My Biggest Mistake

by Lisa Lace

  I rise from my chair. I feel too much like prey when he’s towering over me. I meet his gaze and clench my jaw. “I’m not leaving.”

  Rory looks around, stepping in closer. He clearly doesn’t want to be seen shouting at a woman in his crowded lobby. He leans in and lowers his voice. “Don’t make me call security.”

  “Do it. Call security on me. I was going to give you a second chance for an article to show your better attributes, but the readers will also love the story about how you manhandled the one journalist who ever dared call you out.”

  He sneers. “You’re unbelievable.” He nods toward the elevator. “To my office. The last thing I want is to cause a scene on company grounds.”

  I hide my smirk. I won.

  “Thank you, Mr. Everest. I appreciate your courtesy.”

  He’s smoldering. Beneath his calm exterior, I can see a fury burning. It gives me a secret thrill to rub him up the wrong way. I, Elise Sawyer, have that effect on the infamous bachelor of New York.

  I follow him into the elevator and the doors close behind us. It feels strange to be standing so close to him in a confined space knowing he detests me. Still, he looks hot as hell when he’s angry.

  “I really can’t believe you showed up again. If I could throw you out of here…”

  “Unfortunately, you’ve not got a great name for yourself when it comes to public relations. I’m guessing you’re meant to be on your best behavior about now?”

  Rory scowls. “You have no idea the things I have to handle.”

  We arrive on the very top floor and Rory strides into his office with me in tow. Charlotte looks surprised to see me on his heel, her mouth forming a small “oh” of surprise as she watches me pass. I offer an apologetic smile. I wonder what trouble she had to deal with after my article.

  He shuts the door behind us and lifts his hands. “Well? You’ve got my attention. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

  Shaking his head in temper, Rory goes to a drink cabinet at the back of the room, opening the door at the bottom. He pulls out a bottle of whiskey and places it on the side table. I watch as he takes off the cap, inhales the scent of the alcohol deeply, then begins to pace around the room with the open bottle in his hand. He loosens his tie.

  I’m not Rory Everest’s biggest fan, but even I can tell something is on his mind. This act is more than his usual show of aggression and hostility. He’s restless, and his calm exterior has been shattered. His agitation is obvious.

  I try to keep my voice steady. I don’t want to antagonize him any further. “Mr. Everest, I’m sincerely sorry for any trouble my last article might have caused you. I was upset at what I felt was a disrespectful encounter the last time we met, and I let my feelings get the better of me when I wrote my piece.”

  I pause, trying to read Rory’s expression. He’s leaning against his desk, toying with the whiskey bottle, but still not drinking. I jump when he slams it down on the desktop and slides it away from him.

  “Get to the point, Miss. Sawyer. I’m not having a good day.”

  I bite down on my lip. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Rory’s gaze is incredulous, then he lets out a scornful bark of a laugh. “Are you serious?”

  I shrug. “Maybe I could help.”

  “By publishing all the shit that’s going on in my life right now?”

  I place my notepad down on the floor. “We’re off the record.”

  “Nothing’s ever off the record with you vultures.” He sighs. When he lifts his gaze to meet my eye, he looks defeated. There is a deep, deep bitterness in his eyes. “You really want to know what’s on my mind?”

  I say nothing, only keep my eyes on his.

  “Fine.” He stands up from the desk, pacing with his hands in his pockets. When he starts to speak, he waves a hand around angrily. “My bitch ex has shown up out of the blue after seven years of no contact to fight me for custody of the daughter she abandoned at birth. My daughter. Except, according to her, I’m not the father.”

  I’m shocked. I never expected Rory to actually tell me anything about his life. He sits down in the chair next to me, his jaw clenched. His fingers are gripping the armrests so tightly that his knuckles are white.

  “It must be a tactic,” I say. “You’ve always raised your daughter alone…haven’t you?”

  “Yes, I have. But it doesn’t seem to be a tactic. There was a DNA test.” His voice falters. “Grace isn’t mine.”

