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Synopsis
A strait-laced businessman is ready to take a risk on love in this holiday romance “ that will tug hard at the heartstrings” ( Publishers Weekly). As the eldest son of the illustrious Harrison clan, Charles Harrison III has always done the right thing. With his family’s legacy to uphold, he can’t afford a scandal, even if temptation is living right under his roof. After a very public divorce, Charles is sure an affair with his bewitching nanny would bring his family even more infamy. And yet, he can’t resist the alluring Lisette. . . With her usually reserved boss sending her heated looks, Lisette Gardner is in a bind. The nurturing nanny has always loved the eldest Harrison from a distance. But coming from a vastly different world, with a painful past that still haunts her, Lisette is determined to resist her own desires. Letting their guard down after Charles’s 40th birthday feels risky, but with Christmas coming up, perhaps their deep connection is strong enough to be the gift that keeps on giving.
Release date: September 27, 2016
Publisher: Zebra Books
Print pages: 352
* BingeBooks earns revenue from qualifying purchases as an Amazon Associate as well as from other retail partners.
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'Tis the Season
Jennifer Gracen
The last thing in the world Charles Harrison III wanted was a big party for his fortieth birthday, but it wasn’t like he’d had much choice in the matter. His sister Tess had told him that she wanted to have a little family get-together for his upcoming birthday, and he’d agreed to let her. But when he’d showed up at the Kingston Point Yacht Club, the “little family get-together” was actually a huge surprise party, with more than two hundred relatives, friends, and business associates crowded into the largest ballroom.
He truly appreciated Tess’s efforts and intentions . . . but Jesus Christ, he did not want to celebrate his big milestone birthday. He’d been swatting away flashes of uneasy angst about it for weeks.
Even now, nursing the one scotch he allowed himself at public gatherings, he looked around the packed room and couldn’t shake the feeling that had gripped him recently with a vengeance: the sense that something was missing.
“Tripp!” His father’s steely voice boomed from a few feet away. Only his father and his father’s old friends still called him that. Charles turned to see his father waving him over to where his father stood with four older men, all equally distinguished and polished. A pack of sharks, Charles thought fleetingly as he made his way to them. His father, Charles Roger Harrison II, didn’t have friends; he had business cronies. It was hard to keep friends when you were a multibillionaire in charge of an international conglomerate, and heir to a family legacy of four generations. Hard to trust anyone, and hard to know if you were genuinely liked. Charles knew that better than anyone, because it held true for him as well.
“Still can’t believe my oldest is forty years old,” Charles II said, giving his son a hearty slap on the back. “Especially when I’m still only thirty-nine.”
The other men laughed as Charles commented, “Ah now, Dad, you don’t look a day over thirty-eight.”
“Atta boy.” The patriarch tapped his glass of scotch to his son’s. “Listen. We were just discussing the Benson Industries merger. I was thinking—”
“Do we have to discuss this now?” Charles asked, a stab of annoyance piercing him. “It’s my birthday. Tonight, I’m off the clock.”
“You’re never off the clock, Tripp.” Charles II’s voice was light, but his gray eyes glinted like blades. “You’re COO of Harrison Enterprises. Sun never sets on our empire. Want to keep it that way, you’re never off the clock. God knows I’ve never been. Now”—he held his son’s gaze for a long beat—“about the merger.”
Charles bit back a sigh and let his father continue. At times like this, Charles wished he allowed himself more than one drink at a party. But the heir to the throne had to be in control and proficient at all times. Above reproach. There was no room to ever be even slightly drunk in public, or to be drunk enough to be gossiped about negatively, or to be off the clock, or to just . . . be.
His entire life, since childhood, Charles hadn’t been able to think about much of anything but his place in the family company. As his father droned on about business in the middle of what was supposed to be a party, Charles longed for the ability to just walk away. Of course, he never would. He’d been too well trained. Groomed to be proper, reputable, capable, sophisticated, and most important, to be the shining example of the next generation of Harrisons. From the day he was born.
Charles took a long sip of his scotch as his father’s associates launched into the pros and cons of the merger. He gazed at his father’s face, the wrinkles and deep frown lines etched into his skin, and thought, Forty years down . . . forty or so to go.
Lisette Gardner sat quietly at the round table in the corner with the three kids, who were all completely consumed by their handheld electronic devices. Being the live-in nanny to Charles Harrison III’s children was a full-time, arduous task, but she truly loved her job. She glanced at each of them, their dark heads bowed over their games. They were often difficult, but she understood why and had tried to be a source of warmth for them since her first day on the job.
The oldest was feisty Ava, nine going on nineteen, her tongue already as sharp as a teenager’s; then sullen Thomas, who already at seven and a half barely swallowed his resentment every day; and little Myles, just turned six a few weeks before, who was rambunctious, but as sweet as they came. They were never boring, that was for sure. Myles was the friendliest of the children—probably because he had only been eighteen months old when his parents had divorced and his mother had moved across the country, so he’d never known a different life. The other two remembered what it was like to have their mother in their lives, and felt the absence more keenly.
Lisette reached over to run her hand over Myles’s dark, wavy hair, and he looked up from his game for two seconds to flash a smile. She smiled back before his eyes went back down to the screen. He was the most affectionate, but really, she adored all three. In her almost two years with the kids, she’d watched them grow, and had grown to care for them so deeply she sometimes felt like they were hers. Which was understandable, since she was with them day in, day out, five or six days a week. Caring for the Harrison children was her whole life. And she was fine with that.
“I’m bored,” Thomas grumbled without even looking up from his tablet.
“Me too,” Ava said. “Why do we have to be here?” Her bright blue eyes, so like her father’s, regarded Lisette with irritation. “It’s not like Dad even cares we’re here.”
“Of course he does,” Lisette said. “Don’t say that.”
“He hasn’t come over to see us since we got here,” Thomas said. “Not once.”
“I want cookies,” Myles said, and yawned.
Lisette glanced at her watch. It was almost nine, and even though it was a Saturday, it was the kids’ bedtime. “It’s too late for cookies, sweetheart,” she said. If they were home, they’d be doing the nightly routine for bed right then. “You know what? Let me talk to your father. It is your bedtime . . .”
