His Surprise Daughter : A BWWM Billionaire Romance

by Tiana Cole

  I sat back from the computer. “We have to keep this quiet, Logan. Seriously. This has to remain just between the two of us. Even with news this good, we’re barely into something that can be shared. This test would have to be re-run and verified in a sample ten times what we have here for anyone in the medical community to take notice.”

  My young assistant nodded, the words casting a serious pallor over his face. “Absolutely, Dr. Johnson. I completely agree. This must remain here.”

  Rising from my chair, I lifted my arms overhead in a stretch. We had been at it hard all morning without a real break. I strolled into the front office and picked up my phone.

  “God, no,” I groaned, raking my free hand through my hair.

  “What’s wrong, boss?” Logan called from the lab.

  “I had an appointment this morning that I missed,” I called absently to him as I tapped out a text to Denise.

  So sorry I forgot. I—

  I was about to continue the text with the best excuse possible—that I had stumbled over a fantastic hurdle in my latest experiment—yet something stayed my hand. After all, I had just lectured Logan on the importance of secrecy. And Denise, although I trusted her fully, was a journalist.

  My fingers hovered over the keyboard on my phone. Finally, I hit the backspace key and finished the message lamely.

  I’m so sorry. I'll make it up to you.

  Maybe I could just hint at my good news in person.

  To my surprise, she answered immediately.

  I’m coming to see you anyway. Where are you? The lab?

  My fingers flew over the keys.

  Yes. Come to the office. I’m working here.

  ***

  I had a hard time concentrating while waiting for Denise to arrive. I mean, there wasn't much left to do after Logan and I noted the changes in the cells, but I had so much nervous energy I just started pacing my office. Was it me, or did her text sound a bit frantic as well?

  It wasn't long before I heard her knock on my office door. In two long strides I crossed the floor, throwing the solid oak door open. Denise stood there, messenger bag slung over her shoulder, hands wringing before her.

  “Derek?” she asked, her voice almost a whisper, her manner a bit stiff. I pulled her into my office by the elbow and straight into my arms. There may have been a slight moment of hesitation, but afterwards she melted into my embrace, nestling her forehead in the crook of my neck. I felt a small sigh shiver through her.

  “Hey,” I said softly, holding her tightly. “You’re acting strange. What’s going on?”

  She didn't answer immediately, just allowed me to hold her for several minutes while she breathed deeply into my shirt. From somewhere inside her bag I felt her phone vibrate continually with text messages, but she ignored them. While she was quiet I breathed in the scent of her hair and skin, remembering the nights we had spent together a week or two before. Having her there in my arms again, I realized how much I’d missed her. Seeing her in her current state of agitation, I thought about how I could protect her. The fog around my recent discovery cleared as my brain made space for Denise.

  “Denise? Are you okay?”

  She finally pulled away from me and stared up at me with wide, brown eyes. They roved all over my face as her fingertips brushed gently along my jaw. “Derek,” she began with her voice still in a whisper, “what are you doing in that lab?”

  My shoulders stiffened, but I didn't pull away. We eyed each other, a touch of wariness entering the space between us. “What do you mean?”

  Without answering me, she tugged at my arm and pulled me towards the sofa I’d vacated just a few hours before. We sat down, knees touching. She reached around into her messenger bag and pulled out a broad manila envelope.

  “This was stuck in my apartment door yesterday,” she said, her voice dull. “And I should tell you that my editor is really riding me to turn in some dirt on you. I like you and I trust you, but Derek… this isn't good.”

  I took the envelope from her fingers and looked inside. The sheet of paper resting there was commonplace, the message inscribed on it also ordinary—block letters with Sharpie. I doubted even Sherlock Holmes would be able to find something significant from the message.

  It read: Don’t trust Derek Johnson. You don’t want to know what goes on in that lab.

  The words affected me forcefully. I felt a great breath pour out of my lungs as adrenaline coursed through me, pushing anger out of all of my pores. Years of work I had done at my own expense to find a cure for a terrible disease and this coarse, ordinary message was the word on the street. My head dropped into my hands. I’d seldom been so angry.

