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

All things considered, the next couple weeks go smoothly.

Aside from the fact that I can’t get Salem’s face out of my head.

The way she looked at me after I reassured her it was a simple mistake, and we don’t have to dwell on it.

Like somehow, I’m the bad guy.

Like by saying that, I torched her feelings in a way I still don’t understand.

Like I switched off some light inside her by calling it a mistake.

Why?

Clearly, that’s all it was.

It’s not like she has any lingering attraction to me. That’s a one-way street, and I’m the clown who’s been stripping her naked with every glance, even if I’d die before I act on it a second time.

Company ink and all.

Also, I’ve been with enough women to know when they’re turned on and when they want to throw me out the window.

I just hate that she’s avoiding me.

Not totally, of course.

She’s my employee and a manager here, which makes it impossible to ghost me completely, but she does her damnedest.

Conveniently, she misses my calls, sending back the world’s shortest replies to my emails and texts. She tries like hell to pretend I don’t exist during meetings.

“Do you have any suggestions?” I ask during the review of employee logistics—the first time we’ve seen each other face-to-face for more than an hour since the car incident.

She doesn’t look me in the eye.

“I have a few,” she says. Quietly, damn her.

“You mentioned the cleaning routine was disruptive to some of our guests.”

“That’s right.” She launches into how we could handle the schedule better, given all amenities are open twenty-four seven.

I do my best to focus on what she’s saying, and not the fiery-red lipstick she’s wearing today.

Or the way the sadness seeped into her eyes when I asked if she was on that riverboat with me.

Or the brutal fact that I know what’s under her neat blue blouse.

Or hell, the fact that long after that one-night stand, I could still smell her perfume on me and dreamed about the way she purred.

The way she laughed at the table games, before I found myself inside her, haunted me for months after that night.

She’s not laughing now.

She looks like a woman who’s forgotten how.

“Another thing, I think we should consider increasing security. Maybe add one more person for the overnights,” she says as I make myself pay attention to her again.

The ice in her eyes feels so frosty it makes the forty-degree day outside feel balmy.

“We already have two security guards patrolling overnight.”

“I think we should make it three, enough to handle the rooftop bar and cover the floors every half hour.” She pauses. “You wanted input. There it is.”

She might be right. Bumping up our personnel also means better coverage for the cameras, without anyone skipping out on checking footage to finish long patrols.

“Why else?” I push back. “You must have another reason.”

I’m leaning into this mentorship thing, wanting her to make her case as tight as she can.

For a second, I think she’ll tear my throat out for hounding her, but she swallows hard.

Her throat tightens and I think she clasps hands under the table.

“This is a large building with balconies and several entrances. There are a lot of potential security risks here. Surely, our guests would feel safer with a little more security presence, and the guards wouldn’t be stretched so thin. It will also save you from any bad PR out of the gates if it stops any incidents.”

“Fair enough. And where would the money come from? This needs to work with our current budget. We’re already near our limit for security costs.”

“Well… if we streamline the cleaning schedule and make everything more efficient there, we wouldn’t need to look further.”

There’s no point in fighting it when she’s right—and we both know she is—but goddamn, I want to.

I stand up before she annoys me some more.

“Sounds like you have everything under control,” I say, proud of myself for showing a little restraint. Dex and Archer, eat your fucking hearts out. “Well done, Salem.”

“Miss Hopper,” she says. “Please call me Miss Hopper, Mr. Rory.”

My ghost of a smile dies.

What the fuck?

No matter how much she calls me Mr. Rory, I hate it.

But this is a professional environment. If she wants to keep this so rigid and stale we can hardly breathe, that’s fine and goddamned dandy.

“Miss Hopper, I read you loud and clear.” I nod at her and leave the room before I can say anything too unprofessional.

Then I spend the entire week licking my wounds. I search for something I can critique, not to reprimand her, but to teach her.

Yes, she’s whacked my inner asshole over the head and it’s hard to restrain him.

Still, there must be something she’s doing wrong—something I can improve.

That’s my role as mentor, right? To identify her weaknesses and help her obliterate them. To make her stronger, smarter, and better than anything she’d be without me.

But when I show up early in the morning, she’s already there, splitting her time between her office and walking the halls when she’s not at the front desk.

From discussing issues with Bekah to ensuring the rooftop pool and bar are ready to go by eight a.m., she’s perfectly hands-on.

There’s nothing I can fault her for with operations.

Not in good faith.

Not when she’s so damn smiley with the guests, either, putting on this picturesque welcoming smile.

She’s a human chameleon, I’m sure. Mostly because I’ve never seen her make that face with me since that night on the boat.

Obviously, it’s personal.

What else do I deserve for making it that way?

