“Hello, Wendy,” she greets me warmly. “How are you today?”
“I have a lingering stomach bug,” I reply. “I’ve been throwing up a lot in the last two weeks. It’s probably stress.”
“Hmm.” The doctor finishes reading my chart and turns to me. “I noticed you’re a month overdue on your birth-control shot. Is there any chance you could be pregnant?”
My blood runs cold. I feel the color drain from my cheeks, and I shiver instinctively. “No,” I reply automatically. It can’t be true. “They…” I bite back the sentence I was going to utter. They used condoms. I don’t want my doctor judging me for my threesome. “We used condoms,” I say instead.
“Condoms aren’t foolproof,” she replies. She opens a drawer and pulls out a syringe. “Before I write you a prescription for your stomach, I’m going to do a blood test as a precaution, okay?”
“Sure.”
She quickly draws blood. “It’ll take ten minutes to analyze the sample. I’ll be back as soon as I have your results.”
“Okay.”
As I wait, my palms sweat and my heart races. Time passes with excruciating slowness. My mind churns with a thousand anxious thoughts. What if I’m pregnant? How will Hudson and Asher react? One of them has to be the father—I haven’t been with anyone else in almost a year.
My father rejected me. Is that what Asher and Hudson will do to my baby? Already, they walked away from me this morning. What will happen when they find out?
You can’t be pregnant, I reassure myself. We used condoms.
But Dr. Dittmar’s suspicions make sense. My stomach has been queasy. I’ve barely been able to eat in the morning; my appetite doesn’t return until the afternoon. I’ve been puking my brains out. Today, a whiff of Amanda’s caramel latte sent me running to the toilet.
If I’m pregnant, which one of them is the father? Hudson never speaks of his ex-wife; maybe he still has feelings for her. Asher wants to keep everything casual; work is the most important thing in his life. How will fatherhood change these men?
A thought strikes me, one that has my insides clawing with panic. What if they want custody? What if they try to take my baby away from me?
You’re being silly, Wendy. Asher and Hudson might have screwed you over today, but that’s no reason to assume the worst-case scenario. But once the thought occurs to me, I can’t banish it from my mind. I’ve learned one thing from my painful history. Rich and powerful men do what they want without consequences. My father hid his marriage from my mother and had her fired from her job when she found out the truth and confronted him with it.
I should have resisted the sweet temptation that was Asher and Hudson. I shouldn’t have allowed my resolve to weaken. I shouldn’t have let desire overcome my innate caution.
And now, I’m waiting to find out if I’m pregnant.
The sun streams in through the window. Everyone in Manhattan seems to be out early this Friday afternoon, enjoying the good weather before winter sets in. I’d normally be at my desk, envying them their freedom. Not today.
There’s a knock on the door, and Gloria Dittmar enters, holding a clipboard. “The blood test results are in,” she says. “You’re definitely pregnant.”
I’m in a fog. Vaguely, I’m aware that she’s saying something about pre-natal vitamins, about refraining from smoking, drinking, and drug use. She asks me some questions about my health; I answer her on auto-pilot. She warns me to take it easy at work and to listen to my body, and I mutely agree.
I stumble out of her office in a complete daze.
I’m going to have a baby.
I can’t conceal this news from Asher and Hudson. I’m going to have to tell them, and when I do, they’re going to freak out.
My hands cover my still-flat belly protectively. “Don’t worry, monkey,” I say aloud, talking to my little impossible bean for the first time. “No matter what, you’ll always have me.”
22
Asher
The secret of getting ahead is getting started.
Mark Twain
I go through the next few days in a daze. Everything reminds me of Wendy. I watch some kind of legal drama on TV, but the lead protagonist is a smart, funny woman and I can’t watch it without being overwhelmed by sadness. I bury myself in work and avoid both Hudson and the boxing gym. I keep telling myself that I’m doing this to keep Wendy safe, but after three days of misery, even that feels hollow.
Stone Bradley calls me on Tuesday. “You wanted me to track down a phone number,” he says. “You have a pen handy?”
