Let’s Fall In Love

Chapter One-1

Chapter One

Dominic Keane felt time in his bones. He wore a watch, but he didn’t need to. And because she knew this, his PA was never late. Today she was cutting it closer than was typical. In the nine months since he’d hired Lexie Weyland, she’d ticked every box on his perfect list. Unflappable, organized, phenomenal memory for details, right amount of charm when dealing with business associates, and she’d managed to not fall in love with him.

How could he know that perfect was overrated until he got it?

Or that he didn’t actually prefer blonds?

That she was the PA he’d want to get personal with?

He’d demanded an impersonal personal assistant and that’s what she gave him. Morning. Noon. He sighed. And night. Around the office, they called her Ice Princess.

It was a problem, s****l harassment law being what it was. If he really believed her—but it was too perfect. No woman with hair that red could be that cold. And his gut told him there was something there. He didn’t fool himself that he was irresistible. Guys and girls clicked or they didn’t. He heard the click. Knew she had, too. He’d seen the pulse throb at her neck. The flare of her nostrils. Her pupils betrayed her, too. He should never have warned her about getting personal. She was one stubborn woman.

He’d inch close. She’d step away. He’d bet on himself, but he had a feeling in his gut that time was running out. Not sure what, but he always trusted his gut. It was never wrong.

Nic had picked his seat so he could watch the door, so he could watch her arrive. He liked watching her. And he’d learned to pay attention to her. He’d let her fool him in that first interview, had missed the grace, the glorious red of her hair, and eyes that were too purple to be real. Only they were. She didn’t wear contacts. He’d gotten close enough to find that out. Once. How had she tricked him? It’s not like she wore a wig to the interview. He’d thought her mousy. Mousy? Give him enough time and he’d figure it out. So she could never do it to him again.

A huddle of people parted near the entrance and there she was. She paused, her gaze sweeping the room, looking for him. Black, she always wore black. Didn’t she realize it set her hair on fire? Made her eyes deeper and more vibrant? He waited for her to find him. The pause was so slight, if he hadn’t been watching for it, he’d have missed it. If she’d been close, he’d have seen her pulse ramp up.

Yeah, she wasn’t indifferent. He just had to find a way to break through the ice—

“Baby girl?” The voice was male, a bit plummy, and it carried across the room, cutting through the chatter like a fancy knife.

She halted with a jerk, the ice falling away from her like a calving glacier.

“Oz?”

Pure delight in her voice and expression. Her smile stole the breath from his chest. If she looked at him like that—who was getting the smile? Before pissed could get a foothold, a figure as plumy as the voice stood up. He was at least fifty. The tightness in his chest eased.

“When did you get back?” she asked, stepping into the outstretched arms, hers sliding around his neck, so she could press a kiss to his cheek.

The guy was no threat, but Nic resented the kiss. Time to join the party. He tossed down his napkin and headed for them.

“Last night,” he said, returning the salute. “The boy toy picked me up.”

Another man rose, only slightly younger than this Oz character.

Lexie laughed, the infectious sound sliding down his spine.

“Martin.” Lexie hugged him. “You still putting up with him, I see.”

Martin’s shrug was rueful. Lexie gave Oz a reproachful look, but before she could speak, he said, “I was going to call you, but Lucas said not to while you’re working. Said it pisses off your ogre.”

A swiftly suppressed chuckle and a quick look over her shoulder. Her eyes widened as Nic joined them. Both men eyed him with considering appreciation.

“Very nice,” Oz said, after a pause.

Her color heightened, Lexie performed introductions. “Hector Ozland. Dominic Keane, my employer.”

Did Ozland’s eyes widen? Why?

“Keane…well…” Ozland appeared more amused than worried. Then he grinned. “He can be my ogre anytime he wants to, baby girl. Is he…?”

Lexie shook her head, careful not to look at Nic.

“Pity.” Then, with a big smile, he waved a hand. “Let me look at you.”

Lexie obediently spun in a slow circle. It was clear that delight in the unexpected meeting trumped anything else. Nic intended to exploit the opening before she had time to chill again.

“Ice Maiden. A new look for you, but I like. If I was a man…”

Lexie laugh again. “Oz…”

Nic decided he could get addicted to her laugh.

Oz grinned. “Ah, well, you know what I mean.”

“I’ve missed you.” Lexie’s arms slid around Oz’s neck again, her cheek settling against his with clear affection, and Nic found he could be jealous of a gay man.

“I hear you are missing more than me, baby girl,” Oz said, his expression sly.

Nic almost frowned when Lexie stiffened.

“I’m not missing anything but you, Oz dear.”

Ozland’s gaze was shrewd. After a pause he asked, “How is your mother?”

“She’s…good.”

Nic could tell Oz wanted to ask more, but Lexie must have given him some kind of warning. His gaze tracked to Nic, then back to Lexie.

After another pause, he said, “Well, Friday should be…fascinating.” He lifted his hand, miming a phone call. “Later, baby girl?”

“You are so bad,” Lexie’s tracked past Nic. “Looks like Mr. Stevens has arrived.”

“Nice to meet you, Ozland,” Nic said. “I’ll see you Friday.”

Lexie jerked but kept walking. He caught up with her and said, “So where are we going Friday?”

She stopped, trying to reassemble the ice. He shook his head, a warning in his eyes, despite a slight grin. Her lips thinned for a few seconds.

“I thought you didn’t do opening nights.”

He arched a brow.

“It’s Complicated. A romantic comedy.”

