The Kincaids: New Money

The Kincaids Collection

THE KINCAIDS: SOUTHERN SEDUCTION

March 2013

THE KINCAIDS: NEW MONEY

April 2013

THE KINCAIDS: PRIVATE MERGERS

May 2013

The Kincaids New Money

Behind Boardroom Doors

Jennifer Lewis

On the Verge of I Do

Heidi Betts

MILLS & BOON

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About the Author

JENNIFER LEWIS has been dreaming up stories for as long as she can remember and is thrilled to be able to share them with readers. She has lived on both sides of the Atlantic and worked in media and the arts before she grew bold enough to put pen to paper. She would love to hear from readers at jen@jenlewis.com. visit her website at www.jenlewis.com.

Dear Reader,

I still remember the first time I discovered romance novels. I was working in mid-town Manhattan, around the corner from the Donnell Library. On my lunch breaks I often headed to the library looking for something to read and before long I noticed the big rack of series romance novels. I don’t remember which book I picked up first, but it didn’t take me long to get hooked.

I loved the strong, savvy characters in every book and the interesting mix of settings. I looked forward to plunging into each new romance and following the ups and downs of the couple’s road to their happy ending. I also enjoyed the short length of the stories, which allowed me to ride the whole rollercoaster in a day.

Eventually I grew daring enough to try my hand at writing, though it took many years before I honed my craft enough to bear the precious logo. This book is my fourteenth and I hope you enjoy Brooke and RJ’s romance!

Happy reading,

Jennifer Lewis

For Pippa, international pony of mystery and cherished member of our family

One

“There is one good thing about this situation.” RJ Kincaid slammed his phone down on the conference table, his voice cracking with fury.

“What’s that?” Brooke Nichols stared at her boss. She failed to see a bright side.

“Now we know things cannot possibly get any worse.” His eyes flashed and he leaned forward in his chair. The other staff in the meeting sat like statues. “My calls to the prosecutor’s office, the police, the courts, the state senator—have all been ignored.”

He stood and marched around the table. “The Kincaid family is under siege and they’re firing on us from all angles.” Tall and imposing at the best of times, with bold features, dark hair and smoky slate-blue eyes, RJ now looked like a general striding into battle. “And my mother, Elizabeth Winthrop Kincaid, the finest woman in Charleston, will be spending tonight behind bars like a common criminal.”

He let out a string of curses that made Brooke shrink into her chair. She’d worked for RJ for five years and she’d never seen him like this. Normally he was the most easygoing man you could meet, never rattled by even the most intense negotiations, with time for everyone and a nonchalant approach to life.

Of course that was before his father’s murder and the revelation that his privileged and entitled existence was founded on lies.

RJ walked over to his brother Matthew. “You’re the director of new business—is there any new business?”

Matthew inhaled. They both knew the answer. Even some of their most stalwart clients had fled the company in the aftermath of the scandal. “There is the Larrimore account.”

“Yes, I suppose we do have one new account to hang our hopes on. Greg, how are the books looking?” RJ strode around to the CFO and for a moment she thought he was going to collar him.

Mild-mannered Greg shrank into his chair. “As you know, we’re experiencing challenges—”

“Challenges!” RJ cut him off, raising his hands in the air in a dramatic gesture. “That’s one way of looking at it. A challenge is an opportunity for growth, a time to rise up and seize opportunity, to embrace change.”

He turned and walked back across the room. Everyone sat rigid in their chairs, probably praying he wouldn’t accost them.

“But what I see here is a company on the brink of going under.” RJ shoved a hand through his thick, dark hair. His handsome features were hard with anger. “And all of you are just sitting in your chairs taking notes as if we’re at some garden party. Get up and get out there and do something, for Chrissakes!”

No one moved an inch. Brooke rose from her chair, unable to stop herself. “Urn …” She had to get him out of here. He was acting like a jerk and if he continued like this he’d do himself permanent harm in the company.

