He let out a slow breath, his chest rising and falling. “He’s my child.”
Anger and fear ricocheted through her as she whipped all the way around. “You bastard! You would play that card?”
“I’m not playing anything, and I’m not a bastard.” He tunneled his fingers into his hair, shoving it back. “I had to know.”
“And not share that with me?”
“I had to know,” he repeated, his voice taut. “I was going to tell you the test results.”
“But you decided it made more sense to bring your grandfather in and, in fact, to have him control the test, which really makes me question its validity and...and…why would you do that?” She nearly sobbed out the question, but it didn’t matter. She was hurt and confused and furious and sick at heart. No use trying to hide all that.
“Because my family always comes first. Always came first,” he corrected. “That’s how it is, that’s how we stay together.”
“No, that’s how you all stay under the control of one old man who has fed the monster with billions of dollars.” She huffed out a breath. “What did you do, send him the swab I gave you?”
His only answer was a pained expression. “I thought—”
“I don’t care what you thought!” she fired back. “You could have told me. You could have trusted me. You could have”—not made me care about you—”shown your true colors and been an asshole for the last three weeks.”
“I have trusted you. And I have shown my true colors.” With each word, he came closer, rounding the last car in the lot that separated them. She backed into her car, not wanting the assault of his apologies or kisses or that big bare chest that covered a black heart.
“How long did you stay and listen to that conversation?” he asked.
“When he asked for Dylan, I left. Oh, maybe I heard the part about paying me off.” She choked her sarcasm. “From the king of ‘we never pay anyone to get what we want.’”
“You should have stayed longer. I sent him away.”
“Well, he’ll be back. No doubt with a legion of lawyers and a bottomless checkbook.”
“I made him leave, and I won’t let him use lawyers or dollars or anything to hurt you. I won’t,” he insisted. “Not you and not Dylan. I swear.”
She regarded him for a long time, mesmerized by the pain and sincerity in his eyes. “I’ve seen that look, Nate. That same look in your eyes.”
“What look?”
“The one that says you’re real and you mean this.”
“I am, and I do.” Encouraged, he closed the space between them, inches away now. “When did you see that look?”
She tipped her head. “Back there, in the villa.”
“Because that was real, and I meant what I said.”
“And you were five seconds and two inches from fu—”
He put his finger on her lips, silencing the ugly word. “No.”
“Um, yes.” She jerked to the side to escape the burn of his touch, but it didn’t work. Her lips were still warm. “Unless you want to give it another name, Nate. All I was about to be was another girl. A notch on your bedpost. Or desk. Or...limo.”
He flinched, and she waited for a jolt of satisfaction, but felt nothing like it. Only sadness.
“You’re wrong,” he said. “I know what it looks like on the surface, but you’re as wrong as my grandfather for making assumptions about me. I wish you would give me a chance.” He reached out his hand, palm up, the peace offering obvious.
If only she could. “Your family is never going away.”
“And neither is the fact that Dylan is my son, but,” he added quickly when he saw the look on her face, “you are his mother in every other way. And that, Liza Lemanski...” He leaned forward and whispered in her ear, “Makes us family, too.”
Her chest squeezed so hard she didn’t bother trying to breathe. Instead, she reached into her purse and pulled out her keys, turning to the car. Without saying a word, she opened the door and slid into the driver’s seat.
After she turned on the ignition, she tried to pull the door closed, but he held it open. So she looked up at him, right into his eyes.
“You have to answer one question,” she said.
“Anything.”
“Which family matters more to you?”
He hesitated one second. Just one millisecond, and she knew the answer. Getting a hold of the door, she yanked it closed with a loud bang and backed out of the parking lot to go get Dylan.
They’d been so close. So, so close to…love. Almost-but-not-quite love.
Chapter Thirteen
Nate put his signature on the final document and checked the clock. He still had twenty minutes to finish before Zeke and Becker showed up and another ten before the reporter came.
