FIVE
JACOB MCCALLAN STRODE down the quiet hall of Waters, Waters and Montgomery—the law firm employed by his family—with tall, lanky Pete Waters, senior partner.
“So, how’s your mother holding up?”
Jake glanced at Pete, not surprised he’d asked. His father had died five months before and everyone was worried about his mom. “She’s working to pull herself together. Some days are better than others.”
“Rumor has it she headed the last board of directors meeting.”
Jake grimaced. Nobody was supposed to know about that, but Pete had sources everywhere. Jake chose his words carefully. “She tried.”
“Tried?”
“It was no big deal. She walked into the meeting saying she wasn’t ready to be put out to pasture and would assume Dad’s role as chairman of the board. I took her out of the conference room and privately told her that the corporate bylaws name the CEO as acting chairman.”
“You.”
He nodded. “Me. I told her that if we went against the bylaws, we risked being sued by shareholders.”
“How’d she take it?”
“She was a bit confused. A bit hurt. I think she believed taking over as chairman would give her something to do now that Dad’s gone.”
Pete took a long, slow breath and blew it out in a gust. “That’s rough.”
Painter’s scaffolding crowded the end of the private corridor to Pete’s office. He pointed to the right. “We’ll go the long way.”
The “long way” took them past cubicles filled with workers on the phone or frantically typing on computer keyboards, then a file room. A wall of windows exposed rows of files—thinner than they had been before most things were stored on computers—and five copy machines.
Jake frowned and slowed his steps. Was that Avery Novak standing in front of one of those copy machines?
He couldn’t really tell because the tall redhead’s back was to him. But a man didn’t forget silky hair long enough to tickle his chest when she straddled him.
He told himself to keep walking. He and Avery had had a short fling, which she’d mercifully broken off after three weeks. They’d been dynamite in bed. But out of bed? They would have done nothing but argue about politics and principles if Jake had ever risen to any of her bait. The woman was ridiculously headstrong, and she didn’t like rich people.
No matter how hot they were together, he had looked down the board and seen a future filled with her being critical of his privileged lifestyle, and in general acting as if he were Marie Antoinette and she was a beleaguered peasant. His only regret was that he hadn’t been the one to break it off.
Jake and Pete were just about at the end of the long glass wall, when she turned. Her huge green eyes widened. Her mouth fell open and she quickly lowered the file she held to her stomach. But it was too late. He’d seen the baby bump.
Baby bump!
She had to be at least five months pregnant. Maybe six.
Oh, God... Six?
That took them back to February—when they were dating.
That could be his baby. His child.
He glanced at Avery again. Her figure hadn’t changed much except for the baby bump, yet she’d looked more womanly, more attractive. He remembered her soapy and sexy in the shower, added the baby bump to the naked body he knew so well, and something raw and emotional ripped through him. Stronger than lust, more profound than awe that they’d created a child, the feeling rendered him speechless. The reality that that “bump” could be his child slammed into him like an eighteen-wheeler, mostly because his father had been a terrible parent. He had no idea how a good dad behaved. What a good dad did—
But, no. It couldn’t be his child. Avery would have told him. Wouldn’t she?
He and Pete finally walked past the file room. Pete still chatted on about Jake’s mother. “I understand that she’s on shaky emotional ground. But you really have to hold the line with her coming into the business and trying to do things.”
“Actually, I’m thinking of giving her a job.”
“What?” Pete stopped walking.
Jake stopped too. “She lost her husband.” A movement from the file room caught his eye and he glanced up in time to see Avery racing away. His throat constricted. His gut clenched. Why run away from him if that wasn’t his child?
Embarrassment?
Maybe.
