Ms. Cameron set the sheaf of papers down. “What’s she like?”
Rosalie closed her eyes against the image of Morgan Danby’s face that danced through her mind. “She didn’t contact me in person. I met with her stepson.”
Ms. Cameron leaned back. “What’s he like?”
A litany of inappropriate responses roared through Rosalie’s mind. Handsome. Charming. Intelligent. Sexy. Hot. Cold. Angry. And out for revenge.
“Not much like Joey’s father, thank goodness. They’re very wealthy, apparently.”
“Does this grandmother want visitation rights?”
Rosalie swallowed a wave of panic. “I think she may be interested in custody of Joey.”
Ms. Cameron raised her eyebrows. “Since you’re an attorney, I assume you know what your rights are here.”
Rosalie nodded. She’d spent the rest of her sleepless weekend nights making herself an expert on California adoption law.
“Then we’ll want to move forward as quickly as possible on the adoption.” Ms. Cameron’s tone conveyed the optimism Rosalie needed. “First, we’ll need to do a DNA test.”
“A what?”
“A DNA test to establish that this,” she looked down at the papers in front of her, “Lillian Danby is, in fact, Joey’s grandmother.”
The idea that Márya could have ever cheated on Charlie had never crossed Rosalie’s mind. Her friend wouldn’t have dared do that, of course, even if she’d been the kind of woman who might have, but for the first time since she’d opened the door to Morgan Danby on Friday morning, Rosalie felt a glimmer of hope.
“How is that done?” she asked. “Would Mrs. Danby have to come to L.A. for the test?”
“No.”
Rosalie’s hope faded again as Ms. Cameron explained the procedure for DNA tests of this sort. Nothing there to keep Charlie’s mother from proving she had a claim to Joey.
“How are my chances?” Rosalie couldn’t stop from asking before she left.
“I’d say they’re excellent. You’re a great mom and Joey loves you. I’ll be sure to put that in my report. And you’re the guardian his mother chose for him. As long as there’s nothing negative in your file, there shouldn’t be any problem with the adoption going through.”
Nothing negative in the file, such as lying about Joey’s existence to his presumably loving and grieving grandmother. Throat too thick with tears for words, Rosalie nodded.
“Give your boy a big kiss for me.”
She nodded again and went out to her car, the California sunshine dimmed by her own personal bank of dark clouds.
She’d been a fool. Morgan Danby had taken her by surprise and she’d acted like an idiot.
Not just on Friday, when she’d added insult to injury, but the first time he showed up in her office. She should never have lied to him. She’d known it all along. But the thought of losing Joey had made her stupid. And stupidity never paid.
She drove to her office and grimly dove into the pile of work that waited on her desk.
Lillian was overjoyed, of course. Morgan had decided against telling her on the phone. Instead he waited until he was back in Boston and told her the news over drinks in the conservatory of the Back Bay mansion his family had owed for over a hundred years. The air was thick with the smell of growing things, marred by Lillian’s expensive perfume.
“A boy!” His stepmother set down her martini. “Does he look at all like Charlie?”
“Pretty much. He’s blonder, I guess.”
Lillian smiled coyly and touched her own blonde curls, as if they both didn’t know how much she paid every month to keep it that color. “I can hardly wait to see him. How soon can you bring the little angel to me?”
Little imp would be more like it, Morgan suspected.
“You know it’s more complicated than that, Lillian. Ms. Walker is the child’s legal guardian. You’d have to go to court and get custody of him first.”
“Ms. Walker? Isn’t she the one who lied to you about whether the child existed? I knew you were letting the woman put one over on you. Men!” She shook her head.
Morgan took a sip of his single malt and forced the image of Rosalie’s face out of his mind.
“She misled me, but the boy’s mother chose Ms. Walker to be his guardian, and the court is going to give a lot of weight to that, especially given the circumstances of his mother’s death.”
At least Lillian had the good grace to look uncomfortable. She picked up the martini glass and twisted it in her hand without taking a drink, then set it down again.
“What do I have to do to get my grandson?”
Morgan sighed. “The first step is a DNA test to prove Charlie was his father.”
“Do you mean that foreign woman Charlie lived with was sleeping with other men?”
“Of course not. But the court isn’t going to take your word for it that you’re the child’s next-of-kin. They’ll want proof.”
“Then what?”
Morgan launched into the details of the procedures that he’d studied online before he left California.
“It seems like a great deal of trouble to get my grandson back. After all, he’s my own flesh and blood,” she protested when he was finished.
“The courts will want what’s best for the child.”
Lillian gestured broadly to the subtle opulence around them. “I can buy him anything he wants, send him to exclusive schools. How could that not be what’s best for him?”
Morgan acted as if it was a rhetorical question and took another sip of his drink.
“You’re sure my grandson is okay?” Lillian frowned. “Mentally, I mean?”
“Yes. He seems bright and healthy.”
“He wasn’t damaged by how that woman lived? Homeless shelters.” She shuddered.
“Shelters for battered women,” he corrected.
“Whatever.” She thought for a minute. “Do you think the court will let me change his name once I have custody? Josef Mendelev sounds so … so foreign.”
