But wasn’t that the lesson she’d learned from her mother’s illness? Things happen. What we deserve doesn’t come into it. All you can do is make the best of what life gives you.
And what was the best to be made of the fiasco of having sex with Morgan Danby?
She found her clothes laid on the bed when she came out of the bathroom. She dressed with hands that shook so much she was barely able to do up the buttons Morgan had undone so easily.
“So tell me this wonderful plan you have,” she found the courage to ask once she was seated across from him at the marble breakfast bar where he’d place two mugs of coffee. “If I were crazy enough to marry you, we’d adopt Joey, but then what? Where would we live?”
He frowned. “In Boston.”
She raised her eyebrows.
“There’s a nice, big two-bedroom loft for sale in my condo building.”
The hot coffee did little to melt the ice inside of her, but the bitter taste seemed right and the caffeine supplied false energy to let her play his game for a while.
“A loft? With no real walls, low window sills, and an open stairway?”
He gave a glum nod.
“Does it have a yard?”
Clearly something he hadn’t thought of.
“It has a balcony.”
She shook her head in disbelief.
He blinked twice and tried again. “The building is close to the Commons. You could take Joey to the playground there every day.”
“But what would I do for work? I’m not a member of the Massachusetts bar, and taking a second bar exam at this point in my life does not sound like fun.”
“You’ll take care of Joey. Isn’t that what you’ve wanted to do all along?”
“I want to be his mother, but I’m a lawyer, not a nanny.”
Morgan stiffened and took a sip of his coffee.
“I don’t want Joey to be raised by someone who cares more about their paycheck than they do about him.”
She started to tell him how wonderful the workers at Joey’s day-care center were, but the expression on Morgan’s face told her his words had less to do with Joey and more to do with his own past.
For a moment the ice around her heart cracked enough for her wonder what it must have been like to be Charlie’s little brother—or worse, his stepbrother—when all the servants worked for Charlie’s mother. Then she remembered what had happened between them and decided to save her sympathy for someone who deserved it.
“I’m supposed to sacrifice my career, my home, my life to move to Boston and be an unpaid nanny for Joey? Why would I, why would anyone do that? On the off-chance that his grandmother can win a custody suit?”
When Morgan didn’t respond, she steamed on ahead.
“If I do agree to this insane scheme, how long do you plan on staying married? You said until one of us wants out, but what does that mean? Until Joey starts school? Until he goes away to boarding school?” She didn’t hide her contempt for the idea. “Until he goes to college? And what happens after the divorce?”
“Whoa! You’re getting way ahead of yourself. I don’t foresee a set end date for our marriage.”
But he did foresee an end date. No doubt right when she needed him most.
“If we do, did divorce, you’d get a settlement large enough to let you live wherever and however you please. Go back to L.A., if you want. You’d never need to work again.”
“Did it occur to you that I might want to work, that I might like what I do?” She tapped one fingernail on the marble surface between them. “Tell me again how giving up everything I’ve accomplished in my life makes sense from my point of view.”
He didn’t know much about women, Morgan realized, as he searched for the words to answer her. Sure, he knew what to do in bed to keep them happy and eager for more. And he
knew how to charm them if it suited his purposes, and how to shut the charm off if it didn’t. But he’d never let a woman get close enough for him to learn how to get his way with her once she saw through the charm. No woman had gotten that far, or wanted to, until Rosalie.
His life had been a series of one-night stands, even if the same woman was involved. He’d never spent a whole night with a woman, unless he counted the time in high school he and his date had fallen asleep in the back seat of her father’s Rover. Or nights the sex lasted until dawn.
Thinking about sex while he tried to make Rosalie see reason was a bad idea. It made him notice how she rubbed her fingers up and down the side of her mug, how the scent of his soap became flowery and feminine on her skin. It reminded him of the bliss they’d shared.
“I’m a very rich man,” he was horrified to hear himself say.
She gave him a look that would have frozen stone.
