She didn’t have much choice, though, did she? The only way to get out from under the debt she owed Cullen was to make a success of the studio, and with a baby on the way, that was suddenly more important than ever. Especially since Cullen had no idea he was going to be a father in five more months.
Resting a hand over her slightly distended abdomen, she swallowed past the dizziness that seemed to be with her twenty-four/seven these days, along with the sense of guilt she felt more often than not at keeping her pregnancy a secret from Cullen.
It was better this way, she reminded herself. If Cullen knew about the baby, he would want to do the right thing. He would insist they get married, even though it was the last thing he really wanted.
He’d been raised to always be responsible and protect the family name. When his father had gotten his mother pregnant right out of high school, his grandfather had insisted they marry to give the child a name and keep from tarnishing the family’s sterling reputation.
Misty didn’t want to put Cullen in that position, didn’t want to force him into a situation he would hate and later resent her for.
No, it was better this way. She’d been avoiding him for months, ever since the home pregnancy test—and later a blood test at the doctor’s office—had confirmed her suspicions.
If only she could avoid him a while longer, until the studio began to operate on its own funds, everything would be all right. She would be able to begin paying him back all the money he’d invested in her, and he would eventually come to realize that his unanswered and unreturned calls meant she didn’t want to see him anymore.
She hated to break things off with him so abruptly, but it was best for everyone.
He’d been good to her. Better, she’d often thought, than a girl like she deserved. Because of that, and because she really did care for him, she refused to saddle him with a wife and a child he probably didn’t want and had never planned for.
Misty pushed herself away from the mirrored wall where she’d been standing—leaning, more like—as the music drew to an end and the dancers’ steps slowed. She was only half paying attention, she realized, but at least she’d been watching closely enough to know the routine had gone off with barely a hitch. This was her adult class, so they caught on more quickly than the children.
“Good job, guys,” she told them, clapping her hands together in approval. “Now this next time through, I’d like you to add…”
Her words trailed off as the room started to spin around her. She’d only taken one step toward the line of women who were awaiting her instructions, but her heart was beating as if she’d run a mile. Her mouth went suddenly dry and her skull felt ready to explode.
And then the floor seemed to tilt upward, closing in. Her vision narrowed into a tiny pinpoint of darkness, and she knew she was in trouble a tenth of a second before the world went dark.
Cullen sat in the Elliott family booth at his brother’s restaurant. Une Nuit was Bryan’s pride and joy. Located on Ninth Avenue, between Eighty-Sixth and Eighty-Seventh Streets in New York City, the trendy, very popular establishment specialized in French/Asian fusion cuisine and was often praised in reviews and articles alike for its daring menu. The low red lighting set a seductive cast to the black suede and copper décor.
At the moment, Cullen was sipping a cup of coffee—some fancy French creation Bryan was apparently trying out this week—and waiting for John Harlan to arrive for lunch.
They’d been friends forever, and after a game of golf on Saturday where John beat him by thirteen humiliating strokes, Cullen had started to think he might be willing to confide in his friend about the recent troubles he’d been having with Misty.
He wasn’t sure he was ready to tell anyone about her, but since she wasn’t answering his calls, and his feet were itching to fly out there and discover for himself what the hell was going on, he thought a little advice from a friend might not be out of the question.
If it hadn’t been for this damn competition his grandfather, Patrick Elliott, had set up between his sons to decide who would take over as CEO of EPH upon his retirement, he likely would have flown out long before now. But he’d been so swamped with work, he’d barely gotten out of the office at all the past few months, let alone found enough time for a trip to Vegas.
“Can I join you?”
He turned his head, surprised to find his cousin Scarlet standing beside his booth. She was dressed in one of her usual outlandish outfits, but just like all the others, the bright colors and stylish design suited her flamboyant personality.
“Mmm.” He looked past her, then back into her pale green eyes. “I’m expecting—”
“Me.”
Harlan appeared, almost out of nowhere, and Cullen would have had to be blind not to notice the sudden nervousness emanating from his cousin’s slender form.
“So, three for lunch, eh?” Stash, the restaurant’s manager, asked in his cheerful French accent.
“No.” Scarlet stumbled back a step, bumping into John. John caught her by the elbows, keeping hold of her a moment longer than Cullen would have expected for mere acquaintances.
Before he could ask or even speculate as to what was going on between his cousin and John Harlan, his cell phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID screen, his stomach turning over at the number on the lighted display.
It was Misty, calling from the dance studio phone.
He’d been trying for months to reach her. He’d left dozens of messages, but she’d never called him back.
It was just an affair. One he’d intended to break off years ago. But having Misty avoid him, suspecting she was doing so in the hopes of breaking things off with him…
He didn’t like it. And for some reason, it made him even more desperate to talk to her, see her.
He flipped his phone open before the second chirp ended. “Hello?”
“Mr. Elliott?” a voice questioned tentatively from the other end of the line.
It wasn’t Misty, after all. But how would someone else, someone from Misty’s studio, get his private mobile number?