“Yes, Brooke?” He turned to face her, and lifted an eyebrow. His eyes met hers and a jolt of energy surged in her blood.

“I need to speak to you outside.” She picked up her laptop and headed for the door, heart pounding. He could probably fire her on the spot in his current mood, but she wasn’t doing her job if she let him insult and harangue employees who were already under a lot of pressure and stress through no fault of their own.

“I’m sure it can wait.” He frowned and gestured to the gathered meeting.

“Just for a moment. Please.” She continued toward the door, hoping he’d follow.

“Apparently my assistant’s need to consult with me in private is more urgent than the imminent collapse of The Kincaid Group, and the imprisonment of my mother. Since it’s the end of the day I’m sure you also have better places to be. Meeting dismissed.”

RJ moved to the door in time to hold it open for her. A wave of heat and adrenaline rose inside her as she passed him, her arm almost brushing against his. He closed the door and followed her out. In the hush of the carpeted hallway Brooke almost lost her nerve. “In your office, please.”

“I don’t have time to loll about in my office. My mother’s in the county jail in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Brooke reminded herself his rudeness was the result of extreme stress. “Trust me. It’s important.” Her own firm tone surprised her. She walked ahead into the spacious corner office with views of the Charleston waterfront. The sunset cast a warm amber glow over the water reflected on the walls in moving patterns. “Come on in.”

RJ sauntered into the room, then crossed his arms. “Happy now?”

“Sit down.” She closed the door and locked it.

“What?”

Her resolve faltered as her boss glared at her.

“On the couch.” She pointed to it, in case he’d forgotten where it was. She almost blushed at the way it sounded as she said it. What a lovelorn secretary’s fantasy! But this situation was serious. “I’m going to pour you a whiskey and you’re going to drink it.”

He didn’t move. “Have you lost your mind?”

“No, but you’re beginning to lose yours and you need to step back and take a deep breath before you damage your reputation. You can’t talk to employees like that, no matter what the circumstances. Now sit.” She pointed at the sofa again.

A stunned RJ lowered himself onto it.

Brooke poured three fingers of whisky into a crystal tumbler with shaking hands. Everything really did seem to be going to hell in a handbasket for RJ. Until now he’d faced each disaster with composure, but apparently he’d reached his breaking point.

Their fingers touched as she handed him the glass, and she cursed the subtle buzz of awareness that always haunted her around RJ. “Here, this will settle your nerves.”

“My nerves are just fine.” He took a sip. “It’s everything else that’s screwed up. The police can’t really believe my mother killed my father!”

He took a long swig, which made Brooke wince. She bit her lip. The pained expression on his handsome face tugged at her heart. “We both know it’s impossible, and they’ll figure that out.”

“Will they?” RJ raised a dark brow and peered up at her. “What if they don’t? What if this is the first of many long nights in jail for her?” He shuddered visibly and took another swig. “It kills me that I can’t protect her from this.”

“I know. And you’re still grieving the death of your father.”

“Not just his literal death.” RJ stared at the floor. “The death of everything I thought I knew about him.”

She and RJ had never discussed the scandalous revelations about the Kincaid family, but they were both aware she knew all the details—along with everyone else in Charleston. They’d been splashed all over the local media every day since his father’s murder on December 30th. It was now March.

“Another family.” He growled the words like a curse. “Another son, born before me.” He shook his head. “All my life I was Reginald Kincaid, Jr. Proud son and heir and all I wanted to do was follow in my father’s footsteps. Little did I know they’d been wandering off into some other woman’s house, to sleep with her and raise her children, too.”

He glanced up, and his pain-filled gaze stole her breath. It killed her to see him suffering like this. If only she could soothe his hurt and anger.

“I’m so sorry.” It was all she could manage. What could she say? “I’m sure he loved you. You could see it in his face when he looked at you.” She swallowed. “I bet he wished things were different, and that he could have at least told you before he died.”

