by MJ Rodgers
Marc smiled as he watched Remy and Nicholas, their laughter rolling along with their bodies, a merry duet of happy sounds.
After a few moments, Remy got herself back in control, swept Nicholas into her arms and rose to her feet. The little boy wrapped his arms around his mother’s neck and gave her a hug and a big, sloppy wet kiss on the cheek. The smile that lit her face in response put the sun to shame.
Marc enjoyed watching this warm, relaxed mom. She was a far cry from the cool sophisticate who had challenged him so thoroughly both in and out of the courtroom. But the time had come to make his presence known and get on with the business he was here to conduct.
“Dr. Westbrook,” he called as he stepped out of the shadows.
She swung immediately in his direction, clutching Nicholas in a protective reflexive gesture to her breast, the previous smile on her face instantly wiped clean.
“How did you get past the security guard? I’m going to have a word with him right now.” She marched toward the back door of the center and stepped up onto the cedar deck, clearly intending to go inside.
“Before you do anything rash, perhaps you should know that Dr. Feeson authorized my entry.”
She stopped, whirling toward him. “He had no right.”
“Remy, as trustee to your son’s estate, I have the right and obligation to see to his financial welfare, and I intend to do just that.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. My son has no estate.”
“He does through his father, David Demerchant.”
“David Demerchant was not his father.”
Nicholas was looking carefully at his mother’s face. His voice rose questioningly.
“Mommy?”
“It’s okay, sweetie,” Remy reassured him in a calm, mellow tone, instantly changing the inflection in her voice. “Mommy’s just disagreeing with this man.”
Remy’s eyes sent golden daggers at Marc, although her voice remained scrupulously calm. “Stay back, please. Nicholas gets nervous around strangers, particularly men.”
Nicholas didn’t look nervous at all to Marc. He stared at him with bright blue eyes full of curiosity.
“Hi,” Marc said with a smile.
“Mr. Truesdale, did you or did you not tell me two weeks ago that you firmly believed that Binick had just picked my record out of his computer to pretend that I had been given David Demerchant’s sperm?”
“That was before I brought Louie Demerchant to see Nicholas.”
“You can’t be so naive as to let yourself be led astray by the wishful thinking of that poor old man.”
“I’m not acting as Louie Demerchant’s lawyer in this matter. I’m acting on behalf of David Demerchant’s son.”
“But Nicholas isn’t—”
“Save your breath, Dr. Westbrook. If I didn’t think that you were holding David’s son, believe me, I wouldn’t be here.”
“You can’t be that sure I received David’s sperm.”
“Now I can,” Marc said with a smile as one of the toddler’s little hands reached out to him.
“You’re taking Binick’s records at face value?”
“No, but I’m taking this little face here at its value,” Marc said, raising his hand to stroke the boy’s cheek. “And not just his face. When you learn more about David Demerchant, you’ll understand.”
“I will not—”
“Oh, I admit I didn’t believe it at first. But, now that I’ve seen him and know more about him, there’s no question in my mind. David was Nicholas’s daddy, all right.”
“Daddy?” Nicholas repeated, grabbing Marc’s finger and looking directly at him.
“No, no, sweetheart! Not Daddy,” Remy quickly amended, stepping back to disengage Nicholas’s hold.
“You see, Remy? You’re not going to be able to keep this from him. He’s already looking for his daddy.”
“He is not. All babies at his age are in the habit of saying ‘daddy’ to strangers. It means nothing.”
“Remy? Is everything all right?” a woman called from the back door of the center. Marc turned, realizing he had been so focused on Remy that he hadn’t heard the door open.
“Yes, Phil,” Remy responded in a more mellow tone. “This is that lawyer I mentioned. Mr. Truesdale, this is my sister, Dr. Phillida Moore.”
Marc felt the intense scrutiny from the strong-looking woman in the wheelchair as he leaned forward to offer her his hand. She and Remy shared some resemblance, but there was a hardness in her sister’s deep brown eyes that Marc had never seen in Remy’s.
“Marc,” he said, sending her one of his most charming smiles.
A speculative eyebrow winged up her forehead. “Phil,” she said, taking his hand and giving it a firm shake.