With a frown, he said, “Yes.”
“Umm…”
The woman, whoever she was, sounded even more nervous than before.
“My name is Kendra. I’m one of Misty’s dance students.”
“Yes,” he said again, still confused.
“Well, umm…there’s been a bit of an accident, and your number was the first on her speed dial. We didn’t know who else to call.”
“What?” His voice rose and he sat up straighter in the black suede booth, leaning forward on the copper-topped table. His brain was stuck on the word accident, barely processing anything else the woman said. “What happened?”
“She collapsed during our class, and—”
“How is she?” he demanded.
“I’m not sure. We called an ambulance, but—”
“Where’d they take her?”
“St. Rose Dominican Hospital.”
With a sharp nod meant more for himself than anyone else, he barked, “I’ll be there as soon as I can. If you learn anything more, call me immediately at this number, do you understand?”
Once the woman agreed, he said a curt goodbye, snapped his phone shut and rose from the booth all in one swift motion.
“I can’t stay.”
“What’s wrong?” Scarlet asked. “Who’s hurt?”
“No one you know.” No one his family even knew about.
Meeting John’s gaze, he apologized to the man for wasting his time. “Sorry. I appreciate your coming, but I need to get to Las Vegas.”
“No problem. Anything I can do?”
“I’ll let you know,” Cullen replied through tight lips, already heading for the door. “Thanks.”
Due in large part to the Elliott family jet and the pilot’s awareness of Cullen’s desperation to reach Henderson, Nevada, as quickly as possible, he arrived at the hospital just over five hours later.
He burs
t through the emergency room doors and made a beeline for the nurses’ station, demanding an update on Misty’s condition and to be taken to her. The nurse on duty—apparently used to frantic and distraught loved ones—looked up Misty’s name on the computer, then gave him a room number and pointed him toward the elevators.
He took it as a good sign that she’d been moved from the emergency room to a regular room. And the nurse hadn’t mentioned anything about the Intensive Care Unit.
Then again, wouldn’t it have been better for Misty to have been treated and released?
His nerves jangled as he rode the elevator up to the third floor, his pulse racing in fear. He stepped out the minute the doors slid open and grabbed a passing nurse.
“Misty Vale,” he demanded. “I’m looking for Misty Vale.”
The young brunette smiled and turned back the way she’d come, leaving him to follow. “I just checked on her. She’s fine. Resting. Poor thing, she just overdid it, plain and simple. Working too hard, not getting enough rest. And a woman can’t keep that up, not in her condition.”
Cullen barely listened to the nurse’s one-sided conversation. He barely cared what was wrong with Misty; he just wanted to see her, to know she was all right.
The nurse paused at a closed door, the narrow vertical window above the knob too small to see much inside.
“Don’t you worry,” the nurse said, patting his arm. “She and the baby are both fine.”
Leaving him alone outside Misty’s room, she turned and padded back down the hallway.
Baby?
His mind raced, his mouth growing dry.
Baby?
His breathing grew ragged and his palms, he noticed, had begun to sweat.
What baby?
He felt as though his brain was about to explode, his fear for Misty’s health mixing now with the news that there was a baby.
Misty’s baby.
His baby?
He shook his head, knowing nothing would make sense until he saw Misty with his own two eyes.
Twisting the knob, he pushed the door open and stepped quietly into the darkened room. A low watt fluorescent light was on over an empty bed, the privacy screen pulled to keep it from bothering the sleeping patient.
Cullen tiptoed across the squeaky clean floor until he could see Misty, lying pale against the stark white sheets, her brown hair with its blond highlights the only splash of color in the room. An I.V. tube was taped to the back of her hand and monitors flashed and beeped, tracking her condition.
But what caught his attention, what sent a cold chill snaking down his spine, was the slight bulge of her abdomen beneath the plain cotton sheet.
She and the baby are both fine.
She and the baby…
My God, Misty really was pregnant.
He swallowed hard, not knowing quite what to think as he moved closer to her bedside.
A part of him wanted to be angry with her. Angry that she’d been avoiding him for the past three months. Of course, now he knew why.
Angry that she hadn’t told him when she’d discovered the pregnancy, whether it was his child or not. But it was hard to hang on to his anger when she looked so small and vulnerable.
Lifting a chair from the corner, he carried it closer and sat at her side, wrapping his fingers around her still hand. His gaze floated over her face, eyes closed, lips parted gently in sleep. Down to her breasts, which seemed a bit fuller than he remembered. Then on to her belly, where their child rested.
Was there ever really any doubt that it was his baby?
No.
As easy as it might be for many men to jump to the conclusion that their pregnant lovers had been sleeping with someone else, Cullen didn’t consider it a real possibility.
Throughout their affair, they’d agreed to keep things open. He had certainly dated his fair share of other women, and he knew Misty had gone out a few times, too.
But he didn’t think she’d slept with other men in the time they’d been together. It wasn’t arrogance on his part, merely his belief that he’d gotten to know Misty pretty darn well in the past four years.
