Millionaire's Calculated Baby Bid

Hugh didn’t look surprised. “So my lawyer informs me.”

“You already knew?”

“Yep. Teddy called me half an hour ago.”

Mary studied his expression. Unchanged, tired, defeated. She shook her head. “Why aren’t you happy, relieved, something?”

“I am something.” His pale blue eyes, so like her own, brightened with passion. “I’m pissed off.”

“What? Why?”

“I know you, lass. I know you better than anyone. What did you do to make this happen?”

Her heart jumped into her throat, but she remained cool as steel on the outside. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Mare.”

“Pop, I talked to the man.”

Hugh snorted. “Ethan Curtis is no man. He’s a devil, a demon with no soul.”

Mary was all set to agree when a memory of the cozy room on Lake Richard flashed into her mind. Ethan was a demon, yes, but there was another side to him—a deeply buried side that held a surprising amount of warmth and tenderness. She’d seen it when he’d talked about his child.

She closed her eyes. His child.

“Well he’s decided to let it go,” Mary forced out. “He agreed that the sculpture wasn’t really worth his time and is even willing to give it back to you. After all, it was just a gift from Grandmother, with zero sentimental value to him and—”

“A gift that old woman had no right to give,” Hugh pointed out gruffly.

Mary gave a patient sigh. “I know, Pop.”

The basket beside him strained with vegetables. No doubt he’d been out here picking for a few hours. Lord only knew what he was going to do with it all. “Promise me you’re not in any trouble.”

Mary’s chin lifted. She’d lied, yes, but she’d done what she had to do. She was no more pregnant than a box of rocks, but her father was free, and protecting him was all she cared about right now.

“I have nothing to fear from Ethan Curtis,” she said tightly. As long as he didn’t find out the truth, she amended silently, as she picked up the basket of vegetables and walked inside the house.

Two

Mary wondered for a moment if she’d fallen asleep and was, God forbid, snoring. Every once in awhile NRR got a client who was so dull one or all of the partners would actually find themselves nodding off while discussing contracts.

Today it was Mary’s turn to down a third cup of coffee and pry her eyes open with toothpicks. She shifted in her chair and focused on Ivan Garrison, a new client who had hired her to design a menu for a party he was throwing aboard his yacht, Clara Belle. For the past thirty minutes the forty-year-old wannabe boat captain had been sorrowfully telling Mary that he’d named the boat in honor of his dead wife, who he’d married for her “outstanding boating skill and formidable rack.”

It had taken Mary a good thirty seconds to realize that Ivan was referring to his wife’s chest and another ten seconds to contemplate passing him on to Olivia, since the job mainly consisted of culinary planning. But he was one of those trust-fund jerks who made Olivia’s skin crawl, and the risk of having her abide by NRR’s seventh vow, Do No Harm might be asking too much.

Who knew? If he took Olivia for a ride in his yellow Lamborghini and insisted she call him Captain like he did everyone else, Olivia just might bop him on the head the night before the party and serve him to his guests with an apple in his mouth the next day.

“The date for the regatta gala as you know is the twenty-fifth,” he said, touching the brim of the snow-white captain’s hat he had worn to both meetings. “I’ll have my secretary send over the guest list. Please make sure to refer to me as Captain on the invitation. That’s how my friends and business associates know me.”

Aye aye, sir! Mary nodded. “Of course.”

“I’d like to really pack this party. We always get enough entrants for the race, but the galas aren’t as well attended.”

“We could make it as a charity event,” Mary suggested.

“I’ll think about that.” He leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Now, have I told you how I came to be called Captain?”

“No.” If Ivan was going to come around every week, she’d have to invest in some NoDoz.

“As you know, it’s not my given name,” he said. “When I was six—wait, no, closer to eight, my nanny, her name was Alisia and she was the one who bathed me—”

“Excuse me. I’m sorry to interrupt.”

Mary glanced up and smiled thankfully at her partner. “No problem, Olivia. We were just finishing up here.”

Olivia acknowledged Ivan with a quick nod. “Hello, Captain.” Then she turned back to Mary. “Your next client is here.”

“I don’t have—” Mary stopped herself. What the heck was she doing? Her savior, Olivia had clearly noticed her drooping eyelids and coffee-stained teeth, maybe even heard the beginning of the creepy nannyand-the-eight-year-old’s-bath story and was giving her a way out.

“We can discuss the rest on the phone, Captain,” Mary said, standing and shaking his hand. “Or if you’d prefer, we could e-mail.”

The captain sighed wistfully. “My Clara Belle loved the e-mail. Did I tell you she had twelve computers, one for every bathroom? She wanted to stay connected. I haven’t had the heart to remove them.”

After one more minute of commiserating about the impracticality of expensive technology in damp places, Mary told Ivan where to find the little captain’s room and walked toward the lobby with Olivia.

Mary released a weary sigh. “Thank you so much.”

“For what?” Olivia asked.

“The ‘your next client is here’ save. I’m thankful for the business, but sadly Ivan is only eccentric and strange in an uninteresting way. There’s nothing worse.”

Olivia looked confused. “Mary, I’m always happy to help with tedious clients, but in this case, you really do have someone waiting.” She nodded toward the man sitting in one of the lobby’s artfully distressed brown leather chairs.

Mary’s breath caught at the sight of him, and she wanted to kick herself for the girlish reaction, but she walked toward him instead. Ethan Curtis wasn’t the kind of handsome you’d see on the pages of a Businessman Weekly. No three-piece suits or slicked-back hair, no calm, refined demeanor. He looked edgy and ready to pounce, his severe blue eyes alert and ready for a battle. Dressed in tailored pants and an expensive, perfectly cut black shirt, his large frame ate up the leather chair as around them the air crackled with a potent mixture of desire and conflict.

“We didn’t have an appointment today, Mr. Curtis,” Mary said in a gently caustic tone.

Amusement flashed in his eyes. “Yes, I know. But this is urgent.”

Obviously she wasn’t getting rid of him anytime soon. “Let’s go into my office.”

“No. I need to take you somewhere.”

“Impossible,” she told him sharply.

“Nothing’s impossible.”

“I can’t.” Didn’t he see that Olivia was still lurking around? If she overheard them, she’d get the wrong idea…well, the right idea, and Mary didn’t want that. “I have insane amounts of work—”