Reunited...And Pregnant. Joss WoodЧитать онлайн книгу.
desk in his luxury hotel room to Skype Amy.
His computer did its thing and then Amy’s pixie face filled his screen. She scowled at him. “It’s about time you called.”
“Hello to you, too,” Beck said with a faint smile. Beck wondered, not for the first time, who was the boss in the relationship. He might be a Ballantyne director, but Amy, the PA he shared with Linc and the person he and his siblings entrusted with the most confidential information, was the power behind the throne. “What’s up?”
“So much,” Amy answered and held up her index finger. “Don’t go away. I’m just going to get my wine.”
Beck laughed when Julia hung her face, upside down, over the screen to blow him a kiss. Amy’s long-term partner and soon-to-be wife was a goofball, and around her loved ones, she rarely acted like the cool professional the financial world knew her to be.
Beck picked up his laptop, walked toward the bed and placed the device on the bedside table. He tucked pillows between his head and the headboard of the massive bed and stretched out his legs. He liked beds to be big enough to accommodate his six-four frame.
Beck placed his laptop on his knees and reached for his beer. He sipped it as he watched Amy’s cat, Lazy Joe, jump with great effort onto her chair and curl up into a gray-and-white ball. Amy returned, picked up the cat and resettled the feline on her lap.
“God, look at you with your messy hair and your stubble, wearing only a pair of track pants. So hot.” Amy tossed a quick look over her shoulder. “Julia, I’m thinking of going straight.”
“Stop lusting over Beckett, you pervert. He’s your boss.” Julia’s voice drifted over from the kitchen, sounding perfectly relaxed.
“And you’re not my type. Even if you were straight we’d have no chemistry,” Beck said mildly.
“True. So, I’m now going to ignore that fabulous chest and six-pack abs.”
“So kind,” Beck murmured.
“You look like you’re having a miserable time on your forced break,” Amy commented.
After his first year of working for Ballantyne International, Connor had insisted that, because he was a driven, relentless workaholic with a habit of working sixteen or more hours a day, he take a week off every four months. Initially, he’d felt like Connor was punishing him for working too hard, but he eventually realized that it was his uncle’s way of looking after his health. Connor knew that he couldn’t force Beck to stop working but he could at least manage him.
No one did that now. Connor’s death had leveled the playing fields between him and his brothers and he no longer took orders that he not work so hard. His siblings didn’t understand, and he’d never explain, that he liked to work insane hours, that his devotion to Ballantyne International was his way of showing them that he was an asset to the company, his way to earn and keep his place in his family.
“It was the kid’s fault. He asked them to come home. He’d broken his wrist and he needed to have it pinned and made a big deal about them coming home to be with him.”
“Which one is he?”
“Can’t see him right now. But he’s the middle child, the one who had a panic attack in church.”
“Two lives and a baby on the way—a hell of a price to pay for a broken arm. I wonder if he’ll ever know the damage his whining caused.”
Because Beck was under the table, hidden by the long tablecloth, and listening to the whispered conversations of the mourners invited back to the family home after the funeral, he heard the comments and understood perfectly. His parents’ deaths were his fault.
It was a conclusion he’d already come to. Hearing it spoken aloud just confirmed what he already thought. From that day on, he’d always felt like the outsider looking in and he’d made himself as independent as he possibly could be. He’d emotionally distanced himself from his siblings and, really, it was better that way. Distance allowed a buffer against the hurt that emotional connections always created. Distance allowed him to keep control.
He’d come close to losing control once and he’d paid the price for it. Over two months and on a continent across the world, Cady had snuck under his skin and into his heart and he’d lost himself in her.
She was just a young man’s stupidity, Beck told himself for the millionth time. Every guy had that one woman he idolized in his head. It didn’t mean anything.
He’d been trying for nearly a decade to believe his own BS. At the time she’d meant everything.
“Where are you this time?” Amy demanded, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Please, please tell me you’re lying on a beach somewhere reading a book.”
Not his style. Admittedly, all his breaks were action based and full of physical activity, but at least his brain slowed down from constantly operating at warp speed.
“Saariselkä, Finland.”
“Of course you are. Heli-skiing?”
Beck smiled at her concern. Amy hated it when he indulged in his love for high-risk adventure sports. “Not this time. Cross-country skiing.”
“Dangerous?”
“Not at all,” Beck lied. There had been a couple of hairy traverses this morning, but he was here in one piece, wasn’t he? What was the point of upsetting her?
“Liar.”
Beck smiled and took a sip of his beer. Since meeting Amy in Thailand, she’d been his closest friend. He was reasonably sociable but the reserve he cultivated meant that he didn’t have many close friends. Amy had ignored his “keep out” signs and had barged her way into his life. He’d flown to Hanoi after saying goodbye to Cady in Bangkok and Amy had immediately sensed that he was hurting. She’d plastered herself to his side and traveled with him as he hauled his dented heart over the soil of various Southeast Asian countries.
You couldn’t BS a person who’d witnessed your heart bleed.
Amy had been a kind and consistent presence, a true friend. And because of her sexual orientation, they’d never complicated their friendship with sex. He and Amy had quit traveling at the same time and he’d joined Ballantyne International, knowing that it was time to put his MBA to work. Amy had needed a job and he’d arranged for her to do some temporary secretarial work at Ballantyne International. Within three months, she’d made herself indispensable, not only to him, but also to his ex-guardian and uncle, Connor Ballantyne. Amy, irreverent and hip but brutally efficient, became Connor’s eyes, ears and right hand and she’d been devastated when Connor was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.
It was Amy who’d made all the arrangements to transport Jaeger back home when he was involved in that car accident in Italy, and Amy who’d held Beckett’s hand at his brother’s hospital bed and at his uncle’s funeral.
“So, what’s happening at work?” Beckett asked her, tapping his finger against the neck of his cold beer bottle.
“The usual. I sent out the briefs to various PR firms today to bid for the rebranding strategy.”
A small frown appeared between Beck’s eyes. “Which firms did you send the brief to?”
Amy named a few firms Beck was familiar with and he nodded his approval. “Linc instructed me to send them to smaller firms, too, ones that think outside the box,” Amy added.
“Hard to find.”
“Jules had a suggestion or two.”
“Who?”
Amy shrugged. “You wouldn’t know them.”
Beck couldn’t identify the emotion flashing in Amy’s eyes and he frowned at her uncharacteristic reticence.
“Well, let’s see what they come up with. Email me their