“I want to go home,” Thomas said.
“Me too,” Ava said. “This party’s boring. It’s for grownups. We’re just . . . on display.”
Lisette marveled at how astute the nine-year-old girl was. In this instance, it was sad. “I’ll be right back,” she said, rising to stand. “You guys stay here, okay? Be good.”
“Okay, Set.” Myles singsonged the nickname he used for her.
She smoothed out her dress and scanned the crowd, searching for her employer. Among the guests, she spotted the always charming middle Harrison brother, Dane, holding court near the bar with his arm around his sexy wife, Julia. Next to them were the youngest brother, Pierce, and his girlfriend, Abby. Lisette had gotten to know Pierce and Abby well, and she liked them. They came over once a week to see the kids, taking them out to the movies or the park, anywhere that was fun. The kids adored their lively uncle and always looked forward to his visits.
Ah. There was Charles, across the room by the large floor-to-ceiling windows, talking with a group of men that included the Harrison patriarch. Talking business no doubt, she thought, as she started to weave her way through the crowd in her boss’s direction.
She found Charles fascinating. He always carried himself with such focus, attentive as a hawk to everything around him. For the most part he was a serious man, exuding intelligence, confidence, and quiet power. His manners were impeccable, and his poise and composure were renowned. But as Lisette had grown to know him, she’d seen glimpses of the humor and warmth he hid from the world and stuffed down inside. At home, alone with his children, was the only time she saw him smile freely or heard him laugh. And even then, it wasn’t often enough.
Now, Charles smiled mildly at something his father said, but she could see the smile didn’t reach his eyes. He wasn’t enjoying himself, which was a shame, considering he was the guest of honor. And a very handsome guest of honor, at that. His face, all angles and strong lines, was a study in masculine beauty. At his temples there were already a few glints of silver in his wavy dark hair, proof of his stressful career. There was an urbane sophistication about him; he’d been born to that. Tall, lean, broad-shouldered, his build was flattered by the lines of his navy suit, and his pale blue shirt set off his bright blue eyes. Instead of his black-rimmed glasses, he’d opted for contact lenses tonight, showcasing those captivating eyes, which locked on her now as she approached. Her heart gave a tiny flutter, as it often did when he focused on her.
Before she could even speak, Charles’s brow furrowed with concern. “Is everything all right with the kids?”
“Fine,” she assured him quickly. Her voice always felt softer, smaller in her throat when she spoke to him, but especially in front of others. The other men, all in their sixties, were either ignoring her or studying her. She cleared her throat and said, “But they’re getting tired. It is their usual bedtime. I was wondering if you’d mind if I took them home.”
“Is it?” Charles flicked a quick glance at his Rolex. “Damn, you’re right. Of course, take them home. They’re probably bored anyway. I’ll catch a ride with Tess.”
She smiled demurely, grateful for his understanding.
“Hell no!” Charles’s father said with disdain. “They’re Harrisons. It’s your birthday. They should be here. They have their video games; they’ll be fine.”
Biting the inside of her cheek to keep quiet, Lisette just stared. That man proved over and over that he was the coldest, most selfish bastard she’d ever met. How someone as wonderful as Charles had come from someone as horrid as his father, she’d never know.
Charles turned to glare at his father. “Dad. They’re young children. They’re bored, and they’re tired. They’ve been here long enough. Now they’re going home.”
Charles II just snorted, rolled his eyes, and looked around at his cronies, his expression condescending as he shrugged. “Pandering to children. I thought you were smarter than that.”
Feeling his blood pressure rise, Charles reined in his temper as he replied evenly, “I’m smart enough to know what young kids need and to respect that. Excuse us.” He turned his back on the group of men, grasping Lisette gently by the elbow and walking away with her.
“He’s such an ass,” Charles muttered.
Lisette only nodded in response.
“Thank you for finding me on this,” Charles continued. “I didn’t realize what time it was. Also, you got me away from that pack of wolves. I owe you.”
Lisette finally cracked a tiny grin. “Didn’t know I was on a rescue mission.”
“I should have sent up smoke signals.” He grinned back and looked down at her, stopping a few feet from the kids’ table. “I hope you got something to eat here? The food’s pretty good.”
“I did, thank you. The children did also.”
“Good.” Charles’s eyes skimmed over Lisette briefly. All night, it had felt like his effort not to stare at her was an exercise in restraint. Because she didn’t get dressed up and made up like this very often, and the problem was, she looked beautiful. Wearing a simple sheath dress of burgundy silk and matching heels that showed off her shapely calves, her thick dark hair up in an elegant twisty bun and her coffee-colored eyes set off by smoky makeup, she looked like one of the glamorous socialites who crammed the room. Actually, she was one of the prettiest women in the whole place.
Even in her usual attire—plain tops and yoga pants, hair in a braid or ponytail and little or no makeup—he’d always thought Lisette was attractive. But tonight, from the minute she’d come down from her room . . . Every time he looked at her, something hot and hungry hummed in his veins. It had taken him off guard, these new stirrings, and he wasn’t comfortable with it. Nevertheless, he suddenly felt compelled to say some of what he was thinking out loud. “You look really lovely tonight, by the way. I’m not used to seeing you all dressed up like this.”
A soft blush colored her cheeks, and her dark eyes rounded before flickering away shyly. “Tess said to dress up, so . . .” Lisette shrugged. “Thank you,” she murmured.
“You’re welcome. That color is great on you.” He realized he was staring and cleared his throat. Many times he’d cursed himself for hiring a nanny who was beautiful. Tonight was no exception. In fact, tonight he was cursing himself for it more than ever. It was more than a distraction, it was . . . What the hell was it? He walked over to his children, sitting at a table looking bored out of their minds. “Hey, guys.”
“Hi, Daddy!” Myles smiled and shot out of his chair into his father’s arms. “Are you having a fun birthday party?”
“It’s fine,” Charles said, hugging his youngest. “But you know what? Lisette said you guys are kind of bored. And it’s past your bedtime. She’s going to take you all home now, so I wanted to say good night.”
