“She’s female. I thought that was your type.”
“Are you jealous?”
Maybe a little. Bia looked away. “No. I’m irritated.”
“I don’t blame you.” He reached out and touched her chin with his finger, gently turning her head so that she was looking at him. “I’d be mad, too. That was pretty audacious of her.”
Bia glanced up at him. The way he was standing so close to her, with one hip braced against the car, touching her and gazing at her so intently, she actually thought for a delusional moment that he might lean in and kiss her.
Her gaze fell to his lips, and she was suddenly a little too warm. Given the way everything had been imploding around her, she knew better than to go...there. As tempting as it might have been. She obviously wasn’t herself. She took a step back.
“I’ll say. I’ll call my doctor in Dallas tomorrow—”
Her phone rang.
Bia sighed as she fished it out of her purse, fully expecting the display to show Dr. Porter’s number. She had no intention of answering, but when she pulled out her phone to silence it, a number with a California area code lit up the screen.
Chapter Four
Bia let the call go to voice mail and waited until she got home to pick up the message. She wasn’t about to have this conversation with Hugh in a doctor’s parking lot. Plus, there was a very good chance that Hugh hadn’t placed the call himself because it wasn’t his number. Or at least not the number where Bia had reached him.
She was right. The person who had left the message was a guy named Steve Luciano, Hugh’s attorney. It stung down to the quick that Hugh couldn’t even be bothered to call her back himself.
The slippery jerk. How could she have been such a poor judge of character to let herself get blinded by a handsome face and lines he’d probably used on dozens of women to get exactly what he wanted?
The first thing she did after she picked up Luciano’s message was call the office and tell them that she was going to be back later than she’d expected.
Then she went into the kitchen and made herself a cup of tea. She had to get her head together. Obviously she wasn’t thinking clearly. She’d blown up at Maya in the middle of their interview the other day. Today she’d walked out of a doctor’s appointment. Normally, she was stronger than that. Strong enough to resist the need to put someone like Nurse Flirty in her place.
She didn’t know whether to blame it on the hormones or if the unexpected pregnancy had completely knocked her for a loop. Either way, she had to get a grip on this situation. Ignoring it wasn’t going to change it.
For Bia, a cup of tea was a soothing ritual. Boiling the water, measuring out the tea leaves, letting the brew steep—all the steps forced her to slow down and take a breath. She set out the bone china cup that had belonged to her grandmother, probably the one person other than Aiden who had understood her best. After her mother had died, Bia used to spend summers with her Grandma Dee. It was always a magical time. They would read books together and have tea parties.
Grandma Dee was the one who had taught her how to brew tea and how emotionally healing it could be. When she drank from her grandmother’s teacup, it was almost as if she were having tea with her even though she’d been gone more than eight years now.
Once the tea was ready, Bia took her cup, a piece of the chocolate from the box that Maya had given her the other day and her phone out to the table on the redbrick patio area in the backyard. When she was settled, she debated whether or not she would even return Steve Luciano’s call.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Luciano had called to set the tone—to intimidate. Maybe even to scare her off so that the situation might magically disappear in a poof of second thoughts since the lawyer was involved.
Well, she didn’t like this any more than Hugh did, but it wasn’t going to go away. They had to deal with it. As Bia took a bite of chocolate—this piece tasted like it was infused with lavender—she let it melt on her tongue and then took a small sip of her Earl Grey and let the flavors mingle. By the time she’d finished the piece of chocolate, she felt a little more like herself.
It made her regret how she’d blown up at Maya the other day. Especially thinking about how Maya couldn’t have been nicer when Bia had gone in the next day to talk to her. In the same spirit that she hadn’t run away from that unpleasant situation, she needed to handle Hugh the right way, too. To do this right, she needed to start by calling back Mr. Steve Luciano.
She played his message. His voice had a no-nonsense tone with just a hint of intimidation. The message was pretty straightforward: “Hello, Ms. Anderson, this is Steve Luciano, legal representative for Mr. Newman. Would you please call me back at your earliest convenience?”
At my earliest convenience? How genteel.
She fortified herself with the last sip of tea, took a deep breath and hit Redial. When a receptionist picked up, it suddenly hit her that she might not be able to get him right on the line.
“Yes, hello, this is Bia Anderson returning Steve Luciano’s call.”
She hoped that they wouldn’t have to play several rounds of telephone tag before they finally connected. Lord knew this wasn’t a call Bia wanted to take at the office, but she certainly couldn’t wait around the house for him to call her back. If he wasn’t available, she’d tell him he had to call her back after seven o’clock.
“Yes, Ms. Anderson, Mr. Luciano is expecting your call. Please hold and I will put you right through.”
Oh. Well...okay.
“Thank you,” Bia said in her steadiest voice.
Luciano was on the line in less than thirty seconds. Bia imagined that might be a record.
“Hello, Ms. Anderson. Steve Luciano here. Thank you for calling me back.”
Did I have a choice? “You’re welcome.”
