Affair with the Rebel Heiress (2010) (7 page)

"You are," she said simply.

"I don't understand." Jonathon frowned, looking down at his laptop as if he expected it to sprout flowers. "Why did you ask to meet with us alone if you weren't worried about your end of the deal?"

"I thought you'd be more honest in private." Which was also true and was as good an excuse as any. "I don't care how much money I walk away with. I don't care what kind of golden parachutes you offer to the board members. I care about whether or not the stores
themselves survive. When this is all over with, is there going to be a Biedermann's in nearly every mall in America? Are there going to be any of them left?"

The question hung in the air between them. Since they seemed to be waiting for her to say something else, she continued.

"If FMJ gobbles us up, that may solve the immediate problem of our declining stock prices, but that's only part of the problem." She turned to Jonathon. "Our stock price wouldn't be going down if we had strong retail performance. I want to know how you plan to improve that."

She expected Jonathon to answer. After all, he was FMJ's financial genius. However, it was Ford who spoke.

"You're right. For too long, you've been relying on people shopping at your stores because they're already at the mall. However--"

Ford broke off as his cell phone buzzed to life. Reaching into his pocket, he grimaced as he pulled out the phone. "Sorry."

He turned off the volume on the phone, but left it sitting on the conference table by his elbow. "It's not enough..."

Even though he continued talking, her attention wandered for a second. She'd seen the name displayed on the phone when it rang.
Patrice
. What were the names of his sisters? Chelsea, Beatrice and...something else. Certainly not Patrice, though.

Not that it mattered in the least. He probably had the numbers of dozens of women stored in his phone. Hundreds maybe. It wasn't her business.

She forced her attention back to his words.

"We don't want shoppers to stop in at Biedermann's because they're at the mall. We want to attract them to the mall because there's a Biedermann's there. We need Biedermann's to provide them with services and products that they can't get anywhere else."

"We have strong brand recognition," she protested. "We offer more styles of engagement rings than any other store."

"But engagement rings are a one-time purchase. You need something that will bring customers back again and again."

The phone by his elbow began to vibrate silently. Again she glanced down. This time the name display read Suz.

"You can answer it if you need to," she said.

He frowned as the phone stopped vibrating and the call rolled over to voice mail. "I don't."

"Are you sure? Second call in just a few minutes."

Jonathon was scowling, clearly annoyed. He quirked an eyebrow in silent condemnation when the phone started vibrating again a few seconds later. Rosa this time.

Was that the third sister's name? She couldn't remember.

"Just answer it," Jonathon snapped.

Frowning, Ford stood as he grabbed the phone. "Hey, miha. What's up?" With a slight nod, he excused himself from the room.

For a long time, Kitty and Jonathon sat in silence, the tension taut between them. She suspected he didn't like her any more than she liked him. With his frosty demeanor and calculating gaze, every time she glanced at him she half expected to see little dollar signs where his pupils were.

However, after a few minutes of drumming her nails against the armchair, her patience wore out. Or perhaps her curiosity got the better of her.

"Does he always get so many personal calls at work?"

Jonathon scowled, but she couldn't tell if he was annoyed by the interruption or by her questions. "It's after hours. But his family can be quite demanding."

"Those were all family members?" Maybe she'd misremembered the names. Or perhaps misread them?

Jonathon's scowl deepened. Ah, so he hadn't meant to reveal that.

"I know he has three sisters, but--"

"If you're curious about his family, you should really talk to Ford about it."

And let him know she was scoping out his potential as a father? Not likely.

She met Jonathon's gaze and smiled slowly. "The problem, Mr. Bagdon, is that whenever Ford and I are alone, we end up doing one of two things. Neither of them is conducive to talking about his family."

Mr. Cold-As-Ice Jonathon didn't stammer or blush. Instead, he held her gaze, his lips twisting in an expression that she might have imagined was amusement in a man less dour.

"Interesting," he murmured.

"What?"

"You expected me to be either embarrassed or distracted by your honesty."

