Page 20 of The Parent Trap

Quentin’s smile is faint. “Oh, you may think you do. But somehow…I doubt you are capable of fully grasping the position you’re placing yourself in. Delia McKenna is the most singularly fierce and determined individual I have ever met, bar none.” His eyebrow arches. “You’re walking into the lion’s den, Mr. Bristow.”

Chapter Six

Delia

I always tryto be early for our Wednesday meetings.

They used to be board meetings, since Boyd and some of the others owned shares of the company, but now that Dell and I split ownership, it’s not a board meeting anymore, just a…weekly state of affairs meeting of the top staff of McKenna construction.

I look at the chair at the head of the long table. Dad’s place; this is the first full board meeting since he passed.

My first time in his place. Because even though Dell is technically co-CEO or whatever, this ismycompany. I doubt he’ll even show, anyway, so no way he gets the head seat. Or the seat at the other end. I make a mental note to put Boyd there, in case Dell does decide to show up.

Sure enough, Boyd, Ned, Sheila, and Constance all file in at the same time; no Dell.

When everyone has coffee and is seated—with Boyd opposite me—I catch everyone’s eyes in turn, and the room quiets.

“Well, everyone, here we are.” I try to smile, but can’t quite manage it. “Dell is technically supposed to be here, but I doubt any of us will be surprised if he’s a no-show.” There’s a murmur of agreement. “I’m not Dad, but I promise you all, I’ll do my best to make him proud, to do this job as well as he did it.”

“You’ll do great,” Boyd says. “We all have complete faith in you.”

“Thanks, Boyd.” I sigh, viciously shoving down the well of emotions that boils inside me. “Part of me is tempted to ask for a moment of silence for Dad, but I hear him grumbling about wasting time on nonsense, so…with no further ado, let’s get down to business.”

In my head, I hear the rest of the line fromMulan: to defeat…theHUNS…

I don’t snicker or even smile, because if anyone at this table knew I was singing Disney lyrics in my head, they’d quickly lose all that faith in me.

“So. We’re cranking along at Oak Glen. The only hiccup that I know of is an unexpected delay in getting our plumbing subs on-site for the new installs. I still don’t have an explanation, but the latest word end of last week is that they’ll still get it all done by deadline.” I glance down at my own notes of things to cover. “Boyd—where are we with the Karsten account?”

Boyd opens his mouth to answer, but something over my shoulder catches his attention, and his jaw shuts with an abrupt click of his teeth, my eyes widening. My back is to the door, where Boyd’s gaze is fixed.

At first, I assume the sudden change in attitude in Boyd means it’s Dell.

“Nice of you to show up, Dell,” I say, without turning around. I point to a seat at the other side of the table, well away from me, next to Constance. “You can sit there. We were just getting a report from—”

“Actually, there’s been a bit of a change in plans, Delia.” The voice isnotDell’s. It’s deeper, smoother, darker. It’s familiar, and it makes my entire body clench, my teeth grind, my heart squeeze, my mind go blank.

I slowly turn in my chair, working furiously to keep my face neutral. It can’t be. Can’t be. Can’t be.

It is.

Matthais Bristow.

In the flesh.

And…holy hell.

I haven’t seen him since high school graduation, and he is…well…all grown up. And then some.

Over six feet tall, by a couple inches at least. Broad, hard, round shoulders. His hair is the perfect dirty blond of a surfer, sun-bleached and sun-kissed. A little too long, a little messy, as if he’s been running his hands through it…or someone has. Even wearing a bespoke indigo suit, his body stuns. Trim, hard. His arms stretch the sleeves. His chest pushes against the crisp white shirt. It’s perfectly pressed, fits him like he was sewn into it, and he wears it like he was born in one.

Those fucking eyes.

Gray-green. Devilish. Cunning and wicked and intelligent. Full of mirth and humor and mischief. And…if I’m not mistaken, possibly even nerves.

He has one hand in his hip pocket, the other clutching a sheaf of paper. No tie, top button undone, sunglasses tucked into the V.

Adult Matthais Bristow is sex on a stick.