One Big Little Secret: A Secret Baby Romance (The Rory Brothers Book 2)

Present

Call it my lucky fucking day.

I stare up at the tall, sleek high-rise we’ve named The Cardinal. Soon to be the city’s finest hotel that’s not technically a hotel.

There’s no stopping the proud smile splitting my lips.

The tower looms over the distant Kansas City skyline like the elegant bird it’s named after, a stark red logo lit like a flame at the top. It’s not just the bird theme. We’ve borrowed a hint of style from the city’s prominent World War I memorial and its eternal flame.

Even though I’ve seen this place hundreds of times during its renovation, it still makes me happy as hell.

This is it. So close to the big opening I can taste it.

The chance of a lifetime—one we’ve had our eye on since our last big deal with real estate mogul Forrest Haute went bad—and now that it’s here, it feels sweeter because of the disaster that came before.

Well, almost sweeter.

Considering said disaster involved a big goddamned financial mess and a federal investigation, I think most people would rather get to the point without so much drama.

Except for Dexter, of course. Haute was the whole reason my brother met his now-wife and was hailed as a city hero for uncovering a sprawling crime ring mucking up the city.

Don’t worry about Dex, he’s doing great.

The rest of us had to stake our reputation on ordinary business—and that something is The Cardinal.

It’s the height of modern luxury, the pinnacle of what our company, Higher Ends, specializes in. Sleek condo units with tasteful art and comfy furnishings galore. Rooftop pool bar. Full cleaning service, food, and deliveries on demand.

All the convenience of a luxury hotel without the stuffiness and plenty of privacy.

What’s more, because I’m a master with delegating, it’s a perfect fit for our internship meant for recruiting new talent, especially in management.

We’ll have plenty of backups to help handle the daily affairs, plus any quirks that might come up.

Hopefully, our big opening stays quirk-free, considering this place is meant to run virtually on autopilot, but you never know. There’s always something.

So far, the only downside is that I need to spend more time mentoring the new manager and making sure she’s up to snuff.

Once, that might’ve been Dex’s job with his workaholic lifestyle, but now that he’s married and settled, it falls to Archer or me. And knowing Archer might scare the new blood away with his assholery, I stepped up.

Whatever. Let’s get this over with.

I leave the gleaming exterior behind and climb the steps up to the building, finding my way to the common area near the information desk. It smells like a new build with that minty, freshly renovated smell.

That’s one of the things I love about this job, being able to breathe your work.

Hell, if I wasn’t born a Rory, I probably would’ve wound up in real estate anyway. There’s nothing more satisfying than the smell of a new project coming alive, and because we’re perfectionists, everything is perfect here.

The lobby seats are old-world leather. The drop-down widescreen TV looks futuristic, and there are silver trays with complimentary breakfast pastries from the Sugar Bowl. We’d never skimp on supporting my sister-in-law’s bakery.

For a second, I stop and drink it all in.

Yeah, I’d stay here in a heartbeat.

Hell, I’d live here, if I wasn’t already set up with a perfectly nice place. I just hope everybody else agrees and this place gets booked up to capacity before we can say—

A loud clatter to the left stops my brain.

I turn, just in time to see little hands reaching onto a table for one of the breakfast pastries I mentioned.

A kid. Stuffing his face like a greedy little chipmunk. And the second he locks eyes with me, he runs, heading for the sofa and spilling crumbs everywhere as the pastry falls apart.

There goes my leather sofa.

Fuck, what a way to start the morning. Who let a kid go wild in here before we have customers?

“Hey, get back over here!” I shout, holding in some other choice words that aren’t child friendly.

He stops and looks at me with sharp blue eyes that remind me of my nephew, Colton. Except Colt is well-behaved and he doesn’t wedge crumbs in every nook and cranny of a twenty-thousand-dollar sectional.

“I don’t know you!” he says.

“Yeah, I know you don’t. But you still need to get off the sofa, little man.”

Wrong words, apparently.

He scowls at me like that pastry falling apart in his hands is suddenly made of mud. “I’m not little. I’m a big boy.”

“Fine. Whatever. I hear big boys don’t bomb other people’s furniture with crumbs,” I tell him, hoping it sinks in.

For a second, I think he’ll smear what’s left of that thing all over it just to piss me off. Then he just wrinkles his nose and starts making a half-assed attempt to wipe them off.

“There. All better, mister!”

