The Millionaire Affair(35)

Rachel.

Dressed in what could only be described as a power suit, Rachel Hannigan  looked every bit the cutthroat lawyer she'd aspired to become when  they'd dated. Her dark hair was cut into a sharp bob, her mouth-now that  she'd closed it-a flat red line. The tightness around her eyes made him  wonder if she ever smiled.

Only then, she did.

"Landon." A professional smile.

Stunned, he continued to hold the door as a patron exited the restaurant. She stepped aside to let the other man pass.

"How are you?" he asked automatically. Numbly. Fucking Rachel. Unbelievable.

She nodded, a typical non-answer to the throwaway greeting. "This is my  son, Gregory." She palmed the boy's shoulder and the kid lifted his  head, hair sweeping his forehead and falling over his sunglasses.

He studied the teen's sandy-colored hair, rangy build, and slouchy  skater-wear. He couldn't see his eyes and found himself wondering if  they were hazel. Like his own. Landon swallowed, his gut churning, mind  reeling.

"He turned fourteen today." Rachel gave him a meaningful eyebrow raise. In other words: He's not yours.

Landon's lips twitched. It was a bitter smile. And the wrong time and  place to resurrect that demon. He flicked his eyes back to Gregory who  tapped on the screen of his phone, utterly undeterred. Another diner  exited between them, giving a surly "Excuse me" as she passed by,  clearly annoyed that they were clogging the entrance.

"Good to see you," Rachel lied. He could see the untruth in every rigid muscle in her face.

He refused to echo it. "Happy birthday, Gregory."

The kid tossed his hair out of his eyes and muttered "Thanks" as Rachel slid her sunglasses onto her nose and waved for a cab.

Landon turned and walked inside, his legs shaky. He felt like he'd taken  a two-by-four to the gut. For one scant, surreal moment, he'd thought  Rachel had lied to him sixteen years ago. That instead of terminating  her pregnancy, she'd kept the child they'd created. Had moved to her  aunt's house, not because she wanted to finish school at a different  college like she'd claimed when she left him, but to have the baby.  Their baby. For a split second, he'd thought I'm a father.

Then Rachel had set him straight. He turned fourteen today.         

     



 

Definitely not his.

Otto waved a gnarled hand from a corner booth in the crowded, dim  steakhouse. Landon strode over and sat across from the man. He wondered  if Otto had children. Grandchildren. The waitress brought two Old  Fashioneds while Otto complained about the heat, and Landon lifted the  disgusting drink and downed half of it in one putrid swallow.

The older man watched, his untamed, wiry eyebrows shooting in all  directions. "Easy, son, we have to make a toast," he said, cheeks red  from the last Old Fashioned he'd drank.

Son. Landon nearly laughed.

"To Windy City and Downey Design." Otto raised his glass. As their glasses clinked, he added, "And leaving a legacy."

He was talking, of course, about the legacy of his potato chip business.  The mark on a town his family had inhabited for at least the last  century. None of which would have been possible if there were no future  or past generations to start and finish it.

Otto continued to jabber on about his various body aches and how his  doctor recommended he stop drinking. "The drink is the only thing I look  forward to," he said gruffly as he studied the menu.

Landon stabbed the cherry at the bottom of his glass with the plastic  straw, and there, in the last place he'd expected to find himself, in  the oddest company for such a poignant moment, he had an epiphany.

It was a thought he'd never imagined entertaining again. But it was there, and as real and solid as the glass in his hand.





CHAPTER FOURTEEN


It was unfair to show up like this. Just barge into Landon's office unannounced. He was a busy man. A man who-

"May I help you?"

Kimber turned to the smiling secretary, a woman in her fifties with dyed orange hair and a flowery blouse.

Too late to run now.

"I'm here to see Landon Downey. I wasn't sure if I needed an  appointment. I guess I could call him." She should have called him. Only  she hadn't known she was coming to see him until she stepped into his  building. She'd gone out shopping today and then found herself  wandering. Like a moth to the flame …

"Kimber?"

She turned to see Landon stepping out of the elevator, one hand casually  in his pants pocket, his sharp navy suit making his body appear  powerful, solid. Like a good place to cast her worries. And her worries  were ample. They walked toward each other, both stopping short of  inappropriate distance.