It takes me a few seconds to realize he’s talking about Wendy’s friend Miki. “You can’t email it to me?”
“This chick’s a hacker,” he replies. “I’m not putting anything on the internet.”
Rolling my eyes, I rummage through the sheets of paper on my desk, looking for something to write on. Stone’s a good guy, but sometimes, he’s a little too paranoid for his own good.
“Tell me why I should talk to you.” Miki sounds hostile, as I’d known she would be.
“I know it sounds difficult to believe, but I’m trying to help Wendy.”
“Not difficult to believe,” she says tightly. “Impossible. I don’t like you very much, Mr. Doyle. You hurt my friend. So if you don’t want me to hang up, stop giving me vague assurances that you mean well. It’s not going to work. I want facts. You have sixty seconds.”
Wendy’s friend is angry and protective, and I need her help. “Fine.” I take a deep breath and tell her everything. Thorne’s history with Lauren, the photos in the mail and the blackmailing letter, and Jeff Choi’s suspicions about financial fraud.
There’s a moment of silence when I’m done, then Miki says, “Well, you’re right about the money. I’ve been looking into Hancock’s books. They’ve definitely been tampered with.”
“Who did it?” I ask urgently.
“Not so fast,” she replies. “Tell me why you didn’t just talk to Wendy.”
I heave a sigh of frustration. “She’s your friend,” I say, keeping a tight hold of my emotions, trying to keep the pain and the rage I’ve felt in the last four days under control. “You know that she doesn’t walk away from dangerous situations. The first time I met her, she was taking on a two-hundred pound drunk guy at a bar. If she finds out that Thorne’s blackmailing me, she’ll call his bluff. And if Thorne believes there’s a real chance she might win this fucking contest, he’s not just going to be content with blackmailing me. He’s going to target her.”
“You’re probably right,” she concedes. “What do you want from me?”
“Wendy’s not going to be safe until Thorne’s in jail. If there’s proof that Thorne committed fraud, we can alert the authorities.”
“It’s not much of a plan,” Miki says skeptically.
“It’s all I have at the moment.”
“Fair enough.” She seems to reach a conclusion. “Here’s what I’ve found so far,” she says. “The project in Barbados was hemorrhaging money. There are multiple emails between the Head of Finance and Thorne about the project. She kept asking for information; Thorne rebuffed her repeatedly. The week before she died, she spent hours in the accounting system.” Miki’s voice is grim. “Once she died, her emails were deleted, and her concerns swept under the rug. Thorne dumped sixty million dollars into Hancock Construction’s bank accounts, and they made it look like the money had been there all along.”
I focus on the obvious flaw. “Thorne doesn’t have sixty million dollars. His father set up a trust fund for him that pays five million dollars every year. He spends most of it.”
“I know,” she replies. “Someone loaned Thorne the money. Jean Nakashima was trying to find out who that was when she drowned.”
I feel chilled. There’s another player in the mix, someone who loaned Thorne sixty million dollars, someone who might have made Jean Nakashima disappear.
The situation has just got a thousand times more dangerous. I need
to call Bradley and double the guards on Wendy.
Miki reaches the same conclusion as I do. “I’m searching for a name,” she says. I’ll call you as soon as I have it. And Asher?”
“Yeah?”
“Keep Wendy safe.”
23
Hudson
With the new day comes new strength and new thoughts.
Eleanor Roosevelt
I don’t reach out to Asher for the next few weeks. I don’t want to talk to him; I’m angry with my friend. I understand why he acted the way he did; I’d have made the same decision in his place. But as I spend weekend after weekend alone, I feel Wendy’s absence keenly, and I resent Asher for it.
