Cinderella and the Playboy / The Texan's Happily-Ever-After

by Lois Faye Dyer

  “You have an obligation to the family name,” John spoke tightly. “For years, your mother and I have been tolerant of your rebelliousness, hoping you’d eventually take your proper place…”

  “Father.” Chance held on to his temper with an effort. “My proper place is helping my patients. I’m a doctor. I’m never going to live the life of a trust fund baby. I told you and Mother when I entered med school—my first obligation will always be to my patients.”

  “I suppose this waitress you’re dating thinks she’s struck gold,” John condemned scathingly. “Not only is she dating a doctor, but you’re a Demetrios.”

  Chance considered the older man while he fought to hold on to his temper. “You know,” he said slowly, “I doubt she even knows who the Demetrios family is. Or that she would give a damn.”

  “Humph.” John stood, straightening his jacket with annoyed tugs. “That’s highly unlikely. Young women in her class always want to move up. She knows who you are, all right.”

  “I’m going to forget you said that,” Chance said evenly. “But in the future, don’t make disparaging remarks about Jennifer.”

  His father’s eyes widened, his expression taken aback. “Are you saying you’re actually serious about this woman?”

  “I’m saying I don’t want her harmed because my father is a snob,” Chance explained bluntly.

  “You may think I’m a snob, but I’ve had more experience in these matters than you,” John told him flatly. “Getting involved with women outside our class invariably leads to disaster. I’ve seen it happen over and over again with friends and family.”

  “We’ll have to agree to disagree,” Chance countered, as unconvinced now as he had been by his parents’ arguments on the subject since he was fourteen. “Is Mother looking forward to the cruise you booked for her birthday?”

  Fortunately for Chance’s temper, his father allowed the change of subject and didn’t return to his warnings about dating Jennifer. A half hour later, Chance closed the door on John’s departing back.

  “I love them but my family makes me crazy,” he muttered to himself as he headed down the hall to his home office. And he considered himself damn lucky they didn’t seem to know about the paternity suit yet.

  But unfortunately for Chance, the picture of him and Jennifer at the ball and the gossip column paragraphs weren’t the only items that included the Demetrios name. The following afternoon, he opened the Boston Herald and found a quarter-page article with the details of the paternity suit featured prominently in the local news section. The story was accompanied by a grainy photo of Georgina Appleby side-by-side with a photo of him.

  He swore out loud and headed for the shower. Dressing in record time, he drove to the diner. Much to his frustration, Jennifer had already completed her shift and gone home.

  “Will you tell her I came by?” he asked Linda, the blonde waitress he’d seen often talking with Jennifer.

  “Sure.” She poured coffee in his mug. “But why don’t you just give her a call? Or drop by her apartment?”

  Chance didn’t want to confess he’d left several messages on Jennifer’s answering machine but she hadn’t returned his calls. He was beginning to suspect she was having second thoughts about spending the night with him. And if she’d read about the lawsuit, he wouldn’t blame her.

  “I can’t go by her apartment. I’m being followed by a photographer for the Boston Herald‘s gossip columnist. I recognized him when I parked in front of the clinic,” he informed her. “And I don’t want the guy following me to Jennifer’s house. I’d just as soon keep her off his radar.”

  Linda’s eyes widened. “Is this because you took Jennifer to the Founder’s Ball?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “Something else.”

  “Is he following you now? Where is he?” she whispered, glancing furtively behind her.

  “Sitting in the booth nearest the door.”

  She twisted, craning her neck to see around an older couple on their way to the exit. “The little guy with the hat? Is that him?” She looked back at Chance and sniffed. “He doesn’t look like he’s big enough to cause you any trouble.”

  “Maybe not, but that camera of his makes a powerful weapon,” Chance said dejectedly.

  The waitress leaned closer. “Would you like us to keep him here while you leave out the back?”

  “I appreciate the offer, but he’s been parked outside my house so he knows where I live. He’d just go back there and wait for me.”