Grabbing the next file from the pile, he opened to find all the documents labeled and in chronological order. He pushed thoughts of the woman who’d made his life so organized out of his mind. She’d been gone long enough that he knew he had to find another assistant, but he still clung to the hope that every time that door opened, she’d be standing there, blue-green eyes sparkling, both arms out bearing his second chance.
A knock kindled life into that hope, but the sound of his friends’ laughter crushed it out. He got up to let them in, checking the time once more.
“We have twenty minutes,” he said to Zeke and Becker when he opened the door. “And I need every one of them to get my work finished. Why don’t you guys wait on the beach?”
Zeke and Becker did simultaneous double takes at each other.
“I’m sorry,” Becker said. “I thought we came to Nate Ivory’s villa, not a workaholic’s. Who are you?”
“I’m running a damn operation that you’re both deeply invested in, so I’d think even a moron like you, Becker, would want me to work.”
Becker muscled into the villa. “Give it up and get a damn assistant.”
Zeke stayed in the doorway, slightly more sympathetic. “No word from her yet?”
He shook his head. “But my grandfather has completely backed off, so there’s that victory.” A hard-won battle, too, keeping the old man from tracking down Dylan and demanding to take him away. But the Colonel finally let go and returned to the Ivory Tower with Mimsy.
Behind him, Becker slapped a friendly hand on Nate’s shoulder. “You know what you need?”
What he needed was the smart, gorgeous, sexy, amazing woman who was raising his son. “I don’t drink when I’m working,” he replied. “Which is pretty much twenty hours a day now. But the good news is we can have a groundbreaking very soon.”
“That is good news,” Zeke said, finally coming in.
“I didn’t mean you need booze,” Becker finished, undeterred. “You need a grand gesture.”
Nate laughed. “I know you like those.”
“Not about what I like, my man. This is about exactly how to tell a woman you love her.”
He inched out of Becker’s touch. “How grand?”
“The bigger the gesture, the harder they fall is my experience.” He grinned at Zeke. “And in Mr. Nicholas’s, too, if I recall from his not-too-distant past.”
“He’s right,” Zeke said. “You have to show her you mean business. Do something she isn’t expecting. Get her attention and keep it.”
As the two men settled onto seats in the living room, Nate returned to his chair at the desk that took up most of the middle of the room.
“I bet you can’t wait to get out of this villa and into an office on-site,” Zeke said.
Nate shrugged. The villa—and this desk, including all the files—was still a connection to Liza. She knew where he was in case she wanted to—
“Hello? Anyone in there?” A woman’s voice accompanied a light knock on the door, and Nate hated that his heart actually skipped a freaking beat. But that wasn’t Liza.
“She’s early,” Nate said. “My calendar says noon.”
Zeke was already up, sho
oting him a look. “You better have an attitude adjustment for this interview,” he said, keeping his voice low. “I know The Mimosa Times isn’t The New York Times, but we have to make the entire island love us and support this baseball team and stadium. Cultivating a relationship with a local reporter is critical.”
“Plus, maybe she’ll be hot,” Becker—the moron—suggested. “And you can hire her to replace the nice girl you scared away.”
Nate gave him the finger right before Zeke opened the door. “Ms. Simpson?”
“Yes, hi. I’m Julia Simpson from The Mimosa Times.”
Becker was right, damn it. She was quite attractive, with long blond hair pulled into a neat clip and cheekbones from here to Sunday. “I know I’m early, but I’m...” She laughed softly. “I’m really excited about interviewing you three for the feature.”
She was introduced all around, taking a minute to get their names straight, and let out a few nervous laughs before she accepted a cold glass of water and perched on the edge of a chair. She crossed long, shapely legs at the ankle and daintily tucked them as she opened her notebook on her lap.
Nate tried to see her as the beautiful young woman she was, probably a week out of journalism school and deliciously adventurous in...
