Unforgettable

by Delaney Diamond

  “Atlanta was a long time ago. I’ve moved on.” She filled her voice with a coolness she didn’t feel, hoping the same sentiment was reflected in her eyes and would fool him into walking out without a backward glance. “I was happily married for seven years before my husband passed away, and I think it’s best that we keep the past in the past.”

  Her words swept the friendly expression from his face. “I know we’ve both changed a lot, and I’m not asking to revisit the past,” he said. “All I’m asking is—”

  “You’re asking for something I can’t give. I’ve moved on,” she said in a firmer voice.

  Her reaction confused him. She could see it in his eyes. “So you can’t see your way to be friends?” He laughed softly, as if the idea of not accepting his offer of friendship was preposterous.

  “I have plenty of friends. I don’t need anymore.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “You sound surprised.”

  He studied her. “Maybe we should try this again.”

  He stalked toward her, his footfalls silent on the carpet. She stiffened at his closeness and fought to breathe normally. Surely she could handle being this close to him, even though she could smell his cologne, even though she could reach out and touch him if she wanted to.

  He looked her right in the eye, and she held her gaze steady.

  She was almost as tall as him in her heels. Five feet eight and a half inches, but she rounded up to five-nine, because what was a half-inch more? He used to tease her about that. He always teased her about one thing or another—her picky eating habits, her prissiness.

  “Did I do something to upset you?” he asked.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Because I have the distinct impression you don’t want me here.” He examined her face. “Am I right? You don’t want me here?”

  She set the pen on the desk with a measured motion and lifted her gaze to his. “I don’t understand why you want to be here or what your expectations are.”

  “I don’t expect anything. I don’t want anything,” he said.

  “Except to be friends,” she clarified.

  “Yes.”

  “Good, we understand each other.” She exhaled a deep breath. “You want to be friends, but I don’t.”

  He frowned. His dark, contemplative gaze searched her face. “Why?”

  “I told you, I have plenty of friends already.”

  “If this is about the way our relationship ended, you knew the deal when we got involved. I never lied to you. It doesn’t make sense that you’d still hold a grudge after nine years.”

  He was right. He’d been up front from the beginning, making it clear that their relationship was a summer fling and nothing more because he had big plans that didn’t involve a silly socialite falling for him.

  “I’m not holding a grudge. I don’t want to be friends with you.”

  He turned away. “This was obviously a waste of time,” he muttered.

  “Obviously.” She only had to maintain this arctic front a little longer so she could get him out of there, and then she could relax.

  He swung around. “I came to talk, to see if we could build a bridge or something.” Her silence fueled his anger. “For the record, I wanted to be friends, nothing more. I have plenty of women in my life.”

  The words had been thrust at her with dagger-like force, making it clear he didn’t want her, no matter what she thought. Somehow she managed not to flinch.

  “Good for you. Then why are you here?” she shot back.

  “I’m beginning to wonder the same thing.”

  Right then, the door swung open and Katie bounded in, her long braids pulled back into a ponytail. Her mouth fell open and she looked up at them in surprise.

  “Oops! Sorry. I didn’t know you were in a meeting. Cynthia wasn’t at her desk.”

  Ivy’s kept her voice calm even though her pulse started to race. “Go back down the hall to the visitor’s office. I’ll be there as soon as I wrap this up.”

  Quietly, Katie obeyed and left, shutting the door behind her.

  “She looks just like you,” Lucas said. He paused. He looked at her strangely, studying her face again.

  “I have a million things to do. I need you to leave,” Ivy said.

  His head jerked back at her abrupt dismissal. “Damn, Ivy, I just—” He shook his head. “You know what, forget it. Lucas Baylor doesn’t stay where he’s not wanted. Take care of yourself.”

  He stormed out, and after he left, Ivy closed her eyes and sagged against the desk. That was close.

  Chapter Six

  Lucas marched down the hall, fury and the stirring of blood in his loins making his stride heavy.

  What a waste of time and how embarrassing. So what they couldn’t be friends?

  He had plenty of friends, just like she did. So what if his eyes had dropped to the sway of her hips when she walked ahead of him? He barely even noticed that her body was rounder, fuller, more womanly.

  He wanted to wrench the mask of stoicism from her lovely face. The woman he remembered had been passionate, not cool and detached. Was the old Ivy completely gone? The wild child—more child than wild—with her contradictory innocence and adventurous spirit, determined to live life to the fullest while shunning the spotlight that had dogged her for years.

  He frowned.

  And what had that look been about at the end? It wasn’t just surprise. It was worry. No. Concern? No. Alarm. Why would Ivy be alarmed in his presence?

  It was around lunchtime and the offices on either side of the hallway were empty. A movement in one of them caught his eye. Ivy’s daughter was in there, seated in a guest chair and writing in a composition notebook on her lap.

  Before he had time to contemplate his actions, he entered the office. She was part of Ivy, and that drew him out of curiosity, if nothing else.

  “Hey there.”

  She quickly covered the pages of the book protectively with her arm.

  “What do you have there?” he asked.

  “Nothing.” Her glasses gave her a studious, serious appearance.