  “What on earth did you do that has a reporter following you?” Her eyes were curious.

  “Not a damn thing,” Chance growled. “But it’s going to take a week or so to clear up what he thinks I did and in the meantime, I’m stuck with having reporters tailing me.”

  “Well, keep him away from Jennifer,” Linda advised. “I don’t think she’d appreciate having a reporter camped on her doorstep. She’s a very private person.”

  That was just what he was afraid of, Chance thought, though he didn’t voice his concern about dragging Jennifer into the gossip storm currently harassing his personal life. “I respect that,” he said instead. “And I don’t want the gossip columnists to know I’m seeing her.”

  Linda smiled at him with quick warmth. “It’s nice to see a guy concerned about her protection.”

  Something about the way she phrased the statement set off warning bells for Chance. “That sounds as if somebody hasn’t protected her in the past…”

  Linda grimaced and waved a hand dismissively. “The last guy she was involved with was her husband. I’ve never met him but he sounds like a jerk,” she said bluntly. “If any of Jennifer’s friends thought you were anything like him, we’d form a posse and come after you,” she warned.

  Chance nodded solemnly, acknowledging the not-so-subtle threat. “If I treated her badly, I’d deserve it,” he conceded.

  “Good to know.” She lifted her head, glancing over her shoulder to nod at the cook. “I have to go.” She looked back at him. “Are you sure I can’t get you something besides coffee?”

  “No, thanks.”

  She leaned closer, her expression serious. “Take care of our girl, Doc. We think a lot of her.”

  “So do I.”

  His response seemed to satisfy her and she nodded abruptly before hurrying off.

  Chance drained his mug and rose, shoved a hand in his jeans pocket for cash and counted out bills before tossing several on the table. Then he headed for the exit, pausing to allow an elderly woman to hobble past before he left the diner, the doorbell jingling musically.

  At the moment Chance walked out of the Coach House Diner in Boston, in New York City, Jonathon Demetrios finished reading the article detailing the paternity action involving his son.

  His mouth tight with anger, he closed the door to his office to keep his wife from hearing and dialed a number while walking back to the desk.

  “Maxwell Detective Agency.”

  “I want to speak with Andrew Maxwell.”

  “One moment, please.”

  While he waited, Jonathon reread the article, his anger growing.

  He knew very well his son would be furious if he ever learned his father had interfered. Nonetheless, the scandal threatened the entire family with damage to their good name.

  And while I’m having this Georgina Appleby investigated, I might as well have Andrew look deeper into the background of this waitress, too, Jonathon decided.

  “Maxwell here.” The deep voice was abrupt, businesslike.

  “Andrew—this is Jonathon Demetrios. I want you to investigate two women. I need the information as soon as possible.”

  Chapter Four

  When Jennifer arrived at the diner for her normal shift the following morning, Linda and Yolanda immediately dragged her into a corner.

  “The gorgeous doctor was here yesterday, looking for you,” Yolanda told her.

  “And someone is following him, so he can’t come to your house,
” Linda added. “He said a photographer was trailing him.”

  “We saw him,” Yolanda interjected, her eyes bright.

  “Chance? Or the gossip columnist?”

  “No, Jennifer—we saw the photographer. And then, we saw the article.” Linda ducked down to take a folded newspaper from beneath the counter. The five seats at the end of the counter where the trio stood were empty and Linda spread open the paper on the countertop.

  With a sense of dread, Jennifer slipped onto one of the stools and read the article. The grainy photos weren’t very good likenesses but the man was unquestionably Chance—and the information in the article was undeniably damaging. The reporter quoted the woman as saying she was “heartbroken by the betrayal of the man she loved—and whom she believed loved her.” She’d gone on to say Chance had “treated her unkindly and abandoned her.”

  “I don’t believe any of this,” Jennifer stated with conviction. She tapped her fingertip on the paper. “The man we’ve observed every morning for months is not the man she’s describing.” She folded the paper and handed it back to Linda. “I simply don’t believe it.”

