Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Taylor stared at the phone in her hand, her thumb hovering over the screen.
In the week since the picnic, Nick had been buried in work—so much so that they hadn't spent any “together” time since.
Which, under normal circumstances, would have been perfectly fine.
Except these weren’t normal circumstances.
They were supposed to be convincing the world they were in love.
So when she had invited him to church with her and her grandparents on Sunday, she had expected pushback.
Would he refuse outright?
Would he see it for what it was—a way to convince her grandparents that their engagement was real?
Thankfully, he had agreed.
What she hadn’t expected was for her Nana and Grandpa Bill to waste no time sharing the news with Pastor Schmidt.
And what she really hadn’t expected—what had stunned her completely—was discovering that the pastor had already spoken to Nick.
According to Pastor Schmidt, Nick was in the process of transferring his membership from a Denver congregation.
He was eager to get involved in some of the standing committees.
Taylor had forced herself to smile and act as though she already knew all about it.
Meanwhile, her grandfather had beamed, making sure the pastor knew that the finance committee—the one he chaired—could always use another member.
Taylor leaned back against the sofa, her thoughts a jumbled mess of emotions. She should have been thrilled to hear about Nick’s interest in church involvement.
It was a good thing, right?
Then why didn’t it ring true?
If he was so interested in being part of the church, why had he insisted they attend the early service, saying?—
"At least this way, only the morning will be wasted."
The words had stung.
She had bitten her tongue, reminding herself that Nick’s faith—or lack of it—wasn’t her business.
He was her employer.
Not her boyfriend. Not her fiancé.
Maybe once she knew him better, she could subtly encourage him to re-evaluate his priorities.
Taylor let out a small chuckle, shaking her head at the absurdity of the thought.
Once she knew him better?
A bitter-sweetness settled over her.
Nick was a stranger.
And she needed to remember?—
By the time she did get to know him better,
He’d be history.
* * *
Nick hung up the phone, unable to keep the irritation from creeping into his expression.
He had just finished his obligatory daily call to Taylor.
As he’d told Erik, checking in was a small price to pay to maintain control of the situation.
A simple five-minute call ensured he could head off any potential issues before they became real problems.
And it wasn’t as if he had to clear his schedule for it.
Half the time, he skimmed through emails while she talked.
Not that he didn’t like Taylor or enjoy spending time with her.
He especially liked kissing her.
At the picnic there had been absolutely no reason for him to kiss her in front of Erik. Erik knew the score, knew the engagement was a sham. Nick didn’t need to make a point. The simple truth was he did it for the pure enjoyment.
Nick leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting to the photo now sitting atop his desk.
She had left it for him the morning after their dinner with her grandparents, along with a neatly folded note.
It had been a thoughtful touch—one he hadn’t even considered.
Of course, a man would have a photo of his fiancée in his office. It was the natural thing to do.
His lips tilted upward.
It was a good picture.
Then again, Taylor was a beautiful woman.
Maybe that was why he had said yes to her request.
Or maybe—deep down—he had actually wanted to see her again.
His gaze drifted back to the photo, lingering on her full lips, and suddenly, saying yes had felt... easy.
That was how he found himself agreeing to attend church with her and her grandparents on Sunday.
At least he had the good sense to insist on the early service.
"That way, only the morning will be wasted."
The words still rang in his head.
He knew how to play the game.
Eventually, he would get to know the congregation, network, build relationships. His father had always said that church was a valuable place to make new contacts and reinforce old ones.
His mother, of course, had hated that mindset. She would bristle whenever his father mentioned business and church in the same breath.
“That is not the purpose of church, Nicholas.”
His father had just laughed, clapped Nick on the back, and said, "Women never understand business."
Sylvia Lanagan might not have understood business, but she had certainly understood how to spend money.
Nick’s jaw tightened.
Too much money.
So much that, by the time he had taken over, the company had been teetering on the verge of bankruptcy.
A familiar bitterness twisted in his chest.
She should have spent less time at charity galas and dinner parties—and more time with his father when he had needed her most.
Instead, she had paraded him around, her arm hooked through his, while his father grew sicker by the day.
According to the housekeeper, his parents had fought constantly that final year.
Nick hadn’t been there to see it firsthand.
He had been away at college, getting his degree, focused on his own future.
And then, suddenly, his father was gone.
Nick clenched his fists.
If only he had seen it coming.
If only he had been home more.
If only?—
A sharp knock at the door cut off the useless thoughts.
He didn’t glance up. “Just put the folders on the counter, Miss Dietrich.”
“The old hag isn’t out there.”
The feminine voice was too familiar.
Nick barely hid his groan.
“Claire, I’m busy.”
The overpowering scent of musk filled the air as she sauntered closer.
Nick refused to look up, his focus locked on the troubling report from his new product chief.
