The Naked Truth

by Vi Keeland

  Max was nervous about my reaction. Considering I felt like a ticking time bomb, her assessment was probably on point. Any minute I thought I might explode. And whoever was in my way? God help us both.

  At ten after nine, the door to the conference room opened and Max walked in. If she was nervous, it didn’t immediately show. She marched to the opposite side of the table, set down a large file wrapped with a rubber band and her cell phone, and took a seat across from me. She folded her hands on top of the folder and looked at me without a word.

  It had been more than a year since I’d laid eyes on her, and that time had not been kind. Max was always tall and thin. In the mornings, she went for long runs—sometimes the distance of a marathon runner prepping for a race—when she was stressed. During the time we were being investigated, she lost a lot of weight, running two and three hours a day, but she’d still looked healthy, even if on the thin side.

  But the woman sitting across from me looked like she’d been stressing a fuck of a lot. Her cheeks were hollowed, her shoulders seemed half the size they used to be, and the V-neck of her shirt displayed collarbones that jutted out in a way that was more skeletal than sexy. If I wasn’t so fucking furious, the way she looked might’ve been alarming.

  “Good to see you, Gray. You look well,” she finally said.

  I slammed my hand against the table, causing everything to bounce, and she jumped.

  “What kind of sick game are you playing now?” Venom dripped from my voice.

  She quickly composed herself, straightening her spine. “I know you’re a good man, but I needed to see who our daughter was going to be around before I decided to tell you.”

  “Our daughter? If she’s my daughter, why the fuck would you wait more than three years to tell me?”

  A man opened the conference room door and looked at Max. “Everything okay in here?”

  Max’s hand went to her ear. She’d always had a habit of playing with her earring when she was nervous. Good. You should be fucking nervous.

  “Everything is fine, Jack. Thank you for checking.”

  The man gave me a second glance, and probably seeing daggers in my eyes, he hesitated and looked at Max again.

  She had to reassure him. “Really. We’re fine. Gray and I go way back. We were just having a heated discussion over the futures market.”

  The guy nodded, even though he looked like he didn’t believe a word she’d said, and slowly shut the door.

  Max cleared her throat. “If I’d told you I was pregnant three years ago, you might’ve fought harder for your freedom, and then I wouldn’t have had my immunity.”

  I stared at her. She’d basically just admitted everything I’d figured out was true. Not that I had any doubt about it, but I’d never expected her to come clean.

  “Why are you suddenly telling me all of this? I’ve been out for almost two months, and you go to my girlfriend’s place of employment pretending to be a client so you can introduce her to a child you claim is mine?”

  Max slid the folder in front of her across the table. I didn’t move to pick it up.

  “I had no plans to tell you ever. I’d gotten what I wanted and moved on to start my life in Key West.”

  “And what changed?”

  She moved her eyes to the folder. “It’s all in there.”

  My voice was eerily calm. “No more games. What’s in the folder, Max?”

  She pushed back from the table and walked to the window. My patience wore thin during the long minutes she stared outside, but somehow I managed to wait until she spoke.

  She kept looking out the window as she started. “I have stage four metastatic breast cancer. It’s spread to my lungs, liver, bones, and brain. My MRI, PET scan, and medical papers are all in that folder—along with a DNA test proving that Aiden is not the father and one proving that you are. I submitted your toothbrush and razor so they could collect a sample.”

  She walked back to the table, held the top of the chair she’d been sitting in, and looked me straight in the eye. “There’s also a letter I wrote to you included in that folder.”

  Of all the shit I’d imagined she might say today, that wasn’t it. I stared into her eyes. This was a woman who’d fed me lies for years, and I’d fallen for them all. I’d lost three years of my life because of her expertise in lying…. And yet…I could swear she was telling me the truth.

  I slid the thick folder to my side of the table and removed the rubber band. With a deep breath, I opened it and began to sift through the pile of papers. Most of it was medical gibberish I didn’t understand. Words jumped out from the page as if they were highlighted and flashing, even though they weren’t.

  Palliative treatment

  Histopathology

  Neutropenia

  One particular section on the bottom of a Memorial Sloan Kettering PET CT study seemed to read in plain English more than the others. It confirmed everything she’d said, citing large tumors in her head, lungs, liver—the site of a double mastectomy even.

  I looked again. My original assessment of her weight loss suddenly became clear. No body fat, thin face…I started to notice things I hadn’t before. Her skin was a sallow grayish yellow, her thin face had aged twenty years, and her hair was a different color and much thicker than it had been—she was wearing a wig. Once voluptuous, with curves even when she’d run herself too thin, she now had no breasts.

  I closed my eyes for a moment and swallowed. It did nothing to clear my jumbled mind. Opening them, I looked up at the woman who’d stolen years of my life, along with my reputation and dignity. I didn’t want to see her as human. I wanted to see her as the monster I’d spent three years cultivating my hatred for—but I couldn’t. All I saw was a frail person. A woman. A mother. Someone’s child who was thirty years old and dying.

  The inside of my chest felt hollow. My voice softened. “How long do you have?”