“Not quite. Where’s your mother?” I look around, but there’s no sign of parents. Who lets their kid raise bedlam in a place like this? “You need to get down.”

“No! My mommy says never go anywhere with a stranger.”

“Of all the lessons he remembers…” I mutter. “What’s your name, kid?”

“I’m not supposed to tell strangers. I’m not gonna tell you!”

“Just—please, get off the sofa. That’s all I’m asking. I’ll give you another pastry if you do.” Bribery. That’s one thing I’ve learned from watching Archer raise Colt practically alone. It works when you use it just right.

Unfortunately, I don’t have my older brother’s dad experience.

The boy folds his arms and glares at me. “I wanted hot cocoa but it tastes like crap.”

Out of habit, I look at the coffee bar. It’s been destroyed.

Coffee pools across the counter. A couple overturned paper cups and napkins are soaking up the mess as the rest drips on the floor.

That means the little hellraiser must’ve drank some coffee.

This morning just keeps getting better.

“Where are your parents?” I ask again, grabbing a gob of tissues and dipping them into the puddles of coffee, which instantly bleeds through to my hands.

Fuck.

Really, I should call someone, but by the time a cleaner shows up, I’ll already have met the manager. The last thing I need is for them to see this chaos and panic, wondering what kind of clown show they’ve signed on to.

“My mom’s here,” the kid says, starting to bounce on the sofa again.

“Stop bouncing, for God’s sake.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. Damn, would it be so bad if I picked this munchkin up and restrained him?

I’m considering it until a woman starts yelling.

“Arlo!” She races across the floor, her heels clicking, young by the looks of it. Somehow, she seems weirdly familiar with her dark hair twisted up in a bun and hazel eyes shining with worry.

Soon, she grabs the boy’s arm and helps him off the sofa.

“Oh my God, I can’t believe this.” With a ragged breath, she looks at me. “Sir, I’m so sorry for this. I have no words. Arlo, you apologize.”

The kid—Arlo—shuffles his feet.

“Sorry, mister,” he mumbles, watching me sourly.

“I’m really sorry for my son again,” she says, looking back at me. There’s a flicker of something in her eyes like she recognizes me too. Or maybe she’s just about to die from shame because her tornado of a son just wrecked the brand-new common area. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I stepped away for ten seconds to get some printouts from the back. Holy shit, never again.”

I give her son the stink eye.

“You’re an employee, then. Unfortunately, we can’t have children here, you understand?” I wait for her to nod. “We’re just getting up and running. I have important business to attend to, I’m afraid, so I’m going to have to ask you to—”

“I know.” Her cheeks are flaming.

My eyes drift down to the rest of her.

Neat figure. Supple hips. Curves that would tell any idiot why she has a kid.

She might be a flustered mom, but I have to admit she’s rocking the MILF look.

“I didn’t have a choice,” she continues. “The babysitter skipped out at the last minute. Family emergency. I didn’t have anywhere else for him to go, and I know how important it is to be here today. I’m sorry for the mess. Really. Here, let me clean that up.” She grabs a wad of napkins and tries mopping up some of the coffee flood without much more success than I had. “Um, he’s not usually like this, just so you know. He’s a good kid, I promise.”

“Sure.” My veins ice over.

“Look, this won’t be a regular occurrence. You don’t need to worry about that.”

Regular?

I sure as hell hope not.

If I see this kid demolishing the place again, I’ll flip my lid. Also, she needs to quit apologizing before someone—probably me, admittedly—loses their cool.

First impressions are God. If the new manager from our mentor program walked in right now and saw this shit show…

Let’s just say I doubt there’d be a second impression. And that would instantly be my fault with Dex and Archer breathing down my neck.

“Who are you, anyway? Are you cleaning or accounting? We’re not supposed to have any other staff on duty today.”

“Oh, right. Hi, I’m Salem. Salem Hopper?” She blinks at me like the name should mean something, offering me a hand while she keeps mopping coffee with more napkins. “Your new intern. Er, manager, I mean.”

My manager.

My goddamned manager.

This day just charged into first place for historic disasters.

“Patton,” I growl back, annoyed at myself for having the MILF thought a minute ago.

My brothers might think I’m an idiot when it comes to dating, but I don’t dip my pen in the company ink. Ever.

Predictably, that realization only makes me notice her more. The way her blouse falls open at the top, just enough to—fuck.

Stop.

I have to turn away and stare at this gold abstract art piece mounted on the wall before I can look at her again.

