“Addison,” Billy said as he approached me, “you look wonderful.”
“I look like I swallowed a beach ball.”
“A basketball, maybe. It’ll be a month or two before you reach beach-ball proportions.”
“Gee, thanks.”
He took my arm and guided me over the plywood. We stood at the edge of one of the foundations and I could see that prep work was already being done for the support structure and the plumbing that would have to be run.
“We’re ahead of schedule.”
“We are,” Billy agreed.
“When will the plumbers be able to get in?”
“Next week.”
I nodded, pleased. It was good news.
We had fifteen projects going on at the moment. Eight of them were behind schedule because of the rain. Five were right on schedule. And only two were ahead of schedule. The fact that this project was one of the two was huge for our bottom line.
“Grant’ll be thrilled.”
“Where is Grant?” Billy asked. “I thought he’d be making this tour with you.”
“He was supposed to, but he was called into a series of meetings at the last minute.” I stretched a little, pressing my hands into my lower back. “We’re still working on upgrading the computer systems at the office, and he’s working with Taurus on getting that closer to finished.”
“Must be nice for him, working with his former partners.”
“He seems to be enjoying it.”
“What about you? How have you been?”
I ran my hand over my swollen belly. “Doctor says everything’s progressing normally.”
“That’s good. But I really meant you, Addison. How are you?”
Billy had this way of looking through me, like he could see something that I managed to hide from the rest of the world.
“It’s a day-to-day thing. Some days, I’m okay. But some days are pretty hard.”
He touched my arm, his eyes softening a little. “You’re doing a good job hiding it.”
I kind of laughed. “Not according to Grant. I think he’s beginning to get tired of the tears over the littlest things. This morning, I had a nervous breakdown because I spilled the sugar on the kitchen counter.”
“That’s just pregnancy,” Billy said with a chuckle.
“Maybe. But I’ve never been the girl who cries over everything.”
“I know. But once that baby comes…”
“That’s what everyone says.”
Billy took my hand and tucked it through his arm, much like Grant often does, and led the way back around to another of the foundations. We toured the entire site, talking about schedules and supplies and even a little about the men working here on the site. And then he walked me to my truck and helped me in.
“Go put your feet up. And tell that husband of yours to show his ugly mug around here once in a while.”
“I will.”
I kissed his cheek lightly, aware of him watching me until I maneuvered the truck out of the mud and back onto the pavement.
It was a bit of a drive back to the office, long enough to think about things I didn’t really want to think about. The funeral. The house sitting neglected. The papers my father had been working so hard to organize that were now sitting in boxes, waiting for someone to pay attention to them. There was so much I should be doing, but when the end of the day came I was too exhausted to think of anything beyond a hot bath and a long night under our down comforter.
Grant offered to take care of things for me. But I knew clearing out my dad’s house was something I should do personally. So it waited.
I pulled into the parking garage beside our office building and mumbled under my breath a few choice words as I struggled to get my eighteen weeks of belly out of the truck. I ran my hand over my belly, wondering when it would be that I could distinguish the baby’s movement from gas bubbles. The doctor assured us it would be soon, but nothing had happened so far. It scared me a little that I hadn’t felt anything yet. What if there was nothing to feel? I wasn’t sure I could go through another loss right now.
“Mr. Lewis called,” Angela said as I walked past her desk to go to my office. “And Burt said something about the new order being inaccurate?”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“And Grant asked that you come to his office when you have a chance.”
“Yeah?” I glanced at her. “Do you know what it’s about?”
“No.”
I nodded as I settled in my office chair and tried to bend over to untie my boots. Angela didn’t even ask. She just came around and knelt, untying them and slipping them off for me.
“I hate having you do that.”
“Don’t worry about it. You’ll do it for me someday.”
She wouldn’t look at me as she crossed back around. She and Kevin were on a break at the moment. Something about her refusal to move in with him. She wouldn’t talk about it, and I could hardly blame her. I wouldn’t want to talk about it, either. Grant thought it was a temporary setback and Kevin would come around. I hoped he was right. Angela and Kevin were good together.
“Are you still coming over Friday night?”
Angela looked up. “Are you sure you want people around? You’re always so tired.”
“Hanging out with friends is relaxing. Besides, we haven’t had time to hang out together lately.”
She smiled softly. “Sure. I’ll be there.”
I watched her go, then sighed as I tackled the phone calls that couldn’t wait until tomorrow. Mr. Lewis wanted to be reassured that everything was progressing well. I was happy to be able to tell him we were ahead of schedule. And Burt’s issue was easy to settle once I assured him that we did, indeed, want fifty cabinets for one project. Apartments.
And then there were the unending lists of e-mails that never seemed to go away. By the time I was done, the sun was going down in the floor-to-ceiling windows behind me and my eyes were dry and aching. I sat back and rubbed my eyes with the heel of my hand.