Unable to help himself, he reached out to lay his hand on her arm, to make her stay. Her skin seared him, but her eyes froze him out. The softness of her flesh was too much to resist. He rubbed his hand slowly down her arm to her hand, and smiled to himself when she didn’t pull away. He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the palm.
“And, as you know, a very good lover.”
She blinked, as if waking from a dream, jerked her hand away and stood up in a single, almost violent, motion.
“Goodbye, Morgan Danby. I do not have to damn you to hell. I’m quite sure you can get there all on your own.”
To Rosalie’s shock, a look that might have been genuine pain, crossed Morgan’s face, quickly replaced by the familiar stony mask.
“At least let me drive you home.”
“You are home,” she pointed out. “But you can call me a cab.”
He did. He also rode the elevator with her down to the building’s lobby and waited with her until the cab appeared. He handed the driver some money and gave him the address while the doorman helped her into the cab. Then the man who’d made such wonderful love to her, the man who’d asked her to marry him, turned and walked inside without a backward glance.
She nursed her anger all the way through the long cab ride home. The effort exhausted her enough that she was able to sleep once she got there.
The next day she continued the litany of reasons why Morgan Danby was a diabolical jerk and not worth even one minute of her attention.
Still, when Vanessa came by the office that afternoon to ask how the date had gone, Rosalie found she couldn’t tell her friend what had happened. She muttered platitudes about the great dinner, but said Morgan wasn’t her type.
“How can a rich, smart, charming, handsome man not be your type?”
“He’s arrogant and has to have him own way.”
“You mean he didn’t let you control the situation?”
Rosalie’s jaw dropped. “I’m not … I don’t …”
“You don’t need to be in control?” Vanessa swung her hand around the meticulously neat office. “I don’t blame you, given how out of control your mother’s health was, but someday you need to grow up and learn out-of-control isn’t always bad.”
Rosalie closed her eyes, surprised when a tear rolled down her face.
Vanessa swore under her breath. “What happened last night, Rosalie? Did he hurt you? Should I send Aaron after him?”
“No. I’m fine. I’m tired. We were out late.”
Before her friend could ask more painful questions, the receptionist called in to say Vanessa’s next appointment was there. She stood and gave Rosalie a worried look.
“You decide you want to talk about it, you know where to find me.”
Alone again, Rosalie took deep breaths to clear her mind. But despite her best efforts it filled again with memories of the night before. She should have been furious with Morgan. She was furious with him. But the anger was mixed with a sadness she hadn’t expected.
Sadness that she’d never have such great sex again, she told herself, but it didn’t stick.
Sadness, she had to admit, that she’d never see Morgan again. She liked the man, dammit. Or the man she’d thou
ght he was. Her devotion to the truth eventually forced her to admit she more than liked him. That was the worst of it, what carved an aching hollow in her chest.
So the real sadness was at the death of another illusion. The illusion of a cure for her mother. The illusion her father would come back to them. The illusion she’d ever be able to count on anyone besides herself.
She didn’t sleep well that night. Her dreams were too full of the good parts of her evening with Morgan. And those parts had been very, very good.
In the dark hours before dawn, she awoke to the memory of the moment he’d touched her after she froze up when he mentioned how rich he was. He’d put his hand on her arm as if he
couldn’t bear for her to leave. For an instant, she realized, with a new ache in her chest, she’d seen the face of a boy whose mother had walked out on him.
Rosalie didn’t sleep well for the next week either, but she’d been through worse. Time would take away the lingering heartache from the—what? certainly not relationship—fiasco with Morgan Danby. In the meantime, she had Joey, her work, and her friends to get her through.
She was putting the files she needed to work on over the weekend into her laptop bag the next Friday evening when her office phone rang. Despite the late hour, she picked it up. She needed every client she could get with a custody battle to finance.
“Ms. Rosalie Walker?” The efficient female voice sounded like a secretary.
Rosalie’s foolish heart jumped to her throat and froze there. “Yes?”
