Roberts, Sarah - His Sugar Baby (Siren Publishing Allure) Page 24

  “Have you talked to her? Gone to see her?”

  Michael dropped his hands and looked up at his friend. Despair weighted his chest. He shook his head. “She won’t take my calls, won’t answer my emails. I–I don’t want to make things worse by showing up at her door. Like I’m some stalker.” He didn’t bother to mention the fact that he wasn’t even supposed to know her address. That would open a discussion that he didn’t want, one that would expose how truly twisted he really was.

  “What are you going to do?”

  Michael shrugged helplessly. He spread his hands wide between his knees. “I don’t know.”

  Darryl cleared his throat. “If you want, I can go see her for you. I can talk to her. Take a letter, maybe.”

  Michael was deeply appreciative of the offer. He knew Darryl’s concern for him was genuine. They had always had each other’s backs, but this time he wasn’t going to let his best friend wade into his mess. “Thanks. But I’ve got to handle this one on my own. Somehow.”

  “Maybe it’s time you talked to Morgan.”

  “I’ve thought of that.” Michael passed a hand over his face. “Shit. I’m totally screwed.”

  “Yeah, well, you always were screwed up.”

  “Thanks for your support.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  * * * *

  Cathy walked through the small apartment. It was empty of any reminders of her time there, yet her memories were vivid, particularly those of the last good days together with Chloe.

  The week before, she had asked her sister and some of her closest friends to help her clean out the dingy apartment and to box up her own and Chloe’s things. It had been a very emotional day because it marked a milestone, and it had taken a huge toll on her. There had been little enough to move or to go into storage, just Chloe’s bedroom set and a few boxes. Everything else, Cathy gave away or donated. Winter’s clothing and accessories were among the first things to go. Cathy wanted nothing to do with any of it. She didn’t want any reminders of that closed chapter of her life.

  She wasn’t going to be seeing Michael Lambert again.

  Her decision had bothered both her sister and her best friend. In fact, Vicky had the gall to challenge her that she wasn’t thinking straight, what with all of the changes taking place in her life. She had urged her to wait and see what might come of her relationship with Michael. “He has a right to know that he’s going to be a father, Cathy.”

  “I have to agree, Cathy.” Pam’s expression was troubled. “Of course we understand that it’s just too soon for you to be thinking of a serious relationship, but Chloe is making wonderful progress. You’ve got time to think things through, at least for a few months, until the baby comes.”

  Cathy never confided to either of them what had caused the breakup between her and Michael or what the true parameters of their relationship had been. She tried not to feel resentful toward them for not wholeheartedly supporting her decision.

  She pressed her hand against her stomach. The bouts of nausea had become familiar. Pam was on her case constantly, telling her that she had to eat, that she was losing too much weight, and that she had to pace herself. Reluctantly, her thoughts turned again on what Pam and Vicky had said. Were they right? Was her judgment too clouded by her feelings?

  Cathy shook her head, tightening her lips. Michael had caused her considerable pain. She could not trust him. She could not open herself up to him again.

  Out of the blue, she unwillingly remembered what he had said about his father, that he didn’t understand how anyone could abandon a child. “Damn it!” She knew intuitively that he would want to be a father to their child. She sighed. She couldn’t deprive him of that.

  She would have to tell him about the baby. But not now. Not for a while.

  Cathy shook herself free of her reflections. She turned on her heel and walked swiftly to the front door. It was time to turn in her key. She had finished her inspection of the apartment. There was nothing left. It had been swept clean.

  * * * *

  Michael agonized over what further action he should take. He had tried for three more days to contact her. It had taken everything he had in him to place those calls. But he had done it because he was impelled to do so.

  He had spent hours pacing like a caged animal. Several times he picked up his cell again, but each time, he stopped before putting the call through. He already got that she would not answer. He had left voice mails. Stupid, senseless messages. He had no real idea what he could possibly say to her, unable to articulate it even in his own mind. Emotion kept choking him up. If she had ever answered one of his calls, she would undoubtedly have hung up before he managed to find his voice.