Almost he stiffened. She was right. He didn’t do opening nights. Really didn’t do romantic comedies. His mother had an issue with both. His father hadn’t left over the actress, but it had been a near thing. He hesitated. Felt Lexie’s satisfaction, felt her begin her retreat.

“It sounds fun.” It didn’t, but he could keep his head down, avoid the cameras. Usually the paparazzi didn’t stalk him. He was too boring. His mother would never know.

Lexie’s lashes flicked down, lingered a bit, then lifted. “Okay.”

Why did it feel like she’d added, “It’s your funeral.”

Thank you, Oz.

He’d managed to undo nine months of impersonal. And it had only taken him, she checked her watch, less than five minutes. Luckily Nic had had to refocus on business—which always came first. She’d reminded herself of this fact every time his burning gaze had threatened to melt her carefully maintained facade. She just wished she knew why Nic tried. He’d been beyond firm when he interviewed her nine months ago.

“You get personal, you’re gone.”

She’d known going in that he was a tough gig, so she’d dressed the part. Tamped it down to dowdy. It had worked to get her the job, but dowdy was hard to maintain long term. Inevitable that it leaked away. And Nic had noticed. It wasn’t a surprise he noticed. That he cared? Yeah, that had surprised. He hadn’t chased her around the desk. He was too classy—and business-like—for that. Nevertheless, Lexie had felt his growing—something. She’d told herself it was her imagination, told herself not to read anything into it just because Nic was the stuff of any girl’s dreams. She wanted to believe she was different from the others who’d fallen for him, but she was too smart for that. Sure, Lexie had been tempted. She was human, but until today, the ice maiden act had protected her. Now it was gone. What would Nic do? What did she want him to do? Her deal with her dad was for a year away from the family business. She had three months left. She wanted to spend them with Nic—working for Nic. She liked working for Nic. Didn’t think about getting personal with him because that was off the table. Only now they had a—what? What was Friday night? Besides the opening night she’d never seen or heard of him doing? It was on the list of things Nic didn’t do. He didn’t do theater much at all and never did opening nights. She’d have liked to worry at the problem, but Nic had put on his game face. His PA could do no less.

Long lunch. Longer afternoon that bled into evening. That wasn’t unusual. The simmering sense of things not said was unusual. When even Nic finally ran out of steam, he leaned back in his chair and rubbed his face. Then looked at her and in a blink business Nic was gone.

“What time?”

Lexie blinked. Nic never asked the time. He had a built-in clock in his brain. But she dutifully looked at her watch. “Seven—”

“On Friday.”

She swallowed to ease the sudden dryness of her throat. “I usually try to get there early, before all the…hoopla starts.”

There were questions in his gaze. There was also relief. Was that why he didn’t like opening night? He wasn’t shy, but he didn’t seek out mentions on the social pages. He could have. He had the family background. His parents were a big deal in Boston. It was easier to lower the profile in New York. The competition for “big deal” was crowded.

“And what time would that be?”

“Six…thirty?” She usually aimed for six, filled in the time backstage. But she couldn’t take Nic backstage. It would put him on the family’s radar. If Oz didn’t do that for them. Just thinking about Nic in the same room with her family almost made her shudder. Hello, Titanic, meet iceberg.

She saw him do the mental calculations. He named a time that would deliver them to the theater precisely at six thirty.

Lexie found herself falling back into ice princess as she bid him good night. His gaze sparked, but he let her get away with it. And leave. Felt his gaze on her back until the door closed between them.

She leaned against it, needing a moment. Oz had peeled back the curtain on a new act, but she didn’t know her lines. Or her part. From what she could tell from her nine months in Nic’s employ, the few women he’d dated had been walk-on parts. It was a bad time to realize she would like to be the romantic lead…

Nic felt the change in his apartment as soon as he pushed open the door. It didn’t take the sight of his mother’s handbag sitting on the hall table or her heavy scent hanging in the air. His mother had a way of making her presence felt. He hesitated, sighed, then tossed his keys onto the table next to her bag and strode into the living room. He’d have preferred a quiet night to consider what he’d learned today about his elusive PA. He’d have preferred not to come under his mother’s piercing gaze until he’d figured out how he felt about it and what he intended to do.

He had no desire to lose his perfect PA because he wanted to get personal. He had an uneasy feeling she was a woman a man would find hard to walk away from if he managed to get close to her. If he backed off now, he’d never get a second chance. Already she was rebuilding her defenses. He couldn’t blame her. His reputation with women was undeserved, but he’d done nothing to set the record straight. It suited him, helped keep at bay the women looking for an easy meal ticket. It was less effective at keeping his mother at bay.

He knew why she was here, what she wanted. She wouldn’t get it. His mother knew it, too, but she’d never admitted defeat without exhausting all efforts. His dad called her a pessimistic optimist. It was a good description of a woman who expected the worst while demanding the best.

He paused in the doorway, relieved to find her on her cell phone, standing with her back to the doorway. He doubted she noticed the view, even though it was one of the best in New York. You couldn’t micromanage a view.

At sixty, Harriet Keane was still a beautiful woman. Gray had started to filter into her brown hair and fine lines traced out from her eyes. Not laugh lines and not exactly frown lines. Stern lines, he decided. She’d never had a sense of humor. He wondered—not for the first time—what brought his parents together. Chalk and cheese had more in common. Still, nine months around Lexie had taught him that appearances could deceive. Maybe that was the answer. His mother was a private person, despite her very public life. He loved her, could admire her. She’d weathered his father’s lapse in judgement, kept it together, but he wouldn’t let love, pity or admiration guilt him into marriage with anyone.