by Day Leclaire
Chase stilled in shock. “My God.”
“She…” Emma fought the flashes of memory that she’d spent so many years attempting to suppress. “She and Dad had just had a huge fight. Mom accused him of cheating on her.”
“Was he?”
She shrugged. “I was nine. What do I know? But since my mother used the word again, I’m forced to assume it happened more than once over the course of their marriage. Needless to say, it wasn’t a pretty scene.”
“You overheard them?”
“My brother and I both did. Dad left the house after the fight. He had a business dinner to attend, or so he claimed. That’s when Mom took the sleeping pills. We don’t know if it was accidental or deliberate. We’ll never know. But my brother found her. He’s the one who called 911, who went to the hospital with her.”
“Who stayed with you?”
“The housekeeper.”
“Ana’s mother?” He hesitated, clearly searching for a name. “Nilda?”
“No, they didn’t start working for us until after my brother was sent off to boarding school.” Emma’s brows pulled together. “Funny. I can’t remember our housekeeper’s name at the time. She left the day after Mom died. We had quite a few others before Dad finally hired Nilda and Juan.”
“That’s when you latched onto their daughter, Ana?”
Emma blinked, pulled from her reverie. “I didn’t latch onto Ana. We became friends. Sisters.”
An undeniable tenderness infused the manner in which he stroked the curve of her cheek. “Someone to fill the gap left by your mother and brother.”
She’d never quite looked at it that way. “I suppose,” she conceded.
“I gather you didn’t blame your father the way your brother did.” He hesitated. “But then, how could you?”
She shook her head in confusion. “Sorry?”
“You didn’t have anyone left. If you took a stand against your father, you might get sent away, too. So you became Daddy’s Princess.”
She drew back. So much for trusting him. He didn’t understand at all. But then, how could he? He was a businessman through and through. Whatever buttons he needed to push to achieve his ends, he’d push. “That’s one way of looking at it,” she stated with cool carelessness. “It’s not how I remember it.”
“Fair enough.”
“I just want you to understand why I won’t marry you.”
“And why is that?” He asked the question with a matching coolness.
“As I’ve mentioned before. I saw firsthand what happens when a marriage goes disastrously wrong. It killed my mother. It caused a breach between my father and brother that’s never healed. And it left me with all the material wealth a woman could want, without it meeting any of my emotional needs. That’s not what will happen with my child.”
“History doesn’t have to repeat itself.”
“You’re absolutely right. And I fully intend to see that it doesn’t.” She crossed to the table and picked up her purse and wrap. She turned to face him with the same implacability he’d shown her on any number of occasions. “That’s why I’ll never marry you, Chase. I refuse to allow history to repeat itself.”
“We’re not the same people as your parents,” he pointed out. She could hear the hint of controlled anger sweeping through his words.
“You’re right. That still doesn’t change my answer.” She crossed to the etched glass doors protecting their privacy. “Thanks for dinner. It was delicious. But if you don’t mind, I’d like to go home now.”
Six
Emma didn’t have longer than a single night to decide on the gentlest way to inform her father of her pregnancy. All hell broke loose the next morning, although it had nothing to do with the baby she carried and everything to do with the fact that Gillian Mitchell’s article appeared in the morning addition of the Seaside Gazette.
Ronald Worth reacted first. “Emma!” he roared. “Damn it, Emma, what the hell have you done?”
She appeared in the doorway of the breakfast room just in time to see her father drop his fine-boned Wedgwood cup onto its equally fine-boned Wedgwood porcelain saucer, shattering both. Coffee stained the pristine white tablecloth in a rapidly expanding circle of muddy brown. Nilda would not be pleased.
“You bellowed?” Emma asked lightly.
He shook the paper at her. “What. The. Hell. Is. This?”
“It looks like a newspaper.”
His face turned bright red. “Don’t get smart with me. I’m referring to this ridiculous article some upstart reporter by the name of Gillian Mitchell wrote. She’s attributing you as one of her sources.”