After a few more days monitoring the huge, streamlined beast that is The Cardinal, I head back to our office in Lee’s Summit.

The Cardinal is our biggest new project, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have plenty more in the works. New deals to close, established properties to check, keeping up with the company’s ever-growing portfolio.

“Hey, Archer? You in there?” I knock on his office door, which is slightly cracked open.

Weird. He’s the kind of antisocial freak who loves to shut the world out—especially his annoying little brother.

“Hey, so I was thinking—”

The door falls open and I see Arch leaning against his desk, his sleeves rolled up, and Salem on the red sofa in front of him.

Laughing like he’s the world’s greatest funny man.

Shit, even Archer is making noise.

Archer—Mr. Uptight Frowny Fuck himself—might bust a seam if he keeps laughing.

I rub my eyes.

Is this real life?

She’s known him for five seconds, and somehow, they’re both giddy.

Honest to God, I can’t remember the last time my brother smiled at anyone who isn’t named Colt, Junie—and that one was a long time coming—or Mom.

Miracles never cease, they say.

I wish like hell this one would.

“Miss Hopper,” I snap off. I check myself at the doorway because it feels like I’ve walked in on something scandalous. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Mr. Rory.” She looks at me, her laughter tapering off.

“Mr. Rory?” Archer raises an eyebrow. “Don’t you know he prefers Pat?”

Goddamned great.

Now everybody in the office is picking up on our weird-ass dynamic because Salem can’t just be normal and get over a naked mistake from years ago.

“Um, sure. I just figured we should keep it more professional since he’s the mentor and all.” She flushes.

“Doesn’t matter what I prefer,” I say stiffly. “I can come back later, if I’m interrupting.”

“No, no, I was just leaving.” Salem collects her bag as Archer looks between us with a frown. “I just came to meet the other masterminds behind the company.”

“A pleasure,” Archer tells her. “My door’s open anytime.”

Your door, Bro, is about to slam your face hard enough to bruise.

With pure stupid jealousy coursing through my veins, I hold the door for her. “I’ll walk you down to reception. It’s a big office.”

“Not that big, thanks. I remember the way.”

“Miss Hopper, I insist.” I glower at Archer, annoyed with the curious gleam in his eye as he watches us.

“Don’t go anywhere,” I tell him. “I need to discuss a few things with you.”

“Whatever, man. I’m not like you, jumping all over the city. I’ve got plenty of real work right here.” He retreats behind his desk.

Dickwad.

Isn’t that just like old Arch? Always slinging little comments that come back to bite you straight in the ass.

Usually, I’d lay into him—and remind him who pushed so hard for The Cardinal after we were up the creek when the Haute deal fell through—but not with Salem in the room, watching intently.

“Let’s move,” I growl, taking her hand and leading her back downstairs to the front desk.

She trails behind me, still clutching her purse. I don’t even realize she’s stuck to me until I feel her little nails daggering the meat of my palm.

“Ow. What the hell was that—”

“You’re my boss, not my chaperone. Hands off,” she snaps, shaking her head until her dark hair flops. I smell something like cinnamon drifting off her. “Are you that angry? That I went to see the nicer brother?”

The nicer brother?

The guy whose idea of a lively Friday night is watching CNBC and taking his kid bowling once in a blue moon?

Fuck!

No one who knows anything about Archer Rory considers him the nice one. He’s the sensible one, the boring one, the restrained one. The petrified piece of wood you trot out when you want to intimidate someone like you’re holding a club.

Shit, if there was a ‘nice guy’ competition, he’d lose the game by a mile.

My nostrils flare.

“I’m not angry,” I lie. “I just didn’t expect you to be here, that’s all.”

“Uh-huh. I figured if I was going to be a real part of this organization, I needed to know everyone I’ll be working with. Not just my ‘mentor.’”

The sharpness in her voice could poke a man’s eye out.

“You won’t be working with Archer much. Not directly,” I bite off. “The Cardinal’s launch and daily operations are my responsibility.”

She glares at me with eyes that hold the same intrigue Archer’s did, although her gaze is less friendly.

I guess a few days apart haven’t stopped her from wishing I’d drop dead.

“You took me around to see your other properties my first week here,” she says. “Doesn’t it make sense I should meet your brothers, too?”

It does make sense, I’m sorry to say.

Usually, it wouldn’t bother me, but Archer has never been the nice one. Not when I’m around.

Hell, even when I’m not.

“Look, you’ve got this wrong. I said I wasn’t mad,” I say through gritted teeth.

Amazing. I’ve only known her for a few weeks, but I seem to be talking through my teeth every time we’re together. She’s definitely winning at keeping her tongue in check.

Shit.

What happened to the fun, carefree girl I met what feels like a lifetime ago?© NôvelDrama.Org - All rights reserved.