“What would you change it to?”
“I was thinking Charleston Danby would be appropriate.”
“You want to name him after Charlie?” Morgan carefully set his glass down to hide the tremor of anger in his hands.
She sat straighter. “Charleston is an old family name. My grandfather was a Charleston.”
“Lillian, the boy is almost a year and a half old. Maybe you could change his last name, but he knows his name is Joey. If you don’t like Josef, you could change it to Joseph.”
Since she pronounced the two names the same way, she gave him a puzzled look in reply.
“Or,” he said as casually as he could, “you could leave him with the only mother he remembers. You could visit him every few months, maybe have him come here to visit you during the summer when he’s older.”
“But she tried to keep my grandson a secret from me. Why would I allow a woman like that to raise him?”
“Because she loves him, and he loves her.”
“He’ll love me, too, once he knows I’m his grandmother. I don’t understand why you’d suggest giving away Charlie’s child.”
“If you let Ms. Walker have custody, you’re likely to get visitation rights. But if you take her to court and she convinces the judge that you’re too, um, senior to chase after an active toddler, you might end up with nothing.”
She sniffed. “I can hire people to chase after him. That’s how I raised you and Charlie.”
Which was the whole point, but this wasn’t the time for hard truths. “I’m not sure that’s what a judge will want to hear.”
Harkins, the butler, appeared to announce, in the fake English accent that always grated on Morgan’s nerves, that dinner was ready.
“Felicity Mason called this morning and wanted to join us for dinner,” Lillian announced as Morgan helped her into her chair at one end of the table that could have seated twelve. “I told her I wanted you to myself this evening.”
He gave a low sigh. He wouldn’t have minded the distraction of his friend’s wry wit.
“I didn’t know she was back from France.”
He took his usual seat to Lillian’s right.
“She came back yesterday. Her mother is delighted to have her home again.”
The thoughtful expression on Lillian’s face as she took a sip of the soup the maid set in front of her should have been a warning.
“What if you were the one who sued for the custody of Charlie’s son?” she asked.
“Me? Why would a judge be any more likely to give me custody than you?”
“Not you—you and Felicity.” She gave him a smug look and took another sip of soup. “You’ve always been friends, and she needs a husband.”
He swallowed a laugh. Felicity wasn’t in the market for a husband. Never would be. But she kept that part of her life secret from her mother, and her mother’s friends.
“Can you picture Felicity chasing around after a child?” he asked.
“No, but you’re rich enough to hire someone to chase after him for her, just the way I would. That way I could see my grandson whenever I want.”
Which wouldn’t be very often, Morgan suspected, once she was reminded of what small children were like.
“Why would Felicity go along with such a crazy plan?”
“You’re handsome, rich, and have quite a reputation as a ladies’ man, if you know what I mean. Her mother is one of my best friends. Who could be more suitable for Felicity to marry?”
“Someone she loved?” Morgan ventured.
“Love and marriage are two different things.”
“You didn’t love my father?”
Lillian gave an artful sniff.
“Of course I did. But it also made good practical sense for me and your father to get married and put a stop to all the gossip about our divorces. And it makes good practical sense for you and Felicity to get married now so I can be near my grandchild.”
Morgan shook his head. He shouldn’t have mentioned Lillian’s relationship with his father, but her attitude still rankled.
And continued to rankle throughout dinner as she recited all the advantages, mainly for her, if he married Felicity and adopted Charlie’s kid.
Finally he’d had enough. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to have to skip dessert. I’ve got a huge backlog of work.”
“Can’t you stay a little longer? We could talk about your wedding.”
He closed his eyes and counted to ten. “There is not going to be a wedding. I am not marrying Felicity to get custody of Charlie’s son. Is that clear?”
“You could stay and tell me more about my grandson.”
“I only saw him for a few minutes, so I don’t know much. He’s a cute kid. He’s learning to talk. He loves his mother.”
“She’s not his mother, and she’s never going to be. I’m his grandmother, so I have some say in who raises the poor child. He’d learn to love Felicity, too, I’m sure.”
Anger pushed him to his feet.
“That’s not going to happen, Lillian. And I’d like to keep Felicity as a friend, so I don’t want you to even mention your crazy idea to her—or her mother. Got that?”
Lillian heaved a dramatic sigh. “Well, if you’re determined to be selfish …”
“I’m determined to do what’s best for Charlie’s son.” He bent and dutifully kissed the suspiciously taunt skin of her proffered cheek. “Goodbye, Lillian.”
On the drive back to his penthouse condo near the Common, his stepmother’s voice echoed in his head. He wanted to do what was best for Joey, but neither Lillian nor Felicity was the answer. And Charlie’s father definitely wasn’t the answer. Which left Ms. Rosalie Walker.
Morgan shook the thought from his mind and refocused on the work he had to do tonight.
The next Saturday morning, Rosalie opened the front door, Joey on her hip, expecting the babysitter. When she found Morgan on her porch instead, an inexplicable bolt of joy left her speechless.
Her soaring heart did an immediate nosedive. Had he come to take Joey away? The lawyer in her knew he couldn’t do that, but the mother in her still went cold.
