No More Mr. Nice - By Renee Roszel Page 0,24

her depression. Darn it. Heart or no heart, he was going to fulfill his promise to Mr. Roxbury. At least she could see to that.

“I’ll check in when I can,” he said. “Tomorrow, I have a full work load.”

She heard the words, but couldn’t believe them. Suddenly, it was all too much. He’d gone one careless step too far. She shot to her feet. He may not have realized it, but Lucas Brand had just declared war, and the battle was on! “Damn you!” she sputtered, fighting tears. She was thunderstruck by the vehemence in her voice and the hollowness in her heart.

Though she was facing the window and couldn’t see him, she heard his clipped footsteps pause in the vicinity of the kitchen door. Apparently he was as surprised by her stormy oath as she. From some distance away, he queried darkly, “Did you have something you wanted to add?”

Defying the censure in his tone, she spun on him. “Norman Roxbury has single-handedly headed up his Mr. Niceguy program for thirty-five years. This is the first time he’s had to hand over the reins to somebody else.” She found herself trudging toward him with half a mind to slap his arrogant face. “Compared to Norman Roxbury, you, Mr. Brand, are not Mr. Niceguy. You’re the flipping Prince of Darkness!” Shakily, she sucked in a breath, so livid she felt faint. “As far as I’m concerned, there is no more Mr. Niceguy! If you want the whole, ugly truth, you’ve been nothing to me but a gigantic pain!”

Backlit by the brighter illumination in the living room, Lucas stood rooted in the doorway, tall and broad, looking as sharply elegant as a knight-errant’s sword. “I’d say we’re even, as far as pain goes,” he ground out. “At least, for today.” With the arrogant confidence she was growing accustomed to, and was highly annoyed by, he sauntered away, a man in total control.

Jess found her own emotions in just the opposite state. She was trembling helplessly, her anger so acute, so intense she could barely see for the bloodred haze that blurred her vision. “Jackass,” she hissed as he turned and disappeared into the entry hall.

“I’ve fired people for less than that,” he called back.

Irked that he’d heard, she charged after him, rounding the corner to see his broad back. “Who? Your grandmother?”

He pivoted to face her, almost causing them to collide. “What did you say?” he asked, looking as though he’d heard every word, but was giving her a chance to recant before he hauled off and knocked her through one of the mirrored walls.

She swallowed, realizing she’d gone too far. You didn’t go around insulting a person’s gray-haired old grandmother. The fact that he’d made her furious was no excuse. “Well—” she hedged, her voice still pitched high with annoyance “—I’m sorry about that. But you make me so mad.”

“That’s a cross I’ll have to bear,” he fired back. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He turned to go.

Irate, but feeling a nagging guilt that she’d vowed to tell him something earlier and had not gotten around to it, she hurried after him, skirting around to block his path. Though her urge was to ring his neck, she compromised by merely poking violently at his tie. “Just one more thing!” She poked to emphasize every word. “Personally, I don’t like you or anything you stand for, but I swore I’d say this, so I’m going to. You’re a good judge of people, and I think you did the right thing in choosing Jack’s essay. What smart, sarcastic comeback do you have to that?” She poked one last time, then crossed her arms defiantly.

Lucas was clearly surprised by her compliment, no matter how angrily it had been shouted. One dark brow arched in wary reaction. After a brief hesitation, he growled, “Thank you.” Then, in a heartbeat, he was gone.

She stood motionless, staring at the closed door, as the sharp echo of his footsteps died away. She’d never before heard a “thank you” sound so much like “Eat dirt,” before.

“Jerk-face,” she snapped.

“Excuse me, madam?” came a bewildered reply from behind her. She twisted to see the austere butler, and grimaced. “I—Nothing. I was talking to myself.”

She might as well have been, she mused sadly. What lunacy for her to have entertained fantasies that Lucas Brand would become Mr. Niceguy in any real sense, or that a compliment would have a positive effect. He was a flawed, reluctant figurehead, and she was stuck