He flipped the next page harder than the time before.
Did the truth make him angry? Unless...Carrie had lied.
No. Impossible. Carrie was sweet, simple, kind, loving, and guileless. The day she’d walked into Liza’s cubicle at the County Clerk’s office to apply for a job, the young woman nearly collapsed, whispering her secret that she was broke and expecting. And Liza had instantly liked her and soon loved her like the sister she never had.
In the following three and a half years, Carrie had never once revealed who Dylan’s father was, except to say his family was powerful enough to scare her. But after she died, Liza found the notebook and finally understood just how powerful that family was. Her friend’s secrecy and fears made complete sense.
According to what she wrote, Carrie worried that Nate would find her and change his mind about the baby. The journal filled in some holes and confirmed the hints that Carrie had dropped all along.
Right? Or had Carrie made the whole thing up?
“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” Liza whispered to herself as she stepped into the lounge area of the boat. Which was as visually stunning as the golden-eyed god who owned it.
Every piece of furniture and decor was a different shade of cream, covered in leather, suede, or marble, with masculine touches of gleaming teak. No surprise, money oozed from every corner, a testament to the famous Ivory family fortune.
He seemed to think money was all she wanted. Well, it would be nice if he wanted to throw a thousand into a college fund for Dylan, sure. But what she wanted—freedom from worry—was priceless.
“I read it.”
She turned to find him standing in the glass sliders that separated the deck from the lounge, an unreadable emotion etched on his strong cheekbones and square jaw. Unless ice cold was an emotion, then she could read it just fine.
“This is complete and utter fiction. You know that, don’t you? Pure fabrication.”
Right now, she didn’t know anything. “You said you recognized her when you saw her picture. You met in Key West. You...you had...you slept with her, didn’t you?”
He huffed a soft breath and dropped onto one of the creamy sofas, tossing the notebook next to him. Liza stayed standing.
“Here’s what’s true,” he said. “And I’m happy to swear on a stack of Bibles or in a court of law or whatever you want me to do that will make this legit.”
What she wanted to “make this legit” was for him to sign and disappear forever. Both possibilities were becoming more remote with each passing minute. “Just be honest,” she said. “And tell me your side of the story.”
He nodded a few times, gathering his thoughts. “If your Carrie and this girl I recognize as Bailey are really the same person?” With his left hand, he flipped the cover of the book, opening to her picture. “I think they are. So, then about three paragraphs of this is true. I met her at a party, exactly as it says here, in the driveway of a beach house a friend of mine owns. She thought I was the valet, and I let her think that for a few minutes. It was funny, we flirted, exactly like she said. A few minutes later, she saw me inside and we had a good laugh, exactly like she said. We had a few drinks and talked, exactly like she said.”
“She called it love at first sight.”
He closed his eyes. “I would categorize it as mutual attraction that led to lust. Nothing remotely like love took place.”
Assuming a man like him even knew what love was. “And you took her home and were with her when she got the call about her parents that night, right?”
Very slowly, he shook his head. “That’s not what happened.”
She waited, crossing her arms and leaning against the bar.
“I did take her home. At least, I had my limo drop her off after we...” He swallowed, hard, then met Liza’s gaze. “We, uh, got intimate in the back of the limo.”
She lifted a brow. “Intimate?”
“We had sex,” he said bluntly. “Wholly consensual, lightning-fast, and utterly meaningless sex.”
Each word was like a hammer striking a nail into her heart. Was that how Dylan was conceived? That certainly wasn’t Carrie’s story.
“I dropped her off at an apartment building, but she wouldn’t even let me walk her to the door,” he continued. “She gave me her number and disappeared.” A new kind of pain etched across his handsome features. “I swear to God I tried to find her, and it was like she was vapor. Bogus number, didn’t live in that apartment, didn’t know anyone at the party. She was gone.” He cleared his throat and continued. “So that part she wrote about the phone call from the fire department in Tucson? Fiction. At least, it wasn’t me with her that night, holding her, arranging for a private plane to get her home. Never happened.”
