"Your ex-wife applied for the job as your assistant." Nick Andreas glanced up at his current assistant, soon-to-be-retired Julie Farnsworth. He'd just flown back to North Carolina after six weeks in New York City. He was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to go to his beach house, get out of his monkey suit and take a nap on his hammock. He'd only popped into the office because he had a huge bid due to renew the government contract that was the bread and butter of his manufacturing plant. He had to get an assistant in now.

He just wasn't sure hiring Maggie Forsythe as Julie's replacement was the best way to go. When he had a bid due, his assistant worked with him—directly with him, at his side—ten hours a day, six days a week. No man wanted to spend that much time with his ex-wife. Not even an ex-wife he hadn't seen in fifteen years. An ex-wife he barely remembered.

He tossed his pen to his desk. "You wouldn't be telling me this if she wasn't qualified."

"She's qualified. Overqualified in some respects."

"And she actually applied?"

"Well, we certainly didn't drag her in off the street." He laughed and leaned back in his chair. So Maggie wanted to work for him? He smiled skeptically as weird feelings assaulted him. He hadn't thought about Maggie Forsythe in over a decade. Now, suddenly, he could vividly recall how the sun would catch her red hair and make it sparkle, her wide, happy smile, the sound of her laughter.

"Sorry if I'm finding all this a little hard to believe, but we didn't exactly part on the best of terms. Andreas Manufacturing should be the last place she wants to work."

His sixty-five-year-old assistant caught his gaze with serious dark eyes. "She needs the money."

She was broke? The way he'd been when they'd met?

Memories of his childhood and teen years cascaded through his brain like water spilling from a waterfall. Maggie at six, toothless in first grade, dividing her morning snack with him before they went into the building so no one in their class would see he hadn't brought one. Maggie at twelve, fishing with him so he and his mom could have something for supper. Maggie at sixteen, hanging out in the souvenir shop where he worked, entertaining him on long, boring afternoons before the tourist season picked up. Maggie at eighteen, swollen with his child.

A long-forgotten ache filled his chest and made him scowl. The woman he was remembering with such fondness had dropped him like a hot potato when she'd lost their baby. She hadn't loved him. She'd only married him because he'd gotten her pregnant one reckless night. Twenty minutes after they'd returned from the hospital after her miscarriage, she'd been out the door of his mom's house. Out of his life.

"She should have as many reservations about working with me as I have about working with her."

"Her stepmom died while you were in New York. Rumor has it, she came home for the funeral and decided her dad needed her. She quit her job and moved back permanently but in three weeks of looking she couldn't find work—unless she wants to commute to the city." Julie peered at him over the rim of her glasses. "Aside from tourism, you're the only real employer in Ocean Palms."

He picked up his pen again. "Hire her."

Julie gasped softly. "Really?"

"Sure. We were married as kids. Fifteen years have gone by." He wasn't such a selfish, self-centered oaf that he'd let someone suffer because she had the misfortune of having a history with him. He knew what it was like to have no options. He'd spent his entire childhood living hand-to-mouth. He wouldn't ignore the person who, as a child, had shared with him, helped him, even rescued him a time or two.

Plus, if Julie said Maggie was the person for the job then she was.

Julie rose. "Okay. She's in my office. She said she can begin today. I'll bring her in and we can get started."

Nick sat up in his seat. Today? He didn't even have ten minutes to mentally prepare?

Julie walked to his office door and opened it. "Come in, Maggie."

A true Southern gentleman, Nick rose from the tall-back chair behind his huge mahogany desk. Ridiculously, he couldn't squelch the pride that surged up in him as he took in the expensive Persian rugs that sat on the hardwood floors of his office, the lamps from China, the heavy leather sofa and chair in the conversation area, the art from the broker in New York City. He was rich, successful, and his office showed it. He'd fulfilled the promise of his youth. He had brains and skill and he'd parlayed those into wealth beyond anyone's expectations. One look at his office would tell Maggie he wasn't the eighteen-year-old boy she'd deserted anymore.

The click of high heels on the hardwood announced her arrival two seconds before she appeared in his doorway. Her gorgeous red hair flowed around her, but it was shaped and curled in a way that framed her face, not straight as she had worn it when they were married. Her once sparkly green eyes now held soul-searching intensity. Her full red lips rose slightly in a reluctant smile.