  I let the paper drop to the floor. My fingers itched to ball it up and throw it in the garbage can, and I reached for it so I could do just that. However, Denise leaned forward and lifted it from the linoleum, then slid it back into its envelope.

  For a few minutes she said nothing, then I felt her fingertips on my arm. “Somebody wants me to write that article about you.”

  I lifted my head and stared at the blank wall above my desk. “Yes.”

  “Who? Derek, who? I really, honestly trust that you’re not doing anything illegal, but this puts me in a really bad position. You understand that, don’t you?”

  “Yes, of course I do.”

  Finally I turned to look at her and saw her throw her hands up, her palms spread at her shoulders. “Well, then. What can you tell me? What does this mean?”

  I let my hands drop from my face and dangle between my knees. “I know this sounds crazy paranoid, Denise, but I think it’s linked to a phone call I received the other day.”

  In a few spare breaths I told her about the mysterious phone call, the vaguely threatening voice, the offer of money in exchange for research. She listened with a seasoned, journalist’s eye, her upper teeth folding onto her lower lip, her fingers twitching to write my story down.

  I nodded at her hands. “Go ahead. You can write it down.”

  With frenzied hands she dug a small notebook out of her messenger bag and jotted down everything I’d told her. “There’s no guarantee I can use this,” she mumbled as she wrote. “I mean, the pharma industry is practically untouchable. But I'll do some digging.”

  With a sigh I watched her. “Do you think that’s what’s going on?”

  She chewed her pen thoughtfully, invigorated by the new flood of information. “I don’t know. It could be. This little note seems beneath some Big Pharma company, don’t you think?”

  I did, and I told her such. “Yes. Seems like they would just send someone to break your legs instead.”

  “Now you’re being paranoid,” she chuckled and rested her hands in her lap. Her eyes flickered down, and then back up to my face. “I’m sorry I doubted you for a second.”

  My hand went to her face; I laid my palm against her cheek and brought her towards me. Our lips connected and I felt like what had driven us together was restored. “I’m not angry,” I said as we broke apart. “You’re under a lot of stress at the paper. I get it. You have to chase down the leads.”

  She leaned into my hand. “You make me sound like a bloodhound.”

  “Aren’t you?” I chuckled.

  “I guess.”

  I was relieved to see that things finally seemed back to normal between us, whatever normal meant. In any case, the awkwardness had gone.

  Denise turned from me and pulled her phone from her bag. “I should go,” she said with a sigh as she slid her thumb across the screen. “My editor has been unusually sniffy this week and I need to go in there and show him what I've got.” She let the phone fall back in the bag and resumed her digging.

  A fissure of anxiety rippled through me as I tried to remain casual. “And what are you going to show him?”

  She grinned, her face open and filled with confidence. A small flash drive sat on her palm. “This baby has all of the stuff I have on you. It’s all good, and I’m going to show all of it to S
kip today.”

  “And what will happen after that?”

  With a lift of her shoulder she said, “Hopefully he’ll send me after somebody else. Someone who really does deserve my bloodhound treatment.” She leaned towards me for a kiss. “When can we see each other again? Like, really see each other?”

  I replied by pressing my lips insistently to hers. My body responded with a flare of desire, but she was already wiggling away with a teasing grin.

  “Sorry, can’t now. Gotta dash. But soon?”

  My head bobbed in a hurried nod. “Yes. Give me a few days. I have some long nights here at the lab.”

  “Oh…” she paused her move towards the door. “Really? Do you have news on your current test?”

  Denise’s face really was open and honest; I told myself that she just really wanted to know because we were together and she was interested… not because of her job at the Trib.

  All the same, I found myself shrugging. “Not really. Just keeping up with what we have going on.”

  “That’s a shame.” Her shoulders turned and before I knew it she was out the door. She only paused long enough to throw one last soft glance in my direction. “Soon, then.”