Claire reached over, snatching the paper from his hand.
Nick jerked it back, glaring.
She just laughed and tossed it back on the desk, settling into one of the leather chairs across from him. “Still the same old Nick.”
“Who else would I be?” He didn’t bother to mask his irritation.
Claire tapped a perfectly manicured nail against her bottom lip, feigning thoughtfulness. “Maybe a love-struck fool?”
Nick exhaled sharply. “Give it up, Claire.”
She crossed her legs, the movement purposefully slow, and smiled.
“Just making conversation.” She glanced at him, her dark eyes sharp and assessing. “No need to be so touchy.”
Nick’s grip on the desk tightened.
What was it about Claire that pushed all his buttons?
“You’re awfully cranky today,” she mused, studying him. “Are you and the girlfriend not getting along?”
“Her name is Taylor.”
Claire smirked. “If you say so.”
Nick leaned back and finally gave in to the inevitable.
He shoved the papers aside, rubbing his temple.
“Five minutes. That’s all you get.”
Claire’s eyes darkened, irritation flashing across her carefully composed expression.
“You’re an arrogant jerk, Nick Lanagan.” Her voice was smooth, but the bite was there. “No wonder I find you so appealing.”
Nick raised a brow. “Clock’s ticking.”
Claire sighed dramatically, then leaned forward. “Daddy was going to call, but I said I’d stop by and ask you personally. He wants you to meet us for breakfast Sunday morning. Some guy that heads his operations area in New Jersey is going to be in town.”
Nick’s pulse kicked up.
After all these years, it was finally happening.
The deal was coming together.
This was the final step.
Sunday morning.
Excitement buzzed in his veins—until reality crashed in.
Sunday.
Church.
His stomach twisted.
“Sunday morning isn’t good.” He offered Claire his most engaging smile, wishing he’d been nicer to her earlier. “I’m free all afternoon. Or any other time.”
“He’s leaving at noon.”
“That’s the only time he’s available.” Claire rose effortlessly from the chair. “What’s the problem? If I know you, it can’t be because you want to sleep late.”
Sleep late? There hadn’t been a day in the last four years that he’d risen past seven.
If only his reason could be that simple. Bill Rollins might understand him skipping church, but he’d promised Taylor… But what did that matter?
She worked for him.
He didn’t owe her anything.
Certainly not an explanation.
Nick sighed, forcing a smile. “On second thought, Sunday morning will work.”
Claire beamed. “I knew you'd see reason.”
He stood, moving around his desk and gesturing toward the door. “Let Miss Dietrich know the time and place on your way out.”
Instead of leaving, Claire stepped closer.
Too close.
The musk of her perfume surrounded him.
Her fingertips grazed his sleeve, sliding up his arm as she lifted her mouth to his. It took only one simple movement for her to reach up and pull his face to hers. For her mouth to meet his.
The kiss was warm.
Calculated.
And it left him cold.
A sharp clearing of the throat shattered the moment.
“Mr. Lanagan.”
Nick stiffened and stepped back.
Miss Dietrich stood in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes flinty.
Nick cleared his throat, resisting the urge to brush aw the taste of Claire from his lips with the back of his hand. “Yes, Miss Dietrich.”
Claire, pleased with herself, turned to Miss Dietrich with a haughty smile.
Nick could see why Erik called her Catwoman. She looked like a cat that had just swallowed a canary.
Disapproval radiated from every inch of Miss Dietrich’s ramrod stiff posture. The older woman’s gaze slid dismissively over Claire before meeting Nick’s head-on. “Your fiancée called.”
Nick cleared his throat and forced an interested smile. “Did she leave a message?”
“There was something she’d forgotten to tell you when you spoke this morning. I told her you were in conference. She wanted you to call when you were free.”
“Miss Waters is just leaving.” He’d done nothing wrong, so why did he feel like he had?
Claire ran a long red fingernail up his sleeve. “But we were just getting started.”
Nick leveled her a warning glance. “Goodbye, Claire.”
She hesitated then shrugged. “I’ve got some business to take care of anyway.” Claire’s lofty gaze settled on the secretary. “Mr. Lanagan is meeting me at nine a.m. Sunday at the Heritage Hotel. Put it on his calendar.”
Her request was imperious and clearly designed to put Miss Dietrich in her place.
Miss Dietrich’s expression didn’t change.
She simply turned, spine still ramrod straight, and walked away with a disdainful sniff.
Nick grinned behind his hand.
Claire might have been Henry Waters’ little princess, but she had just learned the hard way?—
No one got the best of Miss Dietrich.
* * *
Nick shifted in the high-backed wooden chair, fighting the urge to glance at his watch.
Would it be rude to leave?
They had started with business—which he had appreciated. No idle chit-chat, no wasted time.
But now?