A click, then a moment of silence. Rosalie forced a breath past the tightness in her throat.
“Ms. Walker?” Another woman’s voice.
Rosalie’s heart plummeted past its usual place and deep into her belly. “Yes?”
“This is Lillian Danby, Charleston Thompson’s mother. I want to see my grandson.”
Rosalie hovered between mother and lawyer.
To buy the time to think, she asked, “Are you in Los Angeles?”
“Yes,” the other woman huffed. “Where else would I be?”
Rosalie suppressed a rude suggestion or two before she let the lawyer take over.
“You have no legal visitation rights at this time.”
“My attorney says, since the DNA evidence proves I’m the baby’s grandmother, I do have some rights.”
“Strictly speaking, a court would have to order an unwilling custodial parent or guardian to grant you those rights.”
And strictly speaking, Joey wasn’t a baby anymore, but Rosalie let it pass.
A noise that sounded like a sob came over the phone. “How can you be so cruel? I just want to see my grandchild.”
Rosalie wished she could call Joey’s social worker to ask what would be best for him, but a quick glance at the time told her Ms. Cameron would have already left the office for the weekend. It was too late to call the lawyer Rosalie had consulted about the adoption and possible custody case, too. She closed her eyes and tried to figure out what she’d advise a client who was in a situation like this.
“Are you still there?” Mrs. Danby asked. “You didn’t hang up on me, did you?”
“No. I’m trying to decide what’s best for Joey.”
“What’s best is for him to be with his grandmother. I’m all the family he has left, the poor baby.”
Yes, and why is that? Rosalie managed not to ask. Mrs. Danby didn’t seem the type to accept any responsibility for Charlie’s actions. Maybe she wasn’t responsible, but all this might have been easier if Rosalie had been able to believe the woman ever considered the possibility.
Another sob-like sound brought her mind back to the advice she’d give someone else.
“I could bring him to a public place to meet you.”
“I want you to bring him to my hotel room.” Mrs. Danby’s voice held no hint of tears. “I’m sure to fall apart when I see the little dear, and I hate to cry in public. My makeup runs.”
Rosalie shook her head as she imagined Joey’s reaction to a weepy stranger who wanted to cuddle him, but his grandmother seemed to have no idea what toddlers were like.
“I’m sorry. It has to be a public place. Perhaps the lobby of your hotel or a restaurant?”
Mrs. Danby sniffed. “The hotel doesn’t have a restaurant.”
An exclusive boutique hotel, no doubt. “Where are you staying?”
“Santa Monica. The room has a nice view of the ocean I’m sure little Joey would enjoy.”
Yeah, right. Little kids loved to sit still and look at the view. What planet was this woman from? Oh, yes, Planet Nanny.
“We can meet at Santa Monica Place,” Rosalie suggested. “It’s a mall near the ocean.”
“A shopping mall?” Mrs. Danby sounded horrified.
Rosalie rubbed her forehead. Somehow she’d acquired a stereotypical mother-in-law without a husband. She turned to her computer and found the Santa Monica city website.
“There’s a big pedestrian promenade next to the mall. We can meet at the north end, near Santa Monica Boulevard.”
“I suppose that will do. What time tonight?”
“Not tonight. It’s better if I bring him to meet you tomorrow morning when he won’t be so tired.” And I’ll have more energy to deal with you. “What about nine o’clock?”
“In the morning?” Mrs. Danby gasped. “Let’s say eleven. I need time to prepare myself.”
Rosalie rolled her eyes. “Eleven will be fine.”
“We’ll see you then. Goodbye.”
Before Rosalie could find the breath to ask what “we” meant, the other woman clicked off.
Morgan considered himself lucky he’d been able to convince Lillian not to call a cab for the three-block walk from her hotel to where they were supposed to meet Rosalie and Joey.
Now he’d have to rely on more good luck if he wanted to make Plan B work, after the way he’d botched Plan A.