"But you're neither?" she asked. What was it with these guys from FMJ that none of them reacted the way normal men did?

"Certainly not enough to be tricked into telling you the information you're fishing for."

Well, if her motives were going to be so transparent, then she might as well be honest. "Very well, then. Let's be frank. I am curious about Ford, but I don't want to ask him about his family."

"Because..." Jonathon prodded.

She smiled. "If there's one thing you and I can both agree upon, it's that the relationship between Ford and I is complicated enough as it is. Yes, I could talk to him about it, but I wasn't merely being provocative with my earlier comment. Every time Ford and I are alone we're either fighting or having sex. I don't see any reason to add emotional confidences into an already volatile mix merely to satisfy my curiosity."

Jonathon studied her for a moment, his expression as nonplussed as it always was. Finally he nodded. "Very well. What do you want to know?"

What didn't she want to know might have been a better question. Ford seemed such a dichotomy. She thought of the easygoing charmer she'd met back in that bar in Texas. He'd seemed such a simple man. Not stupid by any means, but uncomplicated. It was that
quality that had drawn her to him in the first place. With his laid-back charisma and magnetic smile, he'd coaxed his way past her defenses as easily as he'd mollified Dale.

That alone should have made her suspicious. A man that could assess and defuse a tense situation like that was no mere cowboy. Far more telling was the way he'd charmed her. She never let down her defenses. Never let anyone close. She should have known that any man who could tempt her into a quickie in the parking lot was a man to be reckoned with.

What was that saying? Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me.

Well, she was suitably shamed.

Regardless of all that, Ford--this chameleon of a man, whom she barely knew and couldn't possibly hope to understand--was the father of her child. She had no way of anticipating how he would react if he were to learn the truth.

She clearly took too long to formulate her question, because Jonathon leaned forward. "If you've got a question, you should ask now. He might not be on the phone with his family much longer."

Suddenly, she was struck by an awful thought. Her skin went clammy as panic washed over her. Dear God, what if the reason Jonathon didn't want to talk about Ford was because he was married? Choking down her dread, she asked, "By family, you don't mean wife, do you?"

Jonathon laughed, a rusty uncomfortable snort of
derision. "Ford? Married? Hell, no. He's that last man on earth who would cheat on a wife."

She clenched her jaw against her innate dislike of being laughed at. "Well, I hardly know him. How am I supposed to know that?"

Jonathon's smile faded. "Ford's father kept a mistress for the last fifteen years of his life. He had a whole other family he had set up in a house one town over. While he was alive, he kept all those balls in the air himself. But when he passed away, he'd named Ford executor of his will. All of sudden Ford had to find a way to make peace between these two families."

"My goodness. What did Ford do?" She asked the question almost without realizing she'd done it.

"Ford did what he always does." Jonathon's expression had turned from icy to grim. "He smoothed things over."

Okay, so she wasn't exactly an expert on women, seeing as how most of her friends were men. She could only imagine how she would feel if she found out that the man she'd loved had had another family secreted away somewhere. She'd be pissed. No amount of "smoothing things over" would make that all right. And yet, if anyone could do it, she believed Ford could.

"They must just hate each other," she murmured.

"Surprisingly, they don't." Jonathon shrugged as if to say he didn't get it, either. "They resented each other for a long time, but now they're friends, strange as that sounds. Ford's younger sister--his full sister, that is--
Chelsea is about the same age as Beatrice. Ford managed to convince both Suzanne and Patrice that the girls all needed each other. Of course, it helped matters that his dad had died practically broke. So Ford was pretty much supporting everyone."

"How old was he?"

"Twenty-three or so."

She'd read somewhere that he'd made his first million by the time he was twenty-two. If he was supporting five women not long after that, he must have been highly motivated indeed to keep making money. From what he'd told her, his sisters were only now in college.

She glanced toward the door to her office through which Ford had disappeared. "This kind of thing, with the constant phone calls. This happens often?"

"Only when there's some crisis they want him to solve. They tend to...um, disagree a lot. When they do, they all call Ford to sort it out for them."