No. He wasn’t interested in other women. He wanted the one he’d had and lost. The one he’d loved and—
“Would that be possible?” Julia asked breathlessly.
He’d missed the question completely, damn it.
Both of his friends looked at him expectantly. Shit, a business question. Of course, he was off in the clouds thinking about Liza.
“I know it’s asking a lot,” she said. “But I really have to have something exclusive and different. I need an angle that no one else is going to have about this project. Something that will show our readers and your new neighbors exactly what you guys are made of.”
Zeke leaned forward. “We could let you see the blueprints for the owners’ box. It’s going to be top-notch.”
She made a face, clearly not interested in blueprints.
“A sneak peek at some of the ballplayers we’re recruiting?” Becker suggested.
“Um, well, the team’s a long way off. I was thinking of something about you guys. Something personal.” She shifted her gaze to land on Nate. “Your life makes good, you know, publicity.” Those angular bones deepened with a blush. “It might be fun to get a little bit deeper in the head of ‘Naughty Nate.’”
Becker snorted softly, and Zeke actually laughed, but Nate had a little white light pop inside the very head she wanted to get into. He put his hands on the desk and nodded, unable to fight a smile.
“Honey, I’ve got a story that will sell newspapers, go viral, and skyrocket your career.”
Her eyes lit up. “Really?”
Next to her, Becker sat up straighter, his own grin wide as he pointed to Nate. “Now, that’s what I’m talking about, Ivory. Grand. Perfectly grand.”
* * *
“Excuse me, ma’am, but your little boy...”
Liza whipped around, almost dropping the oversized paper towel package she held when she spied Dylan leaning far out of the shopping cart to pull a stream of about six hundred deli numbers out of the dispenser a foot away.
“Oh!” She tossed the paper towels into the basket and lunged for the five-foot-long trail of paper. “Dylan. No.”
“Here, I got that.” A man came up next to her, snagging the tickets out of Dylan’s grasp.
“Thank you.” She looked up at him, meeting a kind smile and friendly blue eyes behind serious horn-rimmed glasses. “I’m really...thank you.”
He flipped off the top of the dispenser and spun the wheel so all the numbers rolled right back into place.
“Whee!” Dylan cried out, delighted.
“Tough to shop with kids,” he said, maintaining eye contact with every word. “I try to get here before I pick mine up at day care.”
“Oh...” He picked up his own kid at day care and did the grocery shopping. Single? “Yeah, it’s a challenge,” she said, giving her own smile, even though the whole exchange felt foreign and forced.
“I’m Mike.” He offered his hand, and she barely touched it, not surprised that contact with a light pole would have conducted more electricity.
“Hi, Mike. Thanks again.”
Dylan saved her by reaching for the number roll again. “Whoops, I better get him out of here. Bye.” She pushed the cart quickly away, feeling bad about dissing the fine-looking and hopeful man, but he wasn’t...
He wasn’t Nate.
Blowing out a breath of self-disgust, Liza maneuvered the cart into the express line, absently placing milk and cereal and bananas on the conveyer belt. How long was she going to moon over the guy, and worry...he’d come and claim his son?
So far, for a few weeks anyway, he’d let her be. She’d received a paycheck in the mail after a week, and, thankfully, she got her crappy job back at the County Clerk’s office. And every single night, after an evening of bearing pitying looks from her mother, she’d cried herself to sleep, longing for—
“N-A-T-E!”
Oh, God. “Shhh.” She closed her hands over Dylan’s tiny shoulders and gave his head a kiss. Even he missed Nate.
“N-A-T-E!” He pointed to the right, kicking his legs.
Liza’s heart rolled around her chest as she looked toward the door, expecting, hoping, dreaming her man would be charging into Publix to save her from a lonely, boring, single existence. Or maybe to take Dylan.
But there was no—
“N-A-T-E!” Dylan started kicking again, and finally Liza followed his finger to the rack of tabloids next to the checkout.
And this time her rolling heart fell into her stomach with a thud. The headline blurred for a moment, forcing her to blink to make sense of it.
