The Billionaire's New Year Gift. Emma Darcy

other being that unfortunately, he and his half-brothers weren’t close, something Alex was beginning to hope might change one of these days.

      On the dot of four-thirty, a knock sounded at Alex’s front door. He opened it and smiled at J.T. The brothers weren’t close, yet there was a bond that couldn’t be denied.

      “Hey,” J.T. said, stepping in.

      “Hey, J.T.”

      J.T. glanced around. “When Gray said you’d taken a job at the warehouse as a cover for this bride thing, he didn’t mention that you’d moved in with the masses.”

      Alex laughed. “When in Rome …”

      “In Rome, they at least live with some color.” J.T’s thoughtful frown moved from the breakfast bar that separated the small kitchen from the living area. He took in the beige sofa, nondescript coffee table and black leather recliner, which formed what there was of Alex’s seating area. “You could seriously use some art here,” he observed. “Did the furniture come with the place?”

      Alex shook his head. “I bought it at a discount store. If anyone from the plant comes over, I don’t want them to suspect anything.”

      “Any luck there? Meeting an appropriate woman, I mean?”

      Alex gave a guarded shrug. “I’ve only been there three weeks,” he said evasively. He wasn’t ready to talk about P.J.

      “Then you’ve spotted a prospect?”

      “It’s too soon to tell. I don’t have much of a liquor supply,” he added, not bothering to be subtle about the change of subject. Alex wasn’t ready to talk about P.J. to anyone. “About all I can offer you is a beer.” He nodded toward the kitchen. “Do you want one?”

      J.T. grinned. “Let me guess. You bought it on sale, $3.99 for a twelve-pack.”

      Alex smiled sheepishly. “There are a few things I still splurge on. I have Beck’s or Black Sheep.”

      “Surprise me.”

      “So,” Alex said as he swung open the refrigerator door. “Why’d you want to see me?”

      “I need some advice.”

      Alex turned from the refrigerator, a bottle in each hand and one eyebrow arched. “From me?” He couldn’t remember the last time one of his brothers wanted his advice.

      From where he remained on the other side of the bar, J.T. frowned. “You’re the only person I know who knows anything about fund-raisers.”

      “What makes you think I know about fund-raisers?”

      “Hell, Alex. You go to them all the time. And you have to raise money for the foundation somehow.”

      “That shows how little we know about what each of us does,” Alex informed him. “You’re right about one thing. I’ve attended a lot of fund-raisers for different charities or organizations, but the Harrison Hunt Foundation doesn’t raise money that way.” He popped off the caps with a bottle opener and held a bottle out for J.T. “We use the interest from Harry’s money to fund our causes.” And occasionally they accepted donations from other parties, but that wasn’t relevant, so there was no point in bringing it up. “What is it you want to know about them?”

      “The short version is that I want to help someone raise some money.”

      “And the long version?”

      J.T. tipped up his bottle and drank. Alex wondered if he wanted to buy time before answering, because there was something about his expression that seemed wary.

      “This bride-hunt thing,” J.T. finally said. “Because of Harry’s rules, I can’t just write a check. Or,” he added with a half-smile, “go to my brother and ask the foundation to do it. If I did that, I’m afraid she’d figure out the money had something to do with me.” The smile died. “If she did, I could tell her I just happened to know someone with connections, but I don’t want to raise any red flags.”

      Curious now, Alex rounded the counter and pulled out a bar stool. Motioning for J.T. to take the other, he said, “You’ve found a potential wife?”

      J.T. frowned. “How’d you get that from what I just told you?”

      “You’re talking about helping a woman. You said you can’t because of Harry’s rules. I’m not the math genius in the family, but it’s pretty much one plus one, J.T.”

      “I’ve found a woman with the potential to be a wife,” J.T. said. He hesitated. “But the woman I want to help is her assistant. Her grandmother lives in this home that’s going to have to close if the director can’t come up with about fifty grand.”

      Both of Alex’s eyebrows lifted this time. “That’s not the kind of money you can raise selling calendars. You need an event, and a corporation or two to underwrite it. Like I said, we don’t organize fund-raisers, but I know people who do.”

      He thought for a moment. “One of women on the foundation board chairs an annual luncheon and fashion show that makes a mint for the Seattle Opera Guild. Maybe your girlfriend’s assistant could do something like that in Portland.”

      “Think she’d be willing to talk to Amy?”

      “Amy’s the assistant?”

      J.T. nodded.

      “I can’t imagine that she wouldn’t.”

      J.T. seemed relieved. “Let me run this by Amy, then. If she thinks it’s something she can handle, I’ll get back to you.”

      “Sure. Not a problem.” Alex drank some of his beer. “You hungry?”

      “Getting there.”

      “I’m starving. How about I throw something together for us to eat?”

      “What did you have in mind?”

      “Paella,” he said, heading back into the kitchen. “I picked up shrimp and sausage at the market last night. That sound okay?”

      “You can make paella?”

      Alex just shook his head and laughed. J.T., Justin, and Gray were all intelligent, successful men. But their idea of cooking was limited to grilling steaks or chicken.

      “Then it sounds great,” J.T. said.

      As Alex began his preparations with J.T. watching, he tried to remember the last time he’d shared a meal with one of his brothers, and he couldn’t.

      Harry’s bride-hunt idea might be unconventional, perhaps even crazy, but it had accomplished something unexpected. It had brought Alex and his brothers closer together.

      And for that, Alex was grateful.

      * * *

      J.T.’s visit had got Alex thinking, and he’d decided he really needed to find out more about P.J. before he made any kind of move—for two reasons. One, even though she seemed to be exactly the kind of woman he wanted, and it was hard to believe she was hiding anything, only a fool would take someone on face value, and he wasn’t a fool. Two, if she was already spoken for, he’d have to look elsewhere for his bride.

      The first thing he did was Google her. Several items with either the initials P.J. or the name Kincaid came up, but those didn’t apply. Then he saw an article that had appeared in the Seattle Times about someone named Paige Jeffers Kincaid.

      He clicked on the article, dated April of the previous year. It was a write-up about Peter Prescott Kincaid, CEO of Kincaid Industries, whose ancestors had made fortunes in lumber and shipbuilding. Paige Jeffers Kincaid was one of Peter Kincaid’s daughters. At the time the article was written, she was twenty-nine years old.

      Alex frowned. Could P.J. be Paige Jeffers Kincaid? The age was about right. Too bad there wasn’t a picture with the article.