“I’ll call someone to deal with the mess. Let’s get started, assuming you can find a way to keep your son entertained.”

“Oh, yes. He has a coloring book and I won’t let him out of my sight. I’ll make sure he’s set up before we begin Mr.—um, do you prefer Patton or Mr. Rory?” She tosses the sopping wet napkins in the trash and grabs Arlo’s hand.

“Patton’s fine,” I clip, wondering who the hell recommended her—and how I managed to get myself mixed up in this shit.

This is the kind of comical mess Dexter normally steps in, like when he blabbed to Haute that he was engaged to the bakery girl when he really wasn’t. His big fat mouth landed him a world of hurt.

Of course, since they’re married now, maybe it wasn’t all a colossal fuckup.

“You can call me Salem. Thank you so much for this opportunity. I couldn’t believe it when I got the call,” she says with a disarming smile. Again, I’m pissed at myself for hearing ‘MILF’ on repeat in my head.

She’s legitimately pretty, though, if you can look past the beady-eyed little munchkin who looks like he’s plotting to drown me in coffee next time.

“It’s what we do,” I say with a shrug. “Here at Higher Ends, we’ve decided we’re better off building our management team from the ground floor rather than poaching talent elsewhere.”

She nods enthusiastically.

The kid skips behind us until we reach the meeting room.

“I’ll be right with you,” she says with a polite smile.

I wait for her as they linger outside for a minute, whispering to each other.

I bite back a smile as the kid gets some ‘mom talk.’ How familiar.

The shit I pulled when I was knee-high almost put my poor mother into a coma.

I can’t make out much, just a few harsh pleas for him to ‘behave’ and something about losing weekend pizza rights for the next ten years.

When she finally walks in with the boy sulking behind her, I show her inside and shut the door.

At least in here, Arlo can’t cause too much destruction. Just in case, I hand him a Higher Ends notepad and a blue pen to go with the coloring book Salem pulls from her bag. While he scribbles away noisily, I gesture for her to sit next to me at the end of the long table.

“You came here with a glowing recommendation. Mr. Persephone himself, from the fashion brand. He knew my folks for years,” I tell her, praying I won’t have to make someone regret those words. “Your previous hotelier experience speaks for itself.”

“I have a thick skin. Working at Copper Roof will do that.” She gives me a strained smile.

Copper Roof? That’s her experience?

The place is a frigging dive, just off the main highway leading into town from the Kansas state line. The place was never anything close to luxurious even in its heyday, when Elvis music and new veterans back from Korea were common there.

“Don’t let it scare you. I knew this job wouldn’t be easy and I love a challenge. After years working there, I can handle anything,” she tells me proudly. “Trust me, I’ve dealt with roaches who had bigger egos than the nastiest guest.”

That wins her a smirk, and I’m annoyed to admit she has a point.

“That’s what I like to hear, Miss Hopper. I’ll remind you that while I’m giving you a shot, your performance is what really matters in the end. The hours and sweat you put in with us are far more important than a few lines on a résumé.”

I give her a quick rundown of her duties. How we’ve mapped out the daily operations, our system for dealing with complaints and improvements, the brand commitment to providing excellent service, and generally helping maintain the lofty standards set by our earlier successes.

To her credit, she takes quick notes in neat script that fits her vibe. With the blouse tucked into her navy pants, she fits the businesswoman profile perfectly.

Everything except the immaculate ass I shouldn’t be staring at.

Minus the small child on the other side of the table, that is, who’s looking at the pen like he’s contemplating how to turn it into an ink cluster bomb.

I’m half convinced he damn well could.

But if he starts scribbling on walls or the furniture, I don’t care who he is. I’ll tackle him like a football.

“Patton?” Salem asks. “Mr. Rory? Sorry, did you want to say more?”

“Right.” Focus, focus. There’s a crease between her eyebrows. She probably thinks I’m an idiot. “Where was I?”

“You were talking about the perks…”

“Yes.” I clear my throat. “There are several benefits associated with this job, as outlined in your contract. HR can answer any questions about your health insurance or the profit sharing. The most exclusive benefit we offer, however, is my personal mentorship.”

“For sure,” she whispers, leaning forward. A pendant around her neck swings with the movement, teasing my eyes to her neckline. “That’s why I jumped at this job, actually. You guys, the Rory brothers, you’re practically legends in business around here.”

“I prefer notorious, but thanks.” I snort. The latest hype has nothing to do with me or Archer or even our miraculous start-up success.

