have to hire a private investigator to check out her past. All he had to do was ask her boss. Pete Waters had investigated her before he hired her. But where Waters, Waters and Montgomery considered it an advantage to employ a woman whose dad had been unjustly convicted—because it motivated her to work hard for their clients—all Jake would see was that her dad had been in jail.
And he could use that.
She ran her hand through her hair and walked to the filing cabinet. There were no windows in her office. Associates didn’t get offices with windows. That was her place. A very small person in a very big world. A world that was quickly spinning out of control.
She squeezed her eyes shut. There was absolutely no way to fight this. “This is a mess, Mom. It’s going to bring up all Dad’s troubles again for you guys.”
“Avery,” her mom said softly. “We live it every day. The whole town knows your dad was in jail but got out when Project Freedom proved he’d been framed. Let someone come and ask questions. We’re fine.”
“Okay.”
“But that doesn’t mean we don’t want you starting your law firm. Your dad went through hell for six years and we don’t want to see that happen to anybody else.”
“Neither do I.”
“And we’re proud of you.”
“Thanks.” She sucked in a breath, blew it out slowly. Her parents being okay with an investigator coming to town solved one problem. But there were thirty others nipping at her heels, things she wouldn’t burden her mom with.
“So...this guy who’s coming to ask us questions...does this have anything to do with the baby?”
She swallowed. She should have known her mom would figure this out. Who else from New York would care about her dad’s past?
“The baby’s father and I ran into each other. He saw I was pregnant and pretty much did the math.”
“And you think he’s going to look into your past hoping to find something he can use to get custody of the baby?”
“He might. Or he might just use it to keep me in New York.”
“Oh.”
Her mother’s hopeless tone caused all of Avery’s fears to rush to the surface. “He could ruin all my plans.”
“Or maybe the two of you could work this out?”
The more she thought about it, the more she doubted it. But to placate her mom she said, “Sure.”
“I mean it.” Her mother’s voice brightened. “All you need is a little trust. In fact, if you told him about your dad so he didn’t have to send a private investigator to Wilton, then he might see you’re an honest person and negotiate a little more fairly.”
Avery laughed. “That is the most optimistic thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Sweetie, he’s going to find out anyway. And if you don’t tell him, it might make him suspicious and maybe even angry that you held such important information back. But if you tell him, it could be your door of opportunity to start some trust between you.”
Her mother sounded so sure that for a second Avery waivered. “I don’t know.”
“Your dad and I aren’t running. You shouldn’t either. Face this head-on.”
If it was anybody else but Jake McCallan, she might be able to cobble together enough optimism to give it a shot. Knowing her mother would keep trying to persuade her if she didn’t at least say she’d consider it, Avery said, “I’ll think about it.”
After some gossip about the flower shop owner, Avery hung up the phone and squeezed her eyes shut. If Jake discovered her father’s past and confronted her, she could come out swinging, quote bits and pieces from the hearings that freed him and defend him.
But to tell Jake herself? To explain that her dad had been framed by a coworker with a sick wife, who could have freed him the day his wife died but waited until his own death to admit to his crime? To tell Jake about weeks and months of waiting for hearings, about having her dad’s old boss oppose a new trial, about the worry that Paul Barnes had bribed the judge? It would be one of the most vulnerable moments of her life. She was a fighter, not a beggar.
But her mother was right. Jake was going to find out. And soon. If she could humble herself to explain this to him, it might be the beginning of trust between them.
Then maybe she could use Plan C. Once she told him about her dad, reminding him of the field day the media would have could show him how difficult having her baby in his life would be.
It was risky. But as her mom had said, he was going to find out anyway.
She got to work to take her mind off everything. An hour later, her private cell phone rang. She glanced down, saw the caller was Jake and squeezed her eyes shut before she answered.
“Good morning, Jake.”
“I’d like to finish our discussion from last night. How about dinner tonight at 4 Charles Prime Rib?”
She blew her breath out in a quiet stream. She didn’t want to cause an argument, but if she was going to tell him about her dad, she didn’t want to go to a restaurant. Especially not some place where anyone could see them and where paparazzi hung out at the entry, waiting for celebrities. One look at the pregnant belly on Jake’s date and the photographers would go nuts taking pictures.
“Maybe a coffee shop would be better? Someplace low-key.”
A few seconds passed in silence. He clearly wasn’t thrilled to have her change his plan.
“I just don’t want to run into the photographers who hang out in front of those ritzy restaurants you like.”
He sighed. “Okay. How about that small coffee shop up the street from your condo?”
“Great. That would be great.”
She hung up the phone equal parts grateful for the opportunity to talk to him and terrified at the thousands of ways this discussion could go wrong.
At nine o’clock, she strode up the still busy street to the brick building housing the coffee shop where she was meeting Jake. Large windows fronted the well-lit establishment. The place was crowded with chatting people hovering at the bar on the left, or lounging at one of the curved booths with cushioned seats.
She stepped inside, glanced around and found Jake in the back, at one of the compact wooden tables for two. Disciplined Jake wouldn’t waste the space of one of the big comfy booths, no matter how much she would have loved to sink her tired body into those cushions right now.
Convinced her mother was right—with the addition of Plan C—and ready to have the discussion, she walked up to the table. “Hi.”
He rose. Nice-fitting trousers and a pale blue dress shirt outlined muscles created in the gym. Her mouth all but watered. But she told herself to settle down. Not to salivate over how good-looking he was, or to realize how easily she could unbutton that shirt and
