resolve themselves so easily.”
Glad he was in a better mood, she nonetheless waited a few minutes, until they were solidly in traffic, before she said, “Your friends’ wives are really happy to see you dating.”
“Um-hum.”
Nerves filled her. How the hell did someone say, “So, what’s the tragedy in your life?”
She licked her lips, gathering her courage. She couldn’t handle the curiosity. But more than that, if his friends discovered she didn’t know, it might ruin their charade. “They assume I know what happened to you.”
He turned to her, his previously sleepy brown eyes suddenly cool and distant. “I’m sure they do.”
She swallowed. Caught in the gaze she didn’t recognize, dark, scary eyes of a stranger, she faltered. “So maybe you should tell me?”
He glanced out the window, then back at her. “One of the reasons I’m comfortable with you is that you don’t know.”
She frowned. “But wouldn’t the charade make more sense if I knew?”
“Not if you pity me.”
Pity him? What the hell had happened to him? “How about if I promise not to pity you?”
“You can’t make that promise.”
She glanced out the window. “What if somebody tells me? I mean, what if we get separated again and somebody just blurts it out?”
“I guess you and I will just have to stay close so that no one does.”
She snapped her gaze to his. A combination of fear and curiosity rumbled up from her chest. She was already fighting an attraction to this guy. Did she really want to be close to him? Every time they were out? Spend every minute together?
How had such a simple plan become so complicated?
* * *
After walking Eloise to her door, Ricky ran down the four flights of stairs and ambled to his limo. Once he was inside, Norman started the engine and headed out.
He’d been having a great time at the party, so great he’d actually enjoyed the ribbing he took from his friends about Eloise being too beautiful for a guy like him.
Then they’d gotten into the limo and she’d asked about Blake, and he felt as if he’d been hit by a train. He hadn’t thought about his son in two days. He’d been so preoccupied with his work problems and pretend-dating that he’d forgotten his son. His baby. His whole world for eighteen months.
How could he forget him?
He tapped on the glass between himself and Norman. It slid open.
“Take me to the hospital.”
Norman caught his gaze in the rearview mirror. “It’s midnight.”
“I have my key card and identification.”
The glass closed. Ricky sat back, letting the air slowly leach out of his lungs. The pain that had been his constant companion reclaimed him. Thirty minutes later, the limo stopped. His door opened and he climbed out.
He used his card to get into the hospital. Even, determined steps took him through the silent lobby and up to the Intensive Care Unit for the children’s ward.
He stopped in front of the wall of glass, staring at the sweet, innocent children struggling for life.
“Mr. Langley?”
He faced Regina Grant, night shift supervisor. “Good evening, Regina.”
“Everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine.” But she knew why he was here. When they rededicated the wing, after his generous donation had renovated the floor and bought new equipment, she’d been the one who’d seen his distress. She’d cornered him in a room, and rather than extol him with platitudes, she’d told him to count his blessings. “If you can’t think of any blessings...come here. Look through that window. Realize you do not have it as bad as some.”
The memory made him shake his head. He missed his son. He missed him with a longing that lodged in his throat, tormented his soul. He wished he’d done a million things differently. And he hated that a work problem and a pretty girl had made him forget his little boy.
But so many people did have it so much worse.
“I’m just here reminding myself I don’t have it as bad as some.”
“You really don’t. And life does go on.”
Sadness rippled through him. Memories of his son’s giggle, the warmth of his child’s hug, that simple trust floated back. But along with it came an odd, unfamiliar fear. Life might go on, but he didn’t want to forget his son. Never. Ever.
After a prolonged silence, Regina caught his forearm. “Here’s a thought. Instead of visiting in the middle of the night, maybe what you need is a little interaction.”
He faced her. “With the kids?”
“Yes.”
“They’re too sick.” And he was too afraid.
“These are. But if you’d come at regular visiting hours and go to the left instead of the right when you get off the elevator, I’m sure the nurses could set it up so that you could read to the kids in their playroom.”
He said nothing. She turned to go but stopped and faced him again. “Cheering up some kids who need cheering would be better than staring at kids you can’t help.”
Sucking in his breath, he watched her go, wondering what the hell was wrong with him. He’d been preoccupied with business before and as soon as the crisis was over, memories of Blake had come in an avalanche. The difference this time was Eloise.
He couldn’t let his fake date make him forget his son. Or his guilt. And if she did, he had to stop this.
MONDAY MORNING ELOISE awoke to the real world. She dressed in work trousers and a thick sweater, then bundled herself in her quilted parka, a scarf and mittens. She rode the subway to Manhattan and an ordinary, crowded elevator to the twenty-ninth-floor law offices of Pearson, Pearson, Leventry and Downing.
She slipped off her mittens and scarf and hung her coat on the coat tree in the corner of the tiny space she shared with ten filing cabinets and the desk of Tina Horner.
Tina entered rubbing her hands together. “It should snow. Then even though it would still be cold, we’d at least have festive snow to make it feel Christmas-y.”
“I was just talking about that with someone last night.”
“So I’m not the only one who thinks we’re being
