Billionaire's Baby Promise

Oh, who was she kidding? Her father had never considered anyone else’s needs. The only thing that mattered was what he decided God had meant for him to do.

“Christine? Are you okay?”

It was Sue, a teller who was Christine’s best work friend. How long had she been in there? She dried her eyes on industrial-grade toilet paper and opened the door. “I’m fine.”

But even as she said it, Sue gasped and recoiled in horror before throwing her arms around Christine’s shoulders and hugging her. “Oh, honey—who died?”

Christine almost laughed because if she didn’t, she would start crying again. “It’s nothing.”

The ramifications of her father’s latest campaign began to spin out for her. The bank’s owner, Mr. Whalen, would not appreciate this sort of attention. She might have to uproot her life. Go somewhere new and start over.

The prospect was daunting. With what money? She had a couple hundred socked away in the bank, which was not a heck of a lot. She didn’t want to have to give up her life, her identity—to say nothing of her privacy and sanity—just so her father could lose a campaign again.

What was she going to do?

One of the reasons she had moved to Denver was that fewer people knew who she was. Murray was just another last name here.

So Christine did what she had to do—she lied again. “I’m hormonal and Marie is teething and I’m so tired.” Not that it was much of a lie. She merely left out the bits about political intrigue.

“Here, let me fix you up.” Sue produced her purse, which was sixty-three percent makeup. Christine felt a moment of longing for those days. Currently, her purse consisted of diapers, wet wipes, bibs, crayon stubs, random Cheerios and things she didn’t want to think about. Glamour and beauty were low on her list right now.

Still, there was something comforting about letting Sue apply under-eye concealer and powder her face, especially since Sue was relatively close in coloring to Christine and was only a few inches shorter—they’d been able to swap clothes a few times.

“Am I in trouble, do you think?” She had no idea how long she had been hiding in the ladies’ room. All she knew was that Brian White and Clarence Murray and the media couldn’t reach her in there. If she did not have to pick up Marie tonight from day care, she would never leave the ladies’ room. This place was her sanctuary.

Except for the small detail that she was still at work. “There’s some guy out there waiting to talk to you.” Christine must have looked stricken because Sue quickly added, “He’s not mad or anything. He’s hot. Tall, dark—extremely handsome. I didn’t see a ring.”

It was all she could do to get her mouth closed. “You checked him out?” But even as she said that, she felt the weight on her shoulders lighten ever so slightly. After Brian White had ruined her life, she’d looked him up on the internet. He was not tall. He was not dark. No one would ever accuse him of being handsome. The man was short, pudgy and balding.

Which meant that whoever was waiting for her at her desk was not a campaign manager representing her father.

“Of course,” Sue said. “Wait until you see him. I bet he’s a male model. Maybe even a movie star—he’s that hot.”

Christine snorted. She didn’t need hot—she needed help. Real, tangible help. She needed someone who would get Brian White and her father to leave her alone. She needed someone who could help her protect Marie. She needed brains and brawn. And she needed enough money to pay for all of that.

She might as well ask for a unicorn for her birthday. “We don’t give out loans based on hotness.”

“We should. There,” Sue added. “You look human again.”

Christine hugged her friend and strengthened her mental resolve. “Thank you. I better get out there and meet Mr. Hot.”

If she couldn’t get through one day at a time, she’d take it one hour at a time. One minute at a time.

Sixty seconds. She could do this.

God, she hoped.

Two (#ub25c68ad-0ef7-5b4b-bc0c-b002dc4257be)

Her courage fortified and her under-eye bags hidden, Christine headed to her desk. She rounded the corner and pulled up short—Sue had not been lying. The gentleman waiting for her was beyond hot. His dark hair was perfectly slicked back, giving him a smooth look. And was that suit custom-made?

Even though he was casually sitting in the chair in front of her desk, one leg crossed over the other, she got the impression of a knife—sharp and potentially dangerous. When he noticed her, he came to his feet like a cat uncoiling from a nap. She revised her earlier opinion. He was not potentially dangerous—he was dangerous.

