He’d missed his brother, too, but it was his mother that he had been closest to. His mother had been the anchor when his father struggled. Andrew had somehow been able to block out their father’s volatility, but Dal, the sensitive second son, hadn’t been able to unplug from the drama and chaos.

Dal wasn’t proud of the boy he’d been. Sensitive boys were no good to anyone and it took his father ten years to stomp the sensitivity out of him, but Dal survived, and became a man, and a relatively successful, stable man.

The jet came to a stop. His flight attendant, Sadie, rose from her seat to open the door. But Dal didn’t move, not yet ready.

He turned to Poppy, who was reaching for her seat belt. “So we’re in agreement, then? You give me the full two weeks I’m due, and then if you still want to leave, I’ll personally put you on a plane home. But I need the two weeks, and I need you available, round the clock if need be.”

Poppy’s gaze met his. She held his gaze, too, not afraid to let him see the full measure of her disapproval. “Round the clock sounds excessive. I’m not your nursemaid, I’m your secretary. And at the end of the two weeks, I will most definitely still go, so don’t just focus on finding your wife. Work on the replacement for me, too.”

“I trust you to find me a suitable secretary.”

“You’re leaving the entire task to me?”

“You know what I like, and what I need.”

Her brows arched over her clear brown eyes. “You might regret this.”

“Possibly. But I’m in a bind, Poppy, and you’re the only one that can save me.”

“Now you’re laying it on a tad thick.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “You like to be needed.”

Two spots of color burned in her cheeks. “But I draw the line at becoming a business transaction.”

He said nothing and silence stretched and yet she never once looked away.

“I don’t think I’ve ever refused you anything,” she said after a moment, “but I am now. I won’t be manipulated. You have two weeks and then I’m gone.”

* * *

It had taken every bit of Poppy’s courage and strength to stand up to Randall—Dal—and define her terms, because if she didn’t make it absolutely clear, then she’d find it very hard to resist him.

It had nearly melted her when he’d said he needed her. She liked being needed, and once upon a time, she would have given everything to hear him say that he needed her.

But things had changed, circumstances had changed, and she couldn’t continue in his employment, not when he knew she had feelings for him. He’d use the knowledge to his advantage. He’d be able to manipulate her far too easily.

As it was, he was intimidating. Not frightening intimidating, but thrilling. He was so very handsome, and so very polished and so very accomplished.

Every time he entered a room, he seemed to light it up. She loved the way he moved, and the way he frowned and the way he’d focus on whatever he was reading.

She loved the way he held his teacup—

Oh, heavens, she loved him. She did. And it had been excruciating trying to manage her feelings and her attraction when he’d been engaged to Sophie. How could she possibly manage her envy and jealousy as he began to court someone new? She’d hate the new woman. She’d resent her far too much. It wouldn’t be comfortable for any of them.

Poppy rose from her seat and smoothed her men’s shirt, and then her hair, tucking it behind her ears to control the thick wave.

Dal was leaving the jet, descending the stairs, and she kept her eyes on his broad shoulders as she followed him down the five steps and onto the wide red carpet banded by gold.