No More Mr. Nice - By Renee Roszel Page 0,4

a deal that’ll keep me occupied for the next several weeks. I’m afraid I’ll have to pass.”

Roxbury’s smile never wavered. “I see,” he said.

A cough from the other side of the bed drew Lucas’s attention. Mrs. Glen’s lips were tilted in a vague smile, but there was something unconvincing about her friendly manner. “We appreciate your frankness, Mr. Brand,” she commented, her voice throaty but tremulous. “A man like you, who’s fought for everything he’s ever gotten.” She paused, chewing her lip. “Except, of course for your college education. Well, we understand how busy you are. I’m sure Mr. Roxbury can find someone who can free up a little time to…repay a favor.” She lifted her chin and gave him another small smile that didn’t quite gel.

However softly spoken her words, the woman’s sarcasm hit home, and that nettled Lucas. He knew he owed Norman a favor, and he was going to pay it back. Only in some other way, at some other time. Damn, interfering woman.

“Now, now, Jess, dear,” Norman admonished with a wave of his hand, turning to grant Lucas a trusting look. “You’ll have to forgive my assistant. She and I have a difference of opinion about your taking on this project for me. Jess preferred to ask Congressman Hillman, but he’s served me several times, and, well, he’s just had that gallbladder surgery—” Roxbury halted and took another shaky sip of water, then winced.

“Are you in pain?” Jess asked, concern sharpening her words. “I’ll call the nurse. It’s almost time for your medication.”

He put the glass down and waved her concerns aside.

“Look.” Lucas directed his comment to the woman. “I don’t want to seem rude here, but to be frank, Mrs.—whatever—”

“Glen,” she offered without inflection.

“Mrs. Glen,” he repeated, dropping his harsh tone. It was uncivil to shout at a woman who was soft-spoken and timid, though it was clear she was trying to be otherwise. Annoyance snaked through him as he realized he had suddenly become the villain here. Deciding to fight reason with reason, he explained, “I’m in a competitive business. I wouldn’t expect you to understand the demands of a cutting-edge Virtual Reality software firm like mine, but—”

“Mr. Brand,” Jess offered with a self-effacing shrug, “I’m sure I wouldn’t understand, so don’t waste your time trying to educate me. Mr. Roxbury asked a favor, and you’ve responded.” She looked over at her employer and worry clouded her somber face. “Please don’t let us keep you.” Facing him again, she added, “Norman should rest. Stress only aggravates his condition.”

Lucas eyed her warily, unsure how to react. Clearly she didn’t want him involved and was giving him the bum’s rush—however demurely. He turned back to Roxbury, who had a sympathetic look on his face.

“My boy,” he said, reaching out to pat Lucas on the hand clenched around the arm of his chair. “I’m afraid Jess is rather protective of me these days. She thinks I’ll get these old feelings hurt.” His chuckle was feeble. “But I told her never—not at the hands of Lucas Brand. Not the boy who ran yelling into my pond to save a baby swan from a snapping turtle. Remember? That spring after the Thanksgiving Retreat? You couldn’t swim, then. But you never thought about yourself, and you saved the injured gosling—almost drowned doing it. I was as proud of you as if you’d been the son I never had.”

Lucas was appalled to see the old man’s eyes glisten with tears as he went on, “Never saw anything so noble before or since.” He patted again. “Now about that little favor. The Thanksgiving Dinner and Retreat. What do you say?”

Roxbury clearly hadn’t taken a word Lucas had said seriously. Passive-aggressive was the term that came to mind. Passive-aggressives were the types of people who smiled kindly, listened attentively, and then, by the least offensive means possible, got their way. Norman Roxbury was clearly a master at it.

But Lucas was good at getting his way, too. He hadn’t become the president of a multimillion-dollar computer-graphics company by being a dishrag. Dammit, he had to say no! He already had too much to do in the next couple of weeks—debt of honor, or no debt of honor.

Uninvited, the memory of that baby swan came to mind. He recalled naming the gosling “Jane,” after his grandmother. He’d helped care for her that spring and summer as she’d grown strong again, and then, feeling both sadness and pride, he’d watched her fly away that fall, a