  He turns a photograph on the desk toward him. I see a picture of the same blond little girl from the pool. It’s a back-to-school photo, and she’s got a backpack on. She’s grinning from ear to ear. She’s the spitting image of Rory, her features smaller and more feminine, but definitely his.

  I place a hand over my chest. “Are you sure?”

  Rory goes behind his desk and pulls out some paperwork from the top drawer. He slides it across to me, and I scan the results. It’s unmistakable—according to this, Rory and Grace have no biological relation.

  “Why didn’t she come forward with this years ago?”

  “Who knows?” Rory sits down behind his desk, leaning back and staring up at the ceiling. “Maybe because I was a nobody back then. Now that I have money, she has a reason to come out the woodwork.” He grunts. “You’d have thought a relationship with her daughter would be motive enough, wouldn’t you?”

  I lean forward. “Let me get this straight. This woman—”

  “Margot.”

  “—has had no contact with Grace since she was born, and this is the first time she’s ever questioned the paternity?”

  Rory raises his hands. “I guess she was happy to pawn her baby off on anybody she could. She just wanted to party.”

  “Tell me more about Margot.”

  “Margot Rosenthal. What can I say? She’s a heroin addict—or was when I knew her. Apparently, she’s married a salesman and works as a receptionist now.” He looks up at me with that tired gaze. “Where are you going with this?”

  “This whole thing doesn’t sit right with me. Something’s off.”

  “The results are right there.” Rory lifts his gaze to mine. His expression is exhausted, his eyes dull. “Anyway, all of that was off the record. My life is going to shit about now anyway. We might as well do another article. Ready to tear me to pieces again, Miss. Sawyer? Why the fuck not? Do your worst.”

  I pick my notebook up from the floor and place it silently back in my purse, rising from my seat. “I don’t think now’s the time, Mr. Everest. I do have a little human empathy in me, believe it or not. Maybe another time.”

  His eyebrows lift in surprise. “You’re turning down the article?”

  “Postponing. You have other things on your mind.”

  “Not that I can do a damned thing about it. I’ve got the best lawyers in the city on the case, but they’re going to have a hell of a fight on their hands convincing a judge that I’m the better option when Grace isn’t my biological daughter.”

  “I’m sure they’ll do everything they can for you.”

  “Let’s hope.”

  I leave the office. I would have continued with the article if my journalistic instinct hadn’t started tingling. There’s no way the little girl in that picture isn’t Rory’s. She has his eyes, his brow…the very same stare.

  Besides, why now? Rory has been a wealthy man for half a decade. Why now?

  Rory may be rude and irascible, but it’s clear that he loves and cares for Grace. I have a feeling there’s a bigger story to be unearthed, and I am going to get to the bottom of it.

  Rory

  Everything has had my temper flaring over the last few days. Even now, the sun in my eyes makes my hands curl into fists. I squint against the assault of sunlight, feeling murderous. The custody battle is draining me, and the DNA results are just another feather in Margot’s cap. The thought that I could lose Grace makes every moment a struggle. I feel like I’m clinging onto her for dear life and failing.
She’s slipping through my fingers.

  For the first time in years, I’ve left the office early. I couldn’t deal with the mindless tedium of business when my daughter is on the line. Alice and Grace are both out. I’m going to give in. After six long years, all I want right now is a stiff drink.

  Except, I’m not alone. Standing on the steps in front of my house, right here in Beverley Hills, is Elise Sawyer. She’s not dressed for an interview this time. She’s wearing a little flowery sundress with a pair of sandals, a pair of sunglasses pushing back her hair from her face.

  In another life, I would have been attracted to a feisty little brunette with a stubborn streak. I would have been happy to pursue her. Since I became a father, I’ve avoided women altogether.

  “Miss Sawyer. Interviews should be arranged through my office. You’ll have to make an appointment with Charlotte.”

  “I’m not here about that.” She jogs the last few steps toward me. Her eyes are shining like she knows something I don’t. There’s a victorious smile playing on her face; in her hands, she’s clutching a manila folder. “You’ll never believe what I’ve found out.”