“He had plenty of time to tell me. I’m thirty-six years old, for Chrissakes. Was he waiting until I hit fifty?” RJ rose to his feet and crossed the room, whiskey splashing in the glass. “That’s what hurts the most. That he didn’t confide in me. All the time we spent together, all those long hours fishing or hunting, walking through the woods with guns. We talked about everything under the sun—except that he was living a lie.”

RJ tugged at his tie with a finger and loosened his collar. Recent events had given him an air of gravitas that he’d never had before. The strain hardened his noble features and gave his broad shoulders the appearance of carrying the weight of the world.

Brooke longed to take him in her arms and give him a reassuring hug. But that would not be a good idea. “You’re doing a great job of keeping the family together and the company afloat.”

“Afloat!” RJ let out a harsh laugh. “It would be a real problem for a shipping company if it couldn’t stay afloat.” His eyes twinkled with humor for a split second. “But at the rate we’re losing clients we’ll be belly up in the bay before the year is out if I don’t turn things around. For every new client Matthew brings in, we’re losing two old ones. And I don’t even have a free hand to guide the company. My father—in his infinite wisdom—saw fit to give his illegitimate son forty-five percent of the company and only leave me a measly nine percent.”

Brooke grimaced. That did seem the cruelest act of all. RJ had devoted his entire working life to The Kincaid Group. He’d been executive vice president almost since he left college, and everyone—including him—assumed he’d one day be president and CEO. Until his father had all but left the company to a son no one knew about. “I suppose he did that because he felt guilty about keeping Jack secret all these years.”

“As well he might.” RJ marched back across the room and took another swig of whiskey. “Except he didn’t seem to think about how much it would hurt the rest of us. Even all five of us Kincaids together don’t have a majority vote. Ten percent of the stock is owned by some mystery person we can’t seem to find. If Jack Sinclair gains control over the missing ten percent he’ll get to decide how to run The Kincaid Group and the rest of us have to go along with it or ship out. I’m seriously considering doing the latter.”

“Leaving the company?” She couldn’t believe it. Selfish thoughts about her own job disappearing almost toppled her concern for RJ.

“Why not? It’s not mine to run. I’m just another cog in the machine. That’s not what my dad groomed me for or what I want for myself.” He slammed the empty glass down on a table. “Maybe I’ll leave Charleston for good.”

“Calm down, RJ.” Brooke poured another three fingers of pungent whiskey into the glass. Right now it seemed a good idea to get him too drunk to go anywhere at all. “It’s early days yet. Nothing will be decided about the company until the shareholders’ meeting and, until then, everyone’s counting on you to steer the ship through these rough waters.”

“I love all your nautical lingo.” He flashed a wry grin as he took the glass. “I knew there was a good reason I hired you.”

“That and my excellent typing skills.”

“Typing—pah. You could run this company if you put your mind to it. You’re not just organized and efficient, you’re good with people. You’ve managed to talk me back off the ledge today, and I thank you for it.” He took another sip. The whiskey was certainly doing its job. Already the hard edge of despair and anger had softened.

Now was not the time to mention that she had applied for a management job, and been turned down. She didn’t know if RJ was behind that, or if he even knew.

“I didn’t want you to upset people any more than they already are.” She pushed a hand through her hair. “Everyone’s temper is running high and we need to work together. The last thing you want is for key employees to quit and make things worse in the run-up to the shareholders’ meeting.”

“You’re right, as usual, my lovely Brooke.”

Her eyes widened. Obviously the whiskey was going straight to his head. Still, she couldn’t help the funny warm feeling his words generated inside her, almost like a shot of whiskey to her core.

“The most important thing right now is to find your dad’s murderer.” She tried to distract herself from RJ’s melting gaze. “Then your mom won’t be under suspicion.”

“I’ve hired a private investigator.” RJ peered into his glass. “I told him I’ll pay for twenty-four hours in the day and he shouldn’t stop until he finds the truth.” He looked up at her. “Of course I told him to start with the Sinclair brothers.”