“Let me start by saying that Mr. Newman is deeply concerned about this situation and he appreciates your discretion, that you kept this quiet. However, I must admit that I’m surprised you contacted Mr. Newman again since you refused our generous offer a couple of months ago. When I offered to pay you for your...tour guide services. Have you reconsidered my initial offer?”
Bia was a bit taken aback. “I haven’t reconsidered anything, Mr. Luciano. I don’t want his money. I’m pregnant. It was simply a courtesy call to Hugh to advise him of the situation. And it appears that he’s handed me off to you.”
“I see. As I said, please know that Mr. Newman appreciates your discretion in this matter. He asked me to convey that he wants nothing but the best for you and your child—”
“His child,” Bia corrected.
“Of course, you must understand that we have no proof that he is, in fact, the father. Not that I’m doubting you, of course.”
“Of course. I suppose you’ll just have to take my word on it.”
“I see. Mr. Newman is very busy right now—”
“As am I,” Bia said. “So why don’t we cut to the chase?”
“Of course.”
Of course. I see. I see. Of course. It was all a bit grating.
“I suppose that would be where you come in,” said Luciano. “Exactly how much do you need to make this problem disappear?”
Bia stood and began pacing. “Excuse me? What exactly are you suggesting?”
“I’m not suggesting anything.”
“Listen, Mr. Luciano. The only reason I called was to do the decent thing and let Hugh know that he is going to be a father. I’m going to have this child. Surely you weren’t suggesting otherwise.”
“Of course not. But I am strongly advising that you think twice before you try to extort money out of Mr. Newman.”
She stopped. “Wait just a minute. You were the one who asked me how much I needed to make this go away.”
/> “Yes, Ms. Anderson. If you must know, you are not unique in your claim. Last year alone three women claimed they were carrying babies fathered by Mr. Newman.”
The bastard. Is he out there scattering his seed across the land?
“I’m sorry to hear that. Whether he’s the father or not, there are innocent children involved. Children who deserve parents who love them and did not choose to be in the middle of a battle.”
Luciano was silent on the other end of the line. He was probably employing the “he who speaks first loses” tactic.
“Let me make this easy for you and Mr. Newman. All I want to know is whether he wants to be a part of this child’s life or not.”
“Ms. Anderson, as I said before, I can’t answer that question until we have DNA proof that the child is in fact his.”
“Then I’ll take that as a no. Tell Mr. Newman he has nothing to worry about. I’ve done my duty with this phone call. As far as I’m concerned, he is waiving any and all parental rights. Tell him the baby and I will be perfectly fine without him.”
When she hung up, a huge sob escaped her throat. Only then did she realize that tears were streaming down her cheeks. She sat at the patio table and put her head in her hands and sobbed. The tears weren’t for herself, but for this child, who had not been conceived in love and had been rejected even before he or she had come into the world.
“That’s not a very good start to life, little one,” she whispered.
She sat up and wrapped her arms around her middle, protectively hugging her unborn child. She stayed like that until she’d shed the last tear.
Then it was almost as if a switch had flipped inside her. They would be fine. She and her baby would be perfectly fine on their own. This child may not have been conceived in love, but she would love the child enough for two parents. Sure, if she’d had the choice she would’ve brought a child into the world under different circumstances, but this was the hand they’d been dealt.
She would make darn sure that she made the most of it. As she sat there, looking at the trees and flowers in the yard, landscaping that her father had done—her father, a man who was no blood relation to her, a man who had raised her on his own in the name of all that was decent and kind and right. She suddenly realized that she was probably better off having been raised by someone who wanted her rather than resented by someone whose DNA she shared.
No doubt, it would be a challenge being a single parent, but she would pay forward what her father had done for her.
She was going to be a mother.
“I’m having a baby.” She said the words aloud, letting the true meaning sink in and flow through her.
This baby would be loved and wanted and cherished.
* * *
Bia went into the office on Saturday to catch up. She didn’t mind being there alone. In fact, she liked the peace and quiet. She could leave her door open and lose herself in her work—something she hadn’t been able to do in ages.
After pouring herself a cup of coffee and turning on the television in her office to an all-news channel, she settled at her desk and turned down the volume on the TV with the remote so that she could barely hear it.
It was the best kind of company for a day like this—quiet when she needed to concentrate, yet she could look up and glimpse what was going on in the world when she wanted a quick break. Even though she loved to be in the thick of the newsroom hubbub, she loved the occasional day of solitude. Right now, with all that had been going on, it was especially good to have time to breathe, time to regroup and center herself.
She took out her notes for the business profile on Maya’s Chocolates. She needed to write that story first and get it ready to go for the next edition. Amid all the craziness, she hadn’t sent a photographer over to get a picture of Maya.
Good grief. She had to get her act together. Since she was going to be a mother, it wasn’t going to get any easier than it was right now. The carefree days of thinking only of herself and her schedule were numbered. That was okay. It was part of this next chapter of her life. Her hand found her still-flat belly and rested there. She’d make it work.