  I nodded. “Soon.”

  Chapter 14

  Denise

  God, I felt awful.

  I mean, the word ‘awful’ can span a whole host of issues. For example, I could feel awful because, despite my real assurance that Derek was a good man, I was still curious about what was truly going on in his lab. If I had to be honest with myself, I didn't believe that he was working there around the clock just for “maintenance.”

  In that case, maybe awful just meant guilty.

  And I really did feel awful that I’d even pondered the note that came my way. After all, I could totally see some large pharmaceutical outfit threatening Derek for his research. Those guys were the lowest of the low. They’d want to corner the market on anything resembling a cure rather than let Derek keep the distribution rights. It was a mess waiting to happen, yet I’d rushed over to his lab holding my manila envelope and all but demanding an explanation. That didn't make me seem very trusting.

  I felt awful about that.

  But to boil it down most simply, I think I was ill. Between just simple exhaustion and a slightly nauseous and feverish feeling, I felt like I’d eaten some bad food… except that I’d barely eaten or slept in days. That in itself was a pretty good reason to feel sick, and I certainly was having a hard time shaking it.

  With heavy feet I pushed myself across town to the office. Skip was insistent, and I couldn't blame him. He was my boss and I’d studiously avoided him for days.

  He sat awaiting me in his office, his face inscrutable.

  I dropped into his spare office chair. “Hey.”

  “Hey, doll.” He leaned forward and stared at me before adding, “You don’t look too good.”

  “I don’t feel too good.”

  “Are you overdoing it?” His long finger waggled at me playfully. “Can’t have you working too hard. I need you on the front line.”

  I passed a hand over my damp forehead. “I think so. What I probably need is a short nap and a good meal. I've been skimping on rest and food. As soon as we’re done here, I'll take care of both of those things.”

  He leaned back and crossed his hands over his stomach. Skip’s desk, which was usually tidy, was littered with papers and a few thick folders. One of them was from Jones-Wembly, which I happened to know was the paper’s main investment company. I quickly scooted my eyes away from the folder before he could notice that I was snooping.

  “So, how’s Dr. Johnson?”

  After a quick second to relive our last kiss in his office, I answered with, “I think I have him wrapped up good, Skip.” That much was true. “And I still don’t think he’s into anything illegal, but…” I don’t know what made me do it, but I pulled out the manila envelope and showed Skip its contents. “This was shoved in my doorframe yesterday. Somebody sure wants me to check him out.”

  I watched as his eyes took in the note with a sly gleam. I’d most likely just bought myself a whole heap of trouble. He was positively gleeful.

  “I don’t know who sent this,” he said as the paper wafted from his fingers, “but I’d love to kiss them. On the mouth. They just made a slightly boring story a ton more interesting.”

  “Boring? How? Derek Johnson seems to be a guy that’s using his own money to fund cancer research. That’s amazing.”

  “Boring!” Skip shouted. “There’s no meat there, Willard. This note gives it meat. Don’t you want to know?”

  Against my will I felt a tickle of interest. Damn that Skip. “Know what?”

  “Know who sent it. Know who wants you to sniff him out.”

  I took a deep breath. “What about a pharma company? What if they’re trying to make him look bad?”

  “Boring!” Skip shouted again, this time banging his fist on the table. “Blaming Big Pharma for everything is beneath you, Denise. You can do better.”

  “Skip, I just don’t know that there’s anything there,” I pleaded. “Honestly.”

  He waggled a finger at me again. “There is, Willard. You’re just not looking.”

  My head dropped onto Skip’s desk. “But I’m too tired for this right now, Skip. Honestly. I need a good night’s rest.”

  A disgusted sort of noise gurgled in Skip’s throat; he rose from his chair and came around to my side, laying his hands on my shoulders and lifting me from my chair. “Come on, kiddo. Time for you to go home.” With firm hands he ushered me to his office door, my messenger bag slung over his shoulder. We paused in the doorway long enough for him to shout at one of his underlings.

