A Christmas Miracle for Daisy (Taming of the Sheenans Book 5) (3 page)

She would not cry. She wouldn’t. “Apparently it’s time to spread my wings and look outside Sheenan Media.”

“You have so much freedom here. You’ve been given so much control.”

“But you’re taking away the freedom and control, forcing all to relocate from homes we love to nowhere Montana.”

“Whitney, you’re from nowhere Montana.”

“And I left it. For good reason.”

“You don’t have to live in Marietta. Lots of the team is house hunting in Bozeman.”

“I definitely can’t live in Bozeman.”

He shot her a swift glance, puzzled, and then his expression cleared. “This is about April.”

“It’s not just April. It’s all of it. You, me, April and Daryl, Daisy. It’s too much. It’s too painful. I can’t go back there. I can’t live with those memories.”

“Do you not ever let yourself think about her? About them?”

She pushed up to her feet. “I don’t want to discuss it.”

“Whitney, that’s not healthy—”

“I don’t want to discuss it!” She grabbed her purse and her coat from the hook on the wall. “I have to go. I need to go.”

He was on his feet, too, and he reached for her but she lunged backwards, throwing an arm out to keep him away.

“You have no right,” she choked. “You have no right at all because you knew how much I loved her. You knew how important she was to me. She was nothing to you at that point. You weren’t attached to her yet. But I was. And I lost. You made sure I’d lose, too.”

‡

W
hitney walked blindly
out of the tower office building, dashing away tears as she stepped outside, shivering at the bite in the air. It was a crisp, bright November morning and she pulled her coat closer, fastening buttons. The temperature had been dropping steadily these past few days, turning the leaves russet and gold. She shivered again as she walked. She didn’t know where she was going, she just knew she had to move…escape.

Escape him, Cormac Sheenan.

Whitney had first heard the name, Sheenan, nine years ago when she was working at
Colorado Living
as an assistant editor. One afternoon the magazine’s president and publisher, John Vey, called a staff meeting and announced that he’d just sold the magazine to Sheenan Media and that the new owner and publisher had promised to keep most of the staff on, although there would probably be a few changes.

John had been wrong. There weren’t a few changes. Virtually the entire editorial and marketing and sales team was replaced overnight with Sheenan Media employees, and Whitney was one of those let go.

She was lucky, though, and found a new position at
Colorado Bridal
. It was another junior position, but it was a job, and she quickly worked her way up once her new boss realized Whitney wasn’t just a good editor, but a great designer, and she was promoted to Art Assistant, assisting the magazine’s Deputy Art Director.

One year later she became the Deputy Art Director and another year later she interviewed for the Creative Director job—not at all confident she would get it as she was just twenty-four—but
Colorado Bridal
’s president loved Whitney’s vision and made her the youngest Creative Director in the history of the magazine. However six months later, the magazine was bankrupt and threatening to fold, but before the magazine ceased operations, Media Communications, Inc. out of Seattle, bought the ailing bridal magazine, adding it to its bridal market.

Nine months after the averted crisis, Media Communications, Inc. was acquired by Sheenan Media and the nine full-time employees at
Colorado Bridal
were transitioned over to Sheenan Media’s Denver office.

Suddenly Whitney was back working in her old office, and through a series of lateral and vertical shifts, found herself contributing to all the lifestyle magazines, overseeing visual design and branding.

And still she’d never met the CEO himself. She wouldn’t meet him for another year, and then it was by fluke, having drinks and appetizers at Steuben’s on East 17
^th
Avenue with her best friend, April, who’d recently moved to Denver from their hometown of Bozeman. They were munching on ribs, making a mess but thoroughly enjoying themselves, when Whitney glanced up, and made eye contact with a very hot guy sitting across from them at the bar.

He was dark blonde, tan, tall, and drop dead handsome, but not in that pretty boy kind of way. No, he was rugged, even a little weathered, like the guys that spent all their free time on the slopes or in the water. And then he smiled at her, a very slow smile that curled his lips and warmed his eyes, and even though he was sitting across the room at the bar, her heart did this wild drop, plunging to her feet and then back up again. Whitney didn’t believe in love at first sight but she felt a rush of something (lust?) and could barely focus on anything.

April had spotted him, and saw the way he’d looked at Whitney and so the two friends spent a good five minutes discussing his dark blonde and tanned hotness, speculating on who he was and what he did for a living to look like that, before finally moving on to other topics, like their lame love lives, and how warm it had been lately, teasing them with the promise of spring, when they both knew spring was still months away.

And then suddenly April was sitting up taller and whispering, “Mr. Seriously Sexy is coming this way.”

Whitney wiped her lips with her cocktail napkin, praying she’d erased all signs of barbecue sauce and then he was there, at their side, even taller than she’d thought, and far hunkier, too. He was built, and he was beautiful and introduced himself as Cormac.

April invited Cormac to join them and he ordered another round of drinks and they drank and talked. It turned out he was a surfer and a snowboarder. He lived in Southern California near the beach and when he wasn’t surfing or snowboarding he was traveling, and working, and his ideal situation was when he could combine the two, which had happened recently when he’d gone to Brazil for a conference in Rio de Janeiro, and had been able to get some surfing in, hitting a couple of different breaks and his favorite was one Pecado.

Whitney asked if he’d grown up surfing. He hadn’t. He learned in college when on vacation in Hawaii with some friends, and he loved it so much he went to graduate school in Southern California so he could surf every day.