Brooke nodded. Jack Sinclair sounded like a man with an ax to grind, though her vision could be skewed by the fact that he’d inherited her boss’s birthright. She hadn’t met Jack or his half brother Alan. “They must be angry your dad kept them secret all these years.”

“Yup. Resentment.” RJ sat down on the sofa again. “I’m beginning to know what that feels like.”

“Very understandable.” Her chest ached with emotion. She wished she could bear some of the burden for him. “This whole situation came out of nowhere for you.”

“Not to mention my mom.” He shook his head. “Though sometimes I wonder if she knew. She didn’t seem as surprised as the rest of us.”

Brooke swallowed. Elizabeth Kincaid would have had at least some motivation for the murder if she’d known about her husband’s adultery. And she had seen her in the office on the night of the murder. She shook the thought from her brain. There was no way such a quiet and gentle person could fire a bullet at another human, even her cheating husband. “Let me pour you some more.”

She brought the bottle over to the sofa and leaned down to fill RJ’s glass. The whiskey sloshed in the bottle as he stuck out a strong arm and pulled her roughly onto the sofa with him. She let out a tiny shriek as her hips settled into the soft leather next to his.

“I appreciate the company, Brooke. I guess I needed someone to talk to.” His arm had now settled across her shoulders, his big hand wrapped around her upper arm. She could hardly breathe. And when she did his warm, masculine scent assaulted her senses and raised her blood pressure.

RJ settled into the sofa a little, caressing her shoulder with his hand. Heat bloomed under his fingers, through her thin blouse. She still held the whiskey bottle and wondered if she should pour from it, or if he’d had enough. He answered the question by taking it from her with his free hand, and putting it on the floor along with his glass. His hand then settled on her thigh, where she could feel the warmth of his palm through her smart gray skirt. Her heart quickened when he turned to look at her.

RJ’s expression was one of intense concentration. He seemed to be examining her face like she was a table of container ship sailings. “I never noticed how green your eyes are.”

Brooke had a sudden urge to roll those eyes. How many women had he used that line on? RJ was famous throughout the Southeast as a Most Eligible Bachelor and had enjoyed his single status as long as she’d known him. “Some people would call them gray.” Was she really sitting almost in RJ’s lap talking about her eyes, or was this some kind of manic dream?

“They’d be wrong.” Again his expression was deadly serious. “But lately I’m learning that people are wrong a lot of the time.” His gaze fell to her mouth. Her lips parted slightly and she pressed them back together. “I’m having to question a lot of my assumptions about the world.”

“Sometimes that’s good.” She spoke softly, wondering if she’d said the wrong thing. Sitting this close to RJ was dangerous. Arousal already crept through her limbs and strange parts of her were starting to tingle.

“I suppose so.” RJ frowned. “Though it doesn’t make life any easier.”

Poor RJ. He was used to being the golden child, his entire life mapped out at birth and his every need taken care of before he could even voice it.

“Sometimes challenges can make us stronger.” It was hard to form sensible thoughts with his arm around her shoulder and his other hand on her knee. She could feel the power of his sturdy body right through her clothes. Part of her wanted to stand up and go organize the papers on his desk. The other part wanted to wrap her arms around his neck and …

RJ’s lips crushed over hers in a hot, whiskey-scented kiss that banished all thought. Her body melted against his and she felt her fingers do what they’d wanted all along—roam into his stiff white shirt and the hard, hot muscle beneath.

His hands caressed her, making her skin hum with arousal. Her nipples thickened and a powerful wave of heat rose in her belly. RJ’s raw hunger for affection—for help—gave urgency to his touch. She could feel how badly he needed her, right now, here in his arms.

She kissed him back with equal force, affection for him overpowering any more sensible urges. She wanted to heal his hurt, to make him feel better, and right now she almost felt that was within her power. Emotions surged within her. She’d adored RJ almost since the day she met him and his strength under adversity only made her admire him more. She’d never dared imagine for a single second that he’d return her feelings.

