Having Jay's Baby (Having His Baby #2) (6 page)

“I’ll make it up to her,” I said.

“What’s going on?”

I sat back and slipped my hands in my pockets.
Where to start…?
“Harry Benson was arrested this morning,” I said finally.

Fueller grimaced. “Yeah … I heard a rumour a couple of days back.”

“You knew?”

He shrugged. “It was on the cards, Jay. Don’t tell me you weren’t expecting it.”

“I wasn’t,” I countered. “Or at least, I wasn’t expecting it now.”

Fueller’s brows formed an inverted frown. “Look on the bright side, kid. You’ve already filed for divorce, so he’s not going to be your father-in-law much longer.”

“No,” I agreed, and scratched my head in a rush of frustration. “I wish it was that simple. You know he’s one of my father’s closest allies, right? And I can’t divorce my father, more’s the pity.” I exhaled to ease the tension in my chest. “How did you know this was coming and not tell me?”

“The guy’s as bent as a spoon,” Fueller said, tossing off the accusation. “Come on, Jay; nobody’s surprised by this.”

I took another sip of my drink. “Do you know what my father used to call Harry, back when I was in college and he and Harry were thinking about running for office?” The bitter memory was as sour as the taste of the whisky in my mouth. “He’d call him his
consigliere
.” I lifted my brows at my friend’s chuckle. “Yeah, I know – but it gives you an idea of their relationship … and their ethics.”

I breathed deeply of the fresh spring air, my mind whirring like a mechanical clock. Whether or not I was actually implicated, the investigation was probably going to turn up on my doorstep at some point. “I should never have floated when I did,” I said.

“It’s not like you ain’t got a future ahead of you, kid,” Fueller said dryly.

“Yeah, but if I’d hung on a few years, waited to see how the land was lying…” I shrugged. “The wolves like my father wouldn’t have been sniffing around, ready to purchase all that stock. I’ve shot myself in the foot.”

“A lot of people are going to presume it was intentional, you know,” Fueller cut in. “Keeping it in the family, so to speak.”

I laughed at this. “Yeah, well they don’t know my family.”

“So you’re worried about the fallout from the investigation, the link between your father and Harry,” Fueller said after we’d considered the view for a moment. “Anyone who’s been within spitting distance of Harry in the last twenty years is financially linked to him somehow, whether they realise it or not. There’ll be plenty of people running for cover over the next few months. I don’t see why you have to worry any more than anyone else. I know there’s a family connection, but—”

“I want my own investigation,” I said, blunt with determination.

Fueller stopped. He lifted one brow and took a sip of his drink.

“I know my father. I know how he works,” I said, eyes narrow against the cutting sunlight. “He’s not happy about my divorce. Harry Benson isn’t happy about it, either. My father’s already made some melodramatic noises about taking a more active role in the board of directors.”

“With a view to what?” Fueller asked.

“Shutting me down,” I told him. “There are plenty of ways to ruin a company like mine if you can appeal to the greed of the stakeholders. I figured, worst-case scenario, that he might try to persuade the board to sell out to one of our larger clients. What that does is effectively turn us into an in-house lobby group.”

Fueller thought about this and nodded.

“But I have the feeling he might have done something a lot more stupid,” I said.

“Like what?”

I swallowed a mouthful of the whisky. “When he purchased controlling stock, he transferred us under his own group: Fitz Corp. It’s an old trick; he and Harry did it before. Once the share price levels, they start transferring assets to other, more profitable companies within the group.” I ran a hand across my face and sighed heavily. “It’s asset stripping, basically. I should have noticed earlier. I saw the stock price fall again right after the rumour got out about him joining the board, and I knew it was wrong. It should have gone up, not down.”

“That’s illegal as hell,” Fueller said, stating the obvious with a dry laugh.

“No shit,” I agreed. “The market knew what he was up to, even if I’ve had my head up my ass.”

