The Boss, The Baby And The Bride Read online

  “What the hell do you mean you’re here to find me a wife?”

  Letter to Reader

  Title Page

  Dedication

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  EPILOGUE

  Copyright

  “What the hell do you mean you’re here to find me a wife?”

  “Oh. That.” Angie shrugged. “It was on the list of duties you gave me. Shall I show you?”

  “The hell it was.... I wrote that list myself. And I didn’t put anything about finding a wife on there.”

  Angie lifted an eyebrow. “Are you going to move so I can go and get it, or am I supposed to fight my way past you?”

  “That’s the most tempting offer I’ve had all day. Would you like to try?”

  She didn’t stand a chance of budging him which almost prompted her to try.

  “You see why our working together won’t succeed?” Reed asked quietly. “You feel it, too, don’t you?”

  Slowly she lifted her gaze to his. “Once I find you a wife you can love, it won’t bother you anymore. I promise. I’m a momentary distraction. But the feeling won’t last.” She turned the knob, wondering if he’d stop her. For a nerve-racking instant his hand tightened on hers. Then, with a muttered exclamation, Reed released her and moved toward his desk.

  “Get the list,” he snapped.

  Dear Reader,

  Remember the magic of the film It’s a Wonderful Life? The warmth and tender emotion of Truly, Madly, Deeply? The feel-good humor of Heaven Can Wait?

  Well, we can’t promise you Alan Rickman or Warren Beatty, but starting in June in Harlequin Romance®, we are delighted to bring you a brand-new miniseries: GUARDIAN ANGELS. It will feature all of your favorite ingredients for a perfect novel: great heroes, feisty heroines, breathtaking romance, all with a celestial spin. Written by four of our star authors, this witty and wonderful series will feature four real-life angels—all of whom are perfect advertisements for heaven!

  Starting this month, we’ll be bringing you one GUARDIAN ANGEL romance every other month.

  Titles in this series are:

  June: THE BOSS. THE BABY AND THE BRIDE by

  Day Leclaire

  August: HEAVENLY HUSBAND by Carolyn Greene

  October: A GROOM FOR GWEN by Jeanne Allan

  December: GABRIEL’S MISSION by Margaret Way

  Have a heavenly read!

  Falling in love sometimes needs a little help from above!

  Day Leclaire

  The Boss, the Baby and the Bride

  TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

  AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG

  STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID

  PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

  To Ray and Ila Smith. Special thanks for

  their continuous support and friendship. And to

  Carolyn Greene who, as always, offered such

  wonderfully angelic advice. Thank you!

  PROLOGUE

  “IT’S BEEN over two years,” Reed Harding snarled into the phone. “You’re the top PI firm in the state. All you have to do is find one woman. How difficult can that be?”

  “Mr. Harding, the woman in question clearly doesn’t want to be found. That makes our job a little tough.”

  Reed shoved a stack of papers to one side, fighting the frustration these calls always stirred. The papers tipped over, spilling to the floor in a multicolored waterfall. He ignored the mess. Secretary number twelve could deal with it. Or was it lucky thirteen? “I need to ask her one question. That’s all. Just one simple question and then she can crawl back under whatever rock she’s currently occupying.”

  “I understand, Mr. Harding. But I’m forced to assume it’s a question she doesn’t choose to answer.”

  Brilliant deduction! Reed clamped his jaw shut so he wouldn’t utter the scathing response. “What about relatives?” he asked instead. “I remember her mentioning a mother.”

  “Have you remembered the mother’s name?”

  “No.”

  A telling silence followed that one, bitten-off word. “We’ll keep looking, Mr. Harding. She’s bound to surface one of these days. We’ll be in touch again next month, as usual.”

  “You do that.”

  Reed dropped the receiver onto the cradle and kicked back his chair as he stood. Dammit! Why couldn’t he find out the truth, to know for certain whether or not Emily had borne him a child? That’s all he wanted—his one desire in the whole world. Heaven above, was that too much to ask?

  “Angie Makepeace. Please report to your supervisor. Angie Makepeace to Supervisor Goodenkind.”

  She heard the whispers start the moment she stepped onto the gilded path. They always whispered about her, even though it meant a spot of tarnish tainting their golden halos or an alabaster feather or two thinned from their magnificent wings—or even a sooty smudge clinging with leechlike ferocity to frost-white robes. And it was always the same question they asked....

  “What’s an angel like her doing in a place like this?”

  Of course, such uncharitable thoughts didn’t belong in heaven, either. She’d made that point a time or two—made it with a few blistering invectives and a basic willingness to wade right in where most angels feared to tread. Not to mention a powerful left hook. Angie smiled broadly at the memory, as well as the resulting ruckus. Boy, had the thunder pealed that day. More than one mouthy angel had emerged from the altercation with rumpled robes, dinged halos and a severe attitude adjustment. Too bad she couldn’t have enjoyed the results a wee bit longer. Instead, she’d been trotted off to Goodenkind to “account” for her misbehavior.