October slips into November. The Monday before Thanksgiving, Nadja and I have a meeting with Brian Dobson. Dobson’s building a mega-mall on the outskirts of Houston, and Nadja is spearheading the project. She presents the design confidently, and I can tell Dobson is blown away. Once she’s done, Brian applauds enthusiastically, then turns to me. “I’m surprised to see you here,” he says. “I thought you’d be putting out the fire at Hancock Construction. I guess the rumors are true—you guys have pulled out of the Staten Island project?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I golfed with Jeff Parsons over the weekend,” Brian says. “He said that Thorne Hancock came to the board of directors and complained that the Staten Island project is at serious risk of failure. The board has called an emergency meeting today. If their concerns aren’t addressed, they’re going to stop construction.” He gives me a speculative look. “You don’t know what I’m talking about,” he guesses. “So it’s true? You’re not involved anymore?”
An emergency board meeting. Thorne planned this. He got rid of Asher and me, and now he’s shifted his attention to Wendy.
I think of Wendy, alone, ambushed by the board. They’ll ask her pointed questions about the design, and I won’t be there to answer them. They’ll nitpick about contract details, and Asher won’t be there to assure them that things are under control. Wendy is doing a great job managing the project, but she’s neither an architect nor a corporate lawyer.
It’s probably for the best. If the board halts the Staten Island project, Thorne will cease his attacks on Wendy. For a brief second, I even fantasize that the three of us will resume our relationship.
Then cold reality intrudes, and I think about Wendy. She got fired from her law firm because of Paul Hancock’s stupid contest, and instead of complaining about it, she rolled up her sleeves and got to work. She’s hammered away at the Staten Island project, familiarizing herself with the construction industry, spending long hours at work absorbing every single detail so her project can be successful.
She’ll be shattered if the board shuts her down.
And I can’t stand by and let that happen. I don’t care what Asher thinks. I don’t care about the danger; we’ll handle it together. Right now, the only thought on my mind is that I want to be there for Wendy. “I am involved,” I tell Brian, glancing at my watch. “I’m heading to Hancock Construction now, as a matter of fact. See you later, Brian, Nadja.”
I expect Nadja to react with displeasure, but instead, there’s a half-smile on her face.
In the hallway, as I reach for my coat, my assistant Clarisse stops me. “Mr. Doyle called,” she says. “He said it was urgent.”
I shrug. I have no intention of calling Asher back. Not until I’ve helped Wendy.
She’s seated in the middle of the long conference table, facing the door. Jeff Choi is at her right; the seat to her left is occupied by Mark Allen, who scowls at the papers in front of him.
I haven’t seen Wendy for more than a month. I pause at the doorway, drinking in the sight of her. Her blonde hair is scraped back into a tight topknot. She’s wearing her gray suit, her blouse buttoned up to her throat. I know that outfit. Wendy’s dressing for battle.
Thorne’s seated himself at the head of the table. Pompous ass. He’s addressing the gathering. “They don’t have an architect,” he says accusingly. “They don’t have a lawyer—Mark hasn’t even seen the contracts they’re signing. I think we have a right to know what’s going on in Staten Island.”
Bill Richardson is seated next to Thorne. “Is Thorne right, Ms. Williams?” he asks Wendy. “Is Fleming Architecture no longer working on your project?”
That’s my cue. “Sorry I’m late, Wendy,” I say, stepping into the room. “I had a meeting that ran over.”
For a second, Wendy’s expression is shocked, then her face goes blank again. “I wasn’t expecting you, Hudson,” she says neutrally.
I move a chair from the back and position it next to Wendy, edging Mark Allen out of the way. “You know me,” I say, nodding at Thorne, feeling deeply satisfied at the stupefied look on his face. Asshole. “I don't miss client briefings.”
Bill Richardson smiles at me, relief in his eyes. Next to him, Thorne tries to recover his composure. “Fine, Fleming’s here,” he sneers. “But that doesn’t address Mark’s questions about the contracts.” He looks at the Head of Legal. “Mark, do you want to explain your concerns to the Board of Directors?”
“Please do,” a voice interjects from the doorway. Asher walks into the conference room. “I worked on them personally. I’m curious to know what Allen thinks is wrong.”
Thorne’s face grows pale, then he glares at Wendy, an unpleasant scowl on his face. I hope we haven’t made things worse.