Nowhere in the conversation did Montana come up, or where they all worked, and at the end of the evening when Cormac asked Whitney for her number, she gave it to him. She wasn’t sure he’d ever call, but he did, the next day. She was just about to walk into a meeting and asked him if she could call him back in an hour or so. He said great. She hung up, gathered her files and notebooks and laptop and headed to the large conference room with its wall of glass and took a seat at the long table. Seconds later Christine Miller, the president of Sheenan Media’s Home Design Division entered the boardroom with Cormac.

Whitney still hadn’t put two and two together until Christine introduced Cormac as Cormac Sheenan, Founder and CEO of Sheenan Media, Sheenan Cable, Sheenan Broadband, as well as the other half dozen companies he’d acquired as part of his mini media empire.

Everyone laughed at Christine’s playful words “mini media empire,” and even Whitney had cracked a smile, but she was also shocked, because Cormac Sheenan was ruthless in his acquisitions and mergers. He slashed staff and downsized companies, reducing not just ‘bloat’, but really good people as he reshaped each organization. Yes, it was fiscally responsible operating with a lean team, but sometimes he let the wrong people go. In fact, he frequently let the wrong people go. She knew first hand by his slashing of staff at
Colorado Living
, and then his whittling of the Bridal team.

Cormac had caught her eye during the introduction but his expression gave away nothing. Was he surprised to see her at the table? Would he be different with her now?

She spent the hour trying not to let her nerves, or her imagination, get the better of her. She told herself to be calm and patient and wait to see what happened after the meeting.

Cormac didn’t look at her as she left the boardroom, nor did he stop by her desk on his way out.

She told herself not to be disappointed. She told herself she wasn’t interested in a man like Cormac Sheenan. He wasn’t her type. He wasn’t anything like the men she dated. It was better she found out who he was now, before things progressed and soured.

And then he called.

He asked her to meet him for drinks after work. They agreed on a place just a couple blocks from her office.

Whitney arrived, heart already racing, torn between worry and curiosity. What would he say? How would this go?

He was already at a table when she arrived. He stood as she approached. His smile was crooked, even a little bit lazy. “I had no idea that my Creative Director was so young,” he said as she sat down.

She watched him drop back into his seat and extend a muscular arm along the top of his booth. He moved with an easy grace, clearly comfortable in his body.

She didn’t know if it was nerves or stupidity but she blurted, “And I had no idea that the founder of Sheenan Media might just be a likeable guy.”

He looked at her a long moment, and then gestured for the cocktail waitress. “Do you like wings?” he asked her, as the waitress approached.

Whitney wasn’t sure she knew where he was going with this, but she did like wings, even more than she liked ribs, and she nodded.

“And drinking?” he prompted.

“Their pale ale. It’s from their own micro-brewery.”

He ordered a pint of the same and then his focus returned to Whitney as the waitress walked away. “Not likeable?” he questioned, sounding more amused than annoyed.

She shrugged. “You have a reputation.” She saw the lift of his brow and added, “As CEO of Sheenan Media.”

“Because I turn struggling magazines around?”

“Laying off dozens of employees in the process.”

“It’s my job to make the magazines profitable.”

“You have a history of laying off the wrong people.”

“Because I let you go four years ago?”

Now she was surprised. He must have done some research. “You saw I worked for
Colorado Living
.”

“And
Colorado Bridal
. First editorial then design. You have an interesting resume.” He hesitated, studying her. “And you’ve risen to the top very fast.”

“You’re concerned it’s too fast?”

“No. I believe the great ones do rise fast.”

The great ones
.

She told herself not to be flattered. She told herself not to trust anyone with that much power and wealth.

Or good looks.

But he leaned against the booth, so very relaxed, his broad shoulders at an angle, the corner of his lips lifted, his smile slightly wry, and her heart did that tumble again, falling low and fast before surging up again.

She liked him. And it had been a very long time since she’d liked anyone this much.

She took a deep breath and exhaled even more slowly, aware of the heat in his gaze, and wondering if he had any idea of his effect on her. She suspected he did, which made her pulse race even faster.

Just sitting here with him was thrilling, but also dangerous. Yes, he was smart, gorgeous and interesting. But he was also the boss. As in, the absolute top of the food chain. The Sheenan in Sheenan Inc. The Sheenan in Sheenan Media. “So what did you want to talk about?” she asked, unable to bear the suspense.

“You didn’t call me after the meeting.”

She frowned, not understanding. “I didn’t call you?”

“You said you were walking into a meeting, and you’d call me after. You didn’t.”

Whitney’s brow cleared. “Ah. Yes. The meeting where you turned out to be the Founder and CEO of a rather significant media conglomerate.”

“It changes things.”

She wasn’t sure if that was a question or a statement. “Doesn’t it?”

“I’ve never dated anyone that worked for me.”

“So it obviously changes everything.”

“But you don’t work directly beneath me.”

For some ridiculous reason she felt herself blush at the words
beneath me
. She was quite sure he didn’t mean beneath as in, beneath him physically, but her imagination was running amuck, and she thought she’d very much like to see what he looked like with his shirt unbuttoned. She was a visual person. She’d majored in communications but her minor had been graphic design. Her designing eye was telling her he’d have great shoulders and an incredible chest, with lots of hard, taut muscle-covered warm, sun-kissed skin. “No.” Her lips twitched. “I most definitely don’t work beneath you.”

And then his eyebrow had lifted and his eyes warmed, and she felt the craziest flurry inside her chest. Hope, excitement, desire.

“I would hope it’s never work to be beneath me,” he said gravely and yet his eyes were gleaming with silent laughter.

Wicked
, she thought, holding back her own laughter. She loved how smart he was. Loved the verbal word play. He might be her type after all.

Their drinks had arrived and she lifted her beer. “If that were the case, I would blame you.”