  “Six months…maybe.”

  I dropped my head into my hands. It felt like the room had started to spin. “I’m sorry.”

  She took the seat across from me again. “So am I, Gray. So am I. I know it’s not enough. And I’m not expecting your forgiveness. Sometimes it takes staring death in the face to make you look back at your life and realize you didn’t live it in a way you’re proud of. I’m not proud of much that I’ve done at all. I lived for money and power, disregarding anyone who fell in my wake. But I am proud of Ella. She’s innocent and sweet, and full of love and life.” She paused. “I guess I’m lucky she took after her father and not me.”

  I looked up at her. “Are you sure she’s mine? How do I know these tests aren’t manipulated?”

  Max smiled sadly and reached into her blazer pocket. She slid a photo across the table.

  Lifting it knocked the breath right out of me. The little girl was all me. Big green eyes, dark lashes, creviced dimples punctuating her crooked smile. A fucked-up thought popped into my head. She looks just like my father.

  I swallowed and tasted salt in my throat. “I need some time to digest all this.”

  “Of course.”

  I stared down at the photo of the beautiful little girl. “Can I keep this?”

  “Of course.”

  Standing, I felt numb. I took the folder and nodded at Max before turning to walk out. With my hand on the glass door, I asked, “Anything else you want to confess before I go?” It was my idea of a sad joke.

  But Max looked down.

  I shook my head. “Fuck—what now?”

  “Aiden stole all the money from me that we stole from you. I really would like your friend to try to get it back. It’s Ella’s inheritance.”

  Unbelievable. I opened the door and spoke without looking back. “You’re a real piece of work.”

  Chapter 26

  * * *

  Gray

  Rattling the ice cubes in my empty glass, I stared at the mess of my life strewn all over the living room couch and floor. The folder Max had given me contained e
verything—her medical papers, her will appointing me as Ella’s sole guardian, a seven-page letter that detailed all of the whys, hows, and whens of her illness and pregnancy, and my daughter’s birth certificate and medical files. She’d even admitted in writing to the details of the con job she’d pulled on me. It was a shitload of information. But it was the photo of my daughter sitting on top of the papers that I kept coming back to.

  My daughter.

  I wasn’t sure I’d ever get used to even thinking the words, much less saying them aloud. Ella Kent Cartwright had been born on Valentine’s Day almost three years ago. Max had listed the father’s name as unknown on the birth certificate but gave Ella my mother’s maiden name as her middle name—Kent.

  I picked up Ella’s picture to study it for the thousandth time. I had no idea how to take care of a child—a daughter, no less. But my heart swelled every time I looked at her adorable little face. I felt like my life had once again been sucked into a tornado, and where it would spit me out was anyone’s guess. But I knew one thing for sure: I needed to meet Ella as soon as possible.

  Stumbling to the kitchen, I refilled my glass, cursing at the empty bottle while I poured the last drops.

  I needed to talk to Layla. She’d texted me an hour ago, and I still couldn’t bring myself to respond. What the fuck did I write back?

  Yes, I have a daughter.

  And…pretty soon I’ll be a single dad to a nearly three-year-old I’ve never met.

  What I wanted to do was lie—tell her Max hadn’t shown up for our meeting and just spend one more night in denial. But…no lies. That’s how I’d lost her in the first place.

  The discussion certainly wasn’t one that should unfold via text. It was almost eight so I figured Layla would be home by now.

  Gray: Is it okay if I stop by so we can talk?

  Her response came quick.

  Layla: No.

  My heart started to pound, and I fumbled my phone, dropping it on the floor when I started to text back. I heard another phone ringing in the background while I swiped my cell from the floor. I was so laser focused on finding the reason she didn’t want me to stop by that I didn’t realize it was my own home phone.

  Gray: Are you still at work? I could come pick you up and we could ride to your place together.

  Layla: I’m not at work anymore.

  Shit. She just didn’t want me to come over.

  Gray: Too tired?

  My phone rang again. This time I heard it loud and clear, but chose to ignore it. Whoever was calling wasn’t as important as Layla.

  Layla: Actually, I’m not.

  Fuck.

  I started to text back and then thought better of it. Instead, I hit Call. She answered on the first ring.

  “We need to talk, sweetheart,” I said.

  “I agree. So why don’t you answer your home phone already?”

  I was thoroughly confused for a few heartbeats. “How do you know my…”

  “Because I’m standing downstairs, waiting for you to tell your nice doorman to allow me to come up.”

  I picked up my house phone and held it to the other ear. “Norman?”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Westbrook.”

  “Can you please send Ms. Hutton up?”

  “Will do.”

  “And for future reference, Ms. Hutton is welcome any time she wants.”

  “You got it.”

  I hung up the cordless and returned to my cell. “Get your ass up here, wise ass.”

  ***

  I waited in front of the elevator doors. Freckles, on the other hand, took his trusty shoe and charged right inside when the door opened.

  Layla bent to pick him up. “Are you glad to see me or trying to escape in the elevator?”

  I wanted to keep that smile on her face forever. Suddenly, a sobering thought hit me. I hadn’t wanted to have a serious conversation over text. The same might’ve been true for her. She could be here to dump my ass in person.