“You were supposed to come find me when you had a minute.”
“I haven’t had a minute all day,” I said, shifting to watch Grant come into the office. He was in a suit, as usual, but his tie was loosened and his hair looked as though he’d dragged his fingers through it a few too many times. “You look as tired as I feel.”
“I’m probably close.”
He came around and perched himself on the edge of my desk, holding both sides of a file folder between his hands.
“Is this business? I was hoping you just wanted to see me.”
“I always just want to see you,” he said, leaning down to kiss the tip of my nose. Then he reached down and rested his fingertips on my belly. “How are you doing?”
“No crying jags out at the projects.”
“That’s probably a relief for the foremen.”
I smiled, imagining the big, tough foremen on our construction crews trying to deal with one of my crying jags. They all had children, so one would assume they’d gone through something similar with their wives. But it still brought to mind a tragic comedy.
He lifted the file folder. “Just a little bit of business.”
“What’s that?”
“Your six-month contract ended today.”
“I’d totally forgotten about that.”
“Yes, well, the lawyers didn’t. They sent over the paperwork to have your share of the purchase price released and placed in your personal account.”
“I’d forgotten about that.”
“And a new contract, if you want it.”
“New contract?”
“You can’t work here if you don’t have a contract.”
“Hmmm, I’d forgotten that, too.”
He handed me the folder, but I was so tired, I really didn’t want to deal with it. I took it, but instead of looking inside of it, I stared out the window, thought of my dad on the day this deal was first concluded. It was all a charade, for m
y sake, but he’d been so sincere. So ready for me to do what he knew I would.
“He told me to grow up.”
“What?” Grant asked.
“My dad. When I told him that day you were back in town, he told me to grow up. To get over what you’d done and realize that it was probably for the best.”
“Maybe he was afraid you would chase me away.”
“Instead, I married you.”
“I think that’s what he wanted all along. He was trying to right what he recognized was a mistake on his part.”
I nodded, sighing as I focused on the file. I opened it and the financial paperwork was right on top. I glanced through it, wondering what I would do with that additional capital. I thought briefly that I should put it back into the company, but it wasn’t really necessary thanks to the trust my dad set up for the early retirement of over half our employees. With that taken care of and the new projects we were involved in, the company was making money hand over fist rather than losing it like before. The company didn’t need more money.
“We should put it in the trust for the baby.”
I’d taken a large amount of the insurance and other monies my dad left me and started a trust for the baby and any future children Grant and I might have. I thought it was something that would make my dad happy. This money felt more like his than mine, anyway. It belonged there.
“Are you sure?” Grant asked.
“Yeah. We should do that.”
“Okay. I’ll have the lawyers work on that tomorrow.”
He stole the papers from the file and left the contract that was sitting behind it. But it wasn’t an employment contract. It was a partnership contract.
“Grant, Berryman Construction is yours now. You don’t have to do this.”
“I want to do this. This is the way it was always meant to be.”
“But my dad—”
“It was his idea.”
I set the file down and stood, moving into his arms. “The two of you sure made a lot of secret plans.”
“Not a lot. He just wanted to make sure you were well cared for. He loved you.”
I nodded, not bursting into tears as I might have done just a week ago at the mention of my dad. It was getting easier. We kissed, moving together like an old married couple seeking comfort from one another. But it quickly turned more into something like a couple of teens might do. It never got old, the feel of him.
His hand moved over the back of my jeans, his fingers sneaking under the back of my T-shirt. I sighed as his hand exerted pressure on my lower back, as much from the passion of it as the pressure that relieved some of the ache that seemed to live there now. He stood and pushed me back, pressing me up against the windows at the same moment he lifted my T-shirt and began to work the clasp at the back of my bra.
“Mr. McGraw,” I said softly against his lips, “should we really do this here?”
“I don’t think I can wait till we go home,” he answered.
He kissed me again, a long, hot kiss that turned into a slow trail down my throat, over my collarbone, until my overly sensitive nipple ended up in his mouth. I dug my fingers deep in his hair, pulling him closer to me. He hesitated slightly as his mouth touched my swollen baby. And then he made me laugh when he whispered against my navel, like it was some sort of microphone with a direct line to the baby, “Sorry, kid, but she’s still mine for the moment.”
And then he was back, stealing my lips as his hand slid inside my maternity jeans, slipping easily down to find my swollen clit. I gasped as he touched it, his finger pressed against it with a pressure that made me wiggle my hips a little. But he didn’t stop there. His finger slid inside of me, doing things and touching things that made my head begin to spin.
A moment later, he turned me and pressed me up against the glass of that floor-to-ceiling window, exposing me to the world ten floors down. Thank God for tinting. And then my clothes were sliding over my hips, down my thighs, and he was inside of me, thrusting with more reserve than he once might have shown. But it was just as good. Better, maybe. My body knew him, how to move into him, and how to make him touch all those places that could make me lose my mind. I closed my eyes and let myself go with the wave he set me upon, taking a ride that was neither too familiar nor too new.