Myles hugged his father tighter. “I love you, Daddy.”
Charles’s heart filled. He kissed the top of his son’s head. “I love you too, little man.” He looked over at his other two kids. “Anyone else have a hug for your dad?”
Ava put her tablet down and got up slowly, circling the table to give her father a weak hug. Thomas didn’t even look up from his tablet; he kept playing his game with total concentration.
Charles hugged his daughter, then said to Thomas, “Didn’t you hear me?”
“I heard you,” Thomas grumbled, still not looking up. “Good night.”
Charles felt the sting. His middle child was so full of anger; it worried him. Sometimes, Thomas reminded Charles of his youngest brother. As a kid, Pierce had been surly like that, full of simmering hostility all the time. He’d been miserable growing up, with no mother to nurture him and under constant attack from their father. But Charles never attacked Thomas. He made sure that Thomas felt cared for, didn’t he? So why was Thomas still so angry all the time? Swallowing a sigh, Charles said, “Thomas. It’s my birthday. A hug good night would be nice. Indulge me.”
Thomas’s eyes flickered up at his father, then down to his game again.
Before Charles could say a word, Lisette moved in behind the boy and whispered something in his ear, taking the tablet out of his hands as she did. Thomas gave a rebellious whine of annoyance, but pushed back from the table and got up. He hugged his father, quickly and with no warmth. “Happy Birthday.” Then he went back to Lisette. “Can I have my tablet back now?”
“In the car,” she said, her voice firm and quiet.
She was a magician; Charles was sure of it. She handled the kids, especially Thomas, with skills he simply didn’t possess. Patience, warmth, understanding, yet firm with discipline when necessary . . . God, he was grateful for her. The three nannies he’d gone through before her combined hadn’t connected with his kids like she had. Lisette was a jewel. She was wonderful with his children, and they responded to her better than they did to him. That was the truth.
She turned to the kids and said, “Come on, team. Time to go home.”
“But I wanna say good-bye to Uncle Pierce and Abby,” Myles protested.
At that, Thomas perked up. “Yeah, me too.”
“And Aunt Tess,” Ava added. “And Uncle Dane and Aunt Julia.”
Charles stuffed his hands in his pockets. He’d had to all but beg for good-byes, but the kids adored his siblings. Yeah, that stung too. “Go ahead. Lisette and I will wait for you here. But come back in five minutes, no more than that.”
The kids all ran off to find their uncles and aunts.
Watching them, he sighed and murmured, “They hate me, don’t they?”
Lisette turned to him, wide-eyed. “Of course not!”
He arched a brow and stared her down. “Thomas?”
She couldn’t hide the look in her eyes or the way she shifted how she stood. “He doesn’t hate you.”
“He doesn’t like me, either.”
She obviously didn’t know what to say; her gaze fell to the floor. “He’s got . . . a lot of unresolved anger,” she said quietly. “That’s all.”
“That’s all?” Charles snorted. “I’d say it’s a little more than that.”
Lisette said nothing, suddenly fascinated with smoothing out her dress.
Charles looked up again to see Pierce lift Thomas into his arms for a big hug. Ava and Myles had been surrounded by Abby, Dane, Julia, and Tess. Big smiles and warm good-byes were being exchanged all around. “Thomas likes his uncles more than his own father.”
“Lots of kids are like that,” Lisette said weakly.
“Yeah. In their teens. He’s seven. Seven-year-old boys usually worship their fathers.”
“Did you?” she asked.
“Sure. My father was larger than life.” Charles shrugged. “When I was seven, I didn’t realize what a hard-ass he was. He always treated me like gold. I thought I’d done the same for my kids, but . . .”
Lisette was quiet for a long moment, then said cautiously, “Have you considered that Thomas might benefit from therapy?”
It was as if she’d punched him in the stomach. He gaped at her. “Therapy? He’s only seven years old!”
“So?” Lisette’s eyes held his. “If he’s this angry all the time, maybe he needs help.”
God, she was right. Why did his nanny have to tell him how to handle his own child? Feeling foolish and uncomfortable, Charles ran a hand over the back of his neck and looked back out to the crowd. But he always admitted if he was in the wrong. Always. “I’ll think about it,” he said quietly.
The kids threaded their way through the crowd, back to where he and Lisette stood. “We’re ready to go home now,” Myles said with a smile, then yawned.
As Lisette went to retrieve the tablets from the tabletop, Charles leaned down to kiss each of his kids on the cheek. “I love you all,” he said to the three of them. “See you in the morning.”
“You don’t have to go to work?” Myles asked.
“No, silly,” Ava said to him. “Tomorrow’s Sunday.”
“So?” Thomas retorted. “Dad’s at work all the time. Doesn’t matter if it’s a weekend. He goes in anyway.”
Charles looked down at his middle child and said firmly, “I’ll be home. I’m not going to work. Okay?”
Thomas shrugged. “Whatever.”
Jesus, Charles thought. This is worse than I thought. “How about we all do something fun tomorrow?” he said. “It’s October, we can go apple picking.”
“Apple picking was September,” Thomas snapped. “We did that with Uncle Pierce and Abby. You were away on a business trip.”
Charles winced inside, but schooled his features into neutrality. “My mistake. How about pumpkin picking, then? Today’s October twentieth. There’s got to be a few left out there. We can drive out east, make a day of it. Do some fun fall stuff.”
“Yes!” Myles bounced on his feet, his eyes lit up like stars. “Could we, Daddy?”
“Lisette was going to take us,” Ava said.
“But we can all go tomorrow instead,” Lisette replied.
“Tomorrow’s your day off,” Charles reminded her.
“I don’t mind making an exception for a day of pumpkin picking,” she said.
He gazed at her with appreciation. She was trying to help him bond with his kids, and he knew it.
Myles grasped his father’s hand, looking up at him with excitement. “And you can come too? Really, Daddy?”
Charles nodded. “Of course. Tomorrow afternoon, all right?”
Ava smiled widely. Myles clapped with glee. Thomas stared at the floor.
