Maybe he just didn’t care about the infant daughters he’d left behind so long ago.
Stomach in knots, a fine layer of perspiration making her shiver, she forced her rubbery legs to get off on the correct floor.
A rich, traditionally-decorated lobby faced her, all dark wood and oriental rugs. The well-dressed receptionist sitting behind a large, circular desk was efficiently tapping on a computer keyboard.
“May I help you?” the woman asked, glancing up.
“I have an appointment with John Layton.” Kelsey’s throat felt dry and tight. “I’m Mrs. Jared Barrett.”
The receptionist glanced down at her appointment book and smiled. “Oh, yes, Mrs. Barrett. He’ll see you now. Right this way.”
The woman stepped out from behind her desk and went to open a door marked Private.
Now! He’d see her immediately? She’d counted on a few more minutes. What was she going to say? What was she doing here?
Damn Jared Barrett. This was all his fault. If he hadn’t inveigled his way into her life, she’d still be oblivious, still cocooned in her indifference about the man who’d contributed to her DNA.
Kelsey saw the elegant receptionist tap on the door and swing it open wide for her to pass through.
Her heart revved, beating in double-time. She stepped through the doorway, her senses beset by a rush of impressions.
The man coming around a large desk was different than she’d remembered from the investment seminar. Bigger. A little thick around the middle, he had broad shoulders encased in a well-cut suit coat.
She dimly heard the receptionist murmur her name. “Mrs. Jared Barrett.”
He came toward her, offering his hand, a professional, business-like smile on his face. “Mrs. Barrett, how nice to meet you.”
Kelsey took his hand, her brain absorbing a hundred impressions instantly. Up close, she could see that his eyes were blue—like hers, his short dark hair shot with gray. How many times had she wondered what he’d look like? The two photographs she’d seen of him had given only the barest impression of his features.
His smile altered, his eyes narrowing. “Weren’t you at one of our investment seminars not long ago. You came in late, sat in the back and left early?”
“Yes, and the name is Kelsey Layton Barrett,” she heard herself say, her voice clear.
Immediately, John Layton’s handshake faltered, his shrewd eyes sharpening. “Kelsey…Layton Barrett?”
“Yes,” she said, dropping his hand as she tried to keep the anger out of her voice. She hadn’t come here for a scene, certainly didn’t have any intention of letting him see how much his abandonment had hurt her.
Her father looked at her for a long moment. “Why don’t we sit down?”
Two leather chairs sat at a comfortable right-angle, a small table between them. John Layton gestured toward the grouping.
Smoothing her skirt, Kelsey sat down, feeling marginally better. He seemed to know who she was and he hadn’t yet thrown her out. Of course, he knew she was married to a millionaire so he probably wasn’t worried about her hitting him up for money. He might even think he had a chance of investing all Jared’s millions.
The cynical thought strengthened her some and she resisted the urge to break the awkward silence now stretching between them.
He felt it, too, she knew. Although outwardly calm, his firm mouth was tight and he gripped the arm of his chair with a tense hand. He seemed thrown off stride, like he didn’t know what to do and he didn’t appear to be a man who often lost control of a situation.
Despite all her good intentions, Kelsey couldn’t help being glad she’d disturbed him. He’d had so little trouble from her and Amy previously.
“How’s your sister?” John Layton asked abruptly, his voice rough.
Kelsey hesitated, remembering her sister’s comment about getting in touch with their father. Still, it was Amy’s business to invite the man to her wedding. “Fine.”
“And your…mother?”
Startled, Kelsey said, “She’s fine, too.”
He nodded, a quick inclination of his head. “I’m glad.”
“I suppose you’ve been worrying about her,’ Kelsey said coolly, knowing her disbelief was evident.
Her father stared at her a moment. He got up then and went to a small bar on the other side of the room, pouring himself a drink. “Would you like something?”
“No, thank you,” she said, unwilling to accept anything from him now. A white-hot anger sizzled through her, sparked at his mention of her mother. He’d inquired after Chloe as if he cared, which had to be a lie.
“I have worried about your mother. Chloe’s the kind of woman a man tends to worry about. And I’ve worried about you girls,” John said, before coming back over to resume his seat. “You probably don’t believe that.”