She opened a fresh document on her computer and poised her fingers on the keyboard. Usually by now she would have composed the story lede; she would’ve written it in her head so that it flowed onto the page when she was ready to begin the article. But since interviewing Maya, she hadn’t had a sane moment to rub two thoughts together, much less compose the first paragraph of a news story.
The history of the business was what immediately leaped out at Bia. The beauty of how it had been handed down through the generations—from mother to daughter to granddaughter seemed like a great way to start...maybe working in the imagery of the copper pots....
Bia’s gaze focused on the TV as she moved words around in her head. There was so much happening on the screen. The ticker of news snippets below the anchor, the collection of small boxes highlighting the other stories—it all amounted to the visual equivalent of white noise: such an overload of info that none of it registered...until the ticker at the bottom changed to a breaking news alert that nearly made her heart stop. Actor Hugh Newman dead at age thirty-five.
Bia blinked at the screen, unsure if she’d read it right. She grabbed the remote and, with shaking hands, used the DVR control to pause the news program. She stood up at her desk so she could see the television better and rewound the show to the place where the breaking news alert had begun.
She pushed Play. Her vision became white and fuzzy around the edges as her fear was confirmed. Hugh was dead...car accident in the Hollywood Hills...alone in the car. No further details available at the moment....
* * *
Aiden’s condo was less than a quarter mile from the paper’s office.
“Are you home?” she asked.
Thank goodness he was.
In a fog, she grabbed her purse and keys, locked the office and set out on foot to go to the only person she could talk to about this.
Hugh wasn’t exactly her favorite person these days, but she would’ve never wished something as tragic as this to happen to him. He was only thirty-five years old. He couldn’t be dead. He should’ve had more than half his life ahead of him.
It was surreal. And cruel. Before she walked out of the building that housed the office, she stood with her arms crossed, digging her fingernails into the flesh of her arms, hoping to wake herself up. Desperately hoping and praying that this was all a bad dream and she would wake up and realize everything was fine.
She cut across the parking lot behind the office building. She noticed that the hose that had always seemed out of place in an office parking lot had unraveled and was leaking again. She’d have to tell her boss, Drew. He rarely came into the office during the week anymore, but sometimes he washed his car in the parking lot on weekends—despite how he could afford to take it to a professional to get it cleaned and detailed. He was that kind of hands-on guy, she thought as she walked through the grass that separated the lot from the sidewalk. She was doing her best to keep her mind on anything but the bombshell she’d just heard.
Hugh is dead.
Dead.
She felt as if she sort of floated along the path. She couldn’t cry. She couldn’t feel her legs, either. She reached up and swiped at her face to make sure the numbness that had overridden the rest of her body hadn’t caused her to not feel the tears. But her face was dry.
She was on autopilot, driven by a force that she couldn’t control. But she must not have been completely out of her mind, because about three quarters of the way to Aiden’s place, she became cognizant of a car driving very slowly behind her. She glanced back at the nondescript white sedan. She didn’t recognize it, and the way the sunlight was reflecting off the windshield, she couldn’t make out the driver’s features.
Celebration, Texas, was probably one of the safest places in the Southwest. She’d never been hesitant to get out and walk, and, in fact, if she had the choice to walk rather than drive, she walked. It really was her preferred mode of transportation. Still, it unnerved her to have this car poking along behind her.
The street leading to Aiden’s house was two blocks off Main Street and mostly residential. There were people outside mowing lawns and washing cars; kids were playing ball in one of the yards across the street. If the person following her was up to no good, there would be plenty of witnesses and people to come to her aid.
Even so, when she got to the next driveway, she walked a few steps up the driveway toward the house and stopped, fishing her cell phone out of her purse. If the person was following her, he or she would either stop, too—but she would be at a safe distance—or would drive on by.
The car slowed to a stop at the foot of the driveway. Bia quickly dialed Aiden’s number. Maybe the person was lost. Maybe he just needed directions.
The person sat in the idling car. A red pickup truck pulled up behind the white car, honked and finally zoomed around it.
“Hello?” Aiden’s voice sounded on the other end of the line. Still, the car sat there.
“Hey, it’s me,” Bia said. “Strange thing. A car’s been following me. I’m only about two houses away from you. Would you mind coming outside just in case I need some help?”
“Do you want to stay on the line with me or hang up and call nine-one-one?”
Someone opened the passenger side of the white car.
So, there was more than one person. Her heart thudded. So much for the earlier numbness. Her mind flitted to Hugh and the tragedy, and she couldn’t help wonder if somehow this had something to do with him. But what?
The person who got out of the passenger side of the car was a small man who looked vaguely familiar. The minute he said, “Bia Anderson”—it was more of a statement than a question—she knew exactly who had been tailing her.
It was the same scumbag who had hounded her when the “woman in the blue sundress” scandal started when Hugh had been in Celebration two months earlier.
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