Half an hour later, the Board of Directors has been satisfied that the Staten Island project is on track. “I’m not sure what the urgency was, Thorne,” Andrea Sommers, one of the board members, and a long-time friend of Paul Hancock chides. “Why couldn’t this update have waited until after Thanksgiving? Wendy appears to have everything under control.”
Thorne mutters something and stalks away. Ms. Sommers turns to me with a warm smile and shakes my hand. “We’ve never met, but I knew your father quite well. I’m so glad you’re working on this project.”
“Indeed.” Michael Berry, the Chairman of the Board, nods vigorously. “Wendy, do you have Thanksgiving plans?”
I wonder if these people know how Paul Hancock treated Wendy’s mother. Everyone seems to be happy to gloss over the uncomfortable fact that Hancock waited until after his death to acknowledge his daughter. They all appear content to treat Wendy like a colleague, sweeping the whole sordid family history under the carpet. I’m suddenly furious with all of them.
“I normally spend Thanksgiving with my mother,” Wendy replies, placing pointed emphasis on the word. “But she has to work this year, so I’ll be spending the holiday with my friends.”
“Ah.” Berry, realizing that he’s broached an awkward topic, looks uncomfortable and avoids her gaze. “That’s good.” He directs his next question at Asher and me. “What about the two of you? Are you spending the holiday with family?”
What family? My parents are dead, and so are Asher’s. Megan never cooked; she was always on a diet. Since my dad passed away, there hasn’t been much to be grateful for around the holidays.
For an instant, I imagine what the holiday would be like if Wendy were around. Asher would cook dinner. Wendy would make jokes about my incompetence in the kitchen, and rope me into helping out. I’d light the fireplace and open a bottle of wine, and after our meal, the three of us would relax on the couch. And we’d make love…
“Every year, Hudson and I order pizza and watch football,” Asher replies. “And the four-day weekend will give me a chance to catch up on work.”
Andrea Sommers gives us a sympathetic smile. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice that Wendy is listening to our conversation, an unreadable look on her face. I wonder what she’s thinking.
24
Wendy
There is only one happiness in this life, to love and be loved.
George Sand
Piper’s is packed. The restaurant is officially closed for the holiday, but you wouldn’t know it from the numbe
r of people there.
The tables are loaded with food. A giant turkey takes center stage, and it appears that Piper and Sebastian, the two chefs in the room, have made a hundred side dishes. There are potatoes: mashed, roasted and scalloped. There are yams and squash. Cranberry sauce, brussels sprouts, steamed broccoli, roasted mushrooms, three kinds of stuffing, Piper’s special recipe macaroni and cheese, Gabby’s cucumber and cheese sandwiches, and so much more.
Thank heavens I’m eating for two.
Miki called me a week ago and told me she was flying back to New York for Thanksgiving. “I’m staying through Christmas,” she’d said. “I just can’t deal with Aaron over the holidays.” Understanding completely, I’d told her she could crash at my place, and she’d gratefully accepted.
She arrives just in time for the meal. “My flight was delayed,” she explains, giving me a warm hug. “Thank you so much for letting me stay.”
“No worries,” I tell her. My friend looks about as good as can be expected under the circumstances. “Prepare for the inquisition. You didn’t tell Piper, Gabby, and Katie you were coming, and they’re going to want to know why Aaron isn’t with you.”
“Crap on a cracker,” she groans, and though the situation is serious, I have to laugh. Miki’s curses are always so colorful. “Please Wendy, would you just tell them the truth if they ask? Tonight, all I want to do is eat some food, hang out with my friends and drink myself silly.”
“Done.” I know exactly how Miki feels.
Katie and Adam walk up at that moment. “Miki,” Katie squeals in pleasure, flinging her arms around her. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
The three of them start to catch up, and I leave them to it. I wander away to a corner, wanting to be alone with my thoughts. I hadn’t expected Hudson and Asher to show up yesterday. After the board meeting, I’d avoided talking to them; I didn’t know what to say. The only thought running through my brain was that I was pregnant and one of them was the father.
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