We’re the toast of the town because everyone thinks Dex is a homegrown superhero.

“Unfortunately, my brother Dexter won’t be helping out with this program,” I tell her before any disappointment sets in.

“That’s fine,” she says with a smile that doesn’t waver.

Damn. There’s something naggingly familiar about the way her face catches the light, bringing out the gold flecks in her brown eyes.

Why do I feel like I’ve dealt with her before?

“There’s a lot to be said for the company,” she tells me cheerfully. “Your whole brand, really. I’ve done my homework.”

“Have you?”

“Yeah! The way you forced your way into a crowded market, it’s impressive. Your growth in the first five years is hardly matched by similar firms in much bigger markets. Plus, you’ve single-handedly reframed expectations around travel rentals. I mean, just look at the condos here.” She waves a hand. “All the convenience of hotel living without the stuffiness and big crowds. The Cardinal feels exclusive.”

I nod. “People with money like feeling independent without losing their creature comforts.”

“And Higher Ends delivers.” She’s surprisingly passionate. There’s no doubt she believes what she’s saying when she looks at me like I can turn water into wine.

It’s almost enough to forgive her little hurricane for tearing up my lobby.

“I’m glad you read up on us before you arrived. Now, if you’d like to come this way—”

“Look, Mommy!” Arlo skids into Salem’s side, holding up a poorly drawn picture of a stick figure with a scowl so huge it’s sliding off his chin. His eyebrows are angry Vs that take up a good proportion of his face. “I drew Mr. Grumpybutt.”

Salem’s face flames.

Wait. Is that supposed to be me? With those eyebrows?

“Arlo, go sit down,” she hisses, pressing the back of her hand to her cheek.

“But Mom, you said—”

“Arlo! I’m so sorry, Mr. Rory. He’s normally not like this, not in public. I swear.” She glances around the meeting room desperately and whispers, “It must be all the excitement here.”

Whatever.

I’m willing to bet my bank account it’s partly the coffee he guzzled. Caffeine and children don’t mix.

“It’s fine,” I say, trying to hide my irritation. Like it’s suddenly important that I’m not Mr. Grumpybutt, spoiler of everything fun beneath his twitchy villain eyebrows. “How about we get Arlo that hot chocolate—decaf, for sure—and have a look around?”

Arlo’s ears must be fine-tuned for treats.

“Yeah! Hot choc-lit!” he shouts, throwing the notepad down.

With a firm frown, Salem takes his hand and admonishes him as they follow me back to the lobby, which has thankfully been cleaned.

“Coffee?” I ask, helping myself from the freshly refilled carafe. Our cleaning manager must’ve swept the area.

If there was ever a good morning for a strong cup, it’s this one.

“Yes, please. Arlo, stand still.” She bends and lowers her voice, though I can hear every word. “We want Mommy’s new boss to like us, okay? Can you be a good boy?”

“Okay, Mom.” Arlo doesn’t sound like he’s fully on board with this plan, but at least he stops wiggling like a rambunctious puppy until I can hand him his chocolate.

“Careful, little man. It’s piping hot,” I say before he can take a giant gulp.

He eyes me cautiously, but when Salem glares at him, he decides not to throw it back and scorch his tongue. With our drinks in hand, we head for the rooftop.

“The top floor is our pièce de résistance. One of the big draws of The Cardinal,” I say in the elevator ride up. The coffee has already helped my mood, and Arlo seems more controlled, casually sipping his drink.

The doors open and we walk down the hall to the gold door that leads to the wide rooftop terrace.

This area was my idea.

Archer wanted something more subdued up here, but people don’t want restrained when they’re chasing luxury. They want sheer, unadulterated opulence. Why half-ass it when you can feel like old money for a weekend?

Up here, we deliver.

Salem gasps and finally releases Arlo’s hand. The kid rushes forward to explore the glass igloos.Exclusive © material by Nô(/v)elDrama.Org.

“Holy crap, I never would’ve guessed,” she says. “It’s beautiful!”

“Especially at night,” I tell her. “Here.” I lead her to the glass walls so we can look out over the cityscape in the distance. Thankfully, the place is perfectly kidproof, so we don’t have to worry about chasing her little wolverine. “There are fire pits for cool evenings and winter events, and soft lighting around the pool for summer. Though it’s the view that sells it for ninety percent of the people who’ll come here.”

“It feels like I can reach out and pick up the city.”

“Yes, that’s how we’re selling it. Close enough to admire the view with none of the noise.”

