by Zee Monodee
“Most men aren’t ready for a baby, and men like you and Phillip—successful, thriving, career-oriented—have an even harder time reconciling with the idea of a child in their worlds.”
She seriously believed that? She would lump him in that kind of basket, too? He kept his steady glare on her, and his teeth started to hurt after a while. He was clenching his jaw, a sure predictor of his rising temper.
“Your father was like that, too, yes.”
The answer to the question he hadn’t asked. Hadn’t even wanted to contemplate, but it had flitted through his mind, nevertheless.
She nodded in his direction. “Put that cup down. You’re about to break it.”
He did as he was told, more to spare her from ending up with a mismatched set than because he wanted to obey. If it had been anyone else but his mum, he would’ve told her to go to Hell a long time back in this conversation.
“I’m not like him.”
His voice thrummed low, menacing, even.
She gave him a sad smile.
“Sweetheart, look at you. You’re thirty-three years old, and you’ve never brought a girl home to meet me. Not once! I see all these dates you go on splashed on the front page of the tabloids, and even these have been few and far between lately. Now tell me how and when you’re going to find a nice girl, settle down, and have a family with the kind of life you live?”
He didn’t want to admit it, but she had a point. Everything she said was true, but that didn’t mean he was like her ex-husband.
“I’m my own person, Mum. Not anyone’s reflection.”
She sighed, and reached for his hand across the table. “I just wish you’d slow down and find someone, Mike. Life isn’t all about making a name and clinching super deals and being known as an übermillionaire in the tabloids, of all places.”
“Yes, Mum,” he let out like a child agreed to something when being berated and wanting the berating to stop.
Although he wanted to argue that he didn’t see what else there was to live for, he remained silent. The kind of fake, all made-up and spruced-up women he usually met in the circles he frequented didn’t impress him, and they were all after one thing: money. As for a family, to have children, one needed a woman first. He was old-fashioned that way.
How to tell all this to his mother proved a different kettle of fish, though. One he didn’t want to approach even with a ten-foot pole. She might be tempted to start matchmaking if he ever gave her an inkling what kind of woman he was looking for.
“Face it, Mike. You’re more like your father than you want to admit.”
And she was back at it again with that slur. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and middle finger. “Mum, that’s enough.”
“Why? You have to accept it sooner or later, and only then will you be able to move forward in your life. Umberto Rinaldi is your father, and you take after him whether you like it or not.”
She’d had to go there. Of all the days … He stifled a sigh. No way could he let this roll.
“So I’m a callous bastard like he is?”
He forced his eyes open to stare at her.
She flinched, but he wouldn’t take his words back. This was one of the reasons he didn’t meet his mother that often. She remained too stuck on getting him to face the ‘truth.’ As if that were the key to happiness and peace of mind, two things he’d hardly had because of the sad arse in question. The truth to him was that he’d been fathered by an inconsiderate man who had happened to be married to his mother but who had never been there for him. Over the course of his life, he’d seen his ‘father’ less than ten times, and that, too, was stretching it. The man had left when Olivia had gotten pregnant and had divorced her officially two years later.
“You are his son. Full stop.”
She wouldn’t let up. Who was he kidding? He’d inherited his tenacity from her.
“What do you want me to say? And even if I embrace the fact that he fathered me, what happens then? We won’t fall in a familial hug and forgive and forget. It’ll snow in Hell before I let that happen.”
She shook her head. “Get over this anger, Mike. It’s not good for you.”
He didn’t reply.
A loud sigh escaped her. “You’re just as stubborn as he is. It might turn out to be a good idea if you don’t have that family, after all.”
Bitterness laced her words. He ached for stirring this awful feeling in her, but she had brought the subject up, and he couldn’t let it die.
“I won’t make a lousy father.”
“You’re sure of that?” She cocked an eyebrow.
“You don’t believe me?”
“I’ll believe it when I see it, Mike.”
She could just as well have said ‘when pigs fly.’
Never one to back down from a challenge, he stored the words away. One way or another, he’d show her she was wrong.
The atmosphere at the table grew quiet, hushed, filled with unspoken feelings hanging like a canopy above their heads.
Congratulations, mate. It’s her birthday, and you just ruined it.
He had to bring back the peace. So he reached for her other hand across the table.
“I’m sorry. Let’s forget about this, okay?” He dropped a kiss on her knuckles.
She smiled, and her aqua-blue eyes sparkled as she gazed at him. He smiled, too.
The doorbell chimed, and shortly after, Mabel walked in with a huge arrangement of red roses.
His mother had a boyfriend. Who else would send so many crimson roses on her birthday? Feeling as mischievous as a young boy again, he plucked the card from the bouquet before she could get to it.
“Give me that, you cheeky git.”
He flapped the card just out of her reach. “You’re eager to see who it’s from?”
“Mike!”
Laughing, he handed her the card. “Okay, won’t torture you further.”
She opened the envelope and pulled out a thick, cream-colored card. She scanned the message, the hint of a smile touching her lips, before she got up to gather the roses from Mabel’s arms.
Interesting.
