"My parents crossed the pond before I was born, but the Irish … that's in the blood." He drawled the words, still using the damn accent, and tapped his chest near his heart. She only just barely resisted humping his leg.
"Whatever," she practically snarled. She didn't have a lot of defenses against Aiden's charms to begin with, but that voice could prove her downfall, which unreasonably annoyed her. "What time is Margo meeting us with Waverley?"
"We're picking her up along the way. Hop in," Aiden invited.
She got in the car and, in seconds it seemed, the driver managed to navigate the busy city streets and bring them to the door of one of the more posh apartment complexes. Rumor had it that rent in this building was somewhere around twelve thousand a month.
No wonder she wanted more money.
"I'll wait in the car," Chelsea offered.
"No," Aiden said quickly. "You should come with me."
Chelsea berated herself for agreeing to go on this trip. So she couldn't really afford to pay a penalty for quitting right now … Surely, there was another way than this? She called herself any number of names while she followed him to the shining doors held open by a uniformed doorman and again while entering the brass and stone decorated elevator. She continued to bash everything from her intelligence to her emotional fortitude as she tried to stay a few feet behind Aiden in the hallway, hoping maybe he'd talk to Margo, get his kid, and forget she was loitering somewhere behind him.
Instead, when Margo opened the door to her apartment, she waved them both inside. "I sent down her things a little while ago, and I talked to Hugo downstairs. He and your driver are loading them into the car. Why don't you both come in for a minute? Waverley!" The last was called out in a louder tone, meant to carry past the elegant entryway to her daughter somewhere nearby.
Margo Wells looked glamorous, even for so early in the day. Her silken red waves fell in careless abandon around the perfect oval of her lovely face, and her lush lips curved into the signature smile which had likely earned her millions over the years. "You must be Chelsea," she added, stretching a hand toward Chelsea. "Waverley has been talking nonstop about you. It's great to get a chance to really meet you."
Chelsea took Margo's delicate palm into her own and shook probably too vigorously, but the sheer perfection of the model turned mother made her feel like a ham-fisted ogre. "Pleasure to meet you as well, Ms. Wells," Chelsea managed.
"Thanks so much for giving me this chance with her," Aiden said, and Chelsea took his words as an opportunity to back up discreetly. She'd hide behind the potted palm at the door if she could.
"You made valid points. How could I say no?" The model's smile never wavered, but her tone seemed arctic cold. She didn't reach out to shake Aiden's hand or otherwise indicate she wanted to move any closer to him at all. Her body language was hard to read-open enough to suggest she was being friendly, yet closed off enough to suggest she didn't want to pretend to be chummy with Aiden.
But from Chelsea's perspective, they did make a striking pair. Her vivid hair looked even more radiant next to his dark head. Their heights were close enough that she looked him right in the eye when they spoke, and Chelsea couldn't help thinking they would still make a fabulous power couple. With her looks and his money, they could do just about anything …
And wouldn't that be nice for their kid? If they ended up back together from this whole fiasco, they'd be the most perfect little family and could buy a perfect house and maybe even get a perfect dog.
She chastised herself again for her bitter thoughts, but it was a damn good and timely reminder. No matter how sexy the accent might be, no matter how attractive her boss was, no matter how much he might seem like her friend sometimes … he wasn't. He was her boss, and people like them lived very different lives than anything Chelsea could hope for or dream about.
Then again, that she had to remind herself at all was probably a sign she should not go on this trip with him.
Waverley skidded to a sliding stop on the smooth, polished floor. Her socks were mismatched, her hair neatly braided, and her nose was scrunched as she looked up at her dad. "You could still back out. You know that, right?"
"Why would I want to back out?" asked Aiden, but he looked a little green around the gills, even to Chelsea.
"Last chance, Daddy wannabe," the child reiterated.
"Knock it off, Waverley," scolded her mother, and Chelsea smiled for real.