"So he solves all their problems, but he never lets them get too close, does he?"

Jonathon sent her a piercing look. "Why do you say that?"

"Because it's what I would do."

F
rom where she sat, she could see Ford through the open door of her office. He stood with his back toward them. Tension radiated from him. She could see it through the lines of his shoulders, in the way he shifted them as he spoke, as if he were trying to stretch out the knotted muscles. But she could hear the tone of his voice, as well. Not the words, the tone. Quiet and soothing.

She wondered, did his family know he was lying to them? If not with his words, then with his intent.

She was watching Ford so closely that Jonathon surprised her when he said, "You say that because you think you're so much alike."

There was the faintest hint of condemnation in his
voice. It made her chuckle. "Oh, God, no. Not at all." Finally she looked back at Jonathon. "He's so charming, isn't he?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"I saw it in Texas. The way he can manipulate people. Talking them into things. Get them to do things they normally wouldn't."

"You're saying he charmed you into bed with him."

She slanted a look at Jonathon, tilting her head to the side as she studied him. "Do you always do that? Willfully misunderstand what people are saying?"

"I've found most people say things they don't really mean. And mean things they're not willing to say aloud. I've found it's best to make sure everyone is on the same page."

She nodded. "Very well, then, maybe he did charm me into bed with him. But I certainly wasn't unwilling, if that's what you were asking. No, what I meant was that he has the ability to charm everyone. But I don't think he lets many people close."

No, like her, he kept everyone at arm's length. His charm was as much a weapon as her sarcastic quips. She couldn't say exactly why she knew that to be true, simply that she understood it on a gut level. The same way she knew that if fate hadn't thrown them together again, she never would have seen Ford after that one night in Texas.

Somehow the thought made her sad. Ford wasn't hers to keep, but she was glad she'd had this chance to see him again. To get to know the man he really was. Even if that man wasn't someone she could let too close.

Jonathon didn't respond, but studied her with that same steady gaze she found so disconcerting.

"Have I satisfied your curiosity?"

Kitty flashed him a cavalier smile. "You've certainly answered all of my questions."

More to the point, he'd told her everything she really needed to know about Ford. If he found out he really was the father of her child, he'd do everything in his power to take care of her. But he'd never really let her or the baby in. He'd never love her or the baby the way she wanted to be loved. She'd just be another burden to him.

And wasn't that just the last thing she needed? Another man to coddle her. Yippee.

Ford couldn't tell how much progress he and Jonathon had made on convincing Kitty to accept their offer, but he sensed something had changed while he'd been on the phone with his sister. He'd come back to the table to find Kitty looking pale and withdrawn. To make matters worse, not much later, Jonathon had gotten a call, as well, and had to leave the meeting.

Now half a day had passed and they were no closer to signing papers. Kitty had vanished after lunch, leaving him to go over the quarterly financial statements with Marty, whose eager nervousness reminded him of a puppy with ADD.

To make matters worse, he'd wandered over to Kitty's office. He hadn't planned on coming there. That's just where he'd ended up. As if he no longer had any control over where his feet took him.

A quick glance in her office told him it was empty. She better not have left early. He'd already turned to leave when he heard a noise from the other side of the office. The door to her bathroom was open.

"Kitty, are you there?" he asked, crossing her office.

He was a few steps from the bathroom when the door slammed closed. "Go away," said her muffled voice.

He should have taken at her word, but he made the mistake of hesitating just long enough to hear the recognizable sounds of someone throwing up. He cringed.

"You okay?"

"Go a--" More retching.

That sounded bad. Not that hurling ever sounded good. He should definitely leave. He'd almost made it to the door when a voice in his head stopped him in his tracks.
She's obviously sick, and you're running for the door. What kind of jerk are you?

But she'd told him to go.

Of course she did. No one likes puking. You think she's going to ask for your help? No way. But you can't just leave her there.

He walked back to the bathroom, praying the door would be locked. That would be the perfect excuse to just turn and walk away. He tried the knob. And the damn thing wiggled.