  I’m too tired to chase her off my property. I pull my key from my jacket pocket and open my front door. I gesture ahead of me. “I suppose you’d better come in, then.”

  Elise looks elated. She strides through the doorway into the foyer of my house. She lets out a low, long breath. “It’s big enough, isn’t it?”

  “I could have bought something bigger.”

  “Of course, you could.” Her voice is sarcastic but soon snaps back to its former cheeriness. “Where’s your office?”

  She strides ahead of me, poking her head through doorways, trying to find somewhere she can show me whatever’s in that folder. All I can think about is the bottle of vodka I keep in the closet of one of the spare bedrooms; the one I’d kept to prove to myself I could always resist, no matter how nearby the temptation. Until now.

  “The living room will do. Follow me.”

  Elise whistles when she sees the interior of the room with its luxurious cream sofas, chocolate-colored walls, grand piano and modern fireplace.

  She points at the painting above the fire. “This is interesting.”

  The canvas is landscape, an abstract blend of muted grays and blues with silver and gold highlights, and urgent, shallow stroke marks. The desperate strokes overlap to create an image through the chaos—a child on a tire swing in a leafless tree.

  “Mala Torniche,” I say. “An up-and-coming contemporary painter. Born in Syria, came to study art in New York.”

  “It’s haunting.”

  “Yes.” I gesture toward the sofa opposite the one I choose to sit on. “There must be a reason you’re here, Miss Sawyer.”

  That knowing smile jumps onto her face again. “Yes. I’d better get to that. I think it’s going to turn your day around.”

  “I highly doubt that.”

  I have no idea what might have Elise so excited, and little interest in finding out. My thoughts are consumed with worry over Grace and Margot.

  Elise takes a seat opposite me and pushes the manila folder across the glass of the coffee table toward me. “I did some digging,” she says, her eyes sparkling. She slams her finger down on the folder. “Margot Rosenthal. You said she was a receptionist, right?” Elise grins at me. “Guess where?”

  I open the folder, and my heart stops momentarily as I scan the page. “The Helix DNA Center, New York.”

  “Exactly.” Elise sits back, looking smug. “Tell me that’s not too much of a coincidence? The first time your paternity has ever been questioned just so happens to be around the same time Margot lands a job at the DNA Center. Those results were fixed. I’d bet my life on it.”

  The sluggishness in my mind shifts. I’ve never been more alert. My blood starts to run hotter, faster. A real, true shred of hope shines like a beacon through the nightmare that’s been my life ever since Margot came back onto the scene.

  “That’s why it’s happening now. She saw her opportunity to undermine me. She knew she wouldn’t have the resources to match me in a fair fight, so she took the chance to play dirty.” I smile widely. “This is fucking glorious.”

  Elise laughs. “I knew something was off. I knew it!”

  I look at Elise, and it’s like I’m seeing her for the first time. The mindless, scathing gossip who I thought was out to get me might just have handed me the answer to all my prayers.

  “How did you figure this out?”

  “I had a feeling I couldn’t shake. It didn’t make sense to me that she wouldn’t have done this years ago. Something must have made her choose now. I had no idea what it might be—money troubles, a new partner, some scam she’s trying to pull…There had to be something that made her want to do this after all this time. I had to know, why now? So, I started searching her name. There are eighteen Margot Rosenthals in New York, seven Marge Rosenthals, and almost two-hundred M. Rosenthals. I started looking through all the online profiles of Margot Rosenthal, and as soon as I saw one of them worked for the DNA Center, I knew it had to be her.” Elise leans forward and flips to a new page in the folder. “This is her, right?”

  I look down at the staff profile page printed from the Helix DNA Center website. Sure enough, the little photograph in the top-right corner is unmistakably Margot. She’s aged, but it’s her. Her long blond hair has been cut shorter and straightened. Her waxy pallor has evened out; there’s some color in her face. She doesn’t look like the junkie I once knew, but I still recognize the mother of my child.

  I nod. “That’s Margot.”

