been jumping around and flailing like many serial entrepreneurs. The scattershot approach usually ends in defeat, rather than stumbling on the next big thing.

I look across at her, at her set face and the hard line of her mouth under those big brown eyes.

What happened between us years ago hasn’t stayed locked up in the past like I hoped. She may not remember me, but I think the energy is there. Call it subconscious or whatever the fuck.

It’s here, right now, this ugly dynamic that has us bowing up at each other like alley cats.

That’s why I’m snapping at her. Not that she’s pissing me off. This shadow of a one-night stand I never imagined I’d relive.

Maybe we need to talk about it and drag this monster out in the open.

Goddammit, Pat, couldn’t you have just kept it in your pants for one night on that boat?

I pull up outside the office. She throws her seat belt off like she can’t get out of my sight fast enough.

“Salem, wait,” I tell her.

She hesitates, and I hate every bit of this situation as she twists back around.

“What is it? What now?” she asks sharply.

It guts me how badly I messed up. I’m supposed to be the professional mentor, the leader. Not the guy who’s losing his shit at snide remarks every five seconds she’s in the room.

“I need to ask you something,” I say. “You won’t like it, I’m not going to like it, but it needs to be done before this relationship—our professional relationship, obviously—goes any further.”

Her face pulls tighter.

She faces me with wide eyes, glistening until the flecks of gold in them shine.

I hate that I notice her eyes so much.

I shouldn’t notice fucking anything.

Sighing, I release the steering wheel with effort, trying to ignore the horror in her expression. According to her, I’m the bossman from hell.

And to make this better, first I have to make it worse.

“So here’s my question,” I tell her, locking eyes. “Were you ever on a riverboat casino?”