by Lea Nolan
The creaky voice came over the line. “Gwen? This is your next door neighbor, Esther McCann.”
Relief flooded over her. It was just the blue haired lady from next-door. Her Yorkie had probably burrowed under the fence again and run off. “Oh, hi, Mrs. McCann. This is Gwen. What can I do for you?”
“I’m sorry to bother you at work, but there’s been an accident.”
…
Gwen stood before Mrs. Lemley’s charred old bungalow in Silver Spring, blinking away tears. The lingering smoke from the grease fire burned her eyes and scratched her throat. Thankfully, her landlady had gotten out alive, barely, and though the little house hadn’t been totally destroyed, the damage was extensive. The interior was waterlogged and the walls were layered with charcoal and grime. Black soot caked the kitchen windows, marking the areas where flames had shot out of the house. Yellow police tape sealed all entryways and a fire marshal’s notice hung on the front door, warning of toxic chemicals from the smoke and fire retardant. Even if she wasn’t pregnant, it was too dangerous to go inside and retrieve whatever few belongings might be left. If she was lucky, the clean up and repairs would be completed in a handful of weeks—a couple months at the most—and she’d be able to move back in.
Until then, what would she do? The truth was she didn’t have many options. She’d rented the furnished basement apartment for a reason. Her salary as a first-year physical therapist was decent, but after her enormous school loans and used car payment, there wasn’t much left for extras, much less building a nest egg. Even if she could find another apartment as dirt cheap as this one—and that was far from guaranteed—she’d still have to purchase furniture and new clothes, not to mention things for the baby. An insurance check might not arrive for ages.
Emotion welled, constricting Gwen’s breath as the enormity of her situation set in. She was homeless. Besides the clothes on her back and the navy blue dress she’d worn to the funeral then wadded in her duffle bag, everything she owned was either smoke damaged or doused with water, firefighting foam, or goodness knows what other chemicals. What else could possibly ruin this picture? Oh, yeah, she was pregnant, single, and had just returned from her baby’s father’s funeral.
Dazed, Gwen sank to the curb and laid her throbbing head in her hands. What was she going to do? Mrs. Lemley’s house was out of the question. Emerson’s jealous and less than welcoming boyfriend made crashing at his house impossible. Chances were slim that she could find an extended stay hotel that cost less than her monthly disposable income. Which left her…where?
Determined not to be defeated, Gwen glared at the cracked asphalt beneath her sneakers and wracked her brain for a solution. This wasn’t the first time she’d found herself with nothing and no one to lean on. Back when she was just five years old, her mother had been confined to the mental institution. Her father had split years before without leaving a forwarding address or a child support payment. As for grandparents, they were long gone, too, having departed the world when her mother was just a teenager. Foster care had taught Gwen to fend for herself early and often. This wasn’t any different.
Of course! Relief spread across her worried brow and down her knotted shoulders. The solution was so obvious she wanted to kick herself for not thinking of it sooner. Pulling her cell phone from her pocket, she played her remaining lifeline, calling her last—and only decent—foster father. As expected, he picked up on the second ring.
“Hello?” The voice was thick and groggy.
“Stan?” Gwen asked, afraid she’d dialed the wrong number.
“Yeah. Who’s this? Gwen?” He cleared his throat.
“Are you all right? I didn’t wake you, did I?” Seeing as it was early afternoon, she didn’t think that was possible.
“Nah, but I wish I had been asleep.” He yawned. “Ever since those college boys moved in upstairs, I haven’t gotten a full night’s rest.”
Her stomach dropped. “What are you talking about?”
“Uh, well you know, business hasn’t been great and I needed some extra cash. It was just me rattling around in the upstairs apartment so I figured, why not rent it out? Those frat guys don’t pay much, but it’s something.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Gwen swallowed her disappointment as her last viable option slipped away. Money must be tighter than she thought for him to rent to a bunch of rowdy guys from the University of Maryland. Regret clenched her chest. Why hadn’t she kept in closer touch, come around to see him more often? Calls were one thing, but there was nothing like face-to-face contact to help keep an eye on things. “But if they’re in the apartment, where are you living?”
