by Cynthia Dane
“Off the record?”
“Of course, darling.”
Monica’s sharp breath almost worried Lana. Why would Monica Warren be worried about sharing information like this? Surely there wasn’t anything that bad…
“It has to do with why she left the city to begin with.”
“Ah.” Well, that certainly changed the mood. “You mean the baby thing.”
“Yes. The baby. The baby she had.”
So, Monica knew too, huh? The truth, that was. The rumor the Welshes made sure propagated was that their darling little virginal (ha! Hahaha!) daughter had a miscarriage. No, it wasn’t supposed to be an open open secret, but people were certainly supposed to whisper that half-truth in order to divert from the reality.
Oh, Cassandra Welsh had a baby, all right. She left the city before she started showing. How long had she been gone? Almost two years? Plenty of time to give birth and recover. As the well-to-do daughter of such a prestigious family, there was no way the Welshes were going to let it become common knowledge that Cassandra was an unwed mother. Even if she was participating in the rearing of the child, it probably wouldn’t grow up knowing she was its mother. Too much of a liability. The Welshes would want their daughter married to a good match at some point, after all. No man was going to take her and her child that belonged to some other man… that she was never married to!
But that still didn’t explain why Monica was ringing Lana up during business hours to talk about this. Not that Lana would hang up anytime soon. She was too enthralled in the scandal of it all.
“Any idea why she’s picking now to return?”
“I’m sure you share some of my same suspicions, Mrs. Andrews.”
“Hmph.” Suspicions, suspicions. “She’s come to confront the father of her child.” That was the most delicious suspicion that Lana wanted to believe in. “That’ll be wonderful. I hope she does it at the gala in front of everyone. Oh, can you imagine…”
Monica uncharacteristically interrupted her. “So you don’t believe that the child could possibly be your husband’s?”
Lana hooted loudly enough to get Ken’s attention in the other room. Wonderful! He had heard her over the construction! “Kenny’s baby? You’ve got to be joking. The timing isn’t right, for one.”
“Are you sure? With rumors like this, we can’t be sure what the exact timing is.”
“Ahaha, Mrs. Warren, you’re distressed that this child could be your husband’s?”
“It’s not entirely farfetched. She and Henry dated several weeks before she moved.”
“Yes, and Kenny and I were one of the last ones to show her a good time before she left.” Lana did not mention that the poor dear already seemed withdrawn. Not that Lana would have ever guessed that Ms. Welsh was pregnant at the time. Why, she couldn’t have been that far along. Lana had seen plenty of naked pregnant women, even if she had never been pregnant herself. First trimester, at the most. “I doubt that means she was pregnant with my husband’s child.” She didn’t even want to entertain the idea. The thought of her husband having a toddler somewhere out beyond the Purple Mountain Majesties and Amber Waves of Grain was too much to bear. The child support alone! Lana wasn’t ready to be a step-monster! The only good thing that could’ve possibly come out of it was having an heir to raise to take over their company when they were too old to do so. (Like the Welshes would allow that…) “Please, Monica. Let’s not entertain that silly notion. I do appreciate you calling to let me know to expect to see her at the gala. In fact, I’ll be looking for her.” Lana did love making extravagant appearances, after all.
“Forgive me, Mrs. Andrews. I crossed a line.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’ve just had a baby and are now wondering if your husband already had another out there somewhere. Honestly, if I were in your position, I’d probably be a bit beside myself.”
“Thank you for your understanding.”
“Now, if that’s all you truly called me to chat about, I’m afraid I really must be going. I have a stack of work as tall as you that I’m trying to clear before Christmas… with this misophonic bullshit assaulting my ears every two minutes.” Some contractors really had no manners.
They hung up gracefully, Lana exhaling a pent-up sigh as she gathered a folder and used it as an excuse to go out and see her husband. Not that she needed an excuse, of course, but with so many other strange men around, Lana liked having reasons to be seen marching her hot derriere back and forth across the office.