  Michael could not shake himself free of his indecision. He paced the house some more, unable to think about anything else. After the conversation with Darryl, he called the office with some lame excuse for his absence. Since he was the creator of a very lucrative software program, his explanation was accepted without question. In fact, the message was relayed by his administrative assistant that one of the board members had expressed the sentiment that he could take all the time he needed to explore his creative genius. He saw his partner’s hand in that. Darryl was obviously covering for him, which made it all the easier to duck his business responsibilities.

  An unusually heavy ice storm blew in overnight, making him feel even more like he was imprisoned. When Michael couldn’t take his own company anymore, he flung on a coat and grabbed his keys. It was time to make a move, any move.

  He would go to the hospital. There was a good chance that she would be there.

  He was relieved that he had at least decided on a course of action.

  When he showed up at her daughter’s hospital room, though, Michael knew she would be furious. But it was a gamble he had to take. He would beg her for a hearing.

  He still didn’t know what he could say to her. Bleakly, he recognized the truth. There was no getting around it. He had betrayed her trust. But he figured groveling would be a decent start.

  Yeah, groveling was good.

  Sand had been scattered over the bridges and roads to give motorists safer passage. Michael barely noticed the degraded driving conditions. He was just anxious to have his conversation with Winter over with. Over and over in his mind, he questioned what he could say. None of it seemed adequate.

  During his self-imposed leave from work, Michael had gone on the Internet to find the website that Vicky Sotero had mentioned. The long history of Chloe Somerset’s fight with leukemia had been starkly laid out. Grimly, he had read it with his lips tightened to a thin line. He now knew about Chloe Somerset, had a hint of her personality, seen pictures of her with her big brown eyes and gap-toothed grin. She was only seven years old. No one should have to go through what Chloe had, he thought. No parent should have to endure that hell. The amazed anger he had felt toward Chloe’s biological father, upon learning of the man’s refusal to try to help the little girl, deepened to cold rage.

  The weather had turned gray, threatening cold rain when Michael arrived at the hospital. He parked and walked inside. He already knew the room number from his inquiry at the information desk on his last visit, and he rode the elevator upstairs. Carrying a small bouquet of white snowdrops that he had bought at a florist, he walked to the room. He hesitated before opening the door, not certain what he would say if he came face-to-face with any other visitors. He did hope to find Winter, though. If she would give him even a couple of minutes, he’d take them. She would have to see that he was sincere.

  The flower bouquet gave him an excuse for being there.

  Quietly, he pushed open the door, entered, and swiftly glanced around. Bunches and bunches of helium balloons floated gently in the air currents, bobbing against their tethers on chair arms. A colorful banner was taped on a white wall. There was no one else in the room except the single occupant. He was disappointed, but then curiosity impelled him softly across the floor. Stand
ing beside the bed, he looked down at Winter’s daughter. The girl was asleep, her tiny lips slightly parted. Her little head was covered by a silky pink skullcap. She looked very small and very fragile. Tubes were attached to her. A heart monitor pinged metallically.

  Tucked under her thin arm was a teddy bear dressed in a red velvet dress and a lacy overskirt.

  Michael remembered when Winter had bought the plush toy. Guilt swept through him, followed by a heavy conviction of shame that settled in his chest.

  Vividly, he recalled what Winter had said to him. “Yes, what you offer will help me meet those expenses.” She had beggared herself. She had prostituted herself. Everything she had done, she had done in sacrifice for her daughter. There had been no sacrifice too great for her to make. She had been driven by a love greater than her own dignity or life.

  In Michael’s mind, the contrast to his own life could not have been more brutal.

  Michael bent and gently laid the delicate white bouquet at the base of the clean white bedding.

  “Hello. Who are you?”