“Who’s your new boyfriend?”
“None of your business.”
An alarm bell started to ring in his head. She never hid her suitors from him. So this secrecy meant only one thing.
“It’s from him.” He all but spat the words out.
His mother stopped on the threshold of the dining room and turned. “Yes. Umberto sent them.”
“Why?”
She rolled her eyes. “Because it’s a special day? Stop being so uptight, Mike.”
He couldn’t stop his hands from clenching into fists as she exited the dining room. That lout wanted to work his way back into her good graces. He’d be damned if he let that happen. Twice, Umberto Rinaldi had stepped back into Olivia’s life, and twice when he’d left, she had needed stays at a sanatorium in Bath, first for alcohol addiction, then for depression. The bastard wouldn’t hurt her a third time. Lucky for him, Michael had been too young when these past episodes had happened, but now, he was a grown man able to look out for his mother.
He turned to Mabel as he stood. “She didn’t seem surprised that he’s sent her flowers.”
Her face grew even more sombre. “You know, laddie, this isn’t the first time he’s been in touch with her lately.”
“What? And it’s only now that you’re telling me this?”
“Have you been around lately?” The older woman shook her head and then patted his arm. “Still, she’s a grown woman, Mike.”
He seethed as he unclenched his fists and settled his hands on the back of a chair, the knuckles white from the force of his grip.
“Still, I hate to see this as much as you do, lad. I know the likes of him. They’re no good.”
“Exactly my opinion, Mae,” he bit out between clenched teeth.
He had to do something, but what?
“I know
that look. Don’t go courting trouble, lad.”
As if he’d heed those words. No, it was too late to pay any caution now.
He needed to have a talk with her ex-husband. A man-to-man encounter.
“You will go find him, won’t you?”
He looked at her and nodded.
She shook her head. “Big mistake. If you want anything accomplished, it’s not him you should target.”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Men like him are clueless about everything but their goals. Someone else does the dirty work for them.”
What was she on about?
“Who?”
“Think. You are a busy man, too. When you have something to do, who do you entrust with the task?”
“My personal assistant,” he replied without a second thought.
“Exactly.” Mabel smiled. “If you find his PA, you cut the evil at its root.”
Made sense. Without his faithful PA doing everything for him, Umberto would be helpless.
An even better idea wormed its way into his head.
If he got the PA to do as he wanted, he could easily make sure nothing came out of this renewed interest in Olivia. His mother would also come out of the whole nasty episode unhurt, while the person who would end up being hurt deserved it and more.
Speaking of, his mum walked back into the dining room.
“Mum, sorry.” He reached out and hugged her. “An appointment I forgot about, cannot bail out.”
She sighed. “I knew you’d be on the run far too soon.”
“I’ll make it up to you.” He grinned. “Dinner next week? My place. I’ll cook.”
“You better make me some of that green Thai curry.”
“Deal.”
Once in his car on the way to The City, he put on his Bluetooth earpiece and called his personal assistant, Rory.
“Do me a favour. Find out who Umberto Rinaldi’s PA is and call me back. ASAP,” he barked out as soon as the young man picked up.
He was about to cut the call when Rory’s small voice pierced the line.
“That would be Jane Smithers, sir.”
“Are you sure?”
“Well, yes. She’s the one we deal with when we do business with Vista Standard.”
“Thanks.”
He cut the call, pensive. He had a meeting with Jane Smithers, whether she agreed to it or not. She’d hear him out and do his bidding. Only a heartless bitch would refuse to help him when he outlined what that arsehole had done to his mother.
Question, then—was Jane Smithers a compassionate woman, or a consummate bitch?
Chapter Two
Jane peered up from the papers strewn in front of her at the ding of the lift. Who could it be? Umberto had no meetings scheduled before two o’clock. Security rarely let anyone up here, too. She glanced at her watch. Nearly noon. The sudden growl of her stomach reminded her it was lunchtime. She had yet to eat anything since the protein shake she’d had for breakfast.
A man stepped into the room as soon as the metal doors gaped wide enough for him to pass through. The sight stunned her so much, her pen slipped from her grasp.
He wore an expertly tailored dark grey suit—bespoke, of course. Those clean lines didn’t lie. The trousers hinted at long, yet strong legs while the coat hugged his well-built chest. He had broad shoulders and stood tall, around six-three.
She dragged her gaze to his face and sucked in a breath. Very handsome, his skin a light golden tone, hair dark as the mahogany wood in the room. His wide jaw seemed clamped shut, reducing his mouth to a thin slash. Very angry, too, the fire in his deep-set dark eyes emphasized by the way his thick eyebrows met due to his frown.
He wasn’t someone to cross—this, she realized as she opened her mouth to exhale a small puff of air.
In a few strides, he had crossed the room to come stand in front of her desk. She had to crane her neck to look at his face. The walls closed in on her as she took in the powerful shape of him, reducing her world to an airtight bubble where only she and this man existed. Talk of an arresting physical response. She’d never experienced that in her life. Ever.
“May I help you?”