“It’ll be fun.” Lisette placed the three tablets into her oversized tote bag and pulled out her ticket for the valet. “Okay. We’re all set. Let’s go, guys.” She shot a quick smile at Charles. “Enjoy the rest of the party.”
“Thank you.” He smiled at her, hoping she could sense his genuine gratitude, then ran his hand over the shiny length of his daughter’s dark hair. Ava gave him another hug, which he savored and returned. “Good night, all of you. Sleep well.”
He watched Lisette usher the kids out of the ballroom. Something twinged in his chest, the same unhappy twinge he’d felt a lot recently. Then he caught sight of his father, a sour look on his face as he spoke to Tess. She was the only one of his siblings who still talked to the old man. Dane, Julia, Pierce, and Abby had moved clear to the other side of the room. Since the disaster at the family party last year, where Charles II had gotten vicious and verbally attacked Pierce and Abby, Dane barely spoke to him, and Pierce not at all. Yes, Pierce had moved back to Long Island, but the rift was as wide as it had ever been. The truth was, Charles had been so disgusted, he wished he didn’t have to speak to his father regularly either. But working with him meant that just wasn’t realistic.
His kids weren’t as wild as they’d been before he’d hired Lisette, but there were still issues there. His siblings and his father were quietly at war. Charles felt like a benign peacekeeper at times . . . but it hadn’t really done much good, had it?
The Harrison family was a lot messier than the public knew.
With a sigh, he headed to the bar. If there was any time he could break his one-drink rule, it was on his own birthday, dammit.
The house was dark and silent when Charles entered it at one in the morning. The party had been nice, but way too long. And of course, as guest of honor, he’d had to stay until the end. Dropping his keys into the crystal bowl on the nearby table, he walked down the long main hall until he reached his study.
This was both his office and his haven. Spacious and elegant, warmed by lots of dark wood and different shades of brown, it had a large bay window that looked out onto the wide backyard and the Long Island Sound beyond. Not bothering to close the door behind him, Charles went right to the top shelf that held a few bottles of brandy and scotch. He reached for the Glenmorangie Signet, which he’d been saving for a special occasion. He thought his fortieth birthday qualified. He opened the bottle in the darkness, savoring the quiet.
Forty years old. As he poured himself half a glass, he thought about turning forty. He’d never really cared about birthdays, or numbers, or any of it. But this one bothered him, and had for months. Tonight, at the party, he’d finally realized precisely why.
There was a lot that wasn’t right with his life. After months of mental inventory, he’d come up short. He was dissatisfied . . . and lonely.
With a long, slow exhale, he sank into the leather chair behind his impressive mahogany desk. Moonlight streamed in through the windows, bathing the room in a silvery blue. A full moon. Hell, maybe that was affecting his mood too. He took a sip of the scotch, savoring the taste. He took another swallow, feeling the burn of it down his throat. Too much was swirling in his head, and he needed to quiet it down somewhat.
“You’re never off the clock,” his father had said. And after fifteen years of it—hell, a lifetime, really—Charles was tired of it. Annoyed. Even . . . resentful.
He sipped some more as he stared absently out the window, alone in the dark. He’d been doing everything he was supposed to do to uphold the Harrison name since he was a toddler. He’d gone to the schools his father had wanted him to: the fancy private schools, then Harvard for both undergrad and business school. His father’s choices, not really his. But Charles had just gone along with them. Like everything else in his life.
Feeling a buzz at last, he knocked back the rest of his glass and refilled it.
He was a powerful man, accustomed to getting what he wanted. But he’d never abused his power or thought it made him better than anyone else. It was just his nature. He tried to be decent, fair, and honorable in all things. But the one time he’d strayed off the straight and narrow Harrison path, the one time, he’d fallen for Vanessa Conti. Beautiful, fiery, exciting Vanessa, a model and a socialite. They’d met at a party on Martha’s Vineyard. The affair had been quick and hot; he’d proposed; they’d married . . . and it had been a fucking disaster.
They were completely wrong for each other. While she loved the money, the settled married life was not for her. She was bored. She hated company functions and family expectations. Then the unexpected pregnancy, a honeymoon baby on the way. Vanessa hated being pregnant; she’d felt fat and her hormones had been out of whack . . . They had argued all the time. But she had Ava, then Thomas. By the third pregnancy, sex was all they had left, since they barely spoke. Myles wasn’t even a year old when Vanessa had said she’d had enough. By the time Myles was eighteen months old, she’d taken her hefty settlement and moved across the country to California, leaving Charles alone with three tiny children and a severe case of wounded pride. Disaster.
Tonight, at the party, he’d seen Dane with Julia, laughing together and enjoying themselves. They seemed to always be laughing, always touching, and always having fun. Dane had already been that way, lighthearted and loving life, but since finding Julia, his glow had only magnified. Charles often thought that Dane was like the sun—a huge radiant presence, pulling whoever was near into his orbit of warmth and light. And his wife was a force to be reckoned with on her own. Combined, they were incredible. Loving Julia, and being loved by her, had only enriched Dane’s already charmed, full life, and made him happier than Charles had ever seen him. Charles was glad for him . . . and secretly envied that just a little. Hell, more than a little.
Charles toasted his brother, lifting his glass before taking another sip.
And Pierce. The churlish black sheep of the family had returned home over a year ago to lick his wounds. The youngest had screwed up his life enough to force him to quit a successful soccer career in England. But his siblings had brought him back into the fold, trying to help him, make him feel supported. All their relationships with him had improved. However, it was Abby who’d made the biggest difference. The small-town, straight-talking teacher saw through his fronts, didn’t put up with his bullshit, and adored him beyond measure. Pierce, in turn, was totally devoted to her. They were so different, but so right together. Charles wouldn’t be surprised if they were engaged soon.
He’d even overheard Pierce just that night telling Tess how he wanted a bunch of kids who would all take after their smart, gorgeous mother, something Charles had never thought he’d hear from the formerly notorious womanizer. Pierce had bought into a New York professional soccer franchise, and coached local kids simply because he wanted to. It was heartening to see how Pierce had completely turned his life around, buoyed by the love of a good woman.
Charles raised another toast to another brother, then drank deeply.