He paused. “My office.”
“Stan! That’s terrible!” Though she shouldn’t be surprised. He was horrible at taking care of himself.
“Look, I know what you’re going to say, but believe me, it’s not as bad as you think. I put in a pullout couch and I use the shower down at the YMCA. It’s not great, but it’ll do. Besides, the lease is only for the school year. After that, I’ll reassess. So what’s going on with you? Everything okay? How’s your job?”
Gwen didn’t miss his deliberate attempt to change the subject. He didn’t like her worrying about him, but she couldn’t help it. It was the least she could do to repay the kindness he’d shown during her last year in the system. “I’m great. So is work,” she answered, deliberately leaving out the news of her pregnancy and apparent homelessness. Telling him the truth would only add to his mounting list of worries. Besides, she could take care of herself. Just like always.
“That’s great. I know how hard you like to push yourself, but promise me you won’t overdo it.”
She chuffed out a laugh. “I won’t. I swear. Hey, don’t forget, you need to schedule your annual physical.”
“Yeah, yeah.” She could picture him rolling his eyes and waving her off. “I’m going to let you go. Talk to you soon.”
“Bye.” Gwen hit the button on her phone to end the call.
Drawing a deep breath, the realization sunk in. She was officially out of options. And more screwed than a light bulb.
A single drop of fluid rolled down her cheek. Sniffling, she brushed it away.
Except…
A niggling thought pricked her brain, tempting her with its ease and expedience. Judith had suggested that Gwen move into River View, a house so cavernous, she couldn’t possibly get in anyone’s way. It wasn’t ideal, but it would fit her short term, emergency need.
Wait. What the hell was she thinking? The noxious fumes emanating from Mrs. Lemley’s must have infiltrated her brain and mutated her thinking, because that was the single worst idea in the history of mankind. Worse than the florescent green mankini. Taking up residence at River View, even for only a few weeks, would undoubtedly fuel Carter’s venomous suspicions and accusations. Heck, he might even believe she burned down her house on purpose to get close to the Andersons. No amount of shelter, cushy or otherwise, was worth that kind of skepticism and grief.
She’d rather sleep in her car. Glancing at the tiny dark green Civic, she assessed the limited cabin space and nixed the idea of curling up in such cramped quarters. Better yet, she’d follow Stan’s lead and crash on one of the treatment cots in her office instead. Countless tales of work-place hook ups suggested she wouldn’t be the first person to bunk on one of those cots, and if past was prologue she wouldn’t be the last. At least there were showers and bathrooms to clean up in the morning, and warm food in the hospital cafeteria and nearby restaurants. So long as she was careful, she could pull this off for a couple weeks until her next paycheck came in. Then she’d figure out whether she could afford her own place, or wait to see how far the contractors had come to repairing Mrs. Lemley’s house.
Resolved, Gwen pushed herself off the curb, then squared her shoulders, and headed back to work.
Chapter Four
Carter pounded the elevator button at Work It Gear’s Rockville, Maryland, headquarters. A day af
ter his brother’s funeral, he was still furious. Not even the fast drive along River Road, the scenic route that hugged the Potomac River, had improved his mood.
His mother’s bitter comment from the evening before still needled him. Did she really believe he couldn’t be counted on to further their family? Sure, since his divorce he’d enjoyed his nouveau single status, perhaps a little too much. But who could blame him after what Deandra had put him through? Now, at thirty-four, he was still young enough to live a little and he intended to make up for lost time. Re-marriage and maybe even fatherhood weren’t entirely out of the question—they just weren’t on the horizon.
His recent man-whoring aside, his mother couldn’t be more wrong about him not wanting to preserve the family. Why else did he work like a dog to expand Work It Gear, the athletic company his father started after retiring from football? Carter had brought on additional product lines and tripled their profits since he took over. That wasn’t just for his benefit. He’d done it for his father, to prove that he valued and appreciated what Rocky had handed down to him. And he’d done it for Ben, too. Work It Gear was supposed to be their legacy, a labor of love they’d run together whenever Ben finally got tired of playing soldier.