Her voice came out as a croak, and she ran the tip of her tongue over her dry lips.
He stared at her for long seconds. His gaze darted to the nameplate on her desk before he trained the full force of those midnight irises on her face again.
“You sure will, Jane.”
His voice thrummed low, and the husky sound vibrated through her whole body.
“He’s in?” he then asked.
The jaw had gone even tighter, if that were possible.
She snapped out of her fog. “I beg your pardon?”
A muscle started twitching in his cheek, offsetting his square jawline even more.
“You and I will have a little talk. Later, though.” He turned towards the door to her boss’s office.
“Sir, wait.”
She should have saved her breath, for he was already stepping inside. Jane shot out of her chair and made it to the threshold just as the sickening grind of a punch resounded.
“You stay away from her!”
No one could ignore the threat in those words.
Oh, no. What she’d always dreaded had finally happened. Umberto had gotten embroiled with the wrong woman, and the jealous husband or boyfriend was here to bust his arse. Once again, she would have to bail her boss out of this predicament.
“What’s going on here?” She strode into the room with her hands on her hips.
The dark man glared at her. “Jane, stay out of this.”
She stopped in her tracks at the sight that greeted her. Umberto stood with his palm cradling his nose and mouth. He must’ve received that fist in his face. She shook her head before glancing at the other fellow. Both of them turned towards her at the same time.
Staggering recognition hit her. The two men were of the same height, with the same build. Even their faces looked alike, from the wide jaw to the dark, deep-set eyes.
Exactly like seeing a before and after picture, with some twenty-odd years between the images.
She let her mouth drop open.
“Michael?”
The name rolled off her tongue and escaped her lips in a soft sound that lost itself in the thick silence surrounding them. Thank God it had sounded like a question and not a breathless squeak of a moan.
This was the first time she was coming face-to-face with Umberto’s son. What woman in London hadn’t heard of him? The very eligible, very handsome, very rich, and very powerful corporate lawyer. He’d been the embodiment of a ruthless legal shark on the pictures and pages of the British tabloids, but the reality proved even more breath-taking. Hence why she hadn’t recognized him right away. As if seeing him in 3D after the 2D pictures presented a different person altogether. Someone definitely larger than life.
Michael Rinaldi watched her with eyebrows drawn together. She forced her riveted gaze from his face to Umberto’s. The older man cursed and removed his hand. Blood covered his mouth and palm, and more seeped from his nose.
In her condition, she wouldn’t be able to stand the sight of blood again. The little she’d seen when the nurse had been taking samples had used up her tolerance quotient. At the gory sight, her stomach churned, and a wave of cold washed over her. Belatedly, she made out that her legs were crumbling under her, but she was powerless to do anything to break her fall.
A pair of strong arms grabbed her, pulling her to the solid, warm expanse of a broad chest, and she grasped at his clothing to keep her balance. Her head landed in the crook of an elbow, the steady beat of a heart against her shoulder.
She let go of her hold on the soft fabric of her saviour’s jacket when he deposited her on a plush armchair. With her lids tightly shut, she let the spinning feeling ebb away. When the world had finally stabilized, she opened her eyes. Her gaze landed on the concerned expression of the man who now squatted by her s
ide.
Worry transformed Michael Rinaldi’s face. She couldn’t explain how exactly, but right then, he seemed a million of miles from the angry man who had walked into her office a few minutes ago. Something almost soft lingered on his chiselled features.
“Jane? You okay?”
His voice sounded low and concerned. Familiar, too. The way he said her name … If she didn’t know better, she’d say they shared a rapport already, audible in the hinted closeness his hushed tone suggested.
Lord, what was she getting at? He was so totally scrambling what remained of her good sense. She blinked and nodded.
“Should I call a doctor?”
Again, in his presence, the world seemed to reduce itself to the two of them. She blamed the weird feeling on her erratic hormones, and this made her remember her condition. “It’s nothing. Just the pregnancy, I suppose.”
He blinked, as if coming out of a spell, too, before nodding.
“We need to talk, you and I.”
His voice had grown gentler by now. Maybe knowing she was pregnant had made him pull in the fangs and dial down the aggression levels. Given this state of affairs, she could only nod her assent.
“Can you get up?”
She braced her hands on the armrests and pushed herself off the seat. Her head felt light again, but she managed to keep her balance. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that he’d braced an arm behind her back anyway, as if there to catch her if she fell once again. He pulled it away when she found her solid footing.
Lifting her eyes, she then noticed her boss. What a pitiful state he was in! Concern grabbed her, and she rushed to him as fast as her still wobbly gait allowed. The sight of all the blood on him made her queasy, but her distress soon obliterated the sick feeling.
“Oh my God. Umberto? Are you all right?”
He perched himself on the edge of his desk, his bloody hand back to cradling his nose. He also wasn’t moving, as if in shock. Up to her, once more, to make sure things kept running around him.
She took a deep breath. “Let me see that.”
As much as the gore repulsed her, she had to check on him. After reaching for the tissue box on the sideboard and pulling a handful out, she attempted to dab at the blood with the bunched paper sheets.