I shook my head. “Now, two weeks later, I find out they’re investigating Harry. He’s been involved in just about every accounting transaction my father’s ever made.” My heart beat was a noticeable thud in my ears, but I kept my breathing even. I refused to panic, not yet. “So, what do you think, Bull? On a scale of one to ten, how convincing will I sound if I tell the FBI that I had nothing to do with my father and my father-in-law stripping assets from my company? Before, I might add, dismantling it at the expense of our shareholders and at a massive profit.”

Fueller let out a low whistle. “Well, now … when you put it like that…”

I breathed out slowly. “You get my drift, anyway. I need to know what the fuck he’s been up to. I need to know what’s coming.”

“If you want my advice – straight up, this is not a good time for you to be divorcing Elizabeth Benson,” Fueller said.

An abrupt laugh escaped me. “You’ve got to be joking. You were all for it last month!”

“That was before you told me about the share price,” Fueller said defensively.

“Yeah, well – too late, buddy. That horse has fled the stable.”

“Not yet,” Fueller said. “The papers haven’t been signed, have they?”

“No, but they’ve been submitted,” I said.

“Listen, until those papers have been signed, that stable door can still be bolted.”

My stomach complained loudly in the bucolic silence, whether due to hunger or the sheer notion of staying married to Elizabeth, I wasn’t sure. When I’d finally recovered the will to speak, I said. “Are you seriously telling me I have to call this off?”

Fueller shrugged and said, “Mightn’t be the worst idea. Unless he’s a completely irredeemable son of a bitch, I don’t think Harry Benson’s going to take you down with him if you’re still married to his daughter.”

I sat stock still, staring at Bull in the suddenly stifling silence. Call off the divorce? Every fibre of my being struggled against the idea.

Could I go back to that life?

The answer was no; I couldn’t; definitely not; no way. In the midst of the all the shit hitting the fan right now, this divorce was the only light glimmering at the end of the tunnel. Removing Elizabeth from my list of responsibilities was not simply putting an end to our shared misery, it was about a new future, starting afresh. It was a way of getting free from my family – their innate inability to live decent lives. I had to start living honestly.

“It’s not forever, kid,” Fueller added quietly. “You can file the papers again once the investigation is over, but it’d save you a lot of trouble in the meantime.”

The prospect of Harry Benson dragging me into his legal issues out of sheer spite was a sobering one. Nausea circled like a hungry bird, but I kept my focus on Bull. “Okay, let’s assume I call off the divorce,” I said after a long silence. The sun went behind a cloud and I blinked, readjusting to the light. “What else do I need to do?”

We talked about the various possible scenarios over lunch. Fueller recommended I lay low. I could continue to attend charity events and the like, but no obvious displays of wealth, nothing that could cause a backlash should the investigation veer in my direction. By the time the bill arrived, I was feeling a lot less optimistic than I had been arriving at the terrace earlier. The weight of what was to come was suddenly very real. Above everything else, the prospect of resuming my marriage was looming like a dark cloud. Bull was insistent I keep up pretences; no one, except me, Elizabeth and Bull, could know it was anything less than a full reconciliation.

I’d just lanced a wound; it was painful and unpleasant, but now I could start working on making it better. It was with this goal in mind that I turned back to Fueller after we’d parted ways.

“Wait up, Bull.” I ran down the path towards the older man, arriving at his side by the lake. “I’ve got a favour to ask.” I paused. “Remember a few months ago I asked you to look into that journalist?”

“Winters,” Fueller said, sharp as a tack. “Yeah, sure.”

“I got another one of those notes,” I said.

Fueller frowned. He frowned in a way that made grown men nervous. “You don’t say.” He considered my reticent features. “No idea who’s behind it?”

“There are more than a few candidates,” I said with a humourless laugh. “Anyway, it’s not about the notes.” My brow settled, a slight pain resonating in my tight jaw. “I want to know.”

“Know what?”

“About this kid,” I said evenly. “If she’s mine. For sure.”