He opened the door to see her wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Thick strands of dark hair had fallen down from its twist to hang in her face. Her gaze blazed with anger.

"I said go away." But her hands trembled as she lowered herself to sit on the ground beside the toilet.

He'd done the right thing.

Shutting the door behind him in case anyone came in, he said, "You don't have to be so proud."

"Great. A lecture. Thanks." She pressed her cheek to the tile wall. "Next time you're throwing up, I'll fly out to California to razz you."

"Yeah, I'll give you a call," he shot back. He pulled a paper towel from the dispenser and ran it under the faucet before handing it to her. "Here."

"Thanks." She wiped carefully at the corners of her mouth, then folded that edge to the center and pressed the damp cloth to her forehead. A sigh of relief escaped her lips.

The sound stirred something deep within his belly. Some primitive urge to care for and protect. To possess.

Okay, she should not look sexy right now. That was just wrong.

He looked around for something else to do and saw a mug sitting on the ledge under the mirror. After rinsing it carefully, he filled it. He squatted by her side and held it out.

After a second, her eyes flickered open. She stared at him for a moment. If she saw the heat in his gaze, she didn't comment, but the tension seemed to stretch between them as she sipped the water. He half expected her to come back with one of her customary jabs. Instead she said merely, "Thanks."

"You're welcome. Can I get you anything else?"

"One of my lollipops. Top drawer of my desk. Right-hand side."

Glad to have something to do, he headed straight for her desk. The first thing he saw when he pulled out the top drawer was an artist's sketchbook. A large pencil drawing dominated the page. In the bottom left-hand corner was a scared little girl in a pinafore dress, with black curls and huge eyes, like a cross between Shirley Temple and Betty Boop with just enough Kitty Beidermann thrown in to make the character unmistakable. She clutched her hands in front of her in exaggerated terror. Behind her loomed an enormous monster, all pointy teeth and glistening drool. Its arms arched over her head, wicked claws gleaming. The monster's body was formed by the letters
F, M
and
J
. The overall effect was both humorous and compelling.

So, she fancied herself an artist, did she?

He grinned as he picked up the sketchbook and flipped the page. However, the other pictures weren't cartoons but rather sketches of jewelry. It was the same tongue-in-cheek, gothic sensibility, but applied to intricate drawings of necklaces and earrings.

"Find one of the yellow ones, if you can," she called out from the bathroom.

He looked back in the drawer and saw a pile of lollipops. After digging through for a yellow one, he headed back to the bathroom, flipping through the sketchbook as he went.

When he reached the bathroom, he tucked the book
under his arm to pull the wrapper off the lollipop. He held it out to her. "These help?"

She plopped it in her mouth and rolled her eyes at him, either in relief or at his obvious doubt. After several strong sucks that caved in her cheeks and worked her throat in a way that was alarmingly erotic, she nodded.

"They're specially formulated." She spoke between sucks. "High in Vitamin C. Sour flavor. Helps with the morning sickness."

This was morning sickness? Undeniable proof of the baby growing in her belly. The baby that was maybe his, maybe not his. But she was definitely making herself known. He felt as if a hand reached into his chest and gave his heart a squeeze.

Kitty swayed a bit, apparently still feeling wobbly, and he automatically reached out a hand to steady her. Her touch on his arm felt weak and trembling. That hand squeezing his heart tightened to a fist.

Before she could protest, he wrapped one arm around her shoulder and gripped her arm with the other, guiding her out of the bathroom to the sofa in her office.

They'd just left the bathroom when her door opened and Marty strolled in. He stopped dead in his tracks, looking from Kitty and back to Ford, then to the open bathroom door through which they'd obviously just walked. Together.

Marty's gaze narrowed and his cheek muscles twitched into a frown. "I'm glad with all the work we
have to do that you two are finding ways to amuse yourselves."

Ford waited for Kitty to explain her morning sickness. Instead she pressed her body against his side and slithered her arm around his waist. With exaggerated slowness, she pulled the lollipop from her mouth and smiled. Then she slanted him a look meant to turn men rock-hard.