A moment’s thought would have told him, if there were two things Rosalie didn’t want a man to offer her, money and great sex would head the list. Not that she wasn’t open to great sex, but that’s not what she’d want to hear. Not first, or second. If the old-fashioned phrase “not that kind of woman” ever applied to anyone, it applied to Rosalie Walker.
The problem was, he hadn’t thought at all. He’d reacted in a moment of blind panic and tried any way he could to keep her from walking away.
The last time his whole life seemed to depend on stopping a woman from walking away, he’d refused to kiss his mother goodbye. That hadn’t worked so well, either.
“Is that them?” Lillian asked. “Morgan, I’m shaking.”
She held out a carefully manicured hand that did, indeed, quiver. Real emotion from Lillian. Who would have expected it?
He steeled himself, then followed Lillian’s gaze to the bench where Rosalie sat with Joey in her lap, reading him a book.
She looked as if she hadn’t been sleeping well, but that might have been wishful thinking based on his own recent familiarity with guilt and regret-induced insomnia.
In any case, she was dressed to impress. Somewhere she’d acquired enough knowledge of women like Lillian to find the perfect medium between the lawyer Rosalie and the mother Rosalie. Her dark hair was piled up on her head and she wore pearl earrings that matched the necklace visible at the neckline of her blue silk blouse. Tailored slacks showed off her curves, and pink toes peeked out at him from her low-heeled sandals.
His insides twisted.
As they walked closer, he realized she’d dressed Joey up, too. The kid wore red corduroy pull-up pants instead of his usual jeans, and a woven shirt with matching stripes instead of the usual t-shirt. He’d already wiggled enough to undo one of the buttons across his belly and reveal a slash of pink baby flesh.
When Rosalie saw them, her Joey-smile faded, replaced by something like panic. She recovered quickly, stowed the book in the tote next to her, and stood up with Joey on one hip.
Rosalie felt all the wind rush
out of her in a whoosh.
She’d half expected Morgan to show up with his stepmother, but the reality carried a wallop ten times more powerful than the thought.
She refocused on the woman at his side. She’d often wondered what kind of woman could have raised Charlie, but she would never have come up with anyone like Lillian Danby.
The first thing she noticed was the older woman’s apparent fragility. She was very slender, the hand on Morgan’s arm almost a claw, her legs shapely but so thin Rosalie wondered how she found stockings to fit. The woman’s face was thin too, and had the rigidity of repeated cosmetic surgery. What was the saying? “You can never be too thin or too rich.”
Mrs. Danby wore a black designer skirt, cream-colored blouse, and a bright-red jacket that should have been too warm on such a sunny day, but her eyes were the same watery blue as Charlie’s and, like his, hard as diamonds. Behind the fragile façade, Rosalie saw the unbending will of someone who’d heard the word “no” too little when she was a child, and was rich enough to ignore it now she was an adult. Oh, yes, this was Charlie’s mother.
“How do you do?”
Mrs. Danby ignored her proffered hand, eyes fixed on Joey.
“You lied to me, Morgan. He doesn’t look at all like my poor Charleston.”
When the strange lady brushed one hand across Joey’s cheek, he jerked his head away and buried it in Rosalie’s shoulder.
“He has the same round face as that woman. And her little nose. The men in my family all had substantial noses.”
And the women all had their noses fixed, Rosalie suspected.
“He’s a toddler,” Morgan said. “Who knows what he’ll look like later on?”
Was that the best he could do? Rosalie shot him a glare, but he turned away with a shrug.
Mrs. Danby belatedly held out her hand. “You must be Ms. Walker, the woman who’s been taking care of my grandson.”
“I’m his guardian, yes.”
Mrs. Danby’s handshake was surprisingly firm and brief enough to border on rudeness. An awkward silence fell amid the bustle of the plaza around them.
“Why don’t you introduce Joey to his grandmother?” Morgan suggested.
Found: One Secret Baby Page 13