Tess, his sister, was the best woman he’d ever known. And, sadly, was as alone as he was, also by choice. Burned by love, she’d pretty much sworn off men and buried herself in her work and her painting. Charles didn’t even have a hobby like painting, no outlet for the steam he swallowed all the time. He supposed that was why he went to the gym and took boxing classes. Hitting the bag, and sparring with his coach, felt good. It let off some steam . . . but not nearly enough. Definitely not on nights like this.
Charles’s head was a little woozy; he suspected if he stood, he might wobble. Who cared? He hadn’t gone on a bender in a very long time. He was feeling lonesome, feeling sorry for himself, feeling angry, feeling . . . Dammit, he didn’t want to feel anything. If he did, if he let himself indulge in all the things he choked back and re. . .
He truly appreciated Tess’s efforts and intentions . . . but Jesus Christ, he did not want to celebrate his big milestone birthday. He’d been swatting away flashes of uneasy angst about it for weeks.
Even now, nursing the one scotch he allowed himself at public gatherings, he looked around the packed room and couldn’t shake the feeling that had gripped him recently with a vengeance: the sense that something was missing.
“Tripp!” His father’s steely voice boomed from a few feet away. Only his father and his father’s old friends still called him that. Charles turned to see his father waving him over to where his father stood with four older men, all equally distinguished and polished. A pack of sharks, Charles thought fleetingly as he made his way to them. His father, Charles Roger Harrison II, didn’t have friends; he had business cronies. It was hard to keep friends when you were a multibillionaire in charge of an international conglomerate, and heir to a family legacy of four generations. Hard to trust anyone, and hard to know if you were genuinely liked. Charles knew that better than anyone, because it held true for him as well.
“Still can’t believe my oldest is forty years old,” Charles II said, giving his son a hearty slap on the back. “Especially when I’m still only thirty-nine.”
The other men laughed as Charles commented, “Ah now, Dad, you don’t look a day over thirty-eight.”
“Atta boy.” The patriarch tapped his glass of scotch to his son’s. “Listen. We were just discussing the Benson Industries merger. I was thinking—”
“Do we have to discuss this now?” Charles asked, a stab of annoyance piercing him. “It’s my birthday. Tonight, I’m off the clock.”
“You’re never off the clock, Tripp.” Charles II’s voice was light, but his gray eyes glinted like blades. “You’re COO of Harrison Enterprises. Sun never sets on our empire. Want to keep it that way, you’re never off the clock. God knows I’ve never been. Now”—he held his son’s gaze for a long beat—“about the merger.”
Charles bit back a sigh and let his father continue. At times like this, Charles wished he allowed himself more than one drink at a party. But the heir to the throne had to be in control and proficient at all times. Above reproach. There was no room to ever be even slightly drunk in public, or to be drunk enough to be gossiped about negatively, or to be off the clock, or to just . . . be.
His entire life, since childhood, Charles hadn’t been able to think about much of anything but his place in the family company. As his father droned on about business in the middle of what was supposed to be a party, Charles longed for the ability to just walk away. Of course, he never would. He’d been too well trained. Groomed to be proper, reputable, capable, sophisticated, and most important, to be the shining example of the next generation of Harrisons. From the day he was born.
Charles took a long sip of his scotch as his father’s associates launched into the pros and cons of the merger. He gazed at his father’s face, the wrinkles and deep frown lines etched into his skin, and thought, Forty years down . . . forty or so to go.
Lisette Gardner sat quietly at the round table in the corner with the three kids, who were all completely consumed by their handheld electronic devices. Being the live-in nanny to Charles Harrison III’s children was a full-time, arduous task, but she truly loved her job. She glanced at each of them, their dark heads bowed over their games. They were often difficult, but she understood why and had tried to be a source of warmth for them since her first day on the job.
The oldest was feisty Ava, nine going on nineteen, her tongue already as sharp as a teenager’s; then sullen Thomas, who already at seven and a half barely swallowed his resentment every day; and little Myles, just turned six a few weeks before, who was rambunctious, but as sweet as they came. They were never boring, that was for sure. Myles was the friendliest of the children—probably because he had only been eighteen months old when his parents had divorced and his mother had moved across the country, so he’d never known a different life. The other two remembered what it was like to have their mother in their lives, and felt the absence more keenly.
Lisette reached over to run her hand over Myles’s dark, wavy hair, and he looked up from his game for two seconds to flash a smile. She smiled back before his eyes went back down to the screen. He was the most affectionate, but really, she adored all three. In her almost two years with the kids, she’d watched them grow, and had grown to care for them so deeply she sometimes felt like they were hers. Which was understandable, since she was with them day in, day out, five or six days a week. Caring for the Harrison children was her whole life. And she was fine with that.
“I’m bored,” Thomas grumbled without even looking up from his tablet.
“Me too,” Ava said. “Why do we have to be here?” Her bright blue eyes, so like her father’s, regarded Lisette with irritation. “It’s not like Dad even cares we’re here.”
“Of course he does,” Lisette said. “Don’t say that.”
“He hasn’t come over to see us since we got here,” Thomas said. “Not once.”
“I want cookies,” Myles said, and yawned.
Lisette glanced at her watch. It was almost nine, and even though it was a Saturday, it was the kids’ bedtime. “It’s too late for cookies, sweetheart,” she said. If they were home, they’d be doing the nightly routine for bed right then. “You know what? Let me talk to your father. It is your bedtime . . .”
“I want to go home,” Thomas said.
“Me too,” Ava said. “This party’s boring. It’s for grownups. We’re just . . . on display.”
Lisette marveled at how astute the nine-year-old girl was. In this instance, it was sad. “I’ll be right back,” she said, rising to stand. “You guys stay here, okay? Be good.”
“Okay, Set.” Myles singsonged the nickname he used for her.
She smoothed out her dress and scanned the crowd, searching for her employer. Among the guests, she spotted the always charming middle Harrison brother, Dane, holding court near the bar with his arm around his sexy wife, Julia. Next to them were the youngest brother, Pierce, and his girlfriend, Abby. Lisette had gotten to know Pierce and Abby well, and she liked them. They came over once a week to see the kids, taking them out to the movies or the park, anywhere that was fun. The kids adored their lively uncle and always looked forward to his visits.