"Me, too," she murmured with the faintest wink.

Marty gave a disgusted squawk and fled the room, apparently imagining that they were about to go at it again right in front of him.

As soon as the door shut behind him, Kitty sprawled on the sofa, stretching her legs out in front of her indelicately and popping the lollipop back in her mouth with absolutely no artifice.

"Oh, thank God he's gone. Like my nausea wasn't bad enough without having to listen to him."

"You could have explained."

"Trust me. The last thing I need is Marty feeling sorry for me." She shuddered with mock disgust, closing her eyes again to concentrate on her lollipop.

Her hand rested on her belly, her fingers absently toying with the swatch of knit that covered the exact spot where he imagined her baby growing. The way she'd stretched across the sofa, her belly appeared perfectly flat with only the gentlest slope to her stomach. No one would guess she was even a day pregnant. She must not be very far along. More than a month, since she'd already taken the test, but not much more. Maybe two.

The recesses of his brain started doing a little involuntary math, but he shoved the thought aside. She'd said it wasn't his. She was letting him off the hook. That was enough. He didn't want to be a dad and he sure as hell didn't want to inflict himself as a father on any poor kid. It wasn't just him she was letting off the hook. It was all of them. Until she was far enough along to get proof one way or another, he had to take her word for it anyway.

To distract himself from those disconcerting thoughts, he pulled the sketchbook out from under his arm and started flipping through it again.

"What is this?" he asked.

She opened a single eye to gaze at him. When her gaze fell on the sketchbook, she tensed for a second. Then she closed her eye and forced a breath that almost sounded relaxed. "Just doodles."

"They don't look like doodles. They look like jewelry designs."

He held up the page to reveal a sketch of a necklace and earrings. The set was full of intricate curlicues and elaborate swirls in a style that managed to reference Victorian styles while still looking modern.

"It's just something I drew up. It's not even very original."

"What do you mean?" He turned the page to look at the next design.

"I modeled it after some of my grandmother's old jewelry. The ones I had to sell. Most of the drawings in there came from pieces of my grandmother's. A
swirl here, a flower there. Just bits I combined together from one piece or another."

He looked up from the drawings. Her free hand still rested on her stomach, but her fingers had started tugging at the knit. Normally Kitty's innate confidence bordered on arrogance. If he didn't know better he'd think she was fidgeting.

He flipped to the next page, staring at the image for a moment before turning the page ninety degrees to get a better angle. "Is this a case for an iPhone?"

She pulled in her legs, straightening. "You know not everyone likes their gadgets to look like gadgets."

It was the same scrolling design as one of the earlier pictures, but this time the perfect size and shape to enclose a cell phone. The page held three drawings, one of the back; the second depicted elegant, tiny, clawed feet, which wrapped around the front of the phone; the third showed the delicate hinges along the side. He could imagine it in gleaming sterling. The overall effect was a brilliant merging of gothic Victorian and geeky tech. Between the clawed feet and the ghoulish tiny gargoyle face on the back, the piece almost had...a sense of humor.

Like the drawing of FMJ gobbling up Kitty.

"Did you think of this?" he asked.

"It's similar to my great-grandfather's cigarette case."

"Wait a second." He flipped back a few pages to the drawing of the earrings and pendant. He squinted at the scrawled writing he'd dismissed initially. In tiny letters he saw the words
Bluetooth?
and
ear buds?
"This isn't
jewelry, is it? These are gadgets. This isn't a necklace, it's a case for an MP3 player."

She reached to pull the sketchbook from his hands. "You don't need to poke fun at me."

"I'm not." He held the book just out of her reach. "I think it's brilliant."

Her gaze narrowed in suspicion as she stepped closer to him, still reaching for the notebook. "It's completely unrealistic."

"Says who?" he asked.

"Everyone I've ever showed it to."

"Which is?"

"My father. The board of directors. No one's gonna buy geeky jewelry."

He scoffed, dismissing her concern. "Let me guess. Your father was one of those guys who thought iPhones would never sell, either."