“Who was that, Bunny?” Ken slapped his pen down with firm finality. What had he been signing? Looked like something very official. Although Lana was of the opinion that her husband should be signing her skin. With something not ink. “Friend of yours? Or someone you just decimated for being a prick?”
“Why not both?” She waited for him to situate himself firmly into his chair before lowering herself onto his lap. “That was Monica. You know. Lady Warren. Or whatever they’re calling her now.” A woman could only go through so many titles.
“What did she want? Must have been good for you to immediately come out here and say hello to me.”
Lana made herself comfortable against his chest and in his lap. Really? He was going to get a hard-on that quickly? Whatever happened to the medical fact that men found it harder to get it up as they aged? Sure, Ken was only forty-ish, but so far he was as spry as he had been when they met at twenty-eight. Maybe even sprier. Lana did love knowing that even after a dozen years together she could still get her husband hornier than a young stud in Vegas. (And she had known a few of those.)
“Our favorite trollop Cassandra is coming back to town. You know what that means?”
Ken stiffened. No, not his cock, but his whole damn body. Someone wasn’t as eager to be reminded of the woman as Lana had been. “Do I want to know what that means?”
“We’ll probably get to find out who fathered that cursed child of hers.”
“Lana, I swear to God…”
She put a stop to whatever he was going to say. Lana didn’t need to hear his pleas for clemency regarding what role he may have played in making Cassandra a mother. Like Lana wouldn’t have known about it! She was there when it happened, wasn’t she? Drunk on champagne, sure, but she had done her duty encouraging the three of them to spend some quality time together in a downtown hotel room. Lana didn’t often get so sexually involved with other women, but she had made an exception for the younger woman. As demure as she projected her image in the public sphere, Cassandra was a kinky little kitty once behind closed doors.
“If you’re the father, then she ran out only a month into this supposed pregnancy. Please. More likely that she was already pregnant when we got our hands on her. No wonder she was so willing, hm?”
“Lana.” Ken furrowed his dark, thin brows. “Let’s not go speculating about that. We should leave the woman alone, unless she approaches us first. We don’t even know if her having a child is actually true.”
“What? Her grandmother practically told me when I saw her last Christmas.” Granddame Welsh was one of the only members of the family who kept somewhat regular appearances. Lana didn’t spend a lot of time at the country club like the Welshes did, but one game of bridge revealed that the little granddaughter had ran off because she was in the family way. The insinuation was that Lana might have known who else was involved. Why? Had Cassandra implied something about Kenneth? Lana nipped that notion in the bud back then as well. “Don’t be daft. We know she had a kid. What we don’t know is who the father is. Highly doubt it’s you, but Monica seems to suspect it could be her husband.”
“Henry Warren? That would be a fun scandal.” The public loved to pretend that Mr. Warren was a straight-up ace of a guy who only cavorted with women he ever intended to marry. That may have been half-true, but anyone who even slightly knew the guy also knew that he was a fan of occasional one night stands and girlfriends of convenience. Cassandra had been one of those. While it wasn’
t a secret those two dated for a hot minute, it would be scandalous to find out he unknowingly fathered a child. And right after having one with his wife! Lana could practically taste the sweetness of the whole situation. “There are other candidates, though. Cassandra was in full self-destruct mode by the time she set her sights on us.” They hadn’t known it at the time. But in retrospect? So obvious.
“Yes. I was just thinking of calling a friend to gab about it. Highly possible that her husband is the genetic culprit.”
“Now, Bunny, don’t go causing mischief for the sake of it.” The desk blocked any contractor’s ability to see Kenneth Andrews firmly grab his wife’s ass. Lana squeaked in amusement, her arms squeezing tightly around her husband’s shoulders. Nope. The man hadn’t lost his erection yet. What in the world could Lana do with it? “Even though I know it’s one of your favorite past times.”
“One of, yes.” She growled in arousal against his cheek. “But my absolute favorite past time is making love to you.”
“Oh, thank God, I thought I was going to be the one to have to bring it up.”