  He quickly straightened and stepped back. He found that he was being scrutinized by a pair of sleep-hazed, intelligent brown eyes. He felt awkward to have been caught by the little girl. “I’m Michael.”

  The little girl pushed herself into a sitting position. Her interested gaze never left his face. “Oh, you’re Mommy’s boyfriend.”

  Michael felt heat slash across his cheekbones. She had talked to her daughter about him? That was a distinct surprise. A nice one. He cleared his throat. “I guess I am. And you’re Chloe.”

  She nodded and smiled. “The flowers are be-u-ti-ful. Thank you very much, Michael.”

  “You’re welcome. They’re snowdrops.” He winced at how stilted he sounded. But the little girl didn’t seem to notice his discomfiture.

  “Snowdrops. That’s a pretty name. My birthday was yesterday. I’m eight now.” She held up five fingers plus three to illustrate. “Paul had a singing clown come for my birthday.”

  That explained all of the balloons, but it was not what captured his attention. “Paul?”

  “My mommy’s boss. He’s nice. I can tell he likes my mommy.” Chloe smiled. Her brown eyes twinkled up at him. “But I think Mommy likes you best.”

  Michael couldn’t help the grin that tugged at his lips. “Thank you. I’m glad. I’m not her favorite person right now, though.”

  Chloe’s eyes widened. She leaned toward him and whispered, “Did you do something to make her mad?”

  Michael nodded. He leaned over and whispered back. “I had a secret. It was bad that I didn’t tell her about it until now.”

  “Oh.” Chloe settled back against her pillows, a thoughtful expression on her face. She glanced up at him again. “Maybe she won’t stay mad very long.”

  “I hope not. I’m glad I met you, Chloe. I have to go now, okay?”

  She nodded, flashing a gap-toothed smile. “Okay. I’ll tell Mommy not to be mad at you anymore.”

  Michael laughed. “Thanks. But maybe you should let me try to apologize first.”

  Chloe nodded. She wriggled back down on the pillow, adjusting the teddy bear. She waved its furry arm at him. “Bye.”

  Michael waved back. Then he turned and walked away, feeling more buoyant than he had in a while.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Two days after his visit to the hospital, Michael managed to get an online booking to Denver and flew out. A few hours after arriving at his destination, and after concluding a lengthy meeting with his long-time attorney, Michael let himself into the lovely house that had once been a source of considerable pride to him. He closed the wide front door behind him. He cast a quick glance around at the wide front entry and the adjacent living room. He didn’t recognize several pieces of furniture and the wall colors were different. But then, what did he expect? Morgan had always liked to decorate, he thought.

  “Michael?” Considerable surprise emphasized the syllables of his name.

  Michael looked up. His wife stood poised at the top of the curved rise of stairs, one hand resting gracefully on the gleaming mahogany banister. Her eyes were wide, her expression stunned by his unexpected and unheralded appearance.

  “Morgan. We need to talk.” Michael gestured in the direction of the study, which was opposite the living room. Without another word, he walked across the entry to open the polished wood-paneled door. He didn’t wait to see whether she would come down the stairs and follow him. He knew that she would.

  Michael entered, leaving the door open behind him. He crossed the spacious room. Beneath the custom-draped windows there was a credenza, and on top of it, as there had always been, was a silver tray, holding a liquor decanter and high-ball glasses. He unstopped the cut-glass decanter and poured himself a generous drink.

  He heard the quick, angry steps that crossed the entry. There was a stir of air, and then the door to the study slammed shut. Setting down the decanter, he turned.

  “I don’t know who the hell you think you are, barging in here and barking at me like that!”

  His gaze traveled slowly from his wife’s belligerent expression, down over her trim athletic form, and back again to her face. Indifferently, he noted that she was still beautiful, except that her lush mouth was set in an angry line. She had folded her arms across her generous chest and her toe tapped soundlessly on the wool Gulistan carpet.

