This world was all still foreign to her, but after three years she felt as if at least she was becoming fluent in the language.
She was just finishing her notes when Marcus called out, "Ms. Reese?"
"Coming." She grabbed her tablet and the ad materials and walked into his office. This place, for example, was a perfect example of how a rich person simply had to have the very best. Even though Warren Capital was a relatively small operation-Marcus employed fifteen people to handle the finances and contracts-the business was located on LaSalle Drive on the top floor of one of the most expensive office buildings in Chicago. Marcus's office sat in the corner behind walls of glass that gave him expansive views of downtown and Lake Michigan. Warren Capital was the only company on this floor-no one else could claim this view. It was the best-and it was his.
And through sheer dint of will, Liberty managed to carve out a place where she could fit in this world. Sure, it was as an assistant and yes, she had to buy new running shoes every six months. It didn't matter. She loved this office, this view. Everything clean and bright. There were no holes in the wall, no critters scurrying about. If something broke, maintenance had it fixed within hours, if not minutes. The lights were always on and the heat always worked. This office was as far away from the apartment in the Cabrini-Green projects as she could get.
"Your mother called," she said, taking her usual seat in front of Marcus's desk. His office furniture reflected a modern sensibility-black leather seating, glass-topped desks of ebony wood and chrome. Even the art along the wall was modern. Among others, he had an Edward Hopper and a Mark Rothko-names she'd had to look up online because she certainly hadn't heard of them before. Marcus had bought the Rothko for $35 million.
Yes, he had one hell of an impressive...bank account.
"I assume to pump you for information about my wedding plans?" he asked without looking up.
"Correct. She's concerned about your date. Or lack thereof."
Marcus sighed heavily. "I've had an update on the baby, if you're still interested."
"What?" Her heart began to pound as he glanced at her in surprise. She tried again. "I mean, of course I'm still interested. Why wouldn't I be?"
"You hadn't asked."
She blinked at him. "You promised you'd make some calls. I didn't want to bother you."
He gave her a look that was partly amused. But she also thought she saw some of the tenderness beyond why he'd made that promise to her in the first place.
"Liberty," he said in a gentle voice. A creeping flush started at the base of her neck and worked its way down her back. Was it wrong to like how he said her name? Was it wrong to want him to say it some more? "You are not a bother to me."
She swallowed, willing her cheeks not to blush. They were getting off track. "What did you hear? About the baby?"
"Ah, yes." He looked down at his computer. The moment he looked away, Liberty exhaled.
"The baby has been discharged from the hospital."
She gasped. "How is he? Is he okay? Did they find his mother yet?"
"Apparently he's surprisingly healthy, given the circumstances-but no, they haven't located his parents yet." He gave her an apologetic look. "They don't seem to be looking too hard, despite my encouragement. I don't think they'll find the mother."
Liberty didn't know what to think because on one hand, that poor child-being abandoned and never knowing his parents?
But on the other hand, he'd already been abandoned once. What if they found his mother-then what? There were other ways to abandon a child than just leaving him in a park. That she knew personally.
Marcus said, "I've been assured that the foster mother is one of their best and that the baby's needs will be met."
She gaped at him for a moment before she realized her mouth was still open. She got it shut and tried to remember to look professional. This was probably as good as the news would get. One of their best foster mothers? Personal assurances that the baby would be well cared for? Those were all things she'd never gotten when she was in the system. "That's wonderful. Can I visit him?"
Marcus looked at her in surprise, as if she'd asked for a space pony. "I didn't get the address."
"Oh." She stared down at her tablet. "I just thought..." She cleared her throat and tried to get back on track. "Here's the analysis of the Rock City Watch ad. I don't think it's hitting the target market you were looking for yet. And you still need to find a date for the wedding."
She stood and handed the ad material over to Marcus. Then she turned and headed for the door.
It was better this way. She'd done her part. Marcus had upheld his end of things. The baby was going to be fine.
Besides, what was she going to do? Adopt a child? Please. She worked from 7:00 a.m. until 6:00 p.m., five days a week, and she came in on Saturday to prepare for the next week's meetings. She had to. There was so much about his world that she didn't know and she couldn't afford to be exposed as an outsider, so she did her homework day in and day out.
She was at the threshold when Marcus spoke. "Liberty."
She paused. He wasn't going to ask her to the wedding again, was he? "Yes?"
She turned to face him. The way he was looking at her-it wasn't right. It wasn't normal anyway. What she would give for that look to be right because there was something to it, something that was possessive and intense. It scared her, how much she wanted him to look at her like that.
So she went on the defensive. "You can't want me to go to this wedding with you."
His lips curved into a seductive smile. "First off, aren't you the one telling me to do what I want?"
He couldn't mean that he really wanted to take her-could he? "Yes, but-"
He held up his hand like a king. "Do you want to see him again? The little boy."
She gave him a long, hard look. Was this a game? If so, she wasn't playing. "Mr. Warren, you're not going to make this awkward, are you? You'll get me the foster mother's address if I agree to attend this ridiculous wedding as your-what, your personal human shield?"
A muscle in his jaw twitched and he looked quite dangerous. Very few people said no to Marcus Warren. But she was one of them. "Just answer the question-do you want to see the baby again?"
She gritted her teeth. "Yes," she said, bracing for his counteroffer.
"That will be all," Marcus said, turning his attention back to his computer.
The dismissal was so sudden and unexpected that she just stood there for a moment. Marcus didn't look back up at her. He didn't acknowledge her continued presence at all. He merely ignored her.
It was not a good feeling.
Four
This time, the DCFS supervisor didn't hesitate to give Marcus the name and address of the foster home. All he had to do was say who he was and the woman practically fell over herself to give him what he wanted.
Well. It was nice that someone was acting appropriately. Because his executive assistant sure as hell wasn't.
Marcus stared at the information he'd written down on a piece of company letterhead. Hazel Jones. He googled the address and saw that it was way up in West Rogers Park.
This was ridiculous. He should be game-planning how to survive this wedding, not diverting his time, energy and accumulated favors for an abandoned baby and his assistant. And yet, here he was, doing just that.
There was nothing to be gained here. He did not need Liberty as a personal human shield and the implication-that he couldn't attend this stupid wedding without one-was an insult to his pride. He was a Warren, dammit all. He didn't hide from anyone or anything and woe unto the person who tried to stand between him and his goal.
Who, at this exact moment, was Liberty Reese.
He strode out of his office to find Liberty on the phone. She glanced up at him, and the fact that he saw a hint of worry in her eyes only made him madder. What had he ever done to make her afraid of him? Not a damned thing. His father would have had her pinned to her desk by the end of her first month here and if she'd so much as sneezed wrong afterward, he would have done everything in his power to bury her.
And what had Marcus done? He'd treated her with respect. He'd never once laid a hand on her, never implied that her job was in some way connected to her sexuality.
All he had done was ask her to go to a wedding with him. And now she was treating him as if he was some lecherous old man to be feared.
"Yes," she said into the phone. "That's correct. No-no," she said in a more severe voice. "That is not the timetable. That information needs to be on my desk by the twelfth." She notched an eyebrow at him and mouthed "Yes?"