Their kiss deepened and heated and for a moment she thought they’d fuse and become one, then RJ pulled back gently. “Brooke, you’re an amazing woman.”

His soft sigh contained a thick aroma of all those fingers of whiskey she’d poured him. Would he regret this in the morning? Still, hearing him call her an amazing woman stirred something powerful inside her. Was this the beginning of a totally new phase in their relationship? Maybe they’d start dating and she’d be able to help him negotiate the minefield of his life and come happily out the other side with him—arm in arm. His arms felt fabulous around her right now.

Or would she remember this as the moment she destroyed her hard-earned career at The Kincaid Group and permanently alienated her boss by getting him drunk and compromising their professional relationship? A ball of fear burst open like a mold spore inside her.

What was she doing? She’d gotten him drunk, then let him kiss her. It was all her fault, even she could see that.

RJ stroked her cheek and she fought a sudden urge to nuzzle against him like a cat. Was it so wrong to give him the affection and comfort he craved? Again, violins and visions of a rose-scented courtship hummed in her mind. She was strong enough to help him through this. Her own background had made her a resilient person.

RJ caressed her, taking in the curve of her breast with his fingers then trailing over her thigh. The musky scent of him filled her senses for a second as his lips met hers again and kissed her softly.

Cigar smoke clung to his suit from the long business lunch he’d hosted at a local restaurant, and mingled rather intoxicatingly with the whiskey. Everything about RJ seemed delicious to her right now. She wanted to wrap herself up in him and stay there forever.

But he withdrew again, leaving her lips stinging. Then he frowned and pushed a hand through his hair as if wondering what he was doing.

An icy finger of doubt slid down Brooke’s back. Perhaps that smoky smell came from the smoldering ruin of her career and reputation. Instinct pushed her to her feet, which wasn’t easy with her knees reduced to wobbly jelly. “Maybe it’s time to get out of here. It’s after seven.”

RJ leaned his head back against the sofa, eyes closed. “I’m beat. I don’t think I can take another step today.”

“I’ll call you a cab.” She certainly didn’t want him driving with all that whiskey in him. He didn’t live far away, but driving or walking him home didn’t seem like such a great idea, either. If he invited her in, she wasn’t sure she could say no, and she knew she’d regret being that easy.

“Don’t worry about me, Brooke. I’ll sleep here on the sofa. I’ve done it many times before. If I wake up in the middle of the night I’ll go through some of the paperwork I need to read.”

“You’ll wake up sore.”

“I’ll be fine.” Already he was sinking into the sofa, eyes sleepy. “Go home and rest and I’ll see you in the morning.”

Brooke bit her lip. Somehow it hurt to be dismissed like this after their steamy kisses. What did she expect? That he’d want her by his side every moment from now on? Maybe after so much whiskey he’d already forgotten he even kissed her.

“What about dinner?”

“Not hungry,” he murmured.

“There’s half a plate of sandwiches in the fridge left over from a luncheon meeting today. I could get them for you.”

“Stop trying to mother me, and go home.” His tone was almost curt. Brooke swallowed and turned for the door. Then she noticed RJ had sat up again, head in his hands. “I can’t believe my mom is in jail. It’s just so wrong. I’ve never felt so powerless in my life.”

Brooke walked back toward him. “She’s a strong woman and she’ll survive. You’ve done all you can for now and it won’t help her if you worry yourself sick over it. Get some sleep so you’ll be ready to make the most of tomorrow. You’ve got a company to save.”

He blew out a hard breath. “You’re right, Brooke, as usual. Thanks for everything.”

Already he’d lain down, eyes closed. A fierce pang of tenderness for him ached in her chest. So tall and strong and proud and so anxious to go immediately into battle to save his mom. RJ was the kind of man any woman would adore. And she was only one among the many who did.