style="font-size:15px;"> “Hello Mr. Carey. This is my son, Michael.” The baby chose that particular moment to blow an impressive spit bubble, his latest trick.
A startled, angry look crossed his patrician features, then quickly disappeared as he glanced at Michael. Nikki wasn’t surprised by his reaction.
Being of the same generation, he would hold the same opinions as her father. Unmarried women shouldn’t have babies, and if they made mistakes, they certainly shouldn’t be aired in public.
“I’m disappointed you didn’t tell me about the baby.” The mild censure in his tone made her want to squirm. He was her only ally in this mess.
Having no good answer for him, she mustered up a smile as he took her hand and leaned in to give her a customary peck on the cheek.
“Shall we go back to my office?” He took her arm and managed to smooth out the awkward moment as he guided her down the familiar hallway.
Nikki settled in an armchair, the baby in the crook of her arm.
Carey slid into a massive desk chair done in the same burgundy leather. His desktop was so tidy it looked like a photograph in an ad for upscale office furniture.
Nikki cleared her throat and decided to get right to the point, not sure how much time she had before Michael would need to eat. She couldn’t picture herself unbuttoning her jacket to feed her child in front of the attorney.
“Mr. Carey, thank you for getting me permission to stay at the house. I’m sure you are more aware of my financial situation than I am. I need help, but right now I can’t afford to pay you.”
He shook his head and smiled at her as if she were a slow child. “Nikki, I am your family friend as well as attorney. My fee is not an issue.”
Nikki felt a huge weight lift off her shoulders. He might not approve of her, but he wouldn’t abandon her, either. “Thank you. That means a lot to me right now.”
He nodded and didn’t speak for a moment as he repositioned a gold pen on his desk blotter so that it aligned perfectly with a slender matching letter opener. “Before we discuss your situation, have you heard from your father?”
The question took Nikki by surprise. She stared at the attorney, wondering for a brief moment if she had misunderstood his question. A year ago he’d agreed with her that her father was probably dead, a victim of his business partner.
Was Mr. Carey keeping something from her? Her heart raced. Was it possible her father had abandoned her for a fortune in stolen money? She suspected that might hurt more than finding out he really was dead.
She cleared her throat, struggling to maintain a normal tone of voice. “No. I haven’t heard anything. Have you?” She didn’t know whether to be hopeful or angry.
“No. Not directly. But a friend of my nephew Don returned recently from a fishing trip. He saw a man on a small island just south of Martinique who looked so much like your father that he called out to him. The man turned away and disappeared into a crowd before he could talk with him. Don said his friend sounded so sure it was Ray.”
The attorney’s words hung in the air as Nikki battled to grasp the possibility that her father was alive.
If it was true, if her father was alive, why hadn’t he tried to contact her? Would he have thought to look for her in Canada? She’d gone to her mother’s hometown.
Could Joe be right? She lifted Michael to her shoulder and absently patted his back. Had her father decided the money was more important than her, his only child?
She wasn’t sure she could handle that truth.
Tension bunched the muscles between her shoulder blades into a hard knot.
“Nikki, dear, are you all right?” Carey was on his feet, coming around the desk.
“Yes. You took me by surprise.” Nikki waved him back to his chair.
“I’m sorry. I thought you had entertained the possibility…” The attorney’s voice trailed away.
His words mingled with the strains of classical music that drifted quietly out of hidden speakers.
She’d denied the possibility her father was anything but a victim from the beginning. The alternative hurt too much. She wanted to keep on denying, but now it sat like a rock on her chest, making breathing difficult.
Had he murdered his secretary and taken millions from his company, then run off without a word to her?
Carey’s voice droned on and she fought to pay attention.
“It is only a chance. After all, there’s bound to be a false sighting or two after all the publicity. I’m checking it out.”
She grasped at his explanation like a drowning woman would grab a life ring. It hadn’t been her father in Martinique. It must have been someone who resembled her father. He couldn’t steal and murder. And he loved her too much to abandon her.
As much as she wanted to leave and not face the possibility Mr. Carey had just raised, she didn’t have that luxury. She had to think of Michael now.
“Is there a chance we can get the court to separate the house from the Fortuna bankruptcy?” Her great-grandfather had built the home and it had always been in the family, but she’d have to sell it. There was no way she could afford to live there.
“It’s possible, I suppose, but what would be the point?” Carey asked.
Nikki was surprised at his response. “I need to sell it.”
He shot her a sympathetic look. “Nikki. I thought you knew.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, bracing herself. “Knew what?”
“It’s mortgaged to the hilt. If it wasn’t for the Federal seizure the bank would have sold it months ago. No payment has been made on any of the loans for a year.”
Nikki felt as if she’d taken a blow to her midsection. She managed to get through the rest of the appointment and ask the questions she needed answered about selling off her personal belongings before Michael began whimpering from hunger.
She stood and picked up her bag. “I want to thank you, Mr. Carey. I appreciate all your help.”
Always the gentleman, Carey came to his feet. “I’ll walk you out.”
His phone began to ring. She gestured for him to stay where he was. “I know the way. I’ll be in touch.”
She walked to the reception area and was wrestling with the stroller when the main door to the offices opened and Don Carey, Fielder Carey’s nephew and junior partner, came through the door.
He looked startled to see her, and a strange look passed over his face when he spotted Michael in her arms.
“Nikki, hello!” He recovered his composure and took the stroller from her, snapping it open.
“Hello, Don. How have you been?” A few years ago her father and Fielder