He nibbled at the back of my neck, his hot breath like a spring breeze on my neck. His hand slid around my belly, his fingers seeking my clit again. And when he touched it, I was lost. I cried out, aware that there were employees still wandering the halls outside my office, but not really caring. All I cared about was this man and what he could do to my body.
He picked me up and carried me to the couch when my orgasm was done, making love to me slowly and with great patience, his body finding a way to conform to the changes in mine. It was beautiful. And when it was done, I didn’t want to let him go.
We curled up together, his back against the back of the old couch that had been in this office since I could remember. It wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the world, but it served a purpose. I briefly wondered how many lovers had consummated their love on this thing over the years. And then I shuddered because the guy who had this office before me was nearly seventy when he retired.
“Can life get any more perfect than this?” I wondered aloud.
“Not much,” Grant said, his hand moving slowly over my belly.
“So what now? We go off into the sunset, partners in my father’s business, partners in marriage and in parenthood?”
“That’s the plan.”
“And what if things go sour again? What if you get tired of me and decide to disappear again?”
“Not going to happen,” he said, kissing my shoulder gently.
“You never did tell me why you left.”
He made a low, growling sound in the depth of his chest. “One crisis at a time, Addison. Can’t we just enjoy this now?”
“So many secrets…”
He pressed his hand low to my belly and kissed my shoulder again. I thought later it was the pressure of his hand that made it possible for me to understand what it was I was feeling. That little flutter right under his hand. A little kick from a tiny being.
We’d made a life. Maybe that was all that mattered now.
Chapter 30
Guilt is one of those things that makes it impossible to really push a responsibility off for long. I called Agnes the next day and arranged to meet her at my dad’s house. We worked from late in the afternoon until early evening, marking furnishings and décor in the rooms of the house that were unoccupied at the end of my dad’s life. Agnes would arrange for an auction house to look at the things we wanted to sell and arrange for Goodwill to pick up the rest. That decided, there were only a few rooms that required close attention. My childhood bedroom. My dad’s bedroom. The kitchen. And his den.
It seemed easier to begin with the den. That’s where he and Agnes spent so much of their time in his last months.
And there were much fewer memories there.
Agnes had everything well marked. I just had to decide what to do with my father’s papers. I walked in there after she left that afternoon and studied the labels on the boxes, thinking about the life these boxes represented. It was mostly paperwork associated with the business. I got a packet of sticky notes and left instructions for Agnes to have the ones that might be helpful sent to the office. The rest? I wasn’t sure what to do with them. I didn’t want to just toss them out, but I didn’t know what else to do with them. Most of them were only important to my dad.
I opened one box that was marked bank statements. Sure enough, there were stacks and stacks of bank statements that dated back as far as 1972. I closed it back up and opened another that was marked investigations. The side of the box fell apart and papers flew everywhere.
“Great,” I muttered under my breath.
I started gathering the papers, trying to be careful not to bend corners or rip a delicate piece of paper. My father had a private i
nvestigator on the payroll for years so that he could run background checks on employees, check out potential clients, and chase after rivals who might or might not have been responsible for mishaps on project sites. This box held a bunch of those. I didn’t recognize most of the names. But there was one I did.
Grant McGraw, one label said.
My dad tried to give this to me once before, but I refused to open it then. I should have just put it away this time, too. And I was about to put it back in the box when a couple of papers slipped out, clipped together with a paperclip.
It was Billy’s face in the photograph that tickled my curiosity.
I picked it up, a photograph with a couple of pieces of paper clipped to it. I slipped the picture away, staring at Billy’s familiar but much younger face. And then there was a birth certificate.
Grant William McGraw born at 6:15 a.m. to Jenna McGraw and William Bryan Tenneson.
And behind that was a report from the private investigator.
Subject was born eight months after his mother, Jenna McGraw, married John Thomas McGraw. Although subject was given his stepfather’s name at birth, his biological father was listed as the father at the request of the mother. A nurse recalled the mother being nervous when she made the request, but she was adamant that the biological father’s name be listed.
Billy was Grant’s father?
It didn’t seem logical. How was it even possible? I didn’t understand.
Did Grant know?
Only then did I open the full file, the complete report, and read through it. It was exactly as my dad had said it would be. Grant was arrested multiple times as a juvenile, never charged with anything more than a petty crime, and those charges were often dropped after his mother went to the police station and reasoned with whoever had arrested him. Otherwise, there wasn’t anything I didn’t already know in the file. Except for the report on Billy’s relationship to Grant.
It said that it looked as though Billy knew about his son. There was evidence that he’d visited Jenna McGraw on multiple occasions over the years.
DOTTY (The Naughty Ones Book 3) Page 101