“Phil, would you mind taking Nicholas inside?” Remy asked. “And Thumper? She’s over there on the swings. I need to talk to Mr. Truesdale for a moment.”
“Sure.” Phil called to the chimp, who came obediently at a run on knuckles and back feet. Remy set Nicholas down and he readily took his aunt’s outstretched hand.
“Bye-bye,” Nicholas said with a cute little smile.
Marc waved, and Remy responded with a smile on her face and in her voice that echoed her son’s words. She waited until the door had closed before turning back to Marc. By then her smile had vanished.
“Look, even if I received David Demerchant’s sperm by mistake—and I’m not conceding that—it’s still irrelevant. I have a contract with Bio-Sperm that guarantees me that the donor signed away all rights to the sperm I received.”
“Yes,” Marc agreed, “and I would say you have excellent grounds for suing Bio-Sperm for breach of that contract. Unfortunately, you’re a little late. Bio-Sperm just went bankrupt.”
“That doesn’t affect my rights.”
Marc schooled his voice into its most gentle, reasonable tone. “Remy, you have to face the legal facts. Your contract with Bio-Sperm is binding on you, on Bio-Sperm and on all the men who agreed to participate in Bio-Sperm’s program of donating their sperm for anonymous artificial insemination. Those conditions have clearly not been met in this case.”
“Not met? What are you saying?”
“David Demerchant did not participate in Bio-Sperm’s donor program. His sperm was to be preserved. As he did not sign away his rights to it, he is legally entitled to claim any offspring—intentional or otherwise—produced by his sperm.”
“But David Demerchant is dead,” Remy protested. “He can’t claim anything.”
“David is dead, but the provisions of his trust live on. Because of Bio-Sperm’s compounded errors, you have David’s only descendant. And I have a duty to see that David’s descendant gets what his father intended him to have, according to the trust David Demerchant swore me to administer.”
Her hands twisted in agitation. He could tell she didn’t like it. And she still wasn’t ready to accept it. Not any of it.
“Look, Truesdale, I told you. I don’t want or need David Demerchant’s money. I’ll provide for Nicholas.”
“I’m sorry, but whether you want or need any money is not germane to this issue.”
“What?”
“The estate is your son’s, not yours.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m Nicholas’s mother. You can’t do anything that concerns him without me.”
“Yes, I can. As David’s only child, Nicholas is now the sole beneficiary of David’s estate. As trustee of that estate, it is my duty to administer and protect the money belonging to David’s son and to safeguard his interests according to his father’s wishes.”
“But I’m his mother. And as his mother I’m telling you that Nicholas doesn’t want the money.”
“You can’t make that decision for him.”
“How dare you presume to barge into our lives and tell me what decisions I can or cannot make regarding my son.”
“David Demerchant’s living trust is very explicit as to the rights, privileges and obligations of
his trustee—me. And my number-one obligation is to the financial welfare of his child—Nicholas. You don’t figure into the situation.”
“I don’t figure in—” she began.
“At least not now,” Marc interrupted with a smile.
Marc watched as Remy carefully closed her eyes, clearly fighting to reclaim her composure. It took several moments. When she reopened her eyes, the flames had stilled into golden embers.
“David Demerchant didn’t even know he was going to father a son. How can he have provided for him?”
“The provisions of David’s living trust state that if a child is born within nine and a half months of the trustor’s death, even though unnamed in the trust, that child can—and in Nicholas’s case will—be the beneficiary of the trust.”
“Nine and a half months? When did Demerchant die?”
“June 26, two years and four months ago. And Nicholas was born April 7 of the following year. Don’t bother doing the math. I already have. It’s exactly nine and a half months later, 285 days. Nicholas came into the world right on the money, if you’ll forgive the pun.”
Remy whirled away from him and began to pace. Even angry, that sensuous sway of hers was dynamite. Marc had met a lot of lovely ladies in his time, but none whose long-legged stride could set off that hot, sweet jazz beat in his body. He had to concentrate very hard not to let her very special allure distract him. Finally, she swung back toward him.
“But all you really have to tie Nicholas to David Demerchant is Bio-Sperm’s very questionable records and what you and Louie Demerchant think is a physical resemblance. That’s flimsy, Truesdale. Very flimsy. I’m going to fight this.”