If she’d been sleeping with someone else, she’d have either mentioned it or found it hard to look him in the eye on his frequent visits. After all, she spoke quite openly of the times she’d been asked out by the occasional man and had agreed to go to dinner with him.
Cullen, on the other hand, didn’t share the details of his frequent exploits with her. For one thing, they didn’t lead to sex as often as he let people believe.
His family was wealthy, its members well-known and easily recognized in the Manhattan area. And he was the playboy of the family, the one who always had a beautiful young woman on his arm.
He’d escorted models, actresses, centerfolds, lawyers, ad executives, boutique owners…You name it, he’d dated it. Just as was expected. And for the better part of his twenty-seven years, he thoroughly enjoyed that lifestyle.
But there hadn’t been as many women lately as one might expect. More and more, he found himself distracted by thoughts of Misty. By the desire to be with her and no one else.
He would almost rather go without a woman on his arm—or in his bed—and wait to see her again than be surrounded by attractive, willing females twenty-four hours a day.
Keeping one hand curled tightly around hers, he slid his other along the sheet that covered her to rest on the mound of her tummy.
He felt her stir and tilted his head to meet her eyes. They were a darker green than usual, clouded with distress.
“Cullen,” she whispered, her voice scratchy from disuse. “What are you doing here?”
“I heard you weren’t feeling well. Thought I’d drop by with some chicken soup.”
For a moment, the corners of her mouth tipped up in a grin, but the aura of concern never left her face.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, hoping to distract her.
She blinked, her glance sliding away for a brief slip of time and then back. “I’ve been better.”
“Misty…” He waited until he had her full attention, then flexed his fingers over her stomach so she would have no doubt what he was talking about. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Her eyes filled with tears, and her lower lip trembled. Cullen fought the urge to jump to his feet and gather her into his arms. He wanted nothing more than to comfort her, tell her everything would be all right, but he needed to hear her answer first. Needed to know why she’d kept such a huge secret from him for so long.
“I’m sorry,” she said. Her voice trembled and she sniffed once before continuing. “I didn’t know how to tell you, and the last thing I wanted was for you to feel obligated.”
“Obligated?” he repeated, struggling to keep any sign of irritation from slipping into his tone. “It is my child, isn’t it?”
Misty’s chest rose as she took a deep breath, her chin lifting a notch. “Yes.”
He’d thought her response would bring a sense of relief, but instead he felt nothing. Because he’d known. He hadn’t needed to ask.
With a sharp nod, he sat up a bit straighter in his chair. There was a lot more he needed to know, but she didn’t look in any shape for an inquisition right now.
“It’s all right,” he told her, squeezing her fingers and brushing his other hand over her brow and through her hair. “We’ll talk later. For now, you should rest.”
She looked unconvinced, but didn’t argue. And soon enough, her eyelids began to droop.
He stayed with her until she fell asleep, thanking God that she and the baby were okay, and trying to formulate a plan for what needed to happen next.
Consulting with the doctor was at the top of his list. He wanted to know exactly what had happened to send her to the hospital in the first place, along with any treatment or special instructions she might need to follow.
Next was to get her home. She would be more comfortable there, as would he.
And then, after those two thin
gs were taken care of, he could move on to the really difficult part of his plan.
Convincing Misty to marry him.
Three
Misty entered her apartment two days later, keenly aware of Cullen’s arm at her waist. He’d been with her practically every second since he’d first arrived at the hospital—solicitous and concerned.
His dark blue suit was wrinkled after two full days of wear. He kept extra clothes at her place, but he apparently hadn’t left her side long enough to drop by and change, though it wouldn’t have taken more than half an hour. He’d eaten meals in the room with her, and any time she’d opened her eyes during the night, it was to find him slouched down in an uncomfortable visitor’s chair, still keeping watch over her, even in sleep.
It hurt her to realize he was being so sweet and selfless after she’d spent the last three months avoiding and lying to him.
The guilt hit her like a punch to the gut, causing her to miss a step and stumble slightly. Cullen was there in an instant, catching her up and holding her steady with his strong hands cupping her elbows.
“Easy,” he warned, his voice soft and caring as he guided her the rest of the way to the living room sofa.
After easing her down onto the overstuffed cushions, he stepped back and laid the plastic shopping bag that held her personal items on the coffee table.
She’d found out from one of the nurses that he’d paid her to run out on her lunch hour and buy some new clothes for Misty to wear when she was released so she wouldn’t have to leave in the tights and leotard she’d been wearing when she was admitted.
“The doctor said you need to rest,” Cullen told her, shrugging out of his suit jacket and tossing it over the back of a nearby armchair. “That means you lie down here or in bed. Whatever you need, you let me know. Understood?”
She bit back a smile. This must be what he was like at the Snap offices—the confident, commanding executive others saw in the boardroom and at his family’s company, Elliott Publication Holdings.
Dynasties: The Elliotts, Books 1-6 Page 55