"How are you?" she said.

His eyebrows were drawn together. He had to know what she was doing here  after not seeing him for almost a month. There was only one reason for  her to be here. Only, she was here for more than the obvious reason. She  missed him.

Her life had been empty, strange, since they'd parted that day in Hobo  Chic. Even though she knew she had no claim to him, she'd begun  bargaining with herself. Asking questions like, why couldn't she date  him a while longer? And finding no suitable answer.

Her loft apartment above her store used to be her sanctuary. Over the  last two weeks it'd felt less homey than before. She couldn't explain  why. Nothing had changed. Except for her. She felt like she hadn't taken  a full breath since she'd left Landon's penthouse for the last time.

And now she wasn't sure if she'd take a full breath ever again. Not until she talked to him.

His eyes flitted around the lobby before drilling into hers. "I'm late  for a meeting across town." He pulled his hand from his pocket and  grimaced at the oversized watch on his wrist. "I can't miss it, but I  don't want to leave you like this."

Like this. He thought she was pregnant. "It can wait," she insisted.

He breached the space between them and palmed her shoulder. "It can't,  but I have to go." Anguish clouded his eyes. "Do me a favor."

Anything to get the look of hurt off his face. She nodded.

"Go to my house. Order some lunch. Make yourself comfortable. I'll be  home in two hours, three tops. But don't … " He shook his head like he was  at a loss for words. "Don't do anything until we talk."

Don't do anything. Like have an abortion? Her thoughts went back to his  confession about his college girlfriend. The pain and regret clouding  his eyes when he'd confessed.

"Okay," she promised.

He closed his eyes as he pulled in a breath, and she could swear he  looked relieved. Then he shocked her by leaning in and kissing her.  Nothing alarming about a chaste, feather-soft touch of their lips, other  than the fact he'd done it in front of a sea of people he worked with;  who worked for him.

"Wait for me," he whispered. Then he strode out of his building and into the bustling street.         

     



 



If he was at the business end of a loaded gun, Landon wouldn't be able  to recite a single topic covered of the two-hour meeting he'd just  attended. Concentration had been a pipe dream; his thoughts trained only  on Kimber, and how beautiful she'd looked standing in the lobby of  Downey Design. The way she'd worn her hair, in smooth copper waves  around her face. The oversize shirt and leggings coasting along those  deliciously curved calves.

He had no idea if she was pregnant, or if she'd come to tell him she  wasn't, but whatever the news he wouldn't ask her to blurt it out in the  twelve seconds before he'd had to rush out the door.

He also had no idea what he was hoping for-positive results or negative.  Yes, seeing Rachel last week had thrown him for a loop. Had cemented  the decision that he'd like to have a child. In the future. He wasn't  sure when the best time was to start a family, but he knew now wasn't  ideal.

What about college? Was college ideal?

Impatiently, he pressed the button for the penthouse floor twice. One of  his co-workers had quipped once that there was no perfect time to have  kids, only bad timing and worse timing.

He chuffed a bone-dry laugh.

During the short elevator ride up to his house, he allowed himself to  think what if. What if she was pregnant? He was a radically different  man than he'd been in college. Income was no longer an issue. He owned a  stable, thriving company that was relevant and sought after in a  respectably big city. And he was older now, and hopefully wiser. He knew  what it took to provide for a child.

On paper, anyway.

He wondered how Kimber felt about all of this. If she'd continue to run  her clothing store if she was pregnant. He winced as he walked to the  door and pulled his keys out of the lock. All those hours on her feet  wouldn't be good for her or the baby. And he'd have to see about moving  the store to a safer neighborhood, somewhere closer to his place …  near a  good private school. Maybe a charter …

Not that he was getting ahead of himself or anything.

He put his hand on the knob, then paused. Best to prepare for the other  likelihood. That she had started her period and was here to set his mind  at ease. Or the other, other option. That she was pregnant but didn't  want to keep their baby. His stomach twisted to the point of nausea.  Surely, God wouldn't let that happen to him twice. If she didn't want to  have this baby, he'd have to convince her. He wouldn't lose the  opportunity of fatherhood. Not again.