Luckily, she recovered her sanity before he could worm his way into her house the way he had the last time.
“Why are you here? I’m expecting an important business call and …”
As if on cue, the cell in her jeans pocket chimed Beethoven. She groaned and set Joey on the tiled floor of the entry hall. Without taking her eyes off their unexpected visitor, she opened her phone.
“Good morning, Congresswoman Barnes. Thank you for taking the time to talk to me on the weekend. Could you hold for a moment, please?”
She clicked the mute button and looked wildly around for Joey, who had waddled off toward the kitchen. Where was Jill? The teenager had promised to watch him while Rosalie took the business call.
Rosalie chased Joey down and dumped him in his playpen. By the time he was safely corralled, Morgan stood inside the front door, both cats weaving around his legs.
She was stuck. Her client’s whole future rested on this phone call. She pushed open one of the living-room windows and waved an arm at Morgan.
“You, out.”
When he didn’t move, she marched up to him, put her hand on his chest, pushed him back out the front door.
“You, in,” she told the cats when they tried to follow him.
Then she came out on the porch, too, and shut the door. As she pulled the cell out of her pocket, she positioned herself so her body blocked the door and she had a clear view of where Joey sat in his playpen chewing on his favorite teddy bear’s already-battered ear. With luck, Morgan would get the message and leave.
“Hello, Congresswoman,” she said again. “Sorry for the delay. About that private immigration bill for my client …”
Morgan tuned out the obviously confidential conversation and scowled down at Rosalie, almost unrecognizable in a sleeveless t-shirt and jeans, her hair haphazardly pulled back.
If she thought he’d leave because she had an important phone call, she had another think coming. He had to do what he’d come here to do and get back to Boston this evening so he could put in a full day at the office tomorrow.
A muted thump drew his attention to the window. The stuffed bear the kid had been holding a moment before was now on the floor a couple of feet from the playpen.
Thump! Bump! A red-and-blue rubber ball followed, bounced twice and landed on the sofa. Then came a square book with thick pages and brightly colored drawings. Thump!
He made the mistake of making eye-contact with the kid, who opened his mouth and began to howl.
Rosalie threw Morgan a harsh glance, then looked past him to the crying child inside. Her frown deepened.
“I’m sorry, Congresswoman. I was distracted for a moment. Could you say that again, please?”
Even a moment of Rosalie’s attention had ramped the kid’s protest up another notch. Tears ran down his face, which was turning from red to purple.
Rosalie waved her hand at the screaming child, but that only made things worse. The boy’s cries began to irritate, plucking every auditory nerve, until Morgan thought his head might explode.
Rosalie gave every sign of being as distressed by the child’s crying as he was, but from her frown and the few words he’d caught of the conversation, she was explaining something to the Congresswoman that was of vital importance to Rosalie’s client.
He couldn’t stand it any longer. He gently took her by both arms and moved her out of the way, ignoring the sizzle her bare skin sent through his system.
The panicky expression on her face made him wonder if she thought he would steal the kid right from under her nose. He shook his head and flung one hand toward the screaming child.
Her body sagged. She didn’t try to stop him, but when he walked inside she moved nearer to the window so she could keep a close eye on things.
“An unusual and v
ery deserving case, yes, Congresswoman,” she said into the cell.
As soon as Morgan stepped down from the foyer into the living room, the kid stopped crying. He sniffled once and looked up at Morgan.
He and Charlie’s son stared each other. The kid wore pull-up jeans, tiny sneakers, and a white t-shirt with little blue soccer balls on it.
Morgan braced himself for another explosion, but the boy held up his arms. “Out.”
Morgan shook his head.
“I don’t think that would be a wise move. You’re more familiar with the layout of this place than I am, and amazingly fast on those little legs of yours.”
The kid blinked twice and repeated, “Out.”
Time for another tactic. “No.”
That got the message through. The kid frowned, gave a little bounce, and said in a louder voice, “Out.”
“No.”
Morgan sat down on the sofa. Might as well be comfortable while the impending disaster ran its course.
But the kid shifted tactics, too. He reached both hands toward Morgan. “Up?”
Except for his tear-stained face, the boy seemed clean enough, but Morgan sensed a sticky veneer. He wished he had on something more easily cleaned than the two-thousand-dollar suit he’d worn to intimidate Ms. Walker. Especially since that hadn’t worked very well.
He glanced to where Rosalie was still talking on the cell, her eyes fixed on the kid.
“No,” he said again.
Joey lowered his arms and put one thumb in his mouth while he gave Morgan a considering look. Finally the kid pulled the thumb out far enough to say, “Goey.”
Near-panic set in. Was that some kind of toilet-training talk?
When he didn’t respond, the kid touched his chest, and repeated, “Goey”.
“Joey?”
The kid grinned at him. Charlie’s grin, but also Lillian’s, when she was pleased enough with something to let her guard down.
“Morgan,” he replied, pointing to himself.
“Mawg.”
“Close enough for a kid who’s just a few months over one.”
Joey continued to beam at him. “Out.”
“That would still be a no.”
Again the outstretched arms. “Up?”
“Okay, we’ll give that one a try.”
Found: One Secret Baby Page 6