Ah. There was Charles, across the room by the large floor-to-ceiling windows, talking with a group of men that included the Harrison patriarch. Talking business no doubt, she thought, as she started to weave her way through the crowd in her boss’s direction.
She found Charles fascinating. He always carried himself with such focus, attentive as a hawk to everything around him. For the most part he was a serious man, exuding intelligence, confidence, and quiet power. His manners were impeccable, and his poise and composure were renowned. But as Lisette had grown to know him, she’d seen glimpses of the humor and warmth he hid from the world and stuffed down inside. At home, alone with his children, was the only time she saw him smile freely or heard him laugh. And even then, it wasn’t often enough.
Now, Charles smiled mildly at something his father said, but she could see the smile didn’t reach his eyes. He wasn’t enjoying himself, which was a shame, considering he was the guest of honor. And a very handsome guest of honor, at that. His face, all angles and strong lines, was a study in masculine beauty. At his temples there were already a few glints of silver in his wavy dark hair, proof of his stressful career. There was an urbane sophistication about him; he’d been born to that. Tall, lean, broad-shouldered, his build was flattered by the lines of his navy suit, and his pale blue shirt set off his bright blue eyes. Instead of his black-rimmed glasses, he’d opted for contact lenses tonight, showcasing those captivating eyes, which locked on her now as she approached. Her heart gave a tiny flutter, as it often did when he focused on her.
Before she could even speak, Charles’s brow furrowed with concern. “Is everything all right with the kids?”
“Fine,” she assured him quickly. Her voice always felt softer, smaller in her throat when she spoke to him, but especially in front of others. The other men, all in their sixties, were either ignoring her or studying her. She cleared her throat and said, “But they’re getting tired. It is their usual bedtime. I was wondering if you’d mind if I took them home.”
“Is it?” Charles flicked a quick glance at his Rolex. “Damn, you’re right. Of course, take them home. They’re probably bored anyway. I’ll catch a ride with Tess.”
She smiled demurely, grateful for his understanding.
“Hell no!” Charles’s father said with disdain. “They’re Harrisons. It’s your birthday. They should be here. They have their video games; they’ll be fine.”
Biting the inside of her cheek to keep quiet, Lisette just stared. That man proved over and over that he was the coldest, most selfish bastard she’d ever met. How someone as wonderful as Charles had come from someone as horrid as his father, she’d never know.
Charles turned to glare at his father. “Dad. They’re young children. They’re bored, and they’re tired. They’ve been here long enough. Now they’re going home.”
Charles II just snorted, rolled his eyes, and looked around at his cronies, his expression condescending as he shrugged. “Pandering to children. I thought you were smarter than that.”
Feeling his blood pressure rise, Charles reined in his temper as he replied evenly, “I’m smart enough to know what young kids need and to respect that. Excuse us.” He turned his back on the group of men, grasping Lisette gently by the elbow and walking away with her.
“He’s such an ass,” Charles muttered.
Lisette only nodded in response.
“Thank you for finding me on this,” Charles continued. “I didn’t realize what time it was. Also, you got me away from that pack of wolves. I owe you.”
Lisette finally cracked a tiny grin. “Didn’t know I was on a rescue mission.”
“I should have sent up smoke signals.” He grinned back and looked down at her, stopping a few feet from the kids’ table. “I hope you got something to eat here? The food’s pretty good.”
“I did, thank you. The children did also.”
“Good.” Charles’s eyes skimmed over Lisette briefly. All night, it had felt like his effort not to stare at her was an exercise in restraint. Because she didn’t get dressed up and made up like this very often, and the problem was, she looked beautiful. Wearing a simple sheath dress of burgundy silk and matching heels that showed off her shapely calves, her thick dark hair up in an elegant twisty bun and her coffee-colored eyes set off by smoky makeup, she looked like one of the glamorous socialites who crammed the room. Actually, she was one of the prettiest women in the whole place.
Even in her usual attire—plain tops and yoga pants, hair in a braid or ponytail and little or no makeup—he’d always thought Lisette was attractive. But tonight, from the minute she’d come down from her room . . . Every time he looked at her, something hot and hungry hummed in his veins. It had taken him off guard, these new stirrings, and he wasn’t comfortable with it. Nevertheless, he suddenly felt compelled to say some of what he was thinking out loud. “You look really lovely tonight, by the way. I’m not used to seeing you all dressed up like this.”
A soft blush colored her cheeks, and her dark eyes rounded before flickering away shyly. “Tess said to dress up, so . . .” Lisette shrugged. “Thank you,” she murmured.
“You’re welcome. That color is great on you.” He realized he was staring and cleared his throat. Many times he’d cursed himself for hiring a nanny who was beautiful. Tonight was no exception. In fact, tonight he was cursing himself for it more than ever. It was more than a distraction, it was . . . What the hell was it? He walked over to his children, sitting at a table looking bored out of their minds. “Hey, guys.”
“Hi, Daddy!” Myles smiled and shot out of his chair into his father’s arms. “Are you having a fun birthday party?”
“It’s fine,” Charles said, hugging his youngest. “But you know what? Lisette said you guys are kind of bored. And it’s past your bedtime. She’s going to take you all home now, so I wanted to say good night.”
Myles hugged his father tighter. “I love you, Daddy.”
Charles’s heart filled. He kissed the top of his son’s head. “I love you too, little man.” He looked over at his other two kids. “Anyone else have a hug for your dad?”
Ava put her tablet down and got up slowly, circling the table to give her father a weak hug. Thomas didn’t even look up from his tablet; he kept playing his game with total concentration.
Charles hugged his daughter, then said to Thomas, “Didn’t you hear me?”
“I heard you,” Thomas grumbled, still not looking up. “Good night.”