Fueller’s brows lifted. “Okay,” he said slowly. “I guess that’s one way to stop the notes.” He paused for a moment, eyes narrow as he chewed over some unspoken issue. “You’d better be ready to find out, though.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “The mother’s in trouble with the ex. If I can prove the kid isn’t mine, it stops the notes and it’ll help her with this child support thing she’s got going. She could use a break.”

“I’m sure she could, but what if it is yours? Ever think about that?”

Smiling, I took a step back. “Let me worry about that,” I said. “Just take care of it, would you, buddy? I owe you one.”

#

Elizabeth appeared from the master bedroom in a flowing dress of pale, pink silk. I stopped what I was doing for a moment and stared at her. In profile, unobserved, she was a pleasure to look at. Her hair was swept up in a regal knot at the base of her neck, the dark blond tresses glinting in the dim light. The dress, while simple, was stylish and she did it full justice. It was her expression that caught me, though – the unassuming air I rarely saw; she seemed completely unaware of my presence.

Then she stared at her phone, her expression tightened into irritation. I looked away, the illusion shattered.

“I’m not taking a town car,” she said. “I told you, Jay. I want Teddy to drive us in the Mercedes. It’s so pedestrian showing up in a town car. We may as well hail a cab, for God’s sake.”

I walked away. She’d agreed to this temporary resumption of our marriage with open eyes. I hadn’t spared the truth, and she knew it was in both of our interests to lay low. Yet we’d only been back in the apartment two days and already she was like a bear with a sore head. She was jumpy and tense, at turns plaintive, at turns utterly inert. I was starting to wonder if she was self-medicating.

Entering the study, I slid my phone into the pocket of my pants and then checked the messy surface of the desk for anything else I might need. We were running late. I snatched up the pile of unread mail Anna had dropped off earlier, planning to read it in the car.

Stopping for a moment, I stared at the doorway, gathering my wits. How easily Elizabeth and I had settled back into our roles: the resentful husband and the bitter wife. It was as if we’d been born to it. The idea that we had actually been born to it—a match effectively engineered by our parents—made me feel physically sick. I took a deep breath, pushing back sensation.

This was not my fate. I refused to let it be.

She was quiet in the town car all the way to the event. The tension was a lumpy mattress on which we lay stiffly side by side. I distracted myself by checking over the paperwork. The stock reports were still a mess; in particular, the figures for the last three days were dire. Was it possible for the share price to sink any lower? If this got worse we’d be kicked out of the stock exchange by the end of the financial year. I stared blindly at the figures; could Fitzsimmons & Jones survive that? Reputation was a slippery son of a gun … once it was gone, it was very hard to get it back.

My hand fell on to the cream envelope; I was opening it before I’d even registered what it was.

She’s your responsibility.

Get the kid tested.

“Fuck.”

Elizabeth started at my rich curse. “What’s wrong with you?” she said, eyeing me in outrage.

Anger slashed me. Who the hell was sending these damned things?

She exhaled heavily. “We’ve arrived,” she said. “Could you at least try to pretend we want to be here? I only came because you insisted.”

“It’s for charity,” I said, my tone clipped.

Elizabeth was oblivious, already wound up, her eyes darting across to the dignified mayhem outside. “That awful public relations person said they’ll be photographing us like a couple of cheap celebrities; the least you can do is not embarrass me any more than I already am.” She swished her skirts. “And I’m not standing against one of those advertising spaces. You can tell your assistant he can find someone else to sell his vulgar products.”

“He isn’t selling any products,” I said. I folded the cream paper once, twice, and placed it into my pocket. “And Bull’s not my assistant. Just do what he says and let’s get this over and done with.”

We left the car to a barrage of lights and noise. I got out first and then waited for Elizabeth to come around from the other side of the car. I kept my expression even as the cameras flashed. Once Elizabeth was at my side, I looked at her, amazed to see a gracious smile curving her ruby red lips … I hadn’t seen that for a while. Humour jabbed me, but I was able to wrestle it into a polite smile. I touched my wife’s elbow and carefully escorted her towards the entrance to the exclusive marquee like a loyal husband. The second we were inside, I let go. Elizabeth fled.