  “Well, Michael?” she snapped.

  “I have filed for divorce,” he said baldly. It had been a hell of a morning. Actually, it had been a hell of a week. He swirled the aged scotch before lifting the glass to his lips. The aroma of the liquor hit his nostrils, triggering a kaleidoscope of unpleasant memories. He set down the glass, untouched, with a clink.

  His abrupt announcement had caught his wife off guard. She stared speechlessly, but the sound of the glass hitting the silver tray roused her. “Divorce! Don’t make me laugh!” She tossed her platinum hair over her shoulder with a derisive snort.

  Michael paid no attention to his estranged wife’s hostility. It was no more than what he had expected. “Bennett will be contacting you. You’ll probably want to retain your own attorney.”

  She narrowed china-blue eyes. Her pretty mouth thinned. “You’re bluffing! You know that I’ll fight to keep the house. I’ll claim abandonment. I will take you for everything you’ve got!”

  They both knew that she had uttered the ultimate threat. Possession of the house had been the only thing that had ever really stopped Michael from putting an end to things before. He was the one who had envisioned the house, commissioned and worked with the architectural firm on every detail to bring a cherished dream to reality. When things had unraveled between him and Morgan, he had not wanted to risk losing what the house represented. He now knew, after all of this time, that it had been a hollow dream, because it had been built on the rotting foundation of their marriage. The house had also been the bludgeon that she had wielded to retain his name and a portion of his income. None of it was important anymore. He merely shrugged. “So what?”

  “So what? Have you lost your mind?” Her voice rose stridently. She stared at him in shocked disbelief.

  Michael ignored her question. It was quite possibly true. He was overturning his life for a woman who might refuse to ever see him again. But that was something that he would never discuss with this woman. “Are you still with Peter?”

  Morgan threw back her head as though struck. Then defiance hardened her expression. “Of course I am.”

  Michael leaned his buttocks against the hard length of the credenza. He had acquired the wife and the perfect house. He had reasoned he would one day have the family, too. He regarded her with detached curiosity. “If we had had a child, Morgan, do you think it would have made any difference? For us?”

  She snorted again. “You know that we agreed we didn’t want any kids.”

  “It was you who actually made that decision,” he reminded her in a steely voice.

&nbs
p; Her slim nostrils flared. “You’ll never forgive me for that, will you?”

  “I don’t know. I’m going to try.” Michael answered as honestly as he was able. The painful history between them had tainted his life. He had carried the poison around for too long. If he couldn’t come to terms with what Morgan had done, if he couldn’t forgive her for her betrayal, how could he ever expect Catherine to forgive him?

  She advanced on him, a speculative gleam in her eyes. “Michael, what’s going on? We’ve had our differences, but…”

  He raised a brow. The corner of his mouth lifted as he deliberately called up his cold-bastard’s smile. “Differences, Morgan?” he asked softly.

  She had the grace to flush but waved a graceful hand in annoyed dismissal. “All right, so we haven’t exactly had the happiest relationship. We barely tolerated each other. It’s been that way for a long time. It suits me—and you!—so don’t tell me anything different! You’ve probably had someone on the side for years, but I’ve never cared. Just like you never cared that I—” She stopped abruptly, biting her lip.

  “I did care, once. A great deal,” Michael said in a neutral voice. He felt a twinge of regret for what could have been then it was gone, taking along with it much of the ancient bitterness and anger. “But you’re right about this much. I got out of the habit a long time ago.” That truth stung. Her eyes flashed. He coolly watched her obvious struggle to retain control of her temper.

  When she finally trusted herself to speak, her voice was icy. “Exactly, Michael! So what has changed? Why now? Why have you filed for divorce?” Sarcasm dripped in her voice. “What happened, did someone die?”

  Michael flinched. He instantly smoothed his expression but not quickly enough.

  Morgan’s own expression subtly altered. “Michael…” She started to reach out, to touch his arm.