  “Danny! Come and take Denise home.” He extended his arm with my bag on it and kept one hand on the back of my neck. In my state of mind and body I was mostly just overwhelmed with gratefulness that someone was taking care of me. With that, I felt pretty pathetic.

  Danny looked up from his desk. “Are you kidding, boss? Denise lives across town! It’ll take me over an hour to get there and back!”

  “Well, right now I’m paying you to sit on your ass and do nothing. I may as well pay you to do something useful!” Skip barked.

  My shoulders shook with a giggle; Danny sighed and grabbed his keys.

  “Let’s go, Denise,” he mumbled, taking my bag from Skip’s outstretched arm.

  As I shuffled down the hallway after Danny, Skip called, “Don’t stop digging, Willard. You’ll find something!”

  ***

  I basically fell asleep in Danny’s car and had to shuffle my embarrassed self out of his passenger seat and into my building with a mumbled ‘thank you.’ The steps from the street to my apartment were a blur; when I was aware of the world again, it was dark outside. I opened my eyes and immediately felt better, although I was nauseous to the point of distraction, so much so that the second I was upright I was forced into my bathroom to empty the contents of my already-empty stomach.

  “God,” I muttered as I wiped my hand across my mouth. “What the hell is wrong with me?”

  Admittedly, the throwing up improved my general feeling of well-being, and I was able to make it to my kitchen and put together a few things to eat. I sat at my bar with a tall glass of cold water and some crackers, promising myself to order take-out as soon as my stomach settled.

  My phone sat next to me, exploding with messages from various co-workers and one from Derek:

  Already been too long since I’ve seen you. When can we fix that?

  A small, appreciative flutter blossomed in my stomach. What a great guy.

  I think I have the flu. Home and resting tonight. I'll check back with you tomorrow.

  It was tempting to think of him coming to my apartment, but aside from the massive mess that I didn't want Derek to see, if I did have the flu I didn't want him to get it and take it to the inner city clinic with him.

  Feel better, Denise. I miss you.
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  The crackers settled my stomach enough that I thought I could move on to something more solid. I called the local Thai place and ordered some Pad Thai and vegetables, and set about taking my temperature while I waited, which required locating the thermometer. I dove bravely into a cluttered kitchen cabinet and found it among the other medicines. I crammed it in my mouth and started to wade through the stack of stuff on the bar.

  I was temporarily putting off the article on Derek, but I felt like I deserved the break because I didn't feel well. Sometimes justifying your actions with lame excuses kept you sane.

  The thermometer beeped; I didn’t have a fever, which was strange. A chill snaked over me, in large part due to all of the thoughts I’d been having surrounding Derek’s wife and her odd form of cancer. For a minute I froze in my kitchen, pondering the possibility of contracting some strange illness from Derek’s lab. It fully occupied my thoughts, churning and blossoming into a tangible worry. I was a hair’s breadth from snatching up my phone and calling Derek, but I was interrupted by the arrival of my food. The knock sounded across my apartment, effectively snatching me from my destructive worry.

  The young delivery boy standing at my door must have thought he’d interrupted a mental breakdown. I was sure I looked ridiculous, coupled with the smell of vomit and the dumbstruck certainty on my face that I had cancer. Suffice it to say, he got a great tip.

  “Here, this was stuck in your door, too,” he said as he extended a manila envelope along with the food.

  A broad, manila envelope with my name on it… just like the one I’d received yesterday with the note about Derek.

  With a mumbled ‘thanks’ I shut my door and quickly forgot about the food. Before tearing into the envelope I locked the door behind me since somebody had obviously stopped just outside of it while I was sleeping. The package, or whatever it was, was not there when I first arrived home from the office.

  I was now doubly creeped out. The fear of an infectious disease plus the certainty that somebody had been fussing outside of my door only hours before had me in a state. I stumbled over to the couch and dropped my food on the coffee table. After taking a deep breath, I pulled out the contents of the manila folder.