  “We haven’t seen such a display since Cleopatra tried to force her way in here,” her supervisor had trumpeted in a rare display of wrath. “You’re not on earth anymore, Angie Makepeace. Deal with it or you and your tarnished halo will find yourselves on the wrong side of the Pearly Gates!”

  Angie sighed. And here she stood, called on the gilded carpet yet again for having failed her twelfth angel mission in a row.

  Well, he—Heck! What did they expect? She’d only made it into heaven by the very tips of her inch-long formerly red fingernails. Do-gooding wasn’t exactly her forte. That one soul-saving incident had been...an aberration. A mistake. If she’d thought first, she’d never have jumped off the dock and saved that little girl.

  Especially if she’d known she’d end up drowning. Sh—Shoot! It had been a royal pain in the a—acorns to kick off with wet, stringy hair and makeup smeared over half her face. Not to mention what the salt water had done to her Donna Karan original.

  “Miss Makepeace?” Supervisor Goodenkind stood in the open doorway. “How kind of you to finally join me. Do come in.”

  Angie sauntered into the office and glanced over her shoulder at the head angel. “Sarcasm, Good? I thought that was banned along with all the other fun vices.”

  His brows drew together. “Let’s just say you bring out the worst in me.”

  “I’m not surprised.” She laughed—a deep, husky, come-to-my-bedroom sort of laugh. It didn’t fit in around here any more than she did. “I seem to have that effect on most of heaven’s denizens.”

  “Yes, we’ve noticed.” He waved a hand toward a gilded chair. “Oh, sit down, Makepeace. You know I’ve never been one to bother with formalities.”

  “Which is why you’re stuck with me,
I suppose.” She reclined in the chair he’d indicated. “I assume I’ve been called up so you can yell at me some more.”

  “We don’t yell.”

  She grinned. “Sure you do. You just do it with righteous anger.” She tilted her head to one side and fixed her big baby blues on him. In another life they were guaranteed to bewitch the most saintly of humans. Unfortunately they weren’t quite enough to bewitch the most saintly of saints. Too bad. “I screwed up again, didn’t I?”

  “We’ve sent Dotty DoGooder in to clean up the mess you made of that restaurant.”

  “Oh.” Angie crossed her legs. “Did Chuck have the day off?”

  “It’s Charles. And Mr. CrosstoBear is still recovering from your last mission.”

  “The hotel was in a bit of a shambles.”

  “My dear young angel, it was an unmitigated disaster.”

  “I excel at disaster,” she confessed with a charming smile.

  “Yes, you do.” Goodenkind sighed. “Which brings me to our current dilemma.”

  “Am I kicked out?” She managed to say it casually. After all, she’d known it was only a matter of time before they realized their mistake and sent her... wherever.

  “Not yet.”

  She inspected her fingernails, oddly shaken by his pronouncement. It was ominous, but not a total disaster. “So what’s the deal?”

  “The deal is... You have one last chance to accomplish your mission.”

  “Lucky thirteen?” She gave a careless laugh. “What happens if I blow this one?”

  “You’ll be put outside the gates.”

  Blunt and to the point. She’d always liked that about her supervisor. She sensed how badly it disturbed him, though, which seemed so unfair, considering she was the one at fault. “It’s all right, Good. You did your best,” she encouraged. “But I’m used to being a stray dog.”

  He—Heck! She’d spent her entire life living on the outside of people’s gates, hoping against hope she’d be taken in and accepted. Loved. When she’d been young enough to believe in dreams, she’d longed to experience a forever kind of love. She’d wished for that special someone with all her heart. She’d never found him, though. Certainly not on earth. Why had she expected heaven to be any different?

  “Heaven is different,” Goodenkind said gently. “The angels you’ve associated with are in training, too. That’s why their flaws are so visible.”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “Reading my mind? Isn’t that against the rules?”

  “Sometimes wishes speak so loudly, angels hear. Especially when those wishes are your true heart’s desire.”

  “Really? I’ve never heard any wishes.”

  “Maybe you haven’t been listening.” He waited a beat, then asked, “Shall we get down to business?”

  “Okay. What’s my latest assignment?”

  “His name is Reed Harding and your job is very simple. You’re to find him a wife.”

  That sounded easy enough. Still... Knowing Goodenkind... “So, what’s the catch?” she questioned suspiciously.

  The supervisor smiled. “He has to love her—the forever kind of love.”

  The painful irony of his demand kept her silent for a long moment. “Anything else?” she finally managed to ask, relieved that her voice sounded almost normal.

  “That’s it. Find him a wife he can love and you’ve completed your assignment.” He paused—always a bad sign.

  “Come on, Good. Spill it,” she prompted. “What else?”

  “Since it’s your last chance, I’m giving you some extra help on this one. I’ve decided to send a Guardian Angel along with you.”

  “No! Not—”

  “‘Fraid so. Scratch goes, too.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  REED HARDING heard the whispers start the moment the woman stepped through the front door of the office building housing Harding Construction. It began as a low buzz of curiosity and rose in intensity as she made her way across the reception area. What’s someone like that doing in a place like this?

