No Ring Required: Millionaire's Calculated Baby Bid
- -
- 100%
- +
She didn’t know where he came from, couldn’t know, but her words struck him hard and he frowned. “I will keep my word.”
Seemingly satisfied, Mary grabbed her purse and started for the elevator. “Good.”
“But there’s one condition,” Ethan called after her.
She whirled around, held his gaze without blinking. “There were no conditions.”
“This has nothing to do with my child, Mary. This is business.”
“I was under the impression that the child was business,” she said dryly.
Despite the dig, Ethan pressed on. “I want to hire you.”
She looked confused for a moment, then broke out laughing bitterly. “Never.”
“You’d turn away business so you don’t have to be around me? I thought you were way tougher than that.”
“I have enough business. I don’t need yours.”
The foolishness of that statement made him smile. “Being the heads of two successful companies, we both know that’s not true.”
“Look,” she began impatiently, “my deal with you is done. Unless you plan to go back on your word and not drop the charges—”
“No,” he cut in firmly. “But perhaps you also want that sculpture your father risked so much to retrieve?”
“I couldn’t give a damn.”
“No, but your father does.” He gestured to the courtyard and the small sculpture of a woman and child that Hugh Kelley had almost gone to jail for. It had been a gift from the Harringtons, part of their courtship when Ethan took over the company. They’d hated him for buying controlling shares in Harrington Corp., but the company was floundering under their care, and because they still wanted to be involved, they’d forced themselves to act nicely. If Ethan had known the rare sculpture belonged to a family member, he probably would’ve rejected the piece. For as much as he wanted to be accepted and welcomed into the old money of Minneapolis, he hated family drama. He hadn’t been too keen on having Hugh Kelley arrested for wanting the sculpture back, either, but he also wouldn’t allow breaking and entering at his company for any reason.
“Why are you doing this?” Mary asked, her cat eyes inspecting him as though he were a pesky rodent. “Why would you care if my father has that sculpture back? You have what you want.”
A pink blush stained her cheeks. She was so beautiful, and her temper and passion only made her more so. She was kidding herself and him if she thought they were done with each other. Two things had come out of their nights together: a baby and the desire to have her in his bed again. Both would take time, but he’d get what he wanted.
“I want to be there,” he said simply. “I want to be around you and see what’s happening to you. I want to see this child grow. That’s all.” When she said nothing, he moved on. “I have several parties to give and to attend over the next month. And one trip—”
“Trip?” she interrupted.
“To Mackinac Island.”
“Not a chance.”
“You don’t travel with clients?”
“You’re not a client.”
“Listen, if it were simply a business meeting, I’d go alone, but I have to stay a few days and I’m planning on throwing a party as well.”
“And you could find someone to help you with that anywhere,” she said. “Some woman you know? And I’m sure you know several.”
His mouth twitched with amusement. “I do.”
“A girlfriend.”
“No.”
“How about a call girl then?” she suggested, flashing him a sarcastic grin.
“I want the best. A professional—and NRR has a sterling reputation. And, quite honestly, it wouldn’t hurt having a Harrington by my side to—”
“Right,” she said quickly, then shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
She was so damn stubborn. “Do you know the circles I run in?”
“I could guess.”
“The kind that are really good for your business.”
She shrugged, shook her head again.
He stepped closer, studied her, then grinned. “You’re afraid of what might happen if you’re around me.”
“Try concerned.” She walked away, over to the bar where she poured herself a glass of iced tea. “Listen, Mr. Curtis, I won’t deny my attraction to you, just like I won’t deny my abhorrence of you, either.”
“I appreciate your honesty. But that’s still—”
“A no.”
“Well your refusal doesn’t take away from the fact that I need help. I could ask one of your partners—”
She fairly choked on her tea. “No.”
Ethan hesitated. It was the first time he’d seen her ruffled during their conversation. Sex didn’t shake her up emotionally, and neither did money, business or the subject of her father, but just mentioning her partners at NRR had her sweating.
“You have two partners, isn’t that right?” he asked casually.
“They know nothing about you…or this,” she said in a caustic tone. “And I want it to stay that way.”
“I see.”
She put down her glass and stood at the side of the bar. “You want your eyes on me all the time…”
“For starters.”
