The Billionaire's Bidding Read Free Page A

moved out of his penthouse and back into the family’s Long Island mansion six months ago—another of Ryan’s brilliant plans to improve his image—she’d taken to calling him Mr. Garrison. Every time she did it, Alex glanced around for his father.
    The old man might have been dead for three years, but he still had the power to make Alex jump. It was bad enough that Alex had taken over his father’s study, he didn’t need to take on his name as well.
    â€œCall me Alex,” he grumbled, glancing up from the financial section.
    Mrs. Nash squared her shoulders in the doorway. “ Mr. Garrison.” Her faint British accent grew more pronounced when she was annoyed. “A Ms. McKinley has arrived to see you.”
    Alex flipped his newspaper down at the fold, his senses coming on alert. “Which one?”
    Mrs. Nash’s formidable brow went up. “Ms. Emma McKinley, sir. ”
    â€œOkay, now you’re just trying annoy me.”
    â€œSir?” There was an undeniable twinkle behind her blue-gray eyes.
    â€œIt’s Alex. Alex. You changed my diapers and smacked my butt.”
    She sniffed. “And I dare say, it didn’t help much, did it now?”
    Alex set the newspaper on his spotless, mahogany desktop and stood from the tufted leather wing chair. “Can we at least dispense with the sir?”
    â€œYes, Mr. Garrison.”
    He drew closer to her as he headed for the door. “You’re fired.”
    Her expression remained impassive. “I think not.”
    â€œBecause you know where the bodies are buried?”
    â€œBecause you’ve never memorized the combination to the wine cellar.”
    He paused. “Excellent point.”
    â€œVery good then…sir.”
    â€œInsubordinate,” he muttered as he passed her.
    â€œWill Ms. McKinley be staying to lunch?”
    Good question. Was Emma going to say yes and make both their lives easier? Or was she going to stay up there on her high horse and cause him no end of trouble? Alex gave it a fifty-fifty chance.
    He drew a bracing breath. “I have no idea.”
    Mrs. Nash nodded and carried on into the study, where she’d straighten the newspaper and erase any lingering trace of his presence. It was eerie, living in a house that forgot about you every time you left the room. Sometimes he’d leave subtle traces, a book out of place on a bookshelf, a sculpture slightly to the left on the mantel. But he hadn’t tripped her up yet.
    He headed down the hallway under the watchful eyes of his ancestors. The portraits were newly dusted and plum-line straight. His father was last, looking dour and judgmental, probably wishing he could grill Alex on the bottom line. Alex imagined that’s what his father hated most about being dead—standing by silently while Alex ran amok with the family business.
    He rounded the corner to see his latest business problem standing in the sky-lit rotunda foyer, clutching a patterned handbag against an ivory, tailored coatdress. Her shoulder-length, chestnut hair was tucked behind her ears and pulled sleek by a pair of sunglasses perched atop her head. Her lashes were dark against coffee-toned eyes, her lips were shaded a lustrous pink, and diamond studs twinkled against her earlobes. She was immaculately made-up and clearly nervous.
    That could be a good sign, or it could be a bad sign.
    â€œEmma.” Alex held out his hand, deciding to pretend they hadn’t parted on sarcastic terms.
    â€œAlex,” she nodded with a brief, brusque shake.
    â€œWould you care to come in?” he asked, gesturing toward the hallway.
    She peered suspiciously down the wide corridor.
    â€œTo my study,” he elaborated. “We might be more comfortable there.”
    After a second’s hesitation, Emma nodded. “All right. Thanks.”
    â€œNot a problem.” He waited until she was beside him, then fell into step.
    â€œHow was