  “Looked like you might be working on a story,” he said.

  She shrugged and kept her arm over the book.

  He almost smiled. He knew what it was like to want to protect your words before allowing anyone to see them and criticize. “You don’t want me to see?”

  She shrugged again. “I don’t know if I’m any good,” she mumbled.

  “Any good at what?”

  “Writing.” Behind the black-framed glasses, she had pretty eyes, with long, curled lashes. “Writing is my hobby, and I love it. My mom says I’m like my dad in that way.”

  Ivy’s husband had been fond of writing. That was a surprise. “So your dad liked to write too, huh?”

  The little girl nodded. “Mommy said his words were like magic.”

  A stab of jealousy passed through him. She used to say the same about his writing. He crouched in front of her daughter. “Guess what? I’m a writer, too.”

  Impressed, her eyes widened. “You are?”

  “Yes. Do you know what a blog is?”

  She nodded.

  “Well, I write a successful blog and I just had my first book published. That’s why I’m in Seattle. I’m on a tour to promote it.”

  “Congratulations on your book. That’s quite an accomplishment.” She sounded intelligent and way too mature for her age. He stifled a smile.

  “So what are you working on?” Lucas asked.

  “Well…it’s not a story or anything. It’s my feelings. Just things I’m thinking about.” Her voice and eyes lowered at the end and she suddenly became bashful. “But I write stories, too.”

  “What kind of stories?”

  “Fairy tales, about a princess and a handsome prince.”

  “And how do those stories end?” he asked.

  Her eyes lit up. “They get married and have lots of babies.”

  Lucas
hid his amusement at her animated expression. “After they finish school, right?”

  “Of course,” she said solemnly.

  He rose from the crouched position and looked down at her upturned face. She was a cute little replica of her mother, with the same complexion and a pair of sparkling brown eyes. She’d only been briefly mentioned in an article he’d read online about Ivy about how she managed her career as an executive while being a mother. There hadn’t been a single photo of her daughter anywhere, though. Ivy had done a good job of keeping her out of the media spotlight.

  “It was nice talking to you,” Lucas said. He suddenly realized he didn’t know her name. “What’s your name, darlin’?”

  “Katie. Well, it’s actually Katherine, but everybody calls me Katie.”

  “That’s a pretty name. My mother’s name is Katherine, too.”

  “It is?”

  “Sure is. Well, it was nice to meet you, Katie.” He paused, struck by a random thought. Katherine? Why would Ivy give her daughter his mother’s name?

  Probably just a coincidence. After all, his mother and Ivy had been close during the time she and he were involved, and he could tell his mother had been disappointed when their relationship had ended. Maybe Ivy just liked the name Katherine.

  His brow furrowed. Surely it was also a coincidence that Katie happened to enjoy writing, like he did.

  Writing is my hobby, and I love it. My mom said I’m like my dad in that way.

  Mommy said his words were like magic.

  Holy shit.

  “Mister, are you okay?”

  Sweat broke out on his forehead and he swiped it away. He looked more closely at Katie and noticed things he hadn’t before. He couldn’t honestly say he saw a resemblance to him in her face. She resembled her mother, but where Ivy had a rounded tip to her nose, Katie’s was flatter and broader, similar to his. And her eyelashes reminded him of his own.

  No big deal. Lots of people had broad noses and long lashes, right?

  He swallowed. He couldn’t shake his crazy idea. It took root and germinated.

  Could she be his daughter? Was that why he felt inexplicably drawn to her?

  No, none of his musings made sense. He shook his head. Katie was too young, clearly only about six or seven years old. He and Ivy would have been broken up long before her conception. She would have been happily married to Winston Whats-His-Face during the time Katie was conceived.

  “Yes, I’m fine,” he said, his voice thick, his mind still racing. “How old are you, Katie?” he asked.

  “I turned eight in April, but I can’t wait until I turn nine, because my Uncle Cyrus said he’s going to buy me a gold-plated cell phone. Mommy says I’m too young, but Uncle Cyrus says all the kids have cell phones, so why shouldn’t I. My mom worries a lot.”

  He barely heard the last part of what she said. His brain quickly did the math. If her birthday was in April, that meant Ivy had probably gotten pregnant the summer they’d spent together.

  The direction of his thoughts sent his mind reeling. His heartbeat tripled, the pounding echoing in his head. He recalled a broken condom, his panic, and her promise to take the morning after pill. They’d had an agreement. Surely she would have told him if she was pregnant.

  He spun around when he heard a soft noise behind him. Ivy stood in the doorway, her eyes wide with apprehension.

  “Mommy, Mr., um, I don’t know his name, but he’s a writer, too—”

  “Go to my office and wait for me in there, please,” Ivy said, her voice tight.

  “Okay.” Katie picked up her pencil and notebook. She paused at the door. “Bye, mister.”

  She slipped from the room and Ivy and Lucas stared at each other in silence. He was still processing his thoughts.

  “I thought you’d gone.” Underneath the stiff tone, there was an odd note to her voice—a sort of breathlessness.

  “I’m still here.” He watched her closely. “Getting to know Katherine.”