  “We’ve got her.” Elise slaps her hands down on her knees. “Get a new DNA test. Demand it. This is an obvious conflict of interest at best, and outright deception at its worst. No judge is going to look kindly on her after this.”

  Elise looks thrilled. I can see the satisfaction in her expression, like Sherlock Holmes after he’s solved the unsolvable case.

  “Why did you do this?” I ask her. “You could have taken this straight to publication. A newspaper would have eaten this up. Why did you come to me?”

  “I may be a parasite, Mr. Everest, but I’m not completely heartless.”

  “Rory,” I say. “You can call me Rory.”

  “Even though we might not get on, that doesn’t mean you deserve to have your child stolen from you. As soon as I discovered this, I knew I had to tell you. You have to question the motives of any mother who takes seven years to fight for her child. Maybe you’ll win the case, maybe you won’t, but at least now the custody battle will be fair and based on the facts.”

  I nod slowly and reach out to place my hand on top of hers. She catches her breath at the touch, surprised. “I know you don’t like me, and we didn’t get off to the best start, but I swear to God, Grace is my world. I love that little girl more than I love myself—more than anything, or anyone. Tell me how I can repay you. How does twenty-thousand dollars sound?”

  Elise gasps and then laughs with shock. “I’m not after your money.”

  “You just did this from the goodness of your heart, then?”

  She pulls a face at the undisguised disbelief in my voice. “Call it professional curiosity.”

  “An interview, then.”

  “That I’ll agree to.” She reaches out to shake my hand. “A real interview.”

  “And all of this?” I gesture to the papers in front of me. “Off the record?”

  She smiles. “Off the record. The public prefers it when you’re the jerk.”

  Elise

  My hair is still wet from the shower I took after finishing my shift at the waterpark. I step out into the parking lot, my bag slung over my shoulder, stuffed with a damp towel and other things. I jump when I feel a hand on my shoulder and spin to see Rory standing there.

  There’s a big smile on his face, sincere enough that he almost looks human. The cold, bitter fury in his eyes has been replaced with warmth and excitement.
Did I put that there? My knees feel weak at the sight of him. Unexpected, the sight of Rory Everest would make any girl tremble.

  “Rory! What are you doing here?”

  “I came to find you. I have news.”

  “You couldn’t use the phone?”

  “I wanted to tell you in person.”

  I twist my hair into a damp strand and pull it over my shoulder, self-conscious about how I must look still wet from the shower. “What happened?”

  “I demanded new paternity tests,” he explains. “Five DNA tests, five different labs.”

  Now I know why he’s smiling. I smile, too. “And?”

  “I’m the father.” He clenches his hands into happy fists and waves them in the air. “She is one-hundred percent mine.” He lets out a long, relieved breath and laughs loudly. “To think, I was ready to take that lying bitch at her word. Me, my lawyers, the court…we’d all have accepted the results without question. If it wasn’t for you…” Rory grips my shoulders. I stiffen a little in surprise. He’s not a touchy-feely person. “You have no idea what you’ve done for me.”

  I pat the back of his hand with a nervous laugh. “I couldn’t let it lie. It was too suspicious. I’m glad I helped.” I smile. “That gorgeous little girl looks too much like you for anyone to say otherwise.”

  “I need to thank you properly. Tell me what I can do. Please, let me write you a check.”

  I know twenty-thousand dollars is nothing to Rory. I know a million is nothing. Still, my pride won’t allow me to accept the cash. I remember the way Rory looked at me when I first walked into his office, a lowly gossip columnist, compared to the way he’s looking at me now like I’m his personal savior. I can’t bear to have him think less of me now. It feels good to bask in someone’s admiration. I’ve been a freeloader and pauper for so long now.

  “It gave my confidence a boost to know there might be a real journalist in me yet. That’s all the thanks I need.”

  “Dinner, then.”

  “Dinner?”

  “Yes. Let me take you out. Let’s have a fresh start, you and me. I want to get to know the woman who caught Margot at her game. It’s the least I can do.”