Of all the possible responses she’d played out in her mind, Liza never expected this. Never expected the journal to be a half-truth.
“The trip to France?” she asked. “The vacation with your family? The two weeks at your place in Hawaii? The hot-air balloon ride when you said you loved her?”
With each question, his head slowly moved from side to side. “Never happened.”
Her legs couldn’t hold her anymore, so Liza finally eased into the closest chair, sinking into the buttery leather with a barely audible sigh. “Are you saying that whole whirlwind affair was a...lie?”
“That account of our relationship in that notebook is a story, a fabrication, a complete work of fiction,” he said carefully. “Yes, I think I know this woman and, yes, we had sex. With a condom,” he added. “What did she tell you?”
“She never...” She cleared her throat, having a feeling this wasn’t going to get her the signature she needed and wanted. “She never actually told me your name.”
It was his turn to stare in disbelief. “So you’re basing this entire thing on some teenager’s attempt at a bad romance novel? A woman who has, as far as we know, at least two names.”
“She wasn’t a teenager.” But she wasn’t much more than that. “I saw her legal document, and I know her name was Careen Cassidy. And Dylan looks like you.”
He lifted a shoulder and nodded. “I’ll give you that. But it could be a coincidence.”
“And you did have sex with her.”
“I had sex with a girl who had a different name and looks a little like that one in the picture.” He leaned forward. “How well do you know this Carrie person?”
Ire shot through her. This Carrie person had been dear to her. “Well. Very well. We lived together, and I was in the hospital room when Dylan was born, and I’ve helped raise him.”
“How did you meet her?”
“She applied for a job at the County Clerk’s office when I worked in personnel, and we hit it off in the interview.” Carrie’s sob story had ripped Liza’s heart out, and she’d invited the poor girl to stay with her until she found an apartment...and she’d never left. “We became really good friends and, well, she needed help and—”
“But not such good friends that she’d tell you who fathered the baby?”
The truth jabbed at her. “She told me you—he—had made it clear you didn’t want anything to do with the baby, and she’d rather forget about you.”
His eyes flashed. “I never told anyone anything like that, because we never had another conversation after I dropped her off at an apartment complex that night,” he insisted, his voice rising with impatience. “She made it all up.”
Was that possible? Inside, way down low in her belly, Liza grew cold and afraid. Had she been such a pushover that Carrie lied from day one? She’d always had a soft spot for strays, and she had the four cats to prove it. But everyone who met Carrie loved her, even Liza’s mother, who didn’t usually love anyone if they didn’t have access to the right country club.
“What about the notebook?” he asked. “Where did it come from?”
“I found it hidden in her belongings after she died. When I read it, I realized just how rich and powerful a family she?
??d meant when I saw the name Ivory.”
“And it didn’t occur to you that this whole story was a product of her imagination?”
She shook her head, feeling incredibly vulnerable and foolish. “What occurred to me was that, if I could find you, I could get you to sign a TPR, er, a Termination of Parental Rights waiver, which is what I had urged her to do all along. I work with legal documents every day. I know they carry tremendous weight in court, and if you don’t have them in order, it could come back to haunt you.”
He didn’t answer for a moment, his gaze on the picture that faced up. “Was she drunk?”
Liza blinked at him, the question throwing her. “Excuse me?”
“When she died. You said it was an accident on the highway. Was she drunk?”
She almost laughed. “I never saw Carrie drink anything stronger than iced tea. She was insanely healthy and, for your information, she never even went on a date in the time we were roommates. I tried to fix her up with a friend once, and she refused. She said Dylan was her only man.”
That indiscernible flicker of emotion passed over his face again. He looked down, bracing his elbows on his knees to rest his chin on tight fists. “And what about Dylan?”
Her heart rate rose at the question. The tenderness in the tone scared her. “What about him?”
“How is he? His mom is dead and, well, he’s an orphan.”
