“Evidently, she’s unaware of that restriction. She was quite perturbed to be kept waiting. I believe my ears are still burning.”
What a disaster. We haven’t even drawn up the prenuptial agreement. “No. I’ll deal with her. You can go, Fordham.”
“With all my heart, I thank you.” As Fordham fled the room, Bran’s traitorous friends howled their laughter.
“I’m guessing you weren’t quite prepared to live together,” Finn remarked, the direction of his voice rising as he stood. “That’s what you get when you sleep with a woman. Of course she expects to move in once you’re engaged.”
“We aren’t sleeping together.”
“Sure, you aren’t,” Finn said, with unwelcome sarcasm.
“We aren’t. At least, not anymore.” Bran’s head throbbed, as he tried to explain the complicated relationship. “It only happened once.”
Bran flinched as a hand clasped his shoulder.
“Good luck, Bran,” said Finn. “We’ll see you at lunch, if you’re still alive.”
“Where’re you going?” Bran demanded. “You can’t leave me at a time like this.”
He heard the other chairs creaking and scraping and retreating footsteps. Cole’s voice answered from the kitchen door, “I’m off to your workout room. Gotta burn some calories after scarfing all those cinnamon rolls. Later, bro.”
The door clicked shut, muffling the laughter and leaving him alone with his scrambled thoughts. With hardened resolve, he pushed away from the table and strode out, down the hallway to face his formidable fiancée.
What have I gotten myself into?
CHAPTER 3
“This place looks like a country club. Or maybe a resort.” Laurie’s eyes bugged out of her head. “I can’t believe we’re actually going to live here.”
Stephanie glanced around with fresh eyes, taking in the polished marble floors of the entrance pavilion, with an ornate carved ceiling and rich furnishings. She remembered her own awe at her initial visit, the day she came for her interview. When she received the phone call to set up the meeting, she’d almost accused the caller of making a mistake. She’d only applied out of desperation, thinking she had nothing to lose. In her wildest dreams, she hadn’t thought she would actually get an interview, much less a job offer, especially since the position called for a master’s degree, and she lacked six hours of completing hers.
Steph had never heard of Branson Knight, though practically everyone on the planet knew about Phantom Enterprises. No one had warned her that her potential boss was blind. For the first part of the interview, he seemed to look right at her with those intense blue eyes, and she’d had no idea he couldn’t see. What she did know was he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. The moment he strolled into the room, the temperature rose about ten degrees, and she found herself fingering her top button, wishing she could pull her blouse out and back to fan herself.
With her attraction pushed to the back burner in light of how much she needed this job, she’d swallowed hard and concentrated on presenting herself in the best possible light. She still remembered how her heart had pounded with confusion and anger as he’d explained her duties would include arriving early to lay out his wardrobe for the day. She should’ve kept her mouth shut, but she barked her disapproval at the assumed insult to women, knowing she could never work with a chauvinist, no matter what the pay.
“I thought you were interested in my brain, Mr. Knight. But I suppose, because I’m female, you think I should perform these menial tasks.”
She sprang to her feet, ready to march out, but he rose with her, unperturbed by her outburst.
“Your gender has nothing to do with this. I need a personal assistant to help me with all the chores I find difficult to complete on my own. They aren’t menial to me. Since I’m fully blind, choosing my wardrobe is one of those tasks. But if it’s above your station—”
“You’re blind?” She stared at him in disbelief. The lighting was dim, but there was no way this man was totally sightless. She would’ve seen it in his mannerisms. She barked her accusation. “You walked straight to your desk and sat down. And you’ve been looking right at me this whole time.”
“That may be so, but it doesn’t change the fact I’m blind.” One corner of his mouth twitched, as if he might be on the verge of a smile.
“Prove it.”
His supposedly-sightless eyes opened wide. “I… uhhh…. Ms. Caldwell, you’ve actually shocked me beyond speech. I’ve never been asked to prove I can’t see, and I’m not sure how to go about it. I don’t suppose owning a white cane would do it for you.”
He popped up, moved unerringly to the open door and pushed it closed, revealing two white canes propped behind it.
“Anyone could own a white cane.” She left her chair and stomped over to stand directly in front of him, her hands on her hips. “You could have low vision or something. You can’t be totally blind.”
Still confident, she lifted her right hand and wriggled her fingers silently in the air, her stomach knotting when his eyes didn’t follow the movement. She repeated it with her left hand, but his gaze never wavered.
“There’s one sure way I can prove it,” Branson said, “though most people can’t stomach it if I remove my prosthetic eyes.”
“No, that won’t be necessary.” Heat rushed to her face as she realized what a fool she’d been. And a rude one, at that. What kind of person makes a blind man prove he’s blind? She choked out, “I’m so sorry, Mr. Knight. I’m not usually so insensitive. Thank you for your time.”
She scurried back to her chair, intending to snatch her purse and escape before her cheeks burst into flames.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his gaze somehow following her as he stepped in front of the door, barring her exit.
“I can’t apologize enough. I’m really sorry.” She scrambled, trying to squeeze past him, but his well-muscled, six-foot-two form wouldn’t budge. Stepping back she put her hands on her hips and scowled, only to remember her expressions had no effect on the man. His piercing blue eyes, though apparently artificial, somehow penetrated into the depths of her soul, leaving her vulnerable. Every flaw, every thought, every insecurity was laid bare for his leisurely inspection.
His lips curved upward. “Why are you leaving? Do my prosthetic eyes make you that uncomfortable?”
“No, but it’s not too comfy having my foot in my mouth.”
“And that’s the only thing bothering you?” His arms folded over his chest, muscles rippling under the fabric.
“Yes.” It was a small lie. She couldn’t tell him how her throat went dry imagining how it would feel if his arms were wrapped around her instead of wastefully crossed over his chest.
And then it happened. His hand touched her bare elbow and sent a chilled ripple in every direction. When she jerked her arm away, his hand found the small of her back, a gentle pressure guiding her back to the interview chair. She sat stiff, like a rod was planted in her spine, while he leaned against the desk in front of her. She kept her gaze down, using a critical inspection of what must be her first close-up sighting of designer leather shoes to distract her from his magnetism.
“When could you start, Ms. Caldwell?”