She nodded slowly, as though she were thinking. “All right, Mr. Curtis. You get what you want once again. I’ll take the job.” She turned away then, and walked to the elevator. “But understand something,” she added as the door slid open. “What happened at the lake will never happen again.”
“Whatever you say, Mary,” Ethan said with a slow grin as the elevator door closed.
It was seven o’clock on the nose when Mary walked into the little Craftsman house at 4445 Gabby Street. She’d grown up there, happy as any girl could be with two parents who adored her and told her so every day. With two such gentle souls guiding her, she should have been a softer, sweeter personality, but clearly there was too much Harrington in her. Instead of hugs, she loved to argue and battle and win. Today at Ethan Curtis’s office she’d done all three fairly well. She’d won her dad’s freedom, though she’d paid a high price for it.
Mary walked through the house, then out the screen door. She knew where her father was. During sunset, Hugh Kelley always sat in the backyard, his butt in dirt and under a shifting sky, he patted the newly sprung string bean plants as though they were his children. He was sixty-five, but lately he looked closer to seventy-five, far from the strapping man he used to be. Today was no different. He looked old and weathered, his gray hair too long in the back. For the millionth time Mary wondered if he would ever recover from her mother’s long illness and death and the arrest that followed. She hoped her news would at the very least remove a few layers of despair.
He glanced up from his beans and grinned. “Never been late in your life, have you, lass?”
Her father’s Irish brogue wrapped around her like a soft sweater. “If there was one thing you taught me, Pop, it was punctuality.”
“What a load of crap.”
Mary laughed and plunked down beside him in the dirt.
“Watch yourself there.” Hugh gestured to the ground. “That suit will be black as coal dust by the time you leave.”
“I’m all right, Pop.”
He snapped a bean from its vine and handed it to her.
“And you know I haven’t been on time a day in my life. Neither had your mother. Not you, though. Born right on your due date, you were. Neither your mother nor I ever understood where your timeliness came from. Well, no place we’d admit to, certainly.”
Hugh wasn’t being cryptic, just matter-of-fact. The rift between Mary’s father and her grandparents was old news—though old news he loved to drum up again and again. Not that she blamed him. The Harringtons had never approved of him, and had made him feel like an Irish peasant from day one. Mary just wished things could’ve been different all around. Bitterness and resentment were such a waste of time.
She took a bite of her bean as the late-summer breeze played with her hair. “So, I have some news.”
“What’s that, lass?”
“Ethan Curtis has dropped the charges.”
Hugh didn’t look surprised. “So my lawyer informs me.”
“You already knew?”
“Yep. Teddy called me half an hour ago.”
Mary studied his expression. Unchanged, tired, defeated. She shook her head. “Why aren’t you happy, relieved, something?”
“I am something.” His pale blue eyes, so like her own, brightened with passion. “I’m pissed off.”
“What? Why?”
“I know you, lass. I know you better than anyone. What did you do to make this happen?”
Her heart jumped into her throat, but she remained cool as steel on the outside. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Mare.”
“Pop, I talked to the man.”
Hugh snorted. “Ethan Curtis is no man. He’s a devil, a demon with no soul.”
Mary was all set to agree when a memory of the cozy room on Lake Richard flashed into her mind. Ethan was a demon, yes, but there was another side to him—a deeply buried side that held a surprising amount of warmth and tenderness. She’d seen it when he’d talked about his child.
She closed her eyes. His child.
“Well he’s decided to let it go,” Mary forced out. “He agreed that the sculpture wasn’t really worth his time and is even willing to give it back to you. After all, it was just a gift from Grandmother, with zero sentimental value to him and—”
“A gift that old woman had no right to give,” Hugh pointed out gruffly.
Mary gave a patient sigh. “I know, Pop.”
The basket beside him strained with vegetables. No doubt he’d been out here picking for a few hours. Lord only knew what he was going to do with it all. “Promise me you’re not in any trouble.”
Mary’s chin lifted. She’d lied, yes, but she’d done what she had to do. She was no more pregnant than a box of rocks, but her father was free, and protecting him was all she cared about right now.
“I have nothing to fear from Ethan Curtis,” she said tightly. As long as he didn’t find out the truth, she amended silently, as she picked up the basket of vegetables and walked inside the house.