Charles felt the sting. His middle child was so full of anger; it worried him. Sometimes, Thomas reminded Charles of his youngest brother. As a kid, Pierce had been surly like that, full of simmering hostility all the time. He’d been miserable growing up, with no mother to nurture him and under constant attack from their father. But Charles never attacked Thomas. He made sure that Thomas felt cared for, didn’t he? So why was Thomas still so angry all the time? Swallowing a sigh, Charles said, “Thomas. It’s my birthday. A hug good night would be nice. Indulge me.”
Thomas’s eyes flickered up at his father, then down to his game again.
Before Charles could say a word, Lisette moved in behind the boy and whispered something in his ear, taking the tablet out of his hands as she did. Thomas gave a rebellious whine of annoyance, but pushed back from the table and got up. He hugged his father, quickly and with no warmth. “Happy Birthday.” Then he went back to Lisette. “Can I have my tablet back now?”
“In the car,” she said, her voice firm and quiet.
She was a magician; Charles was sure of it. She handled the kids, especially Thomas, with skills he simply didn’t possess. Patience, warmth, understanding, yet firm with discipline when necessary . . . God, he was grateful for her. The three nannies he’d gone through before her combined hadn’t connected with his kids like she had. Lisette was a jewel. She was wonderful with his children, and they responded to her better than they did to him. That was the truth.
She turned to the kids and said, “Come on, team. Time to go home.”
“But I wanna say good-bye to Uncle Pierce and Abby,” Myles protested.
At that, Thomas perked up. “Yeah, me too.”
“And Aunt Tess,” Ava added. “And Uncle Dane and Aunt Julia.”
Charles stuffed his hands in his pockets. He’d had to all but beg for good-byes, but the kids adored his siblings. Yeah, that stung too. “Go ahead. Lisette and I will wait for you here. But come back in five minutes, no more than that.”
The kids all ran off to find their uncles and aunts.
Watching them, he sighed and murmured, “They hate me, don’t they?”
Lisette turned to him, wide-eyed. “Of course not!”
He arched a brow and stared her down. “Thomas?”
She couldn’t hide the look in her eyes or the way she shifted how she stood. “He doesn’t hate you.”
“He doesn’t like me, either.”
She obviously didn’t know what to say; her gaze fell to the floor. “He’s got . . . a lot of unresolved anger,” she said quietly. “That’s all.”
“That’s all?” Charles snorted. “I’d say it’s a little more than that.”
Lisette said nothing, suddenly fascinated with smoothing out her dress.
Charles looked up again to see Pierce lift Thomas into his arms for a big hug. Ava and Myles had been surrounded by Abby, Dane, Julia, and Tess. Big smiles and warm good-byes were being exchanged all around. “Thomas likes his uncles more than his own father.”
“Lots of kids are like that,” Lisette said weakly.
“Yeah. In their teens. He’s seven. Seven-year-old boys usually worship their fathers.”
“Did you?” she asked.
“Sure. My father was larger than life.” Charles shrugged. “When I was seven, I didn’t realize what a hard-ass he was. He always treated me like gold. I thought I’d done the same for my kids, but . . .”
Lisette was quiet for a long moment, then said cautiously, “Have you considered that Thomas might benefit from therapy?”
It was as if she’d punched him in the stomach. He gaped at her. “Therapy? He’s only seven years old!”
“So?” Lisette’s eyes held his. “If he’s this angry all the time, maybe he needs help.”
God, she was right. Why did his nanny have to tell him how to handle his own child? Feeling foolish and uncomfortable, Charles ran a hand over the back of his neck and looked back out to the crowd. But he always admitted if he was in the wrong. Always. “I’ll think about it,” he said quietly.
The kids threaded their way through the crowd, back to where he and Lisette stood. “We’re ready to go home now,” Myles said with a smile, then yawned.
As Lisette went to retrieve the tablets from the tabletop, Charles leaned down to kiss each of his kids on the cheek. “I love you all,” he said to the three of them. “See you in the morning.”
“You don’t have to go to work?” Myles asked.
“No, silly,” Ava said to him. “Tomorrow’s Sunday.”
“So?” Thomas retorted. “Dad’s at work all the time. Doesn’t matter if it’s a weekend. He goes in anyway.”
Charles looked down at his middle child and said firmly, “I’ll be home. I’m not going to work. Okay?”
Thomas shrugged. “Whatever.”
Jesus, Charles thought. This is worse than I thought. “How about we all do something fun tomorrow?” he said. “It’s October, we can go apple picking.”
“Apple picking was September,” Thomas snapped. “We did that with Uncle Pierce and Abby. You were away on a business trip.”
Charles winced inside, but schooled his features into neutrality. “My mistake. How about pumpkin picking, then? Today’s October twentieth. There’s got to be a few left out there. We can drive out east, make a day of it. Do some fun fall stuff.”
“Yes!” Myles bounced on his feet, his eyes lit up like stars. “Could we, Daddy?”
“Lisette was going to take us,” Ava said.
“But we can all go tomorrow instead,” Lisette replied.
“Tomorrow’s your day off,” Charles reminded her.
“I don’t mind making an exception for a day of pumpkin picking,” she said.
He gazed at her with appreciation. She was trying to help him bond with his kids, and he knew it.
Myles grasped his father’s hand, looking up at him with excitement. “And you can come too? Really, Daddy?”
Charles nodded. “Of course. Tomorrow afternoon, all right?”
Ava smiled widely. Myles clapped with glee. Thomas stared at the floor.
“It’ll be fun.” Lisette placed the three tablets into her oversized tote bag and pulled out her ticket for the valet. “Okay. We’re all set. Let’s go, guys.” She shot a quick smile at Charles. “Enjoy the rest of the party.”
“Thank you.” He smiled at her, hoping she could sense his genuine gratitude, then ran his hand over the shiny length of his daughter’s dark hair. Ava gave him another hug, which he savored and returned. “Good night, all of you. Sleep well.”
He watched Lisette usher the kids out of the ballroom. Something twinged in his chest, the same unhappy twinge he’d felt a lot recently. Then he caught sight of his father, a sour look on his face as he spoke to Tess. She was the only one of his siblings who still talked to the old man. Dane, Julia, Pierce, and Abby had moved clear to the other side of the room. Since the disaster at the family party last year, where Charles II had gotten vicious and verbally attacked Pierce and Abby, Dane barely spoke to him, and Pierce not at all. Yes, Pierce had moved back to Long Island, but the rift was as wide as it had ever been. The truth was, Charles had been so disgusted, he wished he didn’t have to speak to his father regularly either. But working with him meant that just wasn’t realistic.
