Wilde Heart (Wilde Women Book 2) (14 page)

“Aww, sis. I’m so happy for you guys. Getting married and a baby on the way! How’s the belly?” She chuckled.

“I know this may sound crazy, but I seriously can’t wait to wear maternity clothes. Mom sent me one of those tacky t-shirts with a big arrow pointing down that says,
Baby.
”

“Ah, the ‘rents. Doing the happy dance about being grandparents.”

Brynn laughed heartily. “I know, right? They’re so damn pleased that the crazy meddling paid off.”

“Okay, look . . . I gotta run, Brynnie. Tons of crap to do today so I can have a full four-day holiday. I’ll see you at Nana’s.”

“Letting you off the hook this time, sis. . . . but we
are
going to talk. And soon.”

“D
OES THIS REALLY CONCERN ME, Kim? Personnel issues are not in my wheelhouse.”

Liam was annoyed that she invaded his office while he was working. He didn’t give a shit about these things. Wasn’t that why he hired smart people—to handle the nuts and bolts stuff?

“And why are you getting involved? Seems a bit below your line of vision.”

“I’m involved, Liam,” she snapped rather tartly, “because this pain-in-the-ass acquisition of yours has been nothing but a headache from day one.”

Aw, fuck.
This was about
Passion
again. For some reason, BPG’s finance director was off on a rant about the fashion magazine twenty-four, seven. It was beginning to seem to him like the woman lived just to harp about what a waste of time and resources the publication was.

“Last time I checked, BPG’s acquisitions are my purview. And nobody else’s. Frankly, I don’t care whether you approve of my decisions or not. Your job, as I understand it, is to look after the finances. Not harangue me about things that do not concern you.”

He watched as her eyes narrowed as much as they could, considering how much Botox was shot into her face. Liam sneered when she tried to disarm him with a fulminating glare.
Fuck her.
She was over-stepping and could shoot angry looks at him all she wanted.

“Excuse me for doing my job, Liam, but since I’m responsible for keeping track of the money, it would make sense that when a division is blowing through cash like a Monopoly banker, I’d get involved.”

Exasperated because she wouldn’t back down when he’d made it clear who the person in charge was around here, Liam slapped the report he was reading onto his desk and sat back in his chair, leveling her with a look that suggested she was skating on thin ice.

“Five minutes, Kim. Five minutes and then you find something else to bitch about.”

“Fine,” she snapped.

Slamming a folder down, she flipped it open in front of him and gestured wildly while she went off like a crazy person.

“That’s a printout of the vacation requests for your little fashion magazine.”

Liam ground his teeth together at her subtle dig, remembering how Rhiann had reacted to a similar statement.
Passion
was hardly little and dismissing it as a knock-off rag was a mistake. Sure, he’d brought it under the BPG umbrella for ulterior motives, but he’d been doing some research. They already blew
Glamour
out of the water and, with the right support, could challenge
Vogue
in another year or so.

He had no idea what the big deal was about requests for days off, and unless one of his extended family of employees was planning to hook up with a terrorist cell while on vacation, he didn’t see how any of this concerned him.

“Four minutes.”

“Look at all these requests,” she grumbled. “It’s ridiculous.”

“Has the time been earned?” he questioned smoothly.

“Well, yes—but that’s not the problem.”

He arched an eyebrow. What in the hell crawled up her skirt?

Watching impassively as she started pacing, Liam wondered why she was so bent out of shape at the exact same instant that he knew without a shadow of a doubt what—or rather whom—had brought all this on.

Rhiann.

“There’s a critical photo shoot on the books for New Year’s Eve. Something that required a tsunami of red tape and paperwork to set up. Seems to me that
someone
needs to keep an eye on the ball as the prep takes place. Take control of the permits, manage the models, deal with the city.”

“And your point would be . . . ?”

The question acted like a red flag in front of a snorting, angry bull.

“The
communications director,
” she spat out as though the title was a vulgar term, “has asked for time off at a most inconvenient, and frankly, unprofessional time.”

Without moving more than a muscle, Liam glanced down at the printout and scanned the document until he found Rhiann’s name. Everyone had off for the holiday, but she’d put in for a couple of extra days in the week before Christmas. Like everyone else, though, she’d be back at work on the twenty-seventh . . . plenty of time to manage the New Year’s Eve shoot.

Liam stiffened slightly and scowled. He didn’t see what the big fucking deal was, but he was picking up on Kim’s snowballing animosity toward Rhiann that made him pause and think. He knew straightaway that she’d asked for those days because of Brynn’s upcoming wedding, but there was no way he was going to share that personal nugget with anyone.

Looking up, he found Kim still ranting as she paced.

“It’s unprofessional, I tell you. She’s in charge of the whole thing. Who does she think she is taking off at a critical time?”

A very definite warning bell sounded in his head. His finance director had it out for Rhiann.

“Mrs. Walsh,” he emphasized for good measure. “Give the employees their time and stop interfering in the day-to-day management issues. I’m sure Miss Wilde knows what she’s doing. Back off.”

Hmm. Maybe not the right tone or tactic to take with her,
he thought when she shot daggers at him with her eyes.

Hastily snatching the folder off his desk, she glared at him one final time and headed for the door where she stopped, turned, and barked, “This is a huge mistake, Liam.”

“It’s mine to make, though—isn’t it?”