“Honey, your dick has been digging into my leg for the past three minutes. You did bring it up, jackass.”
Ken looked over his shoulder. “Bathroom?”
Lana was already up. “Don’t mind if I do. And then you can come in and fuck me against the sink. I’m not in the mood for an audience right now, anyway.” She nodded toward the contractors as she sauntered across the office and entered their newly remodeled bathroom.
What Lana never – nor Ken, for that mattered – counted on was how important the idea of an heir would become to them in the coming year. They were both over forty now. Sure, they could still have as much sex as they had in their twenties, but they weren’t getting any younger. In twenty, thirty years they would begin to regret not having anyone to immediately take over the company should anything happen to them. Well, they weren’t having children. That had been decided before they even got married. They would have to find some other way to address their heirship issue. But knowing them, they wouldn’t get around to it until they had sated themselves silly with sex.
And that could take… a while. As the foreman found out half an hour later when he unfortunately found them enjoying a second round against the bathroom sink to absolutely nobody’s surprise. By that point, not even the foreman’s.
Chapter 7
The Monroes
Mrs. Alice Monroe had greatly missed her tea and coffee. So much so that she didn’t see the irony in dragging her tiny entourage to one of the most hipstery teashops near her downtown office building, even though she was on one of the strictest “no caffeine” drink regimens any pregnant woman was ever subjected to.
Probably because she was Mrs. Damon Monroe and currently growing the next heir of a vast and mighty kingdom in her womb. Her obstetrician was going to do everything in her power to keep Alice from ingesting anything she shouldn’t be, in order to improve her chances of having the healthiest baby any woman gave birth to before. Still, Alice was human, and her body craved – nay, demanded – at least a nose hit of good coffee and tea.
She commandeered an old couch to herself. Behind her, the rain-splattered window overlooked a busy neighborhood street filled with cyclists and shoppers. Next to her, bodyguard Dee McCormick took a coffee break reprieve, while personal assistant Alisha sighed into a plush chair and answered emails on her boss’s behalf. It was heaven. Minus the part where Alice, with her swollen feet and a stomach swelling even bigger, didn’t get some damn caffeine.
That was until the bearded barista on duty brought over a sampling of his pregnancy-friendly red teas.
A year ago, Alice would have never been able to command this kind of respect from any establishment, let alone one that catered to hipsters. Poor, lower-class Alice would have never been given a sampling of rare red teas to test out before buying a mug to enjoy with her work comrades. But she was no longer Alice Culver, woman in T-shirt and jeans lounging around with her ratty backpack, buying the bare minimum to get to stay in her seat, and waiting for it to get late enough so she could go home and hope that maybe her roommate was done having sex with some guy. Nope. She was now Alice Monroe, matriarch in Prada and bespoke Gucci maternity wear. Even the high as a kite barista recognized her the moment she entered. Well, the moment Dee entered and canvassed the place before allowing Alice and Alisha to find a seat.
“That is some fancy stuff,” Dee said while her charge sniffed three different red teas and took judicious sips. Alice decided on the center one and asked for the biggest mug possible. The barista was more than happy to go back to his station and oblige. “Think I’ll stick to my straight coffee.”
Alice relaxed against the back of the couch with a smug smile. Sometimes she didn’t mind indulging in how ridiculously rich she was now. It was her privilege that allowed her to get out of the high-rise office for the rest of the afternoon and come here to “work” to begin with. Her doctor had told her at her checkup that day to lay off as much stress as possible now that she was solidly in her fifth month of pregnancy. What better way to lay off stress than to stay out of her glass office and hang out in a cozy little café? Almost felt like home!
“Should I confirm with Kevin Welsh’s assistant that you and Mr. Monroe will be attending their Christmas gala? We never did return the RSVP.” Alisha lowered her tablet when she addressed her boss, but her eyes never left the screen.
