Marrying Mr. English: The English Brothers #7 (The Blueberry Lane Series Book 11) (19 page)

“Emily?” prompted Val. “
Anything
?”

Emily forced a deep breath, her heart heavy as she promised to examine her feelings more thoroughly later and decide, once and for all, what action they warranted.

“Well…,” said Emily, trying to come up with something trite to appease Valeria’s curiosity without betraying her true struggles. “He always remembers to order me a glass of Riesling.”

“That’s something, I guess,” said Emily’s roommate. She walked along in silence beside her for a few minutes as fall leaves swirled around their feet. “But wait. You only drink beer at home. Do you even
like
Riesling?”

“Not really.”

Valeria glanced at Emily incredulously before her shoulders started trembling with laughter. “So the thing you like best about Barrett English is that he orders you the same drink every time, even though it happens to be a drink you don’t even like?”

“I guess so,” said Emily, giggling along with her friend, the silliness a reprieve from the hopelessness of her heart.

“That’s pathetic, Emily,” said Valeria, unlocking the outside door to their walk-up. “But on the bright side, at least you’ll make three to four hundred dollars for your time tomorrow. How about we splurge on Chinese tonight?”

“Chinese on Barrett English,” said Emily, following her roommate up the stairs. “I like it. And let’s eat it straight out of the containers. I bet Barrett’s never done that in his whole master-of-the-universe life.”

***

At that very moment Barrett English, so-called Master of the Universe, was a force to be reckoned with. He stared at two of his four younger brothers with one eyebrow raised and his hands tented under his chin.

“You can’t do it,” insisted Fitz, chief compliance officer of English & Sons, looking to Alex for help.

“Fitz is right, Barrett. Harrison’s going to dig in his heels.”

When Barrett sat at his massive cherry desk on the nineteenth floor of the newest, trendiest, most expensive office building in Philadelphia, he didn’t often take no for an answer. Frankly, Barrett rarely took no for an answer regardless of where he was sitting.

“You’re going to need his cooperation,” said Fitz, who had always been more of a rule follower than Barrett, which Barrett both envied and considered a weakness. “You can’t just bulldoze your way into the situation, threatening an acquisition of the largest shipbuilding company on the East Coast. J. J. Harrison still owns thirty percent of the company, not to mention the employees love him like a father. You force him out, you risk the employees walking, and you’ll be left with nothing but a shell of a company. You’re going to have to win him over.”

Alex looked at Barrett, then quirked his lips up, suppressing a grin at Fitz’s impassioned plea. Alex was the most easygoing of the five brothers. Both in and out of the office he had a perpetual smirk on his face, which made him the target of all women everywhere. Again, a quality Barrett was grudgingly envious of, even as he turned his nose up at Alex’s shenanigans, which frequently caused uncomfortable romantic tangles for his middle brother. Barrett wasn’t interested in any of that. He was Barrett English. He didn’t have time for that sort of nonsense.

When he felt frustrated for female company, he called Felicity Atwell and they scratched each other’s mutual itch in the suite of an expensive hotel before going their separate ways. He didn’t require or desire more of an attachment than that.

Mostly.

He flicked his eyes down at his desk, where he’d written a reminder to himself to call the sommelier at The Union League Club to ensure they had the Egon Müller Riesling icy cold and uncorked promptly at seven-o-five tomorrow night. There were twenty-four hours between now and then—they could have a bottle imported from Germany in that time, if needed. If Emily insisted on drinking that sweet slop, at least she should be drinking the best.

“I’m just saying, more bees with honey,” said Fitz, looking a little desperately at Alex. “Maybe Alex or I should…”

Barrett saw the silent message pass between his younger brothers. They didn’t think he could swing this deal because he wasn’t charming enough? He suppressed a snort. Charm didn’t get deals done. Strength and focus did.

“I’ll handle it,” replied Barrett tersely, sitting straight in his chair and picking up the receiver of his desk phone. “Anything else?”

Fitz shifted in the guest chair in front of Barrett’s desk, glancing at Alex again. “Do you have a…a date for tomorrow? It would help keep things friendly.”

“Not that it’s any of your business, Fitz, but I do.”

Alex leaned forward. “But it’s not Emily Edwards, is it?”

Barrett bristled, settling the phone slowly back into its cradle and staring at Alex with cold eyes. “Say what you want to say, Alex. I’ve got more important things to do.”

Alex put his hands up. “Emily’s a great girl. We all like Emily.”

Fitz nodded carefully, his eyes direct and cool. “And we’re all quite fond of Felix and Susannah, of course.”

“Of course,” agreed Alex.

“Of course,” said Barrett, drily. He raised an eyebrow. “So…?”

“You could bring Felicity Atwell or any of the other girls you met at Penn.”

“Not interested. They’d read into it on a personal level. Could get messy.”

“And Emily won’t?” asked Fitz, something flickering behind his eyes. “Read into it? Get messy?”

Oh.
Barrett understood. They were concerned Emily would form an attachment to him and she’d get hurt at some point, causing potential awkwardness with their beloved gardener and housekeeper. Well, then, they underestimated Emily.