Emma paused by her father’s chair long enough to plant a kiss on his overheated forehead. Then she reached for the small bell resting by his right hand and rang it. Their maid, Tia, appeared almost instantaneously, took one look at the coffee disaster and disappeared.
“I haven’t read the article, yet,” Emma admitted, “so I’m not in a position to comment on it. But I did talk to Gillian a few days ago and discussed some of my concerns regarding Rafe Cameron’s purchase of Worth Industries.”
“That is none of your business,” Ronald informed her in a hard, cold voice. It was the one she called his Industrial Strength Voice, usually reserved for someone about to be fired at Worth Industries. He only directed it toward a family member on very rare occasions. His index finger thudded repeatedly against the coffee-stained table to emphasize his words. “That sale is between me, Rafe and a slew of overpaid financial advisors and shark lawyers. You just stick to your charity work.”
His words impacted like a blow. It took every ounce of self-possession to take a seat and face her father without a speck of the hurt she felt showing on her face. “That sale involves all the citizens of Vista del Mar since what Rafe chooses to do with the business will have a dramatic impact on the economy of the town,” she corrected smoothly. “I have every right to express my opinions and will continue to do so, whether you, Rafe, your overpaid financial advisors or your shark lawyers like it, or not.” She fixed him with a gaze every bit as hard and steely as his own. “And I don’t appreciate your dismissing my charity work in that condescending tone of voice.”
“It’s not a real job,” he immediately objected.
They’d had this argument more than once and she’d learned never to give an inch or back away from the confrontation the way her mother had. That path led to disaster. “What you mean is that it’s not a paid job. But it is every bit as real as your work at Worth. I help people who are in desperate straits to get back on their feet so that you can hire them to put food on their table without governmental assistance. I volunteer my time because I’m in the fortunate position of not needing the money.”
“You could be running Worth. In fact, you should be running the company.”
She caught the undisguised frustration and her anger faded, replaced by an aching tenderness. “Oh, Dad.” She sighed. “I know how much it hurts that none of your children are interested in stepping into your shoes.”
“One of you might be,” he muttered.
She couldn’t believe he still held out such a forlorn hope. “I’m sorry, Dad. It isn’t going to happen. We have to live our own lives, our own way. Sell Worth if that’s what you want. Give it away for all I care. But please. I’m begging you. Protect your workers.”
Tia reappeared with fresh linens and switched the tablecloth with brisk efficiency. Before she left, she replaced Ronald’s cup and saucer, and topped it off with fresh coffee. She also placed a pot of tea on the table for Emma, along with her typical breakfast of fresh fruit, granola and yogurt.
“Thanks, Tia,” Emma murmured. Fortunately, her morning sickness had subsided enough for her to look at her breakfast without making a mad dash for the nearest bathroom. “Tell Nilda that Dad apologizes about the coffee, will you?” She gave her father a pointed look.
“Yes, yes, tell Nilda whatever,” Ronald said testily. He waved the mai
d from the room. The instant she disappeared, he slapped the newspaper against the pristine tablecloth. The sound of the impact cracked like a bullwhip. “Now, getting back to this interview—”
“I don’t want to talk about the interview until after I’ve read it. There’s something else we need to discuss.” She hesitated. “It’s serious, Dad.”
Emma had to hand it to him. Sometimes he came through, switching from businessman to father in the blink of an eye. He instantly shoved the paper aside, his brow wrinkling in concern.
“Are you all right?” he demanded. “Did Larson try something last night? Did he hurt you?”
“Yes, I’m all right. Of course Chase didn’t try anything last night or hurt me.” She fiddled with her fork. No matter how hard she struggled to come up with the perfect words to relay the news, they simply did not exist. “Dad, Chase and I have met before,” she began.
Ronald paused in the act of reaching for his coffee cup. “You never mentioned that.”
Emma shrugged. “There wasn’t any reason to mention it until recently.”
He fortified himself with a sip of coffee, his gaze intent through the steam. “What happened recently?”