“Are the igloos heated?” she asks, turning back to survey the area. The pool glitters in the lights draped above.

“Of course. They’re aimed at our winter travelers. We spared no expense, courtesy of yours truly.”

She wanders closer to one of the igloos and places her hand on it. The frosted glass doesn’t reveal what’s inside, and I nod at her to open the door.

“Go on. It’s important you’re familiar with everything.”

She unhooks the door and swings it open, but just as she’s about to duck inside, Arlo whips around the corner and crashes into me.

Lukewarm liquid splashes my chest.

Fuck.

“Arlo!” Salem yells as he rips away again, his empty hot chocolate cup rolling around on the ground between us. Sticky not-so-hot chocolate seeps into the fibers of a suit that nearly cost me five figures. “Patton. Mr. Rory. I’m mortified.”

Even the look on her face can’t stop me from reaching my limit.

“Miss Hopper, are you sure you can control your son?” I grind out as she pulls me inside the igloo, perching her coffee on the walnut table and pulling tissues from her purse.

“I can. I will. This… this isn’t how he behaves,” she says miserably, dabbing at my shirt. “I’m beyond sorry. Forgive me.”

“Maybe try fewer apologies and more lessons in manners next time. What if I was a guest?” I snarl.

Her hand pauses, just for a second, and she looks up at me.

Yes, I already know I fucked up.

“Maybe if you could try a little empathy, this wouldn’t feel like the apocalypse,” she snaps back. “I told you. I didn’t want to bring him to a business meeting. I had no choice. It was bring Arlo or miss my first day at a new job.”

“And your son’s behavior is my fault now?”

Fury ignites her eyes.

“Mr. Rory, he’s five.”

“And? Even five-year-olds must have some idea how to act when they’re raised right.”

The second it’s out, I feel like shit. Her wounded expression, those big hazel eyes, bore straight into me. Sadness and outrage live there.

“What are you saying? Try again. I told you, he’s a good kid. He doesn’t act up like this. He just isn’t used to coming to work and he’s bored out of his wits.” She looks down at the tissues in her hands, which haven’t helped the spill at all. Then she sighs. “God, what’s the point? This obviously won’t work.”

She tosses the mess aside and grabs one of the folded towels on the rack. Perfect for someone after a swim in the pool or, apparently, after swimming in cocoa.

She works on wiping the stain, biting her lip as she focuses.

This weirdest déjà vu pulls at me again, but why?

Where do I know those stormy brown eyes?

When has a woman like her ever touched me?

A second later, while she sucks her bottom lip in frustration, it clicks.

Shit.

Shit.

A thousand times, shit.

Lady Bug?

The most memorable one-night stand in my life, crackling with lightning chemistry, and here she is again, my manager and intern.

Fuck, I didn’t know life could be so cruel.

The startled glance she shoots me still seems annoyed, but there’s something different flashing in her eyes now.

I wonder if she’s figured it out, too, even if I never gave her my name or phone number.

My skull feels like it’s caving in.

“Enough.” I reach out and take the towel from her. The stain is at the mercy of the dry cleaner now, no matter what we do. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll buy a new suit if I have to—and towel.”

“If we got it early enough, it should come right out,” she says. “If you just dab a little—”

“I don’t need your help with my laundry, thank you.” Harsh, but necessary. Otherwise, I might say something fantastically stupid. “Why don’t you dip out early, considering the circumstances? You’ve had enough introduction for one day, and there’s nothing here that can’t wait for tomorrow.”

For a second, her eyes narrow, like she wants to argue back. Then her expression goes slack.

“Okay. Maybe that would be best. I’m sorry again for the first impression. I really blew it.”

I wish her hyper-caffeinated kid was still the reason why.

Only, the kid who doused me in lukewarm chocolate has nothing on a freak coincidence dredged up straight from hell.

“Next time, you’ll make a better one,” I growl. Lame as hell, sure, but I have to start un-fucking the damage somewhere. “I have another meeting to attend, so I’ll see you soon.”

I don’t bother offering to show her out when she knows the way. And if she doesn’t, she’ll figure it out.

I need to clear my fucking head and figure out if there’s a way to salvage this chaos without mauling my pride—or hers.

Because it’s vastly bigger than me and the girl whose soul I rocked years ago.

I need to find out what this means for our company’s crown jewel going forward.

The Cardinal is too big to fail, and I’ll be damned if I let a clash of personalities bring it down.