Naughty Nate Officially Off The Market: Eligible Billionaire Has Fallen In Love
“What?” She reached her hands out, her gaze moving to a picture of Nate taken right outside the villa, leaning on the wall, arms crossed—so of course his biceps looked huge—a serious look on his face.
“That sound you hear?” The voice came from right behind her, forcing her to glance over her shoulder and see the man named Mike behind her in line. “A million hopeful hearts breaking in pieces.”
“Including mine,” said the woman behind him. “One less eligible billionaire for us to dream about.”
Slowly, Liza pulled the brightly colored newspaper from the rack, and Dylan’s squeals reached a higher pitch as Nate’s face got closer.
“N-A-T-E! Nate!”
Behind her, Mike cracked up. “Sounds like your son knows your guilty pleasures, Mom.”
She barely smiled, trying to muster up the concentration to read the first paragraph, but nothing would come together like a noun, verb, or sentence. Just snippets and phrases like hit by a lightning bolt and love at first sight and she brings out the best in me.
“Who?” she demanded, giving the paper a shake.
Mike laughed some more, clearly amused by her frustration. “No wonder I struck out,” he said. “Your bar is too high.”
The nosy woman behind him poked her head into the conversation. “The whole story broke in a local paper over on Mimosa Key. And they say one of the tabloids had some old sex tape, but this announcement trumped that news, and they didn’t even run it.”
“I read that,” said the woman right in front of Liza, scooping up the bag of groceries she’d just finished paying for. “She’s his administrative assistant. Talk about winning the love lottery!”
Liza stared at the paper again, heat and hope and something she’d never ever felt before exploding in her chest, making every cell feel...alive.
“You know he’s living over there in Barefoot Bay,” the checker chimed in as she started ringing up Liza’s bananas. “In fact, my aunt’s going to the baseball groundbreaking thing this afternoon to get a chance to see him.” She laughed. “W
hat is it about that guy?”
“He’s hot,” offered the woman in the back.
“He’s loaded,” Mike added.
“And he’s...” Liza looked at the paper right before she relinquished it to the checker to ring it in. “In love.” And so, according to her insanely wild heartbeat, was she.
Laughing, the checker took the paper and squinted at the picture. “Let me read that. ‘Despite the Ivory Glass billions,’” she read in a newscaster tone, “‘Nate says the only family that matters to him is the one in his future with a lady he calls a wonder woman.’” She gave an exaggerated eye roll. “Gag me with the cheese, please.”
“I think it’s romantic,” said the lady in back.
“I think—”
Liza whipped around and stopped whatever joke Mike was going to make. “You’d be wrong. And so would you,” she said to the checker. Then she pointed to the woman behind him. “But you’re right. He’s romantic and hot. And I”—she gave an apologetic look to the cashier—”don’t have time to pay for this.”
They stared at her, shocked, but she didn’t wait around, pushing the cart fast enough to get a gleeful shriek from Dylan. “Aunt Liza! Where are we going?”
“To your daddy,” she whispered, scooping him out of the cart. “And we aren’t going to almost-quite-not make it there in time.”
* * *
The crowd around the patch of dirt in the central part of Barefoot Bay was sizable but still full of familiar faces to Nate. Zeke and Mandy stood arm in arm while the mayor made a speech. Becker and Frankie held hands, sharing jokes and teasing looks next to him. Several of the resort staff and townspeople had joined in and, of course, there was Julia Simpson, the reporter from The Mimosa Times who’d done such an incredible job with his story, and lots of folks from the local political scene.
But no Liza Lemanski.
After a few minutes, Nate stopped looking and concentrated on his job, which was to keep this little event rolling. He handed the mayor some facts and figures he’d been drawing up for the past week. He provided remarks for the local architect, too, but Clay Walker Jr., who’d also designed Casa Blanca Resort & Spa, spoke extemporaneously about the new project.
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