“Ms. Murray.” There was a tone of the familiar in his voice and she felt herself gritting her teeth. Did he know who she was?

“Welcome to the First City Bank of Denver.” Because she was at work, she extended her hand in a polite businessperson’s handshake. “And you are?”

He stared down at her for a moment and she almost got lost in his light brown eyes. Up close, she realized that his hair wasn’t black—there was a hint of red that lightened the color to a deep mahogany. It was a striking look on the man.

Against her will, her pulse began to flutter in her neck. Men generally did not look at her with interest. She was short and chunky and she couldn’t be one hundred percent sure she didn’t have oatmeal stains from Marie’s breakfast on her shirt.

“Lee.” He slid his hand into hers but instead of the acceptable three-pump handshake, he just held her hand, palm to palm. “Daniel Lee.” As he said his name—slowly and carefully—he studied her.

What was this? Was he checking to see what her reaction would be?

She swallowed nervously. Was she supposed to know who he was? Something about him seemed familiar. Maybe he was a movie star? Or at least a cable TV star? But his name didn’t ring a bell. He was so incredibly gorgeous that it was making it hard for her to think.

She should have stayed in the ladies’ room. “How can I help you today, Mr. Lee?” she said, taking sanctuary behind her desk. She felt better with four feet of wood between them.

He stood for a moment too long, staring down at her. Nervously, she lifted her gaze back to him. The suit was most definitely custom-made—the shirt was, also. Those trappings did little to disguise the raw power of his body. Again, she thought of a dagger in a perfectly made sheath. He was the sort of man who always got his way.

The sort she avoided like the plague. Because men like him never cared for women like her and they certainly never cared for babies like Marie. Christine was tired of being collateral damage.

She motioned toward the chair. She couldn’t handle him looming over her.

He sat, somehow making her standard-issue office chair look as regal as a throne. “I don’t think the question is what you can do for me, Ms. Murray. The question is what I can do for you.”

She needed to start carrying pepper spray. “I’m not interested.”

One corner of his mouth—not that she was staring—curved into a deadly smile. Christine was both simultaneously thankful that Sue had fixed her face and upset that she had. If only Christine looked like she was having the worst day of her life, this man might not be staring at her quite so intently. “Are you sure? You don’t even know why I’m here.”

This was something that was different from two years ago. Then, when the reporters had first started showing up at her home and following her to work in Kansas City, she hadn’t been ready for it. Footage of her stammering and looking petrified was all over the internet. Even she had to admit that she looked guilty as sin in those videos.

But she learned how to brace herself for the attacks and how to keep her face relatively calm. She wasn’t the same clueless girl she’d been back then. And besides, she already had advance warning.

“Who sent you? My father?”

That dangerous smile fell away from his face. Ha, Christine thought. She’d caught him off guard and that counted for something.

“No. But I’m going to make an educated guess that you received a phone call today—probably from Brian White.” Although she didn’t want to react, she could feel the blood draining out of her face. This guy knew who Brian White was? “Yes,” he said in a voice that might have been gentle coming from anyone else. “I can see that you did. I was hoping to get to you before he did.”

“Who do you work for?” And as much as she wanted to sound strong and brave, her voice came out shaky. Because how much did one woman have to endure?

Something flashed over his eyes and if she didn’t know better, she would’ve said it was guilt. “I am the executive vice-president and chief marketing officer of the Beaumont Brewery. I do not work for your father, nor do I work for any potential opponents of his. I have no interest in forcing you to publicly...” He waved a hand, as if he could pull the right words out of thin air. “Repudiate your life choices, nor do I have any interest in using them against you.”

Well. At least he hadn’t called Marie a sin. Although “life choice” wasn’t a huge step up.

Wait. Was that why he looked familiar? He was one of those bastards—Beaumont’s bastards. His brother or half brother—she had no hope of ever keeping the Beaumonts straight—had taken over the brewery. She’d only been in Denver for a few months when that happened. And besides, she didn’t drink anymore.