  He turned, leaning against the receptionist’s desk, and watched, impressed. She was a gorgeous creature, he acknowledged. Not his type—platinum blondes might appeal to some, but he preferred a more earthy woman. Certainly, one less aware of how to manipulate the male half of the population. Still... She had the sweet face of an angel and a figure wicked enough to tempt a saint.

  She’d painted on a short, vivid red dress, and accompanying her—disbelief rippled through him. A dog trotted alongside, his clipped nails echoing the staccato tap of her high-heeled shoes against the oak floor. It was a dalmatian, no less, a red leather collar encircling its neck and a mischievous glint shimmering within its odd, pale eyes.

  “Find out what she wants and take care of it,” Reed ordered. He had no time for women at this point in his life—even an angelic blond in a tight red dress. A truckload of work awaited him, the sheer volume a serious threat to the stability of both his desk and his sanity. “I’ll be in my office.”

  He heard the receptionist intercept the woman with a quick, “May I help you?”

  Then he heard a laugh—a laugh that caused every head in the office to turn, had every man stopping in his tracks and gravitating toward reception, and every woman grinning at the sheer predictability of the male animal. Reed didn’t prove immune, either. The sound caught at his senses, twining around them and tugging. Damn. He hadn’t felt this disturbed by a woman since his early teens. Not even Emily had caused such an intense reaction. Furious with himself for not simply ignoring her and continuing on to his office, Reed folded his arms across his chest and waited for her response.

  “Why, that’s very kind of you,” the siren said, her deep brandy-wine voice a perfect match for her laugh. “But I don’t need any help. At least, not yet.” With a brilliant smile, she kept walking—coming straight for him.

  His mouth twisted. No. Whoever this was, she didn’t need help from anyone—a fact that challenged him to try and change her mind. Driven by some elemental force he’d sooner not analyze, he stepped into the middle of the hall and blocked her path. “Is there something I can do for you?”

  She shrugged, long wayward curls playing hide-and-seek with her fine-boned shoulders. “It’s not what you can do for me, Reed Harding. It’s what I can do for you.” With that intriguing comment, she brushed past him and crossed to his office, the dalmatian following along behind.

  His eyes narrowed in assessment. So... She knew him. And she knew her way to his office. What sort of game was this?

  She paused at the doorway, sending a teasing look from huge, fantasy-blue eyes. “Well... Are you coming?”

  “Oh, definitely,” he assured with a short, cynical laugh. “I wouldn’t miss this for anything.”

  He followed her into his office and slammed the door closed. “Okay, sweetheart. Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? Who are you and what do you want?”

  “I’m Angie Makepeace.”

  With that pronouncement, she examined his office with interest. The dog followed suit, snuffling around the room for a few seconds before noticing the leather couch. With a yelp of what could only be described as sheer joy, he hurdled across the room.

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” Reed began, grabbing for the animal’s collar. He was a millisecond too late. Halfway to the couch, the dog leaped into the air and landed with pinpoint accuracy in the precise center of the cushions. “Hey! Get off of there, you mangy mutt.”

  The dalmatian ignored him. Turning in circles, he finally settled, chuffing in contentment. He regarded Reed for an instant before settling his muzzle on polka-dot paws and closing his eyes.

  “He doesn’t listen very well, does he?”

  “He can’t hear you,” Angie explained, crossing to the couch. “Not with his eyes closed.”

  She didn’t make a bit of sense. No surprise there. “Okay, I’ll bite. Why can’t he hear when his eyes are closed?”

  “He’s deaf.”

  “A d
eaf dalmatian.”

  “Right. The breed is prone to it. Almost twenty-five percent of the puppies suffer from either a unilateral or bilateral impairment.”

  “Come again?”

  “Deaf in either one or both ears. Scratch is a bi. Can’t hear a blessed thing.”

  “Fascinating, but—”

  “So, whenever Scratch doesn’t want to listen, he just shuts his eyes.”

  “Why?” Reed asked, momentarily distracted despite the inanity of their conversation. “So he won’t see what we’re saying?”

  “Exactly. Not being able to hear, he can’t be distracted by what people say. Instead, he listens with his heart.” She spared a quick look toward the polka-dot puddle occupying the couch, then leaned closer to Reed, her mouth tilted at an angle that brought it to within inches of his. “This time, he’s ignoring us deliberately, I’m sorry to say.”

  Her already low voice had dropped a further notch, sending another powerful ripple of awareness slamming through his body. It fired an image of sultry, humid nights, of slipping along a sensuous path of discovery over sweet, moist female skin. Her mouth was painted as wicked a red as her dress and Reed wondered what she’d do if he devoured the lipstick from those lush lips. She swayed out of reach before he could act, her movement as graceful and supple as a field of sun-drenched poppies caressed by a summer breeze. Her perfume lingered, teasing him with the scent of temptation.

  “What the hell—” he muttered beneath his breath, shaking his head to clear it.

  “Scratch has a leather fetish. Not exactly a sin, but far from angelic behavior. Don’t you think?”

  “Oh, absolutely.” It was his turn to close the distance between them. “Sweetheart?”