  He didn’t hear her indrawn breath, but he saw the way her chest hitched. He stepped closer.

  “Funny how you gave her the same name as my mother.”

  “You think so? I’ve always loved the name Katherine.” She tried to appear calm but didn’t quite pull it off. Not when the pulse at her throat was beating out of control.

  “And she loves to write, just like her father. Isn’t that something?”

  She licked her lips. “Nothing special about it. Lots of kids take after their parents. Some children develop a love of sports. She happens to love writing.”

  “What did your husband write?”

  “A lot of things. A little bit of this and that.” She obviously couldn’t think of a lie fast enough.

  “Interesting.” Lucas slowly rubbed his jaw. “You know what else is interesting? She told me she’s eight years old.”

  Raw panic flashed in her eyes. Bolstered with confidence, Lucas continued. “She said her birthday’s in April,” he said through gritted teeth. Anger and disbelief billowed in his blood. “Isn’t that interesting?”

  There was no mistaking the anxiety in Ivy’s face.

  “I don’t know why her birthday would be interesting.” She glanced at the gold and diamond encrusted Cartier watch on her wrist. “You know what, I better go. As I mentioned, I have a lunch date.”

  “Not so fast!” She half-turned when his voice whipped out to stop her.

  Lucas slammed the door shut before she could escape and moved into her personal space, so close he saw the different colors in her pupils—a dark chestnut and a smattering of lighter brown specks.

  “Counting backward nine months—”

  “Whatever it is you’re thinking—”

  “Look me in the eye and tell me I’m wrong, Ivy,” he snarled. “Tell me!”

  She pressed back into the wall and a trembling overtook her shoulders. He moved closer, crowding her.

  “Tell me the truth,” Lucas said, clenching his fingers into tightly balled fists. “Tell me the truth, goddammit!” His voice had risen louder and his words came out harsher than he’d intended, but he couldn’t suppress the emotion overtaking him.

  Ivy shook her head slowly, but she didn’t respond. She didn’t have to, because he saw the answer in her eyes.

  “Jesus,” Lucas muttered, taking two steps back. His legs became unsteady, and his heart thundered beneath his ribs. “Ivy…” He swallowed, at a loss for words and overwhelmed by the burning in his chest that made it hard to breathe. “She’s my daughter, isn’t she?”

  She placed trembling fingers over her mouth. Her brows knitted together and her eyes filled with tears. She lowered her lids and drew some inner strength, because when she opened her eyes again, she appeared calmer.

  “Yes.”

  Chapter Seven

  Blood pounded in his ears. “You lied to me.”

  “I didn’t lie to you.”

  “We had an agreement,” Lucas reminded her, his voice a harsh whisper. “When the condom broke, we agreed you’d take the morning after pill to prevent getting pregnant. You told me you had taken it.”

  “I didn’t tell you I took it.”

  “Are you calling me a liar?” he demanded. “I specifically remember asking you if you’d bought the pill and taken it.”

  “And I said don’t worry, everything’s taken care of,” she said quietly.

  He paused, scouring his memory to recall what exactly they’d said to each other. He’d been blunt and honest, just like in the beginning. He’d reminded her that soon he would be flying off to South Korea for a year to teach English. The last thing he had needed was to become a father. Fatherhood had never been an option for him, and he’d told her as much.

  He’d specifically asked her if she’d taken the pill, and she’d said…now he couldn’t remember. As he reflected on the conversation, she hadn’t actually said yes, had she? He’d made the assumption based on her vague answer.

  “So you lied by omission,” he bi
t out.

  She took a deep breath. “I told you what you wanted to hear, but I decided to let nature take its course. I decided that if I got pregnant, I would live with the consequences.” She lifted her chin in a display of defiance.

  “I can’t believe this.” Lucas paced away from her and clutched his head in his hands. Outside the window was a bright, sunny day. Inside the room, he suffocated under a cloud of disbelief. Was this really happening? “What are we going to do?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  He whirled around to face her again, and she actually looked confused.

  “I’m her father,” he explained, as if it needed explaining.

  “As far as she’s concerned, her father is dead. I don’t want or need anything from you. You’re free to go.”

  “Free to—” He broke off with a grim laugh.

  “You could leave, and no one would blame you.”

  “You expect me to just walk away?”

  “She’ll never know. I haven’t said a word to her about you.”

  Lucas fell silent as the thought took root. “So you expect me to fly out of here tomorrow and pretend I don’t have a child—someone walking around in the world whose life I helped create? Half my personality, half my traits.”

  “You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to,” Ivy said. The emotion from a few minutes ago had completely dissipated. The mask was back in place and she was once again her cool and collected self. “I don’t need anything from you.”

  “I know you don’t need anything from me, princess, but this isn’t about you, is it?”

  Use of the endearment took them both by surprise. She stiffened and he wished he could take back the word. He’d nicknamed her “princess” almost from the moment they met, only finding out later how close to the truth he’d been. From the beginning he could tell she came from money, but when she’d disclosed the extent of her family’s wealth, he’d been floored. Princess indeed, and he couldn’t help but wonder why this woman would be messing around with a lowly waiter.