Now, the conversation had taken a personal turn, and Nick had no patience for it.
His gaze drifted around the Pioneer Room of the historic Heritage Hotel. The recent remodel had stripped away the rustic wagon-wheel motif in favor of something more opulent.
Stained glass topped each window, casting shards of colored light across the polished hardwood floors.
Fine China, sterling silverware, and crystal glasses had replaced the ceramic mugs and dented cutlery of the past.
Even the linens were crisp and freshly pressed.
The only thing Nick could appreciate was that the waitress had finally cleared the table. He barely remembered what he had eaten, but he knew one thing for certain?—
Jack Corrigan’s unexpected presence had killed his appetite.
Nick set down his coffee cup, waving away a refill, and subtly clenched his jaw as Claire’s foot slid up his leg beneath the table.
Again.
She had spent the entire meal pressing her advantage.
It took every ounce of self-control to ignore her.
At the other end of the table, Jack stirred his coffee, then turned toward Nick. “So, how’s that beautiful fiancée of yours doing?”
Nick forced a smile—this time, it wasn’t difficult. “Great.”
Because, to his genuine surprise, Taylor had been a real trooper about his last-minute schedule change.
She had even offered to call her grandparents to explain.
Instead, he had done it himself.
The least he could do.
Jack chuckled, adding another spoonful of sugar to his cup. “Fiancée?”
Nick glanced at Clint Donovan, Henry’s operations chief, who had raised a curious brow.
“Nick is engaged to Taylor Rollins,” Jack answered smoothly, before Nick could respond. “Her father was Senator Robert Rollins. Died in that car accident last year.”
Nick watched as Clint’s gaze flicked from Claire to him, his expression shifting from confusion to interest.
“But I thought you two?—”
Nick’s jaw clenched.
“Claire and I dated—” He kept his tone even, controlled. “She left town. I met Taylor. The rest is history.”
Clint’s gaze turned toward Henry, as if waiting for some unspoken confirmation.
Henry sighed, shaking his head.
“I made no secret of the fact that I hoped my Claire and Nick would end up together.” His gaze flicked toward his daughter; the disappointment clear. “But she just had to take that job in D.C.”
Nick didn’t miss Claire’s eye roll or the way she leaned forward, curling a finger toward Clint.
Clint obliged, tipping his head closer.
In a conspiratorial whisper, just loud enough for everyone at the table to hear, Claire said, “What Daddy is trying to say is Taylor got him on the rebound.”
Nick inhaled slowly and counted to ten.
Claire’s smile was all satisfaction.
She wasn’t talking to Clint—she was talking to him.
“I’ve tried to tell him,” Claire added, her voice syrupy sweet, “now that I’m back, he doesn’t have to settle for second best.”
“Claire!” Henry’s tone sharpened.
Across the table, Jack Corrigan choked on his coffee.
Clint quirked a brow.
Nick’s hand curled into a fist beneath the table, but his voice remained smooth as glass. “I don’t think anyone who has ever met Taylor would consider her a second-choice kind of woman, Claire.”
Claire shrugged, taking a leisurely sip of her mimosa, as if completely unfazed. “It must have been hard to lose the contract, Jack.”
Nick stiffened.
Clint, oblivious to the already tense atmosphere, turned toward Jack Corrigan. “Those bids were so close.”
The weight in the room shifted.
A beat of silence passed.
Jack set his cup down with a measured hand. “So I understand,” he said, voice easy. “But that was Henry’s call.”
Henry’s call.
Nick had seen it in Jack’s eyes before—the unanswered question.
Why had Henry chosen Lanagan Associates over Corrigan Technologies?
Henry and Jack had been friends for years.
What had changed?
Nick already knew the answer.
Claire’s fingertips grazing up his thigh only confirmed it.
Nick didn’t react.
Didn’t give her the satisfaction.
Instead, he moved with precision, sliding his hand under the white linen tablecloth, wrapping his fingers firmly around her wrist, stopping her.
A flicker of amusement danced in Claire’s eyes.
She lifted her glass to her lips.
And blew him a kiss.
Across the table, Henry’s gaze sharpened, watching the exchange with renewed interest.
Nick kept his expression neutral, bringing his coffee to his lips, playing the long game.
Because he saw it now.
Henry’s loyalty wasn’t to Lanagan Associates.
It wasn’t even to Nick’s vision for the company.
It was to the idea of Nick as his future son-in-law.
Nick set his coffee cup down, mentally adjusting his strategy. Henry wouldn’t back out of the deal—not unless he had a valid business reason.
But if Nick so much as entertained Claire’s games, if he gave Henry even the slightest glimmer of hope?—
All bets were off.
The merger would be in jeopardy.
Which meant he had only one job.
Keep this fake engagement on track.
Keep Claire at bay.
And by the end of the summer?
Waters Inc. would be his.