Alice pulled a manila envelope out of her big black bag and flipped it open to the first image inside. A pang of maternal gratitude hit her heart and compelled her to rest one of her hands on her bulging stomach. Her baby hadn’t been very active that day. Usually wasn’t this time in the afternoon. No, all the movements and acid reflux kicked up in the middle of the night. Because of course. The baby wouldn’t be a Monroe unless it was making Alice’s life hell at the most inconvenient of times.
“Yes, we plan to attend.” Alice held out her hands to receive the hot mug of red tea the barista brought to her. Unfortunately, it was hot, so it was placed directly on the coffee table in front of her with a friendly reminder that it was, uh, hot. Alice thanked the man before scowling at the back of his head when he turned around. She wanted that tea now. “I don’t know why we haven’t formally RSVP’d yet.”
The answer soon came walking through the door. Awkwardly.
Damon Monroe was the type of alpha male who absolutely dominated every room he was in. The smaller the room? The more his aura penetrated the walls and upturned tables. Not only was he a tall, broad-shouldered man, but he had a confident gait that made men like the barista lose two of his own inches out of intimidation.
However, Damon was out of his element the moment he stepped inside and searched for his wife. He barked an order for coffee at the barista before tripping his way to the couch his wife occupied. Yes, the man tripped. He was too tall and too off-balanced after huffing up the creaking stairs to handle being in a cramped café that had dozens of fragile items on cute display. His briefcase alone almost knocked a vintage vase off its pedestal. The barista hurried to the back of his kitchen before he could witness anything he’d have to charge Mr. Monroe for.
“Alice,” Damon greeted with candid annoyance. “Everything is well, I take it?”
She dangled the manila envelope in front of him. “Never going to forgive you for missing it, sexy stud.”
Damon plopped next to her. His weight shifted the couch in his direction. Beside him, Dee grunted about her shaking coffee cup. Alisha continued to pretend that nothing was happening. Not even when another person stepped through the door, speaking on the phone.
“Well tell Mrs. Conroy that on behalf of the Monroes, a crib is not necessary. They have plenty already.” The other assistant, Sarah Clayborn, turned off her phone and shoved it into her back pocket. She briefly regarded the small gathering with interest before pulling out another phone and replying to texts. Like Alisha, she was paid to be on standby and follow o
rders. Not eavesdrop and watch with even minute interest. (That was Dee’s job.)
Alice leaned her head against her husband’s shoulder and showed him the first ultrasound photo. “See? Told you it was a girl.”
Damon plucked it from her hand and held it up to the nearest light. “How can you tell?”
“Well, for one, Damon, she doesn’t have a little dingaling.”
He put the photo in his lap. “It’s the end of 2016. She could still be a he even without the dingaling, dearest.”
“How progressive of you.” Alice sipped her hot tea and subsequently salivated over the coffee heading in her husband’s direction. “But a mother knows, okay? Still a girl.”
Damon wrapped his arm around her, completely disregarding his coffee. “I’m sorry I couldn’t make it. I had the…”
“I know. It’s fine.” No, not really, it wasn’t fine, but Alice understood why her husband couldn’t make it to the appointment that determined what kind of clothes Alice wanted to buy her baby. Business. Big business meeting he simply could not reschedule no matter what he and Ms. Clayborn tried to make happen. Alice had known going into her appointment that her husband wouldn’t be there. Deep inside, she understood. That didn’t mean it was fine.
“I’ll make it up to you somehow. Promise.”
Alice wanted to kiss him to let him know that there were no real hard feelings, but she always felt weird doing it when they were in such company. None of the women around them would say anything, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t still weird. Damon had no problems making out with his wife in front of an audience. For him, it meant showing off how much he loved her. But Alice was raised to not do those things in public, and she wasn’t inclined even after she became Mrs. Monroe earlier that year.
The phone Ms. Clayborn held rang. “Hello? This is the phone of Mrs. Alice Monroe.” When did she get a hold of Alice’s business phone? Wasn’t that Alisha’s jurisdiction? Damnit, Alice could never keep straight who was really whose assistant. She and Damon traded assistants like some sisters traded handbags on a day to day basis.
