Millionaire's Calculated Baby Bid

“I couldn’t give a damn.”

“No, but your father does.” He gestured to the courtyard and the small sculpture of a woman and child that Hugh Kelley had almost gone to jail for. It had been a gift from the Harringtons, part of their courtship when Ethan took over the company. They’d hated him for buying controlling shares in Harrington Corp., but the company was floundering under their care, and because they still wanted to be involved, they’d forced themselves to act nicely. If Ethan had known the rare sculpture belonged to a family member, he probably would’ve rejected the piece. For as much as he wanted to be accepted and welcomed into the old money of Minneapolis, he hated family drama. He hadn’t been too keen on having Hugh Kelley arrested for wanting the sculpture back, either, but he also wouldn’t allow breaking and entering at his company for any reason.

“Why are you doing this?” Mary asked, her cat eyes inspecting him as though he were a pesky rodent. “Why would you care if my father has that sculpture back? You have what you want.”

A pink blush stained her cheeks. She was so beautiful, and her temper and passion only made her more so. She was kidding herself and him if she thought they were done with each other. Two things had come out of their nights together: a baby and the desire to have her in his bed again. Both would take time, but he’d get what he wanted.

“I want to be there,” he said simply. “I want to be around you and see what’s happening to you. I want to see this child grow. That’s all.” When she said nothing, he moved on. “I have several parties to give and to attend over the next month. And one trip—”

“Trip?” she interrupted.

“To Mackinac Island.”

“Not a chance.”

“You don’t travel with clients?”

“You’re not a client.”

“Listen, if it were simply a business meeting, I’d go alone, but I have to stay a few days and I’m planning on throwing a party as well.”

“And you could find someone to help you with that anywhere,” she said. “Some woman you know? And I’m sure you know several.”

His mouth twitched with amusement. “I do.”

“A girlfriend.”

“No.”

“How about a call girl then?” she suggested, flashing him a sarcastic grin.

“I want the best. A professional—and NRR has a sterling reputation. And, quite honestly, it wouldn’t hurt having a Harrington by my side to—”

“Right,” she said quickly, then shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

She was so damn stubborn. “Do you know the circles I run in?”

“I could guess.”

“The kind that are really good for your business.”

She shrugged, shook her head again.

He stepped closer, studied her, then grinned. “You’re afraid of what might happen if you’re around me.”

“Try concerned.” She walked away, over to the bar where she poured herself a glass of iced tea. “Listen, Mr. Curtis, I won’t deny my attraction to you, just like I won’t deny my abhorrence of you, either.”

“I appreciate your honesty. But that’s still—”

“A no.”

“Well your refusal doesn’t take away from the fact that I need help. I could ask one of your partners—”

She fairly choked on her tea. “No.”

Ethan hesitated. It was the first time he’d seen her ruffled during their conversation. Sex didn’t shake her up emotionally, and neither did money, business or the subject of her father, but just mentioning her partners at NRR had her sweating.

“You have two partners, isn’t that right?” he asked casually.

“They know nothing about you…or this,” she said in a caustic tone. “And I want it to stay that way.”

“I see.”

She put down her glass and stood at the side of the bar. “You want your eyes on me all the time…”

“For starters.”

She nodded slowly, as though she were thinking. “All right, Mr. Curtis. You get what you want once again. I’ll take the job.” She turned away then, and walked to the elevator. “But understand something,” she added as the door slid open. “What happened at the lake will never happen again.”

“Whatever you say, Mary,” Ethan said with a slow grin as the elevator door closed.

It was seven o’clock on the nose when Mary walked into the little Craftsman house at 4445 Gabby Street. She’d grown up there, happy as any girl could be with two parents who adored her and told her so every day. With two such gentle souls guiding her, she should have been a softer, sweeter personality, but clearly there was too much Harrington in her. Instead of hugs, she loved to argue and battle and win. Today at Ethan Curtis’s office she’d done all three fairly well. She’d won her dad’s freedom, though she’d paid a high price for it.

Mary walked through the house, then out the screen door. She knew where her father was. During sunset, Hugh Kelley always sat in the backyard, his butt in dirt and under a shifting sky, he patted the newly sprung string bean plants as though they were his children. He was sixty-five, but lately he looked closer to seventy-five, far from the strapping man he used to be. Today was no different. He looked old and weathered, his gray hair too long in the back. For the millionth time Mary wondered if he would ever recover from her mother’s long illness and death and the arrest that followed. She hoped her news would at the very least remove a few layers of despair.

He glanced up from his beans and grinned. “Never been late in your life, have you, lass?”

Her father’s Irish brogue wrapped around her like a soft sweater. “If there was one thing you taught me, Pop, it was punctuality.”

“What a load of crap.”

Mary laughed and plunked down beside him in the dirt.

“Watch yourself there.” Hugh gestured to the ground. “That suit will be black as coal dust by the time you leave.”

“I’m all right, Pop.”

He snapped a bean from its vine and handed it to her.

“And you know I haven’t been on time a day in my life. Neither had your mother. Not you, though. Born right on your due date, you were. Neither your mother nor I ever understood where your timeliness came from. Well, no place we’d admit to, certainly.”

Hugh wasn’t being cryptic, just matter-of-fact. The rift between Mary’s father and her grandparents was old news—though old news he loved to drum up again and again. Not that she blamed him. The Harringtons had never approved of him, and had made him feel like an Irish peasant from day one. Mary just wished things could’ve been different all around. Bitterness and resentment were such a waste of time.

She took a bite of her bean as the late-summer breeze played with her hair. “So, I have some news.”

“What’s that, lass?”

“Ethan Curtis has dropped the charges.”