One Wild Night: Magnate's Mistress...Accidentally Pregnant! / Hot Boss, Boardroom Mistress / The Good, the Bad and the Wild

“He’s taking care of a few things for me.” Opening the envelope, his copies of the papers served to Ally this morning slid out in a satisfying bulk of legalese.

“That’s what worries me.” Marge’s brows drew together in a concerned frown. Marge, too, had received the news of the baby with a mixture of joy and shock, and had tossed in an “Aren’t you glad you called her?” as well. But in the three days since he’d returned from Savannah and shared the news, Marge had hovered about, watching with great interest and asking vague, random questions about his plans. As she closed the office door and settled in the chair across from his desk, he assumed he was about to find out why.

Marge squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. “Your grandfather is going to either kill me or fire me but, either way, I’m not just going to stand by quietly again.”

He knew his grandfather would do no such thing, and he knew Marge knew it, as well. “Again?”

“It wasn’t my place to get involved before. I was still new here and figured there was a lot more going on than I knew about. But after seeing how it’s turned out…” Marge stopped and shook her head. “Porter talks to me, and he’s simply bubbling over with the idea of a great-grandchild. And if he’s called in that shark Dennison, he’s falling back on the same dirty tricks he and your father—God rest his soul—used years ago on your poor mother.”

“My poor mother?” It was all he could do not to laugh at the turn of phrase. “My mother got exactly what she wanted in the divorce—freedom.”

“And I’m telling you that wasn’t what Elise wanted at all. You were too young to understand at the time, but I’d hoped that over the years you would learn the truth. Maybe if Paul had lived, you would have found out, but after he died, Porter closed ranks around you even tighter than before. He’s basically a good man, so I always assumed his behavior was fueled by Paul’s anger and then later his own grief over Paul’s death. But now, I’m not so sure.”

He’d never heard Marge speak a single ill word about Pops, so the clipped words and barely concealed distaste in her voice came as a surprise. Her hesitancy to just spit out whatever was bothering her was also odd. Marge had practically raised him, and she’d never once held back. Obviously, whatever she was stewing about was important.

Marge wasn’t making a lot of sense, but she had his attention nonetheless. “Start at the beginning.”

“Your parents started off with a bang—all fireworks and excitement. Elise was sweet and shy and very sheltered, and she never stood a chance against Paul’s looks and charm and money—something I’m sure you’re familiar with, seeing as you’re him made over.” Marge’s stony facade cracked a little as she smiled at him with pride.

“But that’s neither here nor there.” She waved away the comment. “Unlike you, Paul never could be convinced to take an interest in the business, and Porter indulged his obsession with racing. Paul was always gone—another race, another title, other women—and your mother simply couldn’t continue to put up with it. All she wanted was a simple, amicable divorce.”

“Which my father gave her.”

Marge’s brows went up at the interruption. “At first, yes. Then a couple of years later she met that nice man and wanted to marry him. It wasn’t a problem until she told your father she’d be moving to California after the wedding and they’d need to work out a new custody agreement. I think that was the day your grandfather finally went gray-headed from the news. Your mother left here in tears. I’ll never forget it. Next thing I knew, that shark Dennison was in the mix and he buried your mother in restraining orders, custody papers and competency hearings. Money buys a lot of legal experts, and Elise wasn’t able to fight back.”

A vague memory stirred of his mother on the phone, holding papers in her hand and crying. He glanced at the stack of papers Dennison had drawn up, and guilt nibbled at him.

“I think you’re beginning to get my point. They just wore her down until she couldn’t fight them anymore. Then, to compound the issue, they let you think she’d willingly walked out of your life.”

No wonder Marge had been the one to comfort him after his mother had left. She’d known the reason why. He felt the slow burn of anger in his stomach, but there was nowhere to direct it. His father was dead. His mother was dead. Marge had done the best she could in the situation. And Pops…well, it was tough to stir up too much anger towards a seventy-year-old man who was all the family he really had left.

“All I’m saying, Chris, is that if those papers are what I think they are—and the look on your face tells me they are—then don’t. Don’t do to Ally and your child what was done to you. You can work this out. She doesn’t deserve it and your child deserves to have its mother.”

Marge sat back in the chair and folded her hands in her lap—the signal that she’d said her piece and was done. Now he was faced with a dilemma. He’d let his temper carry him to this point—Ally had been served with these same papers first thing this morning. At least he had Marge’s information before he had to talk to Ally about them and made the situation worse. In fact, he was surprised he hadn’t had an angry phone call already. It was a lot to think about, and he needed to plan his next move carefully.

The intercom on his desk buzzed, and Grace cut in. “Mr. Chris, there’s a—Hey! Wait!” At the same moment, his office door burst open and Ally stood there, chest heaving and curls rioting around her head. She held a familiar manila envelope in one white-knuckled hand.

“You bastard! How dare you. You—” Anger choked off her words.

Grace was right behind her. “I’m sorry. I tried to stop her.”