Has life ground her down that much?

“You say one thing, but your face says another.” We finally reach the reception desk before she turns to face me. “I can find my way out from here, Mr. Rory.”

“Salem, I expect you in this office nice and early tomorrow. Butt in the chair. We have some issues to discuss,” I say, knowing she’s been early every day this week, and just ordering her to be on time makes me a king-sized asshole.

There’s derision in her face as she lifts her chin.

“Okay, bossman. Thanks for the advice. Ciao.” Her voice drips sarcasm as she stalks away, her hair swinging behind her.

For God’s sake, you prick.

Archer waits in his office when I return, glowering at his computer screen. Even though he doesn’t say one word, I know exactly what he’s thinking.

“Don’t go there,” I say, throwing myself into the seat.

“She’s pretty.” He looks at me.

“You were the one smiling at her like an idiot.”

“Yeah, I’ve been keeping an eye on the situation and reading your reports.” He brings up said reports with a single deafening click. I’ve been making them as I go, determined to do her justice as a capable manager while noting room for improvements.

It’s never a surprise that Archer has been keeping track.

He always likes to feel like he’s the one in charge while Dexter and I are just along for the ride, even when we all agreed I should be in charge.

“Nice to know you trust me to do a good job,” I say sarcastically.

“She’s gotten to you that much? Man, that’s fucked.” Now his eyebrows rise. “I didn’t think having someone do their job would get under your skin.”

“She hasn’t gotten under my damn skin.”

“Right.” He leaves his papers to one side. “She’s doing well from what I can see. Going above and beyond with her suggestions and the research summaries attached. That’s the kind of attitude we should reward in management.”

“I didn’t come here to talk about Salem,” I snarl.

“Salem, huh? Don’t you mean Miss Hopper?”

“Goddammit, Arch, there’s no need to be a face-slapping cock.” That’s the way we relate to each other, though, by pissing each other off to breaking point. Then sanity steps in when we need it. “I came by to talk about our expansion prospects. I need an update about the second quarter.”

“You mean the ones I’m overseeing?”

I give him a pained smile. “Guess we’re both in the same boat, huh?”

He sighs and leans back in his chair, though there’s a gleam of appreciation in his eyes.

He knows how to be fair when it comes to this shit, I’ll give him that much.

Accountability is always serious business in this company.

That’s the Rory way, and we all play our part.

“Now that you’ve put your attitude away, let’s talk like adults,” he says.

I spend the rest of the week walled off in my office, only dropping by The Cardinal to make sure it’s running smoothly.

It always is.

I’m annoyingly satisfied to see just how well Salem takes to this management role like a duck to water. It’s even more undeniable now that we have real guests booking stays and bringing in revenue.

Throwing up distance doesn’t evict her from my head any faster. Though I keep my cool when she’s around, I’m dreaming of the distant day when I can move the fuck on without her dragging on my mind.

Especially without the memory of everything we did years ago, when we could share the same oxygen and not want to throw shit at each other.

For three entire days, I don’t see her.

She doesn’t intrude on my space, and when I drop into The Cardinal to see the latest progress, she’s conveniently busy.

If she doesn’t want my intrusion, fine. I’m happy to beat it back to Lee’s Summit and work in my own office again.

My stomach churns at the horrid thought that I might be more bothered by that than her.

And I’m just thinking maybe we’ll get through this mentorship sham without having to spend a ton of real time together when there’s a knock on my door.

“Mr. Rory?” Salem pokes her head through.

The neat bun she’s been sporting most mornings hangs loose now, sending dark curls dancing around her face. “I’m sorry to disturb you, if this is a bad time—”

“Come in.”

Out of habit, I glance at the clock. It’s past seven p.m. already.

What’s she doing here so late?

Normal folks with lives and families are home and fed by now. I’m stunned she isn’t with her son.

Then I see the little boy standing behind her with an evil gleam in his eyes like I’m the prick who’s keeping them from dinner.

“Miss Hopper. Hopper Junior.” I stand, hoping my disappointment doesn’t show in my face. “What brings you by so late?”

“I just wanted to grab some marketing books Dexter recommended. I’m trying to get better at copywriting,” she says. “He said you had them in here, like your own shared library. I guess I was surprised.”

Yeah, that’s what I get for having an office with custom shelves since my cheap-ass brothers skimped on furniture when we set up the place.

And what the hell? When did she meet my other lame brother? I thought I was the mentor?

Not that I’ve been doing much mentoring.

“I have a lot of books. I do know how to read,” I grumble, wondering why I didn’t notice the winter draft seeping in through the walls until now. “Have a look and take whatever you want.”

“Thanks!”

