The Playboy's Office Romance. Karen Toller Whittenburg

      Definitely the Lara he knew, always quick to zing him with an insult loosely wrapped in a slightly lesser insult. “But today,” he said, beating her to the punch. “…you’re just glad that at least one Braddock is behaving completely in character.”

      “Right,” she agreed. “I was beginning to think the whole family has gone completely crazy, but then you shoved poor Thea Berenson out of your way and snagged the bouquet, thus restoring some degree of normalcy to the day.”

      Bryce hadn’t shoved anyone. He’d simply reached over their heads. But Lara was always eager to believe the worst of him and he, admittedly, was ever eager to support her cause. “That was Thea?” he asked, tossing back the last swallow of wine. “I thought that was you.” He turned then, and got sucker-punched by the sheer perfection of her Nordic beauty. Lara was tall, her forehead was even with his chin, making her five-eight or five-nine, before she added the height of heels. Her hair was silver-blond and probably long, although he’d never seen it any way but up. Her skin was as fair as a Southern belle’s, not a flaw or freckle to be found. Her eyes were the violet-blue of evening, when the sun is gone, but the night has not quite fallen. And at the moment, those beautiful eyes were staring at him with an expression much closer to disgust than interest.

      “If I had been one of the bevy of women vying for the bouquet, and if I’d wanted to catch it, you wouldn’t have it now.”

      “Your overwrought self-confidence is one of the things I like best about you, Lara.” He set the wineglass aside and sidled closer to her, lowering his voice. “But you can be truthful with me. I understand that at a certain age the biological clock starts ticking like a time bomb and women get pretty desperate to be married. And even though it’s only a superstition, if there’s any truth to the idea that the one who goes home with the bouquet is the next to be a bride…” Her eyes were turning stormy, but he continued in the spirit of generosity, and because he knew it would annoy her. “So for you, I’m willing to entertain any offer of sexual favors you care to put on the table. The bouquet could be yours if the price is right.”

      Her caustic smile was both a reward and a punishment. “Always such a gentleman,” she said sarcastically.

      Someday he’d like to be the recipient of a genuine smile from Lara Richmond. Apparently, though, today wasn’t going to be that day. “Wrong brother,” he corrected. “I believe the one you wanted just got married.”

      She stiffened up like a starched shirt. “I beg your pardon?”

      “Oh, relax, Queenie. Your secret’s safe with me.”

      “If I had a secret, which I don’t, you’d be the last person I’d trust to keep it. You can be sure of that.”

      “Okay, if you say so, but there’s no shame in admitting you’re in love with Adam. Half the women at the wedding today weren’t crying because they were happy.”

      “Love?” She said it as if the word tasted nasty in her mouth. “For your information, your brother and I are friends. I’m sure that concept is not in your realm of experience, but you really should try it sometime.”

      “Being friends with a woman? Now why would I want to ruin a promising romance with something as platonic as friendship?”

      Her face flushed with rancor—he always had this effect on her, even when he wasn’t trying. “You’re right, Bryce. It’s impossible for you to understand how I might admire Adam for his intelligence and business acumen without putting your own decadent spin on our friendship. You certainly shouldn’t try to emulate anything you’re incapable of understanding.”

      “A lot of big words in that statement,” Bryce pointed out cheerfully. “Are you trying to impress me with your command of the language?”

      “I wouldn’t waste my time. In fact, I don’t know why I thought we might be able to exchange a few pleasantries on this festive occasion. My mistake.”

      He was sorry he’d razed her now and as she started to turn, he snagged two glasses of wine from a passing waiter. “You’re right,” he conceded. “You and I should bury the hatchet on this singular occasion.” He offered her one of the glasses and raised the other, making it difficult for her to simply walk away. “Let’s toast to my brother and his bride. May they be as happy together as you and I will be apart.”

      She could hardly refuse to drink to that, he thought.

      She took the glass. “Hear, hear” she said and took a swallow of the wine.

      She had great lips, full but not too wide, shiny now with the soft color of lipstick and the glaze of cabernet. There were moments when Bryce wished she didn’t hate him so forcefully. “Where’s the kid?” he asked, because he didn’t want her to leave him just yet and because he was curious to know how Ice Queen Lara was managing with her newly acquired nephew.

      “Calvin?” Her tone was cautious, as if she suspected a verbal trap.

      “Is that his name?”

      “Yes.” Still hesitant, her gaze stayed on his, watching for the first sign of a joke at her expense. “How do you know about Cal?”

      Bryce shrugged. “Adam told me.”

      She sighed, but he couldn’t decide if it was because Adam had talked to him or because she didn’t know how much of the situation he actually knew. “He’s with a sitter,” she said. “Neither one of us would have enjoyed the wedding if I’d brought him along.”

      “I didn’t think you enjoyed it very much without him.”

      The truth of that was in the glance she flickered to his face and then quickly away. “I’m a little…unsettled…by the sudden turn of events, of course. Adam didn’t give much notice and things at the office have been chaotic this week, to say the least.”

      “You should have been here. Monica nearly drove us all insane with her ideas for the wedding. Even Peter got rattled and usually, he’s as calm as the eye of a hurricane.”

      Lara turned the glass between her long, delicate fingers. “Who’s Monica?”

      It wasn’t difficult to locate the petite brunette, clinging to her trophy fiancé like poison ivy, and Bryce indicated her with a glance. “My future stepmother,” he said, taking another sip of wine. “Number six. Or seven. It’s hard to keep track.”

      Lara’s gaze followed his. “For some reason, I thought your father was engaged to that lovely woman I saw sitting beside your grandfather during the wedding.”

      “Ilsa Fairchild?” Bryce shook his head, feeling gloomier the further this topic went. Just yesterday, there had been an article in The Inquirer, citing inside sources that love was in the air at Braddock Hall and Cupid’s arrow had struck even the eldest Mr. Braddock. Archer had laughed heartily and proclaimed it nonsense, as all the tabloid stories on the tawdry loves and scandals of the rich and famous basically were, but he hadn’t denied it. And something was going on between Mrs. Fairchild and his grandfather. Even Peter thought so. But Bryce wasn’t going to discuss that with Lara or anyone else. “She’s a family friend,” he said, feeding her the line Archer had fed him. “I only wish my dad was smart enough to fall for someone that classy. It would make for quite a change.”

      Lara sipped her wine, watching Monica across the span of the room. “She doesn’t look very happy.”

      Bryce observed the pout on the brunette’s pretty face. “She always looks that way.” But it did seem that at the moment at least, James was standing firm and not giving in as easily as he usually did. There could be trouble in paradise. And about time, too, in Bryce’s humble opinion. Not that he wanted his dad to be unhappy. But anyone, probably everyone, could tell that James and Monica were not an ideal match. On the other hand, who was? Other than his grandparents and now, Adam and Katie.

      “She’s very pretty.” Lara observed. “And young.”

      “All my