Three women looked at him. Grace in apology, Marge in question and Ally…Well, he was just lucky looks couldn’t kill.

So much for time to think and plan.

It was a good thing she didn’t own a gun. It had taken a little while to figure out the legalese, but once the meaning of those papers had sunk in, fury consumed her. Even the unflappable Molly had been taken aback at the extent of the lawsuits.

That fury had only grown during the drive to Charleston, and she’d broken every speed limit in two states in her rush to confront Chris. Now that she was here, she was itching to do him physical harm, especially since he had the gall to look surprised to see her.

She couldn’t form words. Every phrase she’d practiced on the drive was trapped behind the anger choking her.

While the blond-haired assistant sputtered behind her, a matronly woman rose from the chair in front of Chris’s desk. As she turned, Ally saw both concern and, oddly, affection in her eyes.

“You must be Ally. You’re even lovelier in person.” The woman’s kind smile and gentle pat to Ally’s arm as she passed seemed surreal. “Let’s go, Grace.”

The older woman ushered the younger one out and closed the door behind her, leaving Ally alone with Chris, who looked remarkably calm and unperturbed for someone who’d just served enough legal papers on her to put that lawyer’s child through college with the expense.

“Would you like to sit?” Chris came around from behind his desk and gestured toward the chair the woman had just vacated.

Had she crossed into the freaking Twilight Zone? “I don’t know if I should. You’d probably use my decision to sit against me later.”

She couldn’t tell if the slight inclination of Chris’s head was meant to be mocking or conciliatory as he perched on the edge of the desk. The jerk.

“I expected I’d hear from you today. I kind of assumed you’d call, though.”

Molly had suggested the same thing, claiming distance would make it easier to deal with Chris and his outrageous demands. She’d been too mad to listen. “You questioned my competency, my fitness to be a parent. You’re demanding my medical records and serving me with an order to keep me from traveling outside Georgia or South Carolina, and you wonder why I came to confront you in person? Maybe we should be questioning your mental stability.”

“Actually, my attorney did all of that. I just told him I wanted my child and that you were unwilling to come to an agreement.”

How dare he try to blame her for this? “So you decided to serve all this—” she tossed the envelope onto the desk “—on me? It won’t work. I’m not going to let you take custody of this baby. I’ll fight you.”

“But you won’t win.”

A red haze clouded her vision, and she curled her hands into fists, her nails digging into her palms. “This is the twenty-first century. I have rights, and no judge in the universe would rule in your favor. I’m not incompetent.” She lifted her chin in defiance. That much she was sure of. She was the poster child of competency.

“Maybe not, but it’ll still cost you buckets of money to prove it.”

All the air left her lungs at his matter-of-fact pronouncement, but Chris just shrugged. “I hate to be the one to break this to you, but it doesn’t really matter if I can do half of what’s in that envelope. My lawyers will serve you with motion after motion, and you’ll be forced to respond to each one.”

The possibility of a long, legal battle sobered her. It wouldn’t matter if she was in the right; the repercussions would be horrific—not only on her, but on her family, on Molly, on the baby. Especially on the baby.

“Zillion-dollar endorsement deals will buy a lot of legal expertise, Ally.”

Dear God, he was right. She didn’t have the money to fight. She’d be bankrupt just responding to a fraction of the motions in that envelope. And if she couldn’t fight him, would he win simply by default? Her stomach dropped. She’d made a horrific mistake in angering him, and she’d walked straight into this mess with her pride and anger. But what could she do now?

Chris seemed to realize when that last thought crystallized for her. He indicated for her to sit again, and took the other chair. “Maybe now you’ll be more open to negotiation.”

Negotiation? Just the two of them? She looked carefully for the trap, but Chris’s face was the picture of friendliness and conciliation. Oh, she’d love to kill him. “You mean to tell me…You did this to…This was all just scare tactics?” Hesitant relief now mingled with her earlier anger, and the emotional toll left her drained as her head spun. As much as she’d like to turn on her heel and march out of there, she needed to sit.

“No, not just scare tactics. If we can’t come to a workable solution, I will do whatever it takes. Hopefully, it won’t come to that.”

She tried to sort her scrambled thoughts, but those blue eyes locked on hers didn’t help the process. She’d spent the past three days trying to figure out what to do, and she wasn’t any closer to a solution than she was when Chris had stormed off her front porch. Trying to balance what was right for the baby with what would be good for them both in the long run…Chris’s arrival had thrown all of her carefully made plans into the wind.

Then those papers had arrived and she hadn’t been able to think at all. Chris’s sudden willingness to be reasonable just brought back all of her earlier problems—this time coupled with the suspicion she wasn’t going to like these negotiations.

Anger had kept her not-just-in-the-morning sickness at bay so far today, but as it ebbed, nausea swept back in. She fumbled in her purse for the bag of saltine crackers stashed there. She nibbled slowly on one, grateful for the stalling tactic, as Chris frowned. Then he left, returning a minute later with a paper cup.

“Ginger ale. It should help.”