His kids weren’t as wild as they’d been before he’d hired Lisette, but there were still issues there. His siblings and his father were quietly at war. Charles felt like a benign peacekeeper at times . . . but it hadn’t really done much good, had it?
The Harrison family was a lot messier than the public knew.
With a sigh, he headed to the bar. If there was any time he could break his one-drink rule, it was on his own birthday, dammit.
The house was dark and silent when Charles entered it at one in the morning. The party had been nice, but way too long. And of course, as guest of honor, he’d had to stay until the end. Dropping his keys into the crystal bowl on the nearby table, he walked down the long main hall until he reached his study.
This was both his office and his haven. Spacious and elegant, warmed by lots of dark wood and different shades of brown, it had a large bay window that looked out onto the wide backyard and the Long Island Sound beyond. Not bothering to close the door behind him, Charles went right to the top shelf that held a few bottles of brandy and scotch. He reached for the Glenmorangie Signet, which he’d been saving for a special occasion. He thought his fortieth birthday qualified. He opened the bottle in the darkness, savoring the quiet.
Forty years old. As he poured himself half a glass, he thought about turning forty. He’d never really cared about birthdays, or numbers, or any of it. But this one bothered him, and had for months. Tonight, at the party, he’d finally realized precisely why.
There was a lot that wasn’t right with his life. After months of mental inventory, he’d come up short. He was dissatisfied . . . and lonely.
With a long, slow exhale, he sank into the leather chair behind his impressive mahogany desk. Moonlight streamed in through the windows, bathing the room in a silvery blue. A full moon. Hell, maybe that was affecting his mood too. He took a sip of the scotch, savoring the taste. He took another swallow, feeling the burn of it down his throat. Too much was swirling in his head, and he needed to quiet it down somewhat.
“You’re never off the clock,” his father had said. And after fifteen years of it—hell, a lifetime, really—Charles was tired of it. Annoyed. Even . . . resentful.
He sipped some more as he stared absently out the window, alone in the dark. He’d been doing everything he was supposed to do to uphold the Harrison name since he was a toddler. He’d gone to the schools his father had wanted him to: the fancy private schools, then Harvard for both undergrad and business school. His father’s choices, not really his. But Charles had just gone along with them. Like everything else in his life.
Feeling a buzz at last, he knocked back the rest of his glass and refilled it.
He was a powerful man, accustomed to getting what he wanted. But he’d never abused his power or thought it made him better than anyone else. It was just his nature. He tried to be decent, fair, and honorable in all things. But the one time he’d strayed off the straight and narrow Harrison path, the one time, he’d fallen for Vanessa Conti. Beautiful, fiery, exciting Vanessa, a model and a socialite. They’d met at a party on Martha’s Vineyard. The affair had been quick and hot; he’d proposed; they’d married . . . and it had been a fucking disaster.
They were completely wrong for each other. While she loved the money, the settled married life was not for her. She was bored. She hated company functions and family expectations. Then the unexpected pregnancy, a honeymoon baby on the way. Vanessa hated being pregnant; she’d felt fat and her hormones had been out of whack . . . They had argued all the time. But she had Ava, then Thomas. By the third pregnancy, sex was all they had left, since they barely spoke. Myles wasn’t even a year old when Vanessa had said she’d had enough. By the time Myles was eighteen months old, she’d taken her hefty settlement and moved across the country to California, leaving Charles alone with three tiny children and a severe case of wounded pride. Disaster.
Tonight, at the party, he’d seen Dane with Julia, laughing together and enjoying themselves. They seemed to always be laughing, always touching, and always having fun. Dane had already been that way, lighthearted and loving life, but since finding Julia, his glow had only magnified. Charles often thought that Dane was like the sun—a huge radiant presence, pulling whoever was near into his orbit of warmth and light. And his wife was a force to be reckoned with on her own. Combined, they were incredible. Loving Julia, and being loved by her, had only enriched Dane’s already charmed, full life, and made him happier than Charles had ever seen him. Charles was glad for him . . . and secretly envied that just a little. Hell, more than a little.
Charles toasted his brother, lifting his glass before taking another sip.
And Pierce. The churlish black sheep of the family had returned home over a year ago to lick his wounds. The youngest had screwed up his life enough to force him to quit a successful soccer career in England. But his siblings had brought him back into the fold, trying to help him, make him feel supported. All their relationships with him had improved. However, it was Abby who’d made the biggest difference. The small-town, straight-talking teacher saw through his fronts, didn’t put up with his bullshit, and adored him beyond measure. Pierce, in turn, was totally devoted to her. They were so different, but so right together. Charles wouldn’t be surprised if they were engaged soon.
He’d even overheard Pierce just that night telling Tess how he wanted a bunch of kids who would all take after their smart, gorgeous mother, something Charles had never thought he’d hear from the formerly notorious womanizer. Pierce had bought into a New York professional soccer franchise, and coached local kids simply because he wanted to. It was heartening to see how Pierce had completely turned his life around, buoyed by the love of a good woman.
Charles raised another toast to another brother, then drank deeply.
Tess, his sister, was the best woman he’d ever known. And, sadly, was as alone as he was, also by choice. Burned by love, she’d pretty much sworn off men and buried herself in her work and her painting. Charles didn’t even have a hobby like painting, no outlet for the steam he swallowed all the time. He supposed that was why he went to the gym and took boxing classes. Hitting the bag, and sparring with his coach, felt good. It let off some steam . . . but not nearly enough. Definitely not on nights like this.
Charles’s head was a little woozy; he suspected if he stood, he might wobble. Who cared? He hadn’t gone on a bender in a very long time. He was feeling lonesome, feeling sorry for himself, feeling angry, feeling . . . Dammit, he didn’t want to feel anything. If he did, if he let himself indulge in all the things he choked back and re. . .
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