But the worst and most painful part was that his mother seemed to overlook how much he’d done to help after his father’s stroke. Despite regaining his status as one of Washington’s most eligible bachelors, he’d moved back to the spacious mansion to help oversee his father’s care. In truth, Carter felt somewhat responsible. Deandra’s antics and her lawyers’ power play nearly broke up the business. The stress had been too much for the old man, precipitating the stroke that left Rocky a debilitated husk of his former self. Moving back to River View seemed like the least Carter could do.
But now that he’d learned about Gwen and her pregnancy, he had bigger troubles.
The elevator stopped at the top floor. Carter stalked down the executive corridor and ducked his head into the office next to his. “We’ve got a problem.”
Devon Phillips looked up from the document on his desk. “Well, hello to you, too. When do we not have a problem? It’s pretty much job one around here.”
As Work It Gear’s general counsel and Carter’s best friend, it was Devon’s job to fix whatever hiccup impacted the company. Ever since high school, Devon had been Carter’s right hand, as eager to secure them dates on Friday nights as he was to defend Carter against expulsion for underage drinking. Married to his work, he’d skipped the funeral to hold down the company fort.
“Not my job,” Carter scoffed as he crossed the expansive office. “I do the vision thing while you muck around in the legal weeds.” Snickering, he took a seat and propped Italian loafers on Devon’s desk. “Isn’t that why I pay you the big bucks?” They both knew Devon couldn’t complain about his salary or the juicy perks that went with it.
“So how’d it go?”
“How do you think? Depressing as all get out. But it pales in comparison to what I’ve got to tell you.”
“It can’t possibly be worse then this contract the Chinese just faxed me.” Devon tossed the stapled bundle at Carter. “How stupid do they think we are? There’s no way we’d accept these terms, especially after we complete our acquisition plans and corner the market over there. They should be paying us to sell to them, not the other way around.”
Carter shoved the pages aside. “Yesterday, I met a woman who claims to be pregnant with Ben’s child.”
Devon went rigid. “What? Where?”
“At the funeral.”
He shook his head. “Wait. You’re telling me some skank showed up out of the blue—to his funeral, no less—to tell you Ben’s her baby daddy?”
Carter bristled, feeling strangely protective. For some reason, even though he doubted Gwen’s motives, Devon’s description seemed unusually severe. Gwen might indeed be a conniving gold digger, but she didn’t come off as a “skank.” Far from it, she was charming and beguiling, beautiful even. If Ben had fallen for her, he could see why. “That’s what she claims.”
Devon shook his head. “Ah, Ben. That crazy bastard. But I don’t remember him being involved with anyone.”
Carter shrugged. “Neither do I. If he was, it was a private affair. And there’s always the possibility she’s lying. Though, according to the ultrasound photo she showed me, the child was conceived when he was stateside rehabbing his knee. Evidently, the woman—her name is Gwen Radley,” he added to ensure Devon didn’t resort to more name calling, “was his physical therapist at Walter Reed.”
Devon scratched her name on a legal pad. “I’ll look into her.”
“Way ahead of you, buddy.”
Just then, Carter’s latest assistant, Rita, knocked on the door. “Mr. Anderson, a courier just dropped this off for you. Said it was a rush delivery.” She handed him a large brown envelope embossed with his security firm’s return address, then returned to her desk.
“Thanks.” He called after her as he pulled his legs off Devon’s desk. Leaning forward, he grabbed a knife-shaped letter opener and sliced through the tape sealing the package shut. Overnight background checks were just one of the security firm’s specialties, and the reason they charged a king’s ransom for their services. But when dealing with stakes this high, no price was too high. Carter yanked the thin report from the parcel. “This should be very interesting.” He scoured the pages searching for any dark twists in Gwen’s life story.
“So what does it say?” Devon asked, on the edge of his seat.