  “But, honey,” Yolanda pointed out kindly, “nice men accidentally get women pregnant, too—it happens all the time. Okay, so this woman made some harsh accusations about Chance. But if you set those aside, it’s still possible that he’s the father of her child. He has quite a reputation with the ladies.”

  Yolanda was right—Jennifer knew she was right and, much to her dismay, the possibility that Chance had been careless and created an unwanted child with another woman sent a shaft of pain through her chest.

  He’s not mine, she told herself. And there never was any possibility of a relationship between us, certainly nothing serious.

  So why did it feel as if her heart was breaking?

  With painful honesty, Jennifer realized that on some level, she’d been secretly dreaming that Chance would want a future with her. Had fantasized that the two of them would find a way to be together.

  Which was ridiculous, of course. The knowledge made her want to cry.

  It’s a good thing I haven’t returned his calls, she decided, making a vow she wouldn’t return any in the future either, no matter how many messages he left.

  A clean break was surely best.

  A week passed before Chance appeared at the diner. Jennifer had her back turned, handing an order slip to the cook, when she heard the strap of bells on the door jingle. She glanced over her shoulder and her heart leaped.

  Chance’s dark gaze met hers, his eyes warm. An exiting customer walked between them, blocking him and he shifted, smiling at her before he moved down the aisle to reach a booth in her section.

  Jennifer passed Yolanda as she walked behind the counter. “Will you tell the boss I’m taking my break now?”

  “Sure.” Yolanda looked up. “What are you…?” She glanced past Jennifer and saw Chance sliding into the seat of a booth. “Oh.”

  Chance stood as Jennifer reached the booth, waiting until she took the bench opposite him.

  “Hello,” she said gravely.

  “Hello,” he responded, voice husky. “I’ve left messages on your machine. You didn’t call back.”

  “I didn’t think I should,” she explained truthfully. “We agreed that our…date…was a one-night thing. And that after it was over, we’d return to our normal lives as if it had never happened.”

  “That’s right, we did.” A faint frown veed his brows, his gaze intent on her face. “Is that what you want?”

  “I thought it’s what you wanted,” she commented. “When you didn’t come into the diner all week, I was certain of it.”

  “I couldn’t come near you,” he told her grimly. “Not without involving you in a scandal.”

  “You mean the paternity suit?” she asked quietly.

  “Yes.” He thrust his hand through his hair, raking it back from his forehead. “I suppose you read about it in the papers?”

  “It was hard to miss,” she told him.

  “Yeah, it was.” He frowned, a cynical twist to his mouth. “And of course, the columnist who broke the story didn’t bother to comment on the conclusion.”

  “The conclusion?”

  “I called in a few favors and had my blood tests expedited. The results came back today. They prove I’m excluded as a possible father of the child.”

  Relief flooded through Jennifer and she realized that in some hidden part of her heart, she’d been unsure of his innocence. His words soothed some bruised, wary place inside her. She leaned forward, impulsively covering his hands with hers atop the table. “I’m so glad this was resolved so quickly for you, Chance. Linda and Yolanda told me you were being followed by a photographer. That must have been awful.”

  “The photographer is the reason I haven’t tried to see you.” Chance turned his palms upward, capturing her hands in his. “If he’d seen us together, our photo would be splashed all over the papers the next day. That kind of attention isn’t comfortable—I wanted to protect you from it.”

  Touched, Jennifer squeezed his hands. “That was very sweet of you. And very considerate,” she added, thinking about how awful it would have been if Annie had been photographed and their lives laid bare to public gossip.

  “No,” Chance said, his thumbs moving in slow, rhythmic strokes over the back of her hands. “It should never have happened.” He leaned forward, his gaze intent on hers. “The woman who accused me of fathering her child was an ex-patient. I can’t discuss details but I want you to know that I never touched her, other than in a purely professional way. I was her doctor for a short time and then referred her to a physician friend who I felt was more qualified to deal with her situation. There was never the slightest moment of inappropriate contact between us. Our relationship was strictly doctor and patient.”