“Not technically, since I—”
“No, I guess if he has a father, he’s not an orphan.”
She tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry and tasted metallic. Fear. She was tasting real, live terror that she could lose Dylan. Why in the hell hadn’t she left well enough alone? This was exactly what Carrie feared. He’d have never come after Dylan, and now...
“How is he?” he asked again.
“What do you mean? He’s...” Perfect. Adorable. Sweet as candy and as good as gold. But something in her kept her from sharing. What if Nate fell in love with Dylan, too? And how could he not? Everyone fell in love with Dylan at first sight. “He’s fine.”
“Is he well-adjusted? Healthy? Normal? Smart? Going to school? Reading yet?”
She would have laughed at how much like a dad he sounded except...nothing about that was funny. He was Dylan’s dad and, as such, had some rights. Not legal guardianship. She did have that. But, still, he had a right to know about his son.
She nodded. “Very healthy, very well-adjusted, crazy smart, and slightly temperamental. He’s only four, so he doesn’t read very many words yet, but he can spell.” She laughed softly. “Oh, boy, he likes to spell.” She smiled, thinking of the light in his eyes when she handed him a new pack of Matchbox cars last night. “He loves cars. Anything with wheels, actually.”
“I was that way, too.”
“Well, he’s nothing like you.” The words popped out, unfiltered, earning her a dark look. “I mean, well—”
“You don’t know me.”
Shrugging, she chose her words carefully. “In trying to find you and decide what to do about this situation, I read a lot about you, so—”
“Like I said, you don’t know me.”
“I know what your lifestyle is. I know you live on boats and have a dozen houses and go to parties in Monte Carlo and don’t have a real job.”
“I wouldn’t call sitting on four Fortune 500 corporate boards, managing two charitable foundations, and handling a few billion dollars’ worth of investments ‘unemployed.’”
“I wouldn’t call your lifestyle stable.”
He made a guttural sound of disgust, pushing himself to a stand so he loomed over her. “A lifestyle is not a person. A lifestyle is a word the media made up. A lifestyle—” He turned and paced across the room, stopping to put his hands on the bar as if he actually needed support. “I am so sick of this conversation.”
She drew back in surprise. “Excuse me?”
“Not with you. But, I’ve had it with…others.” Keeping his back to her and his face down, he let his shoulders rise and fall with a silent sigh. “When can I meet him?”
“Why…what?” Her heart faltered. “Meet Dylan? You can’t meet him.”
Very slowly, he turned, and she nearly startled from the ragged emotion on his face. She couldn’t quite decipher what he was feeling, but it was powerful and personal. “I have every right to meet this child you claim is my son.”
“For what reason?”
He gave her a look of disbelief. “To determine if he’s really mine.”
“No, no, that’s not necessary.”
He narrowed his eyes and moved imperceptibly closer. “Just what are you hiding, Liza Lemanski?”
“Nothing! I’m not hiding anything. Look.” Fighting a little wave of panic, she grabbed the bag she’d dropped on the table, flipping it open. “You don’t have to meet him.” If he met Dylan, he’d love Dylan. It was impossible not to. And then…he’d want to take Dylan. Just as Carrie feared.
“I have this. This is…” Her fingers closed around the small plastic box that she’d received from the lab. “This swab is a sample of his DNA. And these papers verify it’s his, from my doctor. You can have it tested and compared to yours.”
She put the box and a white envelope on the table.
“Why would I do that?”
“So you know I’m not lying.”
“And then can I meet him?”
She looked up at him, swallowing hard, her whole body feeling like she was trying to turn a tide, and she’d never even expected this particular tsunami. “I really never thought you’d have any interest in meeting him,” she said.
“Well, I do. Right now, as a matter of fact.”