Just as he wasn't the eighteen-year-old she'd left behind anymore, she didn't look a thing like his Maggie.

He relaxed as his gaze involuntarily fell from her face to her dress. A simple red tank dress that showed off a newly acquired suntan, but also couldn't hide her slightly protruding stomach.

She was pregnant?

He gave her tummy a more thorough scrutiny. She was pregnant.

And suddenly he was that eighteen-year-old boy again. Seeing his woman, the love of his life, swollen with his child. More memories washed over him. The dreams he'd had for the kind of father he would be rose up as if he'd been lost in them only yesterday. Love for her, the woman bearing his child, burst in his chest.

But this wasn't his child. She'd lost their child.

And she didn't love him.

Hell, he no longer loved her.

"Come in," he said. His voice was tight with a bit of a squeak but he ignored that, motioning to the chair in front of his desk.

Maggie took a few hesitant steps inside. Now trim instead of lanky, she wore her pregnancy the same way another woman would wear a designer dress.

That was when he realized she was probably married.

Happily married. Not scared and hesitant, with no other options because her stepmom had kicked her out of the house. But happy. Having a child with the man she loved.

He swallowed the knot that formed in his throat, reminding himself that these emotions churning through him were ridiculous. He was over her. Plus, they hadn't even seen each other in fifteen years. The feelings weren't really feelings. They were residue. Like cobwebs that had clung to the walls of his brain and would disappear once he got to know the adult Maggie.

"Julie wants to hire you but I have a few reservations."

He didn't even try to stop the words that flowed from his mouth. Though he'd already told Julie to hire her, now that he saw she was pregnant, he had some concerns. Not about the "feelings" seeing her pregnant aroused, but about her ability to do the job.

She gracefully sat on the chair in front of his desk, smiled softly. "You mean because we were once married?"

He snorted a laugh, but Julie's hand flew to her throat. "You know, I think I'll just go get us some coffee."

Nick said, "She can't drink coffee," at the same time that Maggie said, "I don't drink coffee."

Julie said, "Then I'll get some coffee for myself." She fled the room, closing the door behind her.

Nick sat back in his chair, reaching deep inside himself for the calm that was his trademark. He had to treat her as any other employee and speak accordingly.

"For the next four weeks I need my assistant to work ten-hour days."

"Six days a week. I get that. Julie told me."

"Can you keep up?"

"Of course I can keep up. I'm pregnant not sick." The room plunged into eerie silence. Memories of the day she'd lost their baby haunted him like menacing ghosts.

As if recognizing where his thoughts had gone, Maggie sighed. "Nick, I'm fine. Really. And I need this job. If you don't hire me I'll have to get work in the city and commute an hour each way."

"An hour commute might be better for a pregnant woman than racing around the plant looking for documents I need, assembling information from different departments—"

He paused to catch her gaze and when he saw green eyes sparking with fire, everything he intended to say fell out of his head. He remembered that look very well, remembered how many times it had taken them straight to bed.

"I already told you I can keep up."

He took in a quiet breath, reminding himself that Maggie was a married woman who wanted to work for him. The last thing he needed to be thinking about was how her fiery need for independence had played out between the sheets.

"Yeah, well, maybe I want some kind of proof."

She smiled sweetly, calmly. "In a couple of months, I'm not going to be pregnant anymore. Then you're going to be sorry you lost the chance to hire me."

A laugh escaped. Dear God. This really was his Maggie. Fiery one minute, serene the next. And the common sense, logical Maggie could be every bit as sexy as the impassioned one.

But she was married.

And he was a runaround now.

Having a father who'd abandoned him had made him want commitments, but Maggie leaving him had set him straight on that score. And he'd changed. He wasn't simple Nick Roebuck anymore. The guy who hadn't taken his father's name. The guy who wanted commitments. A wife. Family. Nope. Nick Roebuck was gone. He was now Nick Andreas, playboy.

"Besides, my father needs me."

Shifting in his chair, Nick blew his breath out in a gusty sigh. Who he was didn't matter. Who she was didn't matter. She was off-limits. "I'm sorry about your stepmom."

"Thanks."