Two
Mary wondered for a moment if she’d fallen asleep and was, God forbid, snoring. Every once in awhile NRR got a client who was so dull one or all of the partners would actually find themselves nodding off while discussing contracts.
Today it was Mary’s turn to down a third cup of coffee and pry her eyes open with toothpicks. She shifted in her chair and focused on Ivan Garrison, a new client who had hired her to design a menu for a party he was throwing aboard his yacht, Clara Belle. For the past thirty minutes the forty-year-old wannabe boat captain had been sorrowfully telling Mary that he’d named the boat in honor of his dead wife, who he’d married for her “outstanding boating skill and formidable rack.”
It had taken Mary a good thirty seconds to realize that Ivan was referring to his wife’s chest and another ten seconds to contemplate passing him on to Olivia, since the job mainly consisted of culinary planning. But he was one of those trust-fund jerks who made Olivia’s skin crawl, and the risk of having her abide by NRR’s seventh vow, Do No Harm might be asking too much.
Who knew? If he took Olivia for a ride in his yellow Lamborghini and insisted she call him Captain like he did everyone else, Olivia just might bop him on the head the night before the party and serve him to his guests with an apple in his mouth the next day.
“The date for the regatta gala as you know is the twenty-fifth,” he said, touching the brim of the snow-white captain’s hat he had worn to both meetings. “I’ll have my secretary send over the guest list. Please make sure to refer to me as Captain on the invitation. That’s how my friends and business associates know me.”
Aye aye, sir! Mary nodded. “Of course.”
“I’d like to really pack this party. We always get enough entrants for the race, but the galas aren’t as well attended.”
“We could make it as a charity event,” Mary suggested.
“I’ll think about that.” He leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Now, have I told you how I came to be called Captain?”
“No.” If Ivan was going to come around every week, she’d have to invest in some NoDoz.
“As you know, it’s not my given name,” he said. “When I was six—wait, no, closer to eight, my nanny, her name was Alisia and she was the one who bathed me—”
“Excuse me. I’m sorry to interrupt.”
Mary glanced up and smiled thankfully at her partner. “No problem, Olivia. We were just finishing up here.”
Olivia acknowledged Ivan with a quick nod. “Hello, Captain.” Then she turned back to Mary. “Your next client is here.”
“I don’t have—” Mary stopped herself. What the heck was she doing? Her savior, Olivia had clearly noticed her drooping eyelids and coffee-stained teeth, maybe even heard the beginning of the creepy nannyand-the-eight-year-old’s-bath story and was giving her a way out.
“We can discuss the rest on the phone, Captain,” Mary said, standing and shaking his hand. “Or if you’d prefer, we could e-mail.”
The captain sighed wistfully. “My Clara Belle loved the e-mail. Did I tell you she had twelve computers, one for every bathroom? She wanted to stay connected. I haven’t had the heart to remove them.”
After one more minute of commiserating about the impracticality of expensive technology in damp places, Mary told Ivan where to find the little captain’s room and walked toward the lobby with Olivia.
Mary released a weary sigh. “Thank you so much.”
“For what?” Olivia asked.
“The ‘your next client is here’ save. I’m thankful for the business, but sadly Ivan is only eccentric and strange in an uninteresting way. There’s nothing worse.”
Olivia looked confused. “Mary, I’m always happy to help with tedious clients, but in this case, you really do have someone waiting.” She nodded toward the man sitting in one of the lobby’s artfully distressed brown leather chairs.
Mary’s breath caught at the sight of him, and she wanted to kick herself for the girlish reaction, but she walked toward him instead. Ethan Curtis wasn’t the kind of handsome you’d see on the pages of a Businessman Weekly. No three-piece suits or slicked-back hair, no calm, refined demeanor. He looked edgy and ready to pounce, his severe blue eyes alert and ready for a battle. Dressed in tailored pants and an expensive, perfectly cut black shirt, his large frame ate up the leather chair as around them the air crackled with a potent mixture of desire and conflict.
“We didn’t have an appointment today, Mr. Curtis,” Mary said in a gently caustic tone.
Amusement flashed in his eyes. “Yes, I know. But this is urgent.”
Obviously she wasn’t getting rid of him anytime soon. “Let’s go into my office.”
“No. I need to take you somewhere.”
“Impossible,” she told him sharply.