“Not much. She’s a physical therapist on contract with the Army Medical Center.” His eyes scanned the text. “Lots of school debt. No mortgage or real estate. No car loan. Not surprising considering the piece of shit compact she was driving.” He laughed, thinking back on the horrific death trap that followed the Bentley limo after the funeral. “No arrests or convictions. Not even a parking ticket.” Maybe she was on the up-and-up, after all. Wouldn’t that be a nice surprise? But the next paragraph squelched his good humor and made the tiny hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “Whoa. Here’s something. Our little Ms. Radley grew up in the foster care system.”
It wasn’t concrete proof, but it did nothing to dissuade his mounting suspicions. Disappointment settled deep in Carter’s gut, surprising him with its intensity. Had he secretly hoped not to find any red flags? If so, this one was definitely waving in his face.
Devon crossed his arms. “She wouldn’t be the first person to use a pregnancy to claw her way up the social ladder. Do you think she was trying to trap Ben into marriage?”
“Probably. Giving birth to an Anderson heir is obviously a lucrative proposition.” He rubbed his chin, trying to square that fact with the brother he knew. “Though Ben didn’t flaunt his wealth. If anything, he usually went out of his way to hide his connection to Work It Gear from his fellow soldiers. Something about maintaining unit cohesion and conformity. Knowing him, he probably did the same while at the hospital.”
Devon raked his fingers through his thick black hair. “This is bad. Really, really bad.”
Carter spun the blade-like letter opener on the desk top. “Brilliant deduction, Einstein. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
Devon leaned back in his chair, assessing the ceiling as his mind worked double-time on the implications. Finally, he lurched forward and laced his fingers on the desk. “She’s almost four months along, then?”
“That’s what she claims.”
“Then we’ve only got about five months. I can stall for a while, drag out the transfer of Ben’s proxy allowing you to act in his absence, but as soon as that baby arrives, he or she, or its legal guardian, gets control of Ben’s shares. I don’t know if we can speed up all our mergers and acquisitions in time.”
Carter’s brow knit. “Isn’t there any way his shares can be transferred to me now? Ben’s gone and we have no credible reason to believe the child is his.”
“No way. Both Ben’s will and
the corporate charter are locked tight. Your father intended this to be a family business and for all his heirs to share in the wealth. No one gets cut out in favor of another. I already stretched the bounds by splitting your father’s shares prematurely among you, your brother, and Judith. Now that I know Gwen exists, as the corporation’s counsel, I’m obligated to inform her of her child’s rights. Though maybe I can wait until after the infant is born and paternity is established. Except, that might happen before the deals are settled. You know how long and complicated these international negotiations can be, especially when we’re dealing with the Chinese government.”
Carter’s gut clenched. “Dammit. That’s what I was afraid of.”
“It might not be as bad as we fear. Your mother’s in good health. If it really is Ben’s child, at most Gwen will only control a third of the company for the foreseeable future. As long as we’ve got Judith on board, we’re golden. She’ll back you up and the deals will go through. The baby momma can watch from the sidelines and collect her dividends.”
Carter grunted. “We may not be able to count on Judith. She was quite taken with Gwen. Or, at least, the idea of a grandchild. She intends to bring Gwen into the fold, even invited her to stay at River View, though thankfully Gwen declined.”
Devon drew a deep breath. “Then that changes things. With them united, you’re the odd man out. Unless you can sweet-talk Gwen into signing over the child’s proxy to you now. That would make things a hell of a lot simpler. Surely she’s got to realize she can’t run this company.”
“And risk tipping her off prematurely? There’s no way I’m going to endanger these deals a second earlier than I have to. What if she decides we shouldn’t be dealing with the Chinese? You know how hesitant my mother’s been, what with her fears over their use of prison laborers, despite my promise that we’d never use them. She’s barely satisfied that I sent a team of American managers to oversee the factories and their employees. Together, Gwen and my mother could derail everything and bring this company down. Besides, I doubt Gwen will willingly hand over the keys to a billion dollar corporation. She’s too shrewd for that.” He looked out the giant glass window that overlooked Rockville turnpike, pondering the cars whizzing by, before turning back to Devon. “Even if she were so inclined, after our little encounter yesterday, I suspect she won’t be rushing to do me any favors.”