She may have started out as the gardener’s daughter, but she’d attended UPenn, just like the English brothers. She was smart and beautiful and an even match for any of the girls Barrett had met at Penn. And okay, Emily might not have a trust fund, but when she dressed up like any other high society girl, laughing her soft, throaty chuckle at all of the appropriate times? He didn’t care if her bank account was next to empty, and he couldn’t give a crap that she’d grown up in the gatehouse. It was so damn distracting, he was almost grateful for her outstretched hand at the end of the night. It acted as a wake-up call, reminding him she had reluctantly agreed to work for him, and they
weren’t
actually dating, no matter how much the fantasy had taken root in his heart.

Besides, he was eight years her senior. He remembered her in pigtails waiting for the school bus as he’d driven himself to college. And he was self-aware enough to note that while Fitz was full of heart and Alex was a veritable Casanova, Barrett was considered stuffy and reserved, while Emily was—as she had always been—young, bright-eyed, warm, and engaging.

Sitting beside her, he’d searched her face surreptitiously as the weeks slipped by, looking for any sign that she might be interested in him—that she saw beyond his stern manners and business dealings, that she could see him as someone other than the oldest English brother, or worse, “the Shark.” Alas… Emily was polite and professional, on time, accommodating of his schedule, and so breathtakingly beautiful, it made his heart hurt. But as far as he could tell, and regardless of the growing—and completely ridiculous—feelings he had for her, she gave no outward indication she was interested in him romantically. And anxious not to thrust the nature of his true feelings upon her, possibly risking the generations-old relationship his family had with hers, he remained silent.

“No,” answered Barrett. “She won’t read into it, and it won’t get messy.”

“Just don’t crap where you eat, Barrett.”

“Screw you, Alex. You’re in no position to talk. How many girls have we had to quietly pay off now? And there was that charming situation with the videotape.”

Alex flushed, but Barrett could tell it was less out of embarrassment than pride. Barrett rolled his eyes at his little brother.

“I’m all about business, boys. And I can guarantee you—without any shadow of doubt—that Emily’s all about business too.”

“Business?” asked Fitz, eyebrows furrowing, sensing some ethical quandary, no doubt.

“The Edwardses have always worked for the Englishes.”

“So she’s
working
for you?”

“She’s not on the payroll,” said Alex, their chief financial officer.

“It’s under control, Alex.”

“Oh, I’ll just bet it is,” said Alex, giving up the argument. He stood and pushed his chair back under the lip of his oldest brother’s desk, turning to leave.

Fitz hesitated, and Barrett could see the moral dilemma taking place in his brother’s head. There was a reason Fitz was a natural at compliance. Following the rules was innate to him. Almost always.

“Fitz,” said Barrett in a more gentle tone, mostly reserved for family gatherings and out-of-the-office social occasions. He leaned forward, capturing his brother’s blue eyes, so much like his own. “There’s nothing to worry about. I promise.”

Fitz took a deep breath and surrendered, bracing his hands on the front of Barrett’s desk to stand and follow Alex out of the room.

As soon as they were gone, Barrett swiveled in his chair, looking out over Philadelphia as he tightened his jaw, then released it. It
was
under control, wasn’t it? Of course it was, despite the fact that Barrett had been captivated by Emily Edwards for almost as long as he could remember.

He clearly remembered the day, twenty-four years ago, when Felix and Susannah had brought their newborn daughter up to the main house to meet the English family. She’d been this tiny perfect person with bright blue eyes and fuzzy light hair covering her otherwise bald head. Like most other eight-year-olds, Barrett wasn’t very interested in babies, especially since there’d been a new English baby brother in his life every other year since he was born. But from the beginning, Emily was different.

First of all, she was the first baby
girl
he’d ever seen, and it surprised him how much more delicate and soft she looked. Weston and Emily were right around the same age, but Weston’s face was always knitted intensely, as though he knew he’d have to fight for his place among four older siblings. Weston’s bellow was loud and demanding, whereas baby Emily lay quietly in her mother’s arms, wrapped up in a pale pink blanket, taking in the world with those cerulean eyes from the warmth of her snug nest.

Susannah, noticing his quiet interest in her daughter, had asked Barrett if he wanted to hold Emily. Barrett had nodded eagerly, sitting on the silk brocade love seat beside her. Susannah had gently transferred the little girl to Barrett’s arms, and he’d stared down at her, dumbstruck, for several long moments as their parents visited. His father had even opened a bottle of Champagne, and the four adults had toasted baby Emily while Barrett held her carefully, reverently, on his lap. Fitz and Alex wrestled in the corner, Stratton quietly looked at a picture book on the floor, and Weston—predictably—started bellowing from his cradle for attention. But Barrett was in his own world, where nothing else existed but the little girl in his arms, with her brand-new eyes locked on his.

“Ridiculous sentiment,” he muttered, swiveling his chair back around and picking up the phone. “Get Lox and Ravers now. I want to go over the Harrison numbers once more before I leave today.”

“It’s seven o’clock, sir.”

“I don’t care if it’s midnight. Get them here.” He hung up the phone.

Barrett clenched his jaw, forcing her blue eyes out of his mind, as he’d done a million times before, and opened up a new spreadsheet. He’d learned long ago the only antidote to useless longing was hard work, and there was
always
more to do.

a   m o d e r n   f a i r y t a l e

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