No, no, she would not let that happen . She gestured toward the DNA. “Just do the test and then…” Sign the papers. “Look, Nate, you don’t want a child and you know it. How could you raise him? How would you guide him in life? When would you spend time with him? He needs parenting and I’m…I’m not his mother, but I love him dearly and deeply and the…the ‘lifestyle’ I’m giving him is normal, safe, and sane. I know I don’t have a lot of money, but I give him love and attention and…” Damn it, her voice cracked. “Please don’t use your family power to take my little boy.” She stood up, driven by the need to plead and beg. Whatever it took to keep Dylan. “Please?”
For what seemed like an eternity, he didn’t answer. But his gaze slipped to the box and swab she’d left on the table. “I’ll think about it.”
Right now, that was all she could ask.
Chapter Three
After a sleepless night, Nate texted Elliott Becker and they made plans to meet at the resort for an early run on the beach. When Nate jogged onto the hard-packed sand, he found Becker stretching, along with Zeke Nicholas, and neither one of them looked too happy with him.
“What the hell happened to you yesterday?” Zeke demanded.
“You wouldn’t believe it if I told you,” he said, though he’d already decided to confide in his friends. They were trustworthy and smart, plus they knew his family situation well enough to appreciate the magnitude of the problem.
“Some hot chick shows up and you disappear,” Zeke said.
“Like you two haven’t been MIA since you met Mandy and Frankie,” Nate shot back, easing into a slow stretch to prepare for their run.
“We didn’t ditch the game to get laid.” Becker shook out his legs and started a slow jog.
If only he had, Nate thought. That would be so much easier to explain and so much more in character. Except, he wasn’t that guy anymore.
“So who is this girl, Nate?” Zeke asked. “I saw her talking to Frankie at the end of the press conference, but no one else knew her.”
Becker elbowed him. “Bet Nate knows her now. What bed did you leave her in this morning?”
“She’s at home with”—my son—”a little boy.”
Zeke threw him a surprised look. “She has a kid?”
“Long story.” And Nate wasn’t ready to de
lve into it all yet. Instead, he let his sneakers hit the sand near the water and picked up the pace. With his eye on the horizon, he let the morning sun warm his muscles.
“Better watch your step, Mr. Ivory,” Becker said, slowing down to get next to Nate. “Zeke and I were just saying there’s something dangerous to bachelors in the air down here.”
Yeah, fatherhood. That was dangerous to bachelors. “Looks like it, the way you two fell like a couple of horny high schoolers,” Nate shot back.
Unaffected, Becker and Zeke shared a grin, then looked at Nate like he was the one who’d done something stupid. In a moment, the three of them fell silent long enough to pick up the pace, run to the north end of the bay, turn around and get serious.
“Loser buys breakfast,” Zeke said.
“Screw that,” Becker said. “Loser buys the restaurant.”
Zeke and Nate cracked up, but Becker didn’t wait to hear them laugh at his joke, kicking sand as he sprinted away. Zeke swore under his breath and did the same thing, leaving Nate twenty feet behind them both in less than a few seconds.
Automatically, he took off, the wind whistling in his ears. But he didn’t have it today, watching both of them get way ahead.
Thoughts of his fitful night before rose up and wrecked his speed like they’d wrecked his sleep. Damn, he had to solve this problem or it would wreck his work, too. And he had too much riding on this new stadium project his friends had entrusted him to run to risk having something like this steal his attention.
Still, did he have a son? What did that mean to his life? Could he walk away from that boy? Should he?
And, of course, the eternal question: What would the Colonel do?
As if there could be a question. Nothing, absolutely nothing, mattered more to the Colonel than family. They were, as the old veteran liked to say, his secret weapon in the war of life. Nate knew how his grandfather would act at the possibility of the Ivory DNA floating in anyone’s bloodstream: Claim that child. He’s one of ours.
But how could he? Nate had just begun to get his act together, and, now…this. Nate had jumped on the chance to own and manage a minor-league team, and not just because no one else in the Ivory dynasty had their hands in professional baseball yet. He had to prove himself to his grandfather, and this was his best, and last, chance.