Hardwired(68)

“Thank you,” she said. “That means a lot. Obviously, I can’t talk to my parents about any of this. They would completely freak out.”

“Hopefully Heath can get straightened out before you have to.”

“Hopefully.”

I tapped my fingers on the counter. “So I have some interesting news.”

“What’s that?”

“I think I found my father.”

“What?”

“I need your help though. He’s some big-wig lawyer and running for governor, so I have no idea how I’m going to get in touch with him. You know, discreetly. I was hoping you had some ideas.”

“Wow, okay. Let me see what I can do. I know some people at the Review. We might be able to request an interview.”

Alli’s mood had shifted. She was suddenly peppy with a new mission. The girl was born for marketing.

“Thanks.”

“No problem, I’ll call you later.”

I wanted to move things forward with meeting Daniel, but I hated that so much time had passed without connecting with her. Hopefully we were over that, at least until Heath came back on the scene.

“Sounds good,” I said and hung up.





CHAPTER EIGHTEEN





Nervous, I flipped through a magazine until Daniel Fitzgerald’s beautiful blond receptionist gave me the go ahead to enter. The offices of Fitzgerald & Quinn were nestled in the heart of Boston’s financial district, and the large corner office I stepped into left little doubt that the man in front of me was one of the most important executives in the city’s corporate landscape. Dressed in an imposing three-piece suit, he pored over the paperwork on his double pedestal desk, his reading glasses resting on the ridge of his nose. He was no longer the carefree young man I’d seen in the photo.

“Mr. Fitzgerald.” My voice faltered at the simple greeting.

He looked up at me, a mirror of my own cool blue eyes. His hair was graying and his face was lined, but he was still very handsome. The essence of the man in the photo was recognizable.

“I’m Erica Hathaway.” I reached out to shake his hand.

He rose to greet me and motioned me to the chairs in front of his desk with a pleasant smile. “Erica, please have a seat.”

I settled into one and breathed in the rich aroma of well-loved leather.

“Let’s see. You’re with the Harvard Review?” He arched a brow at me.

“Well, about that—”Alli had gotten me the interview under the guise of being with the well-known publication, and if this didn’t go well, someone would probably get kicked off the staff because of the favor she pulled.

He looked at me expectantly.

I swallowed hard and took a deep breath. Here goes nothing.

“Does the name Patricia Hathaway mean anything to you?” I asked finally, watching him intently as I spoke the words.

If the mention of her name meant anything to him, he didn’t show it, his face frozen, void of emotion. His blue eyes bore into me, giving nothing away.

He glanced to his watch casually. “I’m not sure it does. How does this pertain to the interview, young lady?” His voice was even and incredibly composed.

I swallowed hard, fighting the sudden urge to throw up. Was I crazy for doing this? What if I was wrong? What if Marie had misinformation?

I shoved the doubt out of my mind and focused on the present. I looked down at my hands that were twisted anxiously in my lap. “I’m Patricia Hathaway’s daughter. I was hoping I could speak to you about that.”

He rose abruptly. He crossed the office with fluid grace, shut the door, and then returned to his seat. His eyes fixed on his desk.

A long silence fell between us, and within it, the truth hit me. My body felt numb at the realization.

“Where are you going with this?” He whipped his glasses off and tossed them onto the desk, revealing a hardened stare.

Oh my God. My doubts gave way to the unmistakable truth that this man really was my father. I could feel it. I gripped the edge of the seat, my palms sweating profusely. I offered up a silent prayer he didn’t kick me out on the spot after I said what I was about to say.

“I’m—” I tried to imagine myself saying the words, but they caught in my throat. They sounded crazy and presumptuous. But they were true. I knew it. What if he didn’t believe me? I shut my eyes tight and blurted it out before I lost my resolve. “Mr. Fitzgerald, I believe I’m your daughter.”

He leaned back in the chair, his jaw tight, his eyes penetrating mine. We stayed like that for what felt like an eternity. My heart pounded in my chest, the anticipation of what he might say or do hung in the air between us.

He exhaled slowly and leaned forward into his desk. “So let’s get down to it. Is this about money? If so, just let me know how much we’re talking about.”