She took a deep breath. Time to stop circling the announcement like some sort of wary vulture. She’d just say the words and get everything out in the open where they could deal with it. “I’m pregnant, Dad.”
His cup tumbled from his hand again and shattered against the saucer. “You’re what?”
Once again, coffee stained the pristine white tablecloth in a rapidly expanding circle of muddy brown. Emma sighed. Nilda would definitely not be pleased this time. “Obviously it wasn’t planned. But it happened and Chase and I are discussing how we want to handle the situation.”
“I’ll tell you how you’re going to handle the situation.” Her father’s voice rose to a bellow. “You’re both getting married as soon as it can be arranged.”
“Dad, your heart. Please calm down.”
He battled his temper, fought for his legendary control and then snatched up his medication and tossed back a pill. Since he’d smashed his cup of coffee, he reached for her tea, gulping down a mouthful. “Good lord, how can you stand to drink this stuff?” he demanded the instant he swallowed his pill. Then he waved that aside. “Never mind, never mind. We have far more important matters to deal with, starting with how this happened. Explain it to me, Emma. How the hell did you end up pregnant?”
“In the usual way.” Ruddy color began to invade her father’s face again and she elaborated, attempting to keep her tone low and soothing. “Chase and I met in New York shortly before Thanksgiving. There was an instant attraction. One thing led to another. Unfortunately, birth control isn’t always one hundred percent reliable. Quite obviously it wasn’t in our case. I realized a short time ago that I was pregnant.”
His color eased slightly, though not nearly enough. “Does Larson know?”
“Yes. As I told you, we’re discussing our options.”
Before Ronald could reply, someone pounded on the front door. Tia, who must have been lurking in the hallway nearby, opened the door. Chase’s voice reverberated across the foyer. “Where is she?”
“Where is who, señor?” Tia asked timidly.
“Emma Worth.” His shoes rang across the slate entryway. “Emma? Where the hell are you? We’re going to have this out once and for all.”
“Speak of the devil,” she murmured and pushed back her chair.
“Is that him?” Ronald shot to his feet. “I’ll kill him.”
She moved to bar his path, planting her hands squarely on his chest. “You’ll do no such thing. The three of us are going to discuss this like civilized adults.” Though considering all the listening ears, the breakfast room might not be the best venue for that discussion. “Why don’t we use your study, Dad?”
They joined Chase in the foyer and Emma deliberately stepped between the two men. “Your timing is impeccable as always, Chase,” she informed him. “I was just telling Dad the latest news.”
His gaze arrowed from her face to her father’s. A distinct wariness swept across his expression. “I gather it didn’t go well.”
“Good guess.” She gestured toward the opposite end of the foyer. “We were about to discuss the situation in the study. I’ll have Tia bring more coffee.” She glanced over her shoulder at the hovering maid. “Please don’t use the Wedgwood this time.”
A hint of laughter sparkled in Tia’s dark eyes. “No, Ms. Emma.”
Chase paced the darkly masculine confines of Ronald Worth’s study like a caged cougar. This day had not begun well and didn’t promise to improve anytime soon. Rafe’s furious call started off his morning, his single demand ringing in Chase’s ears. “Fix this!”
By the time he got his hands on a copy of the Seaside Gazette and read Gillian Mitchell’s inflammatory article, his mood had gone from bad to downright filthy. He intended to have a pointed conversation with Emma. He hadn’t planned on having one with her father, too.
The instant Emma closed the door to the study, Ronald swung around, his fists clenched in a manner that suggested it would take damn little provocation for him to use them. He glared first at Chase, then at his daughter. “You’ll marry the bastard, by God. You hear me, Emma? I won’t have the Worth name dragged through the mud because you two were careless.”
Chase took a single step forward, but it was enough to put Ronald on his guard. “Do not call me a bastard,” he said in a voice that was very soft and very, very deadly.
“It’s what you are, isn’t it? Barron’s Bastard?” Something in Chase’s expression had him raising his hands in clear surrender. “All right. I get the message. I wouldn’t want to be known by that name, either. Which is why I won’t have any grandchild of mine dealing with that sort of stigma.”