“Nothing’s impossible.”
“I can’t.” Didn’t he see that Olivia was still lurking around? If she overheard them, she’d get the wrong idea…well, the right idea, and Mary didn’t want that. “I have insane amounts of work—”
“This is work.”
Mary pressed her lips together in frustration. She felt caught in a trap. If she refused, made even the smallest of scenes, Olivia would be out here, wondering what was up. That could bring Tess, too. She eyed Ethan skeptically, lowered her voice. “You say this is work?”
“Of course.” He spoke the right words, but he stared at her mouth while he said them.
“Better be.” She tossed him a severe gaze before heading into her office for her purse.
Mary stepped into the world of trendy layettes and custom chintz toddler chairs and felt her heart sink into her shoes. It was the last place in the world she wanted to be. The fact that not only was she lying about being pregnant but that it would be a long, long time before she came into this type of store for any real purpose weighed on her like an anchor. She eyed the blue and pink bookcases and dressers with cute custom airplane and unicorn knobs.
“This is a baby shop, Mr. Curtis,” she said quietly, sidestepping a beautiful whitewashed Morigeau-Lepine changing table.
Ethan dropped into a pale-green gliding chair. “Can we drop the ‘mister’?”
“I don’t think so.”
He raised one brow in a mocking slant and whispered, “Hey, I’ve seen that tiny raspberry birthmark right below your navel.”
A wash of heat slipped over her skin and she could only mutter, “Right…”
“Come sit down.” He motioned for her to take the yellow duckie glider beside him. “You never seem to get off your feet.”
“I’m fine. I’ll stand.”
“Ethan.”
“Fine. Ethan,” she ground out. “Now, are you going to tell me why we’re in a baby shop?”
He picked up a lovely piece of original artwork from a nearby table and studied the drawing of two frogs sailing a boat. “I’m thinking we could add one more item to your workload.”
“Like?”
“A nursery in my house.”
Mary’s pulse escalated to a frenetic pace. “You want me to design a nursery for the…our…”
“Baby, yes. I may have unlimited resources, but you weren’t far off when you suggested I grew up under a rock. It was a trailer park actually. Dark, dirty and decorated with the curbside castoffs of the rich people on the other side of town. So, I have zero taste. And as you can see, I’m a guy.”
She stared at him, not sure how to feel about what he’d just revealed to her. She hadn’t meant to insult him with the “rock” comment. Well, maybe she had a little, but now she felt pretty damn snobby. Although, his need to be accepted by the Minneapolis bluebloods, have a child with one, made way more sense now. Not that his actions were in any way forgiven. “Look, I’m sorry about what I said…the rock thing—”
He waved away her apology with his hand, his jaw a little too tight. “It’s not important. What is important however is that my child has a place to sleep. So? Is this agreeable to you?”
This wasn’t a bizarre request for an NRR client. She’d designed over twenty nurseries and children’s rooms over the past five years. Single fathers, gay fathers who had to admit they had no taste, even busy moms on occasion.
“I thought you might enjoy this,” Ethan said, coming to his feet.
“Did you?” He wanted her to decorate her own child’s room. A child that didn’t exist.
She turned away from Ethan and closed her eyes, took a deep breath. What was she thinking? What was she thinking lying to someone about something so important, something as sacred as having a baby? This was getting out of hand. Yes, she’d had to protect her father, and now that he was out of danger, wasn’t it time to tell Ethan Curtis that he was not going to be a daddy, suffer his censure, his threats, and get on with her life?
Fear darted into her gut. But what if he refiled charges? That was entirely possible—maybe even probable given how angry and spiteful he’d be if he learned the truth. Her father couldn’t survive another arrest. No, there was no way she was allowing that to happen.
Mary fingered a swatch of green gingham fabric. It would work wonderfully for a boy or a girl. Tears sat behind her throat. She wasn’t the most maternal person in the world, but she wanted a child. Someday. With a man who loved her…
“Mary?”
She turned and looked at Ethan. “Okay.”
“Hello, there.” A very perky blond sales clerk appeared before them, her round brown eyes wide with excitement. “So, when’s our baby due?”
Before Mary could even open her mouth to say that they were just looking around, Ethan chimed in with “Early to mid April.”
Mary’s head whipped around so fast she wondered if she’d given herself whiplash.