Rhiann’s phone vibrated where it sat on a pile of magazines at her desk. She watched it for a second as it lit up and noted that Liam’s name appeared on the screen, indicating an incoming text message.

Rhiann. I’m madly in love and can’t live without you. Please marry me so we can make babies together.

Yeah. Like that was ever going to happen.
Snatching the phone, she tapped on the screen and opened Liam’s message.

Hi. Hope your day is going well. I gave my driver a few days off so it’ll be me doing the driving tomorrow. Seven in the A.M. sound good to you?

Aw, jeez. Really? Rhiann shook her head and bit back a groan.

Hi back at you and thanks—my day has been swell. Glad the driver gets a break from your scowly face but I’m not thrilled you have to drive. What will you do while I’m with my family?

He answered immediately—almost as if he’d anticipated her response.

No problem, milaya. Will drop you in Rittenhouse Square at the pre-determined location. Booked a last-minute suite at the Ritz-Carlton so no need to worry about me. Best room service in town.

He had all the answers. Of course, he did. Another question came through almost immediately.

When is Brynn’s wedding?

Why in the hell does he want to know that,
she wondered. A big part of her wanted him to be her escort for the Christmas nuptials, but she knew that wasn’t going to happen. Not yet and maybe never.

Beginning of Christmas week. Hope it snows like crazy. Will make for a beautiful visual.

She wasn’t kidding about the snow. Her over-the-top romantic vision for Brynn and Jax’s Christmas wedding was a winter wonderland masterpiece. A mountain of white crystalline snow glistening beneath swaths of tiny twinkle lights would be a breathtaking backdrop to the red, green, and white color palette she was using.

Am sure that your sister will be the beauty. She’ll be a gorgeous bride. Catch you in the morning-EARLY. If you need anything before then, let me know.

Okay—so seriously. What was that all about? The unusual question seemed like more than idle curiosity.

Shrugging the conversation away, she went back to finish a long series of emails about the New Year’s Eve shoot. Getting all the necessary permits from the city required kissing the feet of twenty different municipal and state departments who were, as far as she could tell, run by a bunch of dumbasses.

She’d thought of everything—twice—and was tenaciously going back and forth over the details, making sure she’d covered every base, when two sharp raps pounded out on her open door. Looking up, Rhi’s heart sank when she found the eyes of the she-beast staring her down. Was this woman
ever
going to leave her alone?

“A word, Miss Wilde?” Kim asked with a hideously fake smile stuck on her face.

“Of course, Mrs. Walsh. Please. Come in and have a seat.” Rhiann quickly stood, and as graciously as she could, waved to indicate the seating. “What can I do for you?”

A black hole of dense cold invaded Rhiann’s office, and she wasn’t just being a fanciful twit thinking that. How in the hell could she describe this woman to give a sense of just how icy and uncomfortable it felt to be in her presence?

For starters, that cool blonde thing was total bullshit, meant to suck a person in and give a false sense of fragile femininity. What a joke! This lady was a crop-wielding Dominatrix through and through—a thought that did not sit well with her.

Unwanted visions of Kim in full Domme mode with Liam on the receiving end almost made Rhiann shudder. No way would her king of the beasts put up with that sort of shit. Even as an innocent, love-addled nineteen-year-old, she’d felt his power and authority.

In that light, it seemed highly unlikely that his questionable association with this woman was anything more than a business relationship. Or so she hoped.

Studying her intently in the same way that Rhiann was being subjected to a piercing scrutiny—she noted that beneath the perfectly placed wispy bangs, Kim’s damn forehead looked tight enough to ice skate on. There wasn’t a single line or wrinkle anywhere on her face though she knew the lady to be in her mid-forties.
Bet she had a plastic surgeon on speed dial,
she thought caustically.
I hope tune-ups for that artificial face cost her a damn fortune.

Apparently, however, all the fillers and Botox hadn’t completely frozen her face because Rhiann saw the other woman wrinkle her nose as if the odor of a skunk was wafting in the air.
Ahhh, so that’s how we’re gonna play this, hmm?

“Burning off the Red Bull or actually working late?” came the malicious purr.

What. A. Bitch.

“Little of both,” Rhi answered snidely. The dismissive comment earned her a brief, telltale lip curl that bordered on a snarl and warned her that she just might be in over her head. This lady might actually be an in-the-flesh succubus. Which made her dangerous.

All pretense of friendliness simply vanished in the blink of an eye with the arctic blast becoming unbearable.

“Let me get right to the point, Miss Wilde. This campaign, the one shooting in Times Square—is costing the company a considerable amount of money . . .”

“Which I assure you was in our budget, Mrs. Walsh.”

Eyes too blue not to be lenses, flashed menacingly. The frigid glare matched the temperature in the room.

“Be that as it may, BPG was not part of this decision and though you may think that this magazine has carte blanche to spend money like a stripper after a bachelor party, I assure you—it does not.”

Good grief. If this crazy bitch purses her lips any tighter, she could crack nuts with them. Oh, my god! Crack nuts with her lips.
Fuuuuck,
that was funny. Do not laugh.
Do NOT laugh.

The ice queen crossed her skinny legs and narrowed her eyes.
Moving in for the kill,
Rhi thought.
Well . . . let’s have it then.

“Since you think taking a little vacation right before a major campaign that is susceptible by its very nature to everything ranging from bad weather to the vagaries of politics, I have to question your judgment.”