  “I believe you,” Jennifer assured him. His features eased, lines disappearing from around his mouth and eyes, and she realized that he’d been unsure of her reaction. “Chance, I’ve watched you interact with other customers here in the diner over the past six months. You’ve been unfailingly kind and considerate to people, whether young or old. And I’ve never once seen you respond with anything but friendly politeness when women have obviously been coming on to you. Not that I’m unaware of your reputation as a lady-killer,” she added with a wry smile. “Goodness knows, the female half of the institute’s employees who have lunch here seem to spend fifty percent of their time speculating about your love life.”

  “I can’t help what people say about me,” he told her, his eyes serious. “And I admit I like women and that I’ve dated quite a few over the years. But I would never get a woman pregnant and then abandon her. Kids are too important. I’d never walk away from a child of mine.”

  Jennifer’s heart clenched. Her ex-husband hadn’t wanted a baby and by filing for divorce while she was pregnant, he’d effectively abandoned her. That Chance obviously felt strongly about the father standing by the mother of his child sent elation bubbling through her veins.

  Perhaps there truly were men in the world with a sense of responsibility, she thought. And who would have expected a well-known playboy to be one of those men?

  “It’s wonderful to know you wouldn’t ignore your responsibility to your child, even if conception was unplanned,” she reiterated. Emotion trembled in her voice and she didn’t miss his quick frown of concern. Before he could ask her any questions, however, she rushed into speech. “Will the lawsuit be dismissed, now that the test results have excluded you?”

  He nodded. “My attorney is working on that now. I suspect my former patient filed the case as leverage to negotiate a settlement. There are no grounds for a payoff now, of course.”

  “She damaged your reputation and caused all this trouble because she wanted money?” Jennifer’s eyes widened, shock giving way to outrage on his behalf.

  “I’m sure that was the motive.” He shrugged, his mouth curving into a wry smile that didn
’t reach his eyes.

  “Has this happened before?” Jennifer asked, struck by his calmness.

  “Not with a paternity suit.” His dark gaze was unreadable. “I have a good income from my medical career, Jennifer, but my parents are…fairly well-off, too. Over the years, several people have tried various schemes to extract money from us.” He shook his head. “We’ve never given in.”

  Appalled, Jennifer couldn’t speak for a moment. “Have you ever been hurt?” she asked, horrified images of television reports of kidnappings and robberies flashing in her brain.

  “No.” He shook his head again. “Never—the attempts have involved what police might refer to as white-collar crime, always civil law actions.”

  “That’s terrible.” She had no experience to compare with this. Jennifer couldn’t imagine dealing with criminal or civil greed targeting her.

  “Mostly it’s just annoying,” he told her. “The family has excellent attorneys and I’ve learned to let them handle these situations.” He squeezed her hands. “It does no good to worry over it—and in the meantime,” he continued, “life goes on.” He leaned back and shoved one hand into his jeans pocket.

  “I’ve wanted to return this to you all week,” he told her, holding out his hand. A delicate silver chain dangled from his hand, a silver locket suspended over his palm.

  “My locket!” Jennifer exclaimed with pleasure. “Where did you find it?” She took the pretty necklace from his outstretched hand and fastened it around her neck.

  “Butch found it.” He dropped his voice to a deep murmur. “In my bed.”

  Her gaze flew to his and she felt her cheeks heat. She couldn’t look away, memories swirling as his deep chocolate eyes turned hot.

  “I, um…” She faltered, drawing a deep breath.

  “I want to see you again, Jennifer.”

  “You are seeing me,” she noted.

  “I mean outside the diner. I know we had an agreement,” he said. “But one night wasn’t enough. If anything, all it did was convince me that we should see each other again.”