She darts past me, looking as tired as I’d expect after a full workweek with a kid who’s—a fucking handful, that’s for sure.

Probably like a handful of angry scorpions.

I lean against the desk and watch her. My eyes follow her as she scans the shelves, her little fingers running over the spines of the books as she takes in the titles.

Watch her hands, you idiot. Eyes off her ass.

Easier said than done.

Then little Arlo runs up and kicks me in the shin.

Not hard—he’s a kid, thankfully—but it’s jolting enough to shock me out of my stupor.

“Don’t look at my mom like that!” he shouts.

“Like what?” I ask before I can help myself. Bad question.

“Like you wanna eat her. Like a shark!” He tries to kick me again, but Salem runs over and starts dragging him backward, her hair flying as she grabs him.

“Arlo! That’s no way to behave. I know you’ve been reading your Animal World books,” she tells him in a whisper, “but you can’t go around calling people animals, all right? And you definitely can’t kick people. Do it again, and you’re grounded. Remember what Mr. Lee said in karate? Self-defense only.”

She signed this little punk up for martial arts? What the hell?

He sticks his bottom lip out and glowers at me again.

Right back at you, munchkin.

Shit, if he carries on like this in life, he may need all the self-defense lessons he can get. And where is the boy’s father, anyway?

I hope he’s not ghosting him, making the kid act out.

Nothing screams bigger chickenshit coward than a man who abandons his own son and lets him turn into a brat with a chip on his shoulder bigger than a redwood.

“I am so, so sorry, Mr. Rory. Arlo, he’s still working on his discipline with practicing his karate moves. Not his strongest point,” Salem says, straightening her back and looking at me. No, not quite at me—her gaze lands on the wall just past me, like she can’t bear to look me in the face. “He’s been taking lessons for a while. I guess he got a little overexcited. When we get home, we’re going to work on talking about our feelings, rather than taking them out on strangers.”

“Am I a stranger now?” I growl. “Is that why he kicked me?”

Her face heats. “Um… he thinks self-defense means defending other people, I think. He’s really good for his age, so his teacher moved him up to yellow belt with some of the older kids. But I think sometimes the verbal lessons go over his head.”

“Do not!” Arlo stamps his foot impetuously.

Christ, I hope he has a dad to steer him right. I’m so not the man who’s programmed for situations like this.

“Arlo, enough.” She looks at me. “I’ll talk to him. I promise you I’m not the world’s worst mom.”

“Hardly. You’re managing him as well as you can, I’d say.” I glare at the kid as she turns her back. “Never mind karate, though. He needs anger management,” I mutter under my breath.

“You could use a refresher, too,” she whispers as I head back behind my desk—the farthest away from her demon imp as I can get.

I’ll ignore that comment this time.

“Did you find your books?” I ask, hearing the ice in my voice but not caring. “Take whatever you need. I want to lock up and get out of here sometime tonight.”

“Don’t you have staff for that?”

I raise my eyebrows. “My staff don’t stay late just because I do. Only the owners pull insane hours.”

I stand up and turn to the shelves, looking over our small marketing section.

“Here, this one’s a banger. Dex and Archer will agree. We all read The Millionaire Beast Within a few months apart. Not long before we started cobbling together Higher Ends.” I pass her the book.

She looks at the cover and eyeballs it skeptically.

“Thanks, but… I was kinda looking for something more serious on copywriting.”

“I see two books on that in your hands.” I nod at them. “Don’t let the lambo on the cover scare you. The author, Denny Falco, he’s a flashy dude who loves his fancy cars and gold. But he’s giving you a master class in motivation and basic business theory.” I pause, wondering if I should tell her why I really picked the book. “It helped me, Dex, and Archer. I think you’ll find some value. Did you know he was a single dad with twins when he flipped his limo lead business for eight figures?”

Her face relaxes and she turns it over in her hands, skimming the backside.

“Okay, sold. I’ll try not to judge it by the cover.”

“Hell, if the cover matched the content, I never would’ve made it past the first chapter.” I smile. “Give me your book report when you’re done.”

She laughs.

“Sure. Y’know, for a second I was amazed that you do read—and that you decided to be nice. Emphasis on past tense.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Arlo’s loud yawn grabs my attention. “Looks like you’ve got some reading to do yourself after someone’s down for bed. Looks like he’s ready.”

“Am not.” The kid yawns again, clapping his little hands over his mouth.

“Thanks, Patton. You’re okay at this mentoring thing sometimes.”

She shows herself out, flashing a quick smile over her shoulder.

Goddamn.

Every time I start to wonder how drunk I was to have ever had a hot night with this hellcat, she goes and reminds me why.

One more nuisance thought I don’t need in my brain.

Just like the hard-on from Hades I have to sit down to hide.