  I attempted to push the thought out of my head and remain positive. “This is a pleasant surprise.”

  She finished scratching Freckles and set him down. “I figured you’d been avoiding me all day because you had news you didn’t want to share and wouldn’t lie when I asked you.”

  I forced a smile. “You know me well.”

  On the inside, I was a fucking wreck, unable to think straight, but that didn’t stop me from soaking her in. She wore a red business suit—a skirt and jacket, with a white, silky camisole underneath. Holding Freckles, the thin fabric clung against her bra, and I could make out the pattern of lace underneath. Her long, toned legs were shapely and smooth, and she wore black high heels that I’d have opted to have stitches in my back just to feel them puncture my skin. But it was her nose that did me in. She hadn’t covered her freckles. Somehow that gave me a beacon of hope to cling to.

  While I was busy ogling her, apparently she’d done the same to me. Except what she found wasn’t as pleasant.

  “You look terrible,” she said.

  “Then it’s a good thing you look so beautiful and can pick up the slack.”

  “Are you…going to invite me in so we can talk? Or are we just going to stand in front of the elevator and stare at each other?”

  “How would you feel about staying right here?”

  She forced a smile. “Come on. Give me a drink. From the looks of you, I have a lot of catching up to do.”

  After I poured her a glass of wine and grabbed myself a bottle of water—I’d had enough—we went to the living room. I’d forgotten the mess all over the place. Sweeping papers from the couch, I made room for her to sit.

  Layla’s eyes landed on the photo I hadn’t been able to take mine from today. She picked it up and stared at it while sipping her wine.

  “She’s beautiful. The photo doesn’t even do her justice,” she said softly.

  “I’ve done nothing but stare at that for hours.”

  Her eyes flickered to meet mine. “She’s yours?”

  I blew out a deep breath. “Max gave me DNA results to show that Aiden isn’t the father and testing she claims was done with a sample from my toothbrush and razor, which is positive for paternity.”

  “Do you believe her?”

  I looked at the photo still in her hands. “I think I would’ve believed her with that photo alone.”

  Layla smiled sadly. We stared at each other in utter silence for a long time. I didn’t know what to say, and I thought it best to let her digest it and not force it down her throat.

  Eventually she looked away. “Why did she keep it from you?”

  “She said she found out she was pregnant right before I took the deal, and she thought I might not take it if I knew I had a child on the way. I might’ve fought for my freedom, and that would’ve put her immunity deal at risk.”

  “God,” she gasped. “That’s ruthless.”

  I shook my head and looked down at my feet. “I didn’t think anything else could shock me.”

  “Does she want you back? Is that why she told you the way she did—through me? Showing up at my office like that?”

  “No. She said she wanted to see who her daughter was going to be spending time with.”

  “There are obviously more normal ways to go about doing that. Like perhaps letting the father know he has a child before stalking his girlfriend?”

  “There’s nothing normal about Max. I learned that the hard way.”

  We were again quiet for a few minutes. I needed to tell her the rest, but wasn’t sure how to tell her the life I’d just gotten back was about to be turned upside down. Her next question, though, opened the door.

  “So what happens now? Is she going to let you see her? Will she fight you for visitation and your legal rights?”

  I waited until Layla drank her wine and lifted her eyes to meet mine again. “Max is dying. Stage four breast cancer that has spread to…everywhere.”

  Her jaw dropped, and her hand clutched at her chest.
“Oh my God, Gray.”

  “She decided to tell me because she’s running out of time and wants to help make the transition easier.”

  “The transition?”

  “To me having custody.”

  “Wow.” Layla rubbed at one temple. “I…I don’t even know what to say.”

  I took the wine from her and set it on the coffee table so I could take both her hands in mine.

  Looking into her eyes, I said, “Say you’ll date a single father who doesn’t have a fucking clue what to do with a kid. Say this isn’t going to scare you away again.”

  She looked down. “Gray…this is a lot.”

  “I know. And I’m not asking you to take it all in right now. Fuck, I haven’t even let it all sink in.”

  She looked up at me. Her mind seemed to be jumping all over the place like mine had done all day, clicking the puzzle pieces into place. “That’s why she’s so thin. The wig. The big sunglasses.”

  I nodded. “She doesn’t look good.”

  “Did you get to meet Ella today?”

  I frowned. “No. I left Max’s office with my head unscrewed and came home to read a seven-page letter she’d given me in a file with a bunch of legal documents. The letter had her cell phone on it and said to text when I was ready to see Ella. I sent her a text earlier, but haven’t heard back yet.”

  “Ella wears a hearing aid. I noticed it when Max moved her hair the other day. It completely slipped my mind.”

  I nodded. “She had medical records in the file for Ella, too. She has Connexin 26. It’s a genetic condition that can cause mild to total hearing loss. Her case is mild, but it can become progressively worse over time, so Max is teaching her sign language as a precaution. My father had it, too. He didn’t wear a hearing aid, but he should have. He just made everyone repeat themselves all the time.”