“I agree.”
Ronald opened his mouth, then shut it again. “Wait a minute. You agree?”
Chase crossed the room to stand with his back to the window. It was an old trick, but one that worked well, concealing his expression while making it difficult for everyone else to conceal theirs. “I’m not the one throwing up roadblocks. Your daughter is.”
Ronald swung around. “Emma?”
Her chin jutted out at a familiar angle. How many times had he seen her father assume that exact same pugnacious stance? “I don’t agree that marriage is the only option here. Just because Chase was called by that awful name doesn’t mean it will happen to my son or daughter.”
“Our,” Chase reminded her.
Ronald thrust his hands through his hair, standing the neatly trimmed gray strands on end. “Have you lost your mind? What are we supposed to do? Wait and see if it happens?” he objected. “It’ll be a little late to do anything about it at that point. The damage will be done.”
Chase refused to prolong the argument, especially not with Emma’s father wading into the middle, contributing his two cents. Worth was on his side when it came to this subject, which would help in the long run. But that didn’t mean he’d use father against daughter. It felt too much like ganging up. “We’re not going to wait. We’ll marry as soon as I can convince Emma it’s the best option.”
“Good, good.” Worth nodded his approval. “Here’s what I suggest the two of you—”
“Nor are we going to discuss it with you,” Chase interjected smoothly.
“Now wait a damn minute,” Worth began.
Chase didn’t give the older man the opportunity to rev into full throttle. His own father responded to opposition the same way. Don’t negotiate. Don’t argue. Just steamroller right over the problem. Once he took off, it became next to impossible to derail him.
“Ronald, let me assure you that Emma and I will figure out what’s best for the two of us and the baby. We’ll inform you of any and all decisions the minute we make them.” He paused just long enough to allow that to sink in. “That isn’t why I came here today.”
“That might n
ot be why you’re here, but it’s what we’re damn well going to talk about.” Ronald moved to confront his daughter, astonished when Chase stepped forward to block his path. Taken aback by the unexpected maneuver, he hesitated, struggling to regroup. “If Emma’s pregnant, you’re going to marry her and that’s all there is to it,” he insisted.
Chase shook his head. “No, it’s not. All decisions regarding this baby will be made between two people. And you’re not one of them. Nor do I intend to prolong this conversation any further. Not with you.” He switched his attention to Emma. She stood with her arms folded across her chest, her stance defensive. “I’m actually here about the article in the Seaside Gazette.”
Relieved to have something else to dig his teeth into, Ronald slapped his own copy of the newspaper against his open hand. “That’s right. I’d almost forgotten. Why would you allow that woman to interview you, Emma, especially without talking it over with me first?”
She lifted an eyebrow. “I can see what’s most important to the two of you.”
“Not most important,” Chase denied, pacing closer. “Just the only issue I intend to address with your father standing in the room. Why in the world would you make such inflammatory remarks? What were you thinking?”
“What was I thinking?” She drew herself up, her flashing eyes reflecting the intensity of her voice. “I was thinking that I don’t trust Rafe Cameron as far as I can pick him up and toss him. I was thinking about the employees of Worth Industries and what will happen to them after Rafe gets his hands on the business. I was thinking that I haven’t heard one word from any of you fine, upstanding businessmen about the people who will be the most affected by your decisions. That’s the employees, in case you’ve forgotten.” She planted her hands on her hips. “So tell me. How do you plan to deal with those concerns?”
“I’ve already explained that’s none of your business,” Worth began.
She rounded on her father. “Of course it’s my business. It’s everyone’s business. Our employees are worried about their jobs and what stipulations are in place to protect them.” She turned to include Chase in her denunciation. “Rafe Cameron could eviscerate Worth and sell off the pieces bit by bit. Or he could outsource the labor to Mexico. How do we know that he intends to stay and make the changes and improvements that Worth needs to grow and become viable in today’s market?”