Ethan shrugged. “I did the calculations.”
“A spring baby,” the salesgirl said, beaming at Ethan as though he were a candidate for father of the year already. “How about we start with a crib?”
Ethan gestured to Mary. “The lady’s in charge.”
The girl looked expectantly at Mary. “Traditional? Round? Any thoughts?”
“No thoughts,” Mary said, feeling weak all of a sudden. “Not today.”
The girl looked sympathetic and lowered her voice. “Mom’s tired.”
You have no idea, lady.
“I tried to get her to sit down,” Ethan said with a frustrated shake of the head.
The girl nodded as if to say, I’ve seen many a pregnant woman and understood their moods. “We can do this another day.”
Mary nodded. “Another day is good.” Another year might be good to.
Ethan checked his watch. “It’s after one.” He eyed Mary with a concerned frown. “Have you eaten lunch?”
Mary shook her head. “Not yet, but I’ll get something back at the office—”
“You need to eat now. You wait here. I’ll go get the car.”
“I have my car,” she said, but he was already halfway out the door.
To make matters worse, the salesgirl sidled up to Mary, clasped her hands together and sighed. “You’re so lucky.”
“Why?”
She looked at Mary as though she was crazy or just plain mean. “That man is going to make a great daddy.”
“If he can stop ordering people around long enough,” Mary muttered to herself.
“Excuse me?”
Mary smiled at the girl, shook her head, then followed Ethan out the door.
“You know, there was an iffy-looking Thai place next to that baby store,” Mary said, sipping lemonade and munching on perfectly tender chicken picata and fresh spinach salad.
Across from her, Ethan waved his fork. “This is better.”
Mary shrugged, a trace of a smile in her voice. “Well, sure, if you like quiet, great food and a killer view.”
Under the guise of work, Ethan had taken her to his home for some lunch. Worn-out from the experience at the baby shop, and more than a little bit curious about what kind of home a man like this one would choose, she hadn’t put up much of a fuss. And her curiosity was well rewarded.
She had expected Ethan’s home to mirror his office—glass and chrome and modern—but maybe she should’ve taken a clue from his rooftop garden instead. There was absolutely nothing modern about the estate. It was enchanting and secluded, complete with a charming wooded drive that led straight up to the massive French-country style home.
Inside was nothing less than spectacular, but not in a showy, uptight way. Though it was sparsely furnished, the rooms were warm and rustic with lots of brick and hardwood.
Mary sipped her lemonade, taking in the soft summer afternoon on the sprawling deck that nestled right up to the edge of a private lake.
“I thought you should see the space you’ll be working with,” Ethan said, finishing off his last bite of chicken.
Mary nodded. “You’re nothing if not helpful, Mr. Curtis.”
A breeze kicked up around them, sending pre-autumn leaves swirling over the edge of the deck into the water.
“Hey, I thought we talked about this back at the baby shop. You were going to call me Ethan—”
“I only agreed to that to get you to stop talking.”
“What?” he said, chuckling.
“You were bringing up the past and I wasn’t interested in going there.”
“The very recent past.”
She attempted to look confused. “Was it? Feels like ages ago, like it didn’t happen at all.”
He glared at her belly. “Oh, it happened, Mary.”
Heat flooded her skin, but she forced her expression to remain impassive.
His gaze found hers again and he studied her. “You’ve got quite an attitude on you.”
“With you, yes.”
“I’m sure I’m not the only one,” he said, one brow raised sardonically.
“Don’t you have a room to show me?”
He sighed. “Come on, Mary, can we make peace here? Maybe even start again? Friends?”
Inside the confines of his office, where she could remember who and what he was, Mary felt safe. She had her walls up, double thick. Even on his rooftop or at the baby shop, he still seemed arrogant and ever the dictator. But here, in his home, with nature and softness surrounding him, it was different. His skin seemed bronze and highly touchable, his eyes glistened like two inviting lakes beckoning her to jump in, and his clothes seemed highly unnecessary. Mary felt her defenses slipping. Forget being friends; she wanted him to kiss her again—just once so she could prove to herself that it wasn’t as good as she remembered. Sure, he had more depth than he let on, but she could make no mistake about it—Ethan Curtis was a selfish, misguided man, who was solely out for himself.