“Others have already beat you to it. Which brings me to another one of the reasons I’m here.”
Marc paused to slip a document from his pocket and hand it to her.
“This summons and complaint against Nicholas was forwarded to my office, inasmuch as I am his trustee and attorney in this matter.”
“Complaint? Summons?”
“The moment that I became convinced that Nicholas was David’s heir, my fiduciary responsibilities necessitated my notifying the two nonprofit societies currently being funded by David’s trust that they would no longer be receiving their substantial yearly allowances. Those nonprofit societies have, predictably, taken exception to that decision. I’ve filed a motion for summary judgment. It will be heard on Monday.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“The societies are fighting Nicholas’s claim, Remy.”
“So let them fight it. I hope they win.”
“If they do, we’ll all get dragged back into the media, big-time.”
“What do you mean?”
“My motion for summary judgment on Monday will present the facts of the case to a judge. The other side will be there to refute what I say. If the judge decides that my offered proofs clearly establish Nicholas as David’s son, then he so rules and it’s all over.”
“And if he doesn’t rule that way?”
“Then he’ll recognize that a factual dispute does exist, and we proceed to trial to have it resolved—a very well-publicized trial, I might add, crawling with media.”
“Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes. My decision to recognize Nicholas as David Demerchant’s child and, consequently, cut off the societies’ money leaves them no choice but to try to prove that Nicholas is a fraud.”
“Nicholas a fraud? Only lawyers could think up something so preposterous as claiming a baby is a fraud.”
She whirled around and paced. Watching the sensuous sway of those shoulders and hips, Marc’s pulse once again throbbed to a sultry jazz beat.
Suddenly, she swung back to face him. “What are the chances of your getting a judge to rule for your side in this summary judgment on Monday?”
“The societies have already gone through two attorneys during the last two weeks. Depending on who they finally decide to have represent them, I would say our chances of having this all resolved Monday range anywhere from small to nil.”
“I don’t believe this.”
“Because of Nicholas’s age, he will not have to be in court. However, as his legal guardian, you will be required to attend.”
“I will be required to attend? I’m to be dragged back into court because my baby is being sued for fraud? Incredible. This is all your fault, Truesdale. You’re behind this whole untenable mess.”
Despite her angry words, her tone remained studiously mellow and she retained her cool composure. Only the golden licks in her eyes gave her away. Marc enjoyed watching those blazing eyes nestled within that bland coolness. She reminded him of an artist’s painting he’d seen once depicting golden fire encased in white ice.
Oh, how he’d love to melt that ice and release that golden fire. His body moved toward her, seemingly of its own accord.
Remy sank onto the cedar bench on the deck.
“This can’t be happening. Not even you can be so low as to deliberately disrupt the lives of two innocent people this way.”
Marc slipped onto the bench beside her and rested his arm across its back, wishing very much that he could put it over her shoulders. Cool composure notwithstanding, her distress had suddenly become all too real.
“Remy, I’m not doing this to make you miserable.”
Her eyes rose to his, anger and suspicion vying for supremacy. “Then why are you doing it?”
“Because I made a friend a promise and I have to keep it.”
“What friend?”
“David Demerchant. I wasn’t just the lawyer who drew up his living trust. David was my closest friend. When he asked me to be the trustee of his estate and I accepted, I became bound by my word of honor to carry out his wishes.”
Marc’s explanation made her study his face with less anger, although the suspicion was still very much in evidence. “Even so, you couldn’t have promised him to take care of a child neither of you knew would ever even exist.”
“No, but I did promise to handle the disposition of his estate as David would handle it were he alive. Remy, believe me, I knew my friend. If David were here now, he would tell you himself that he wants his son to have what is rightfully his. Despite the unintentional way David became Nicholas’s father, the fact remains that he is his father and that will never change. Nicholas is a Demerchant—the last of the Demerchants. He has a right to feel the pride of being from such a distinguished family.”
He thought he might be making inroads to her understanding—until he mentioned that last part. He knew it was a mistake as soon as he saw her eyes flash.
“Louie Demerchant owns construction companies and medical labs. He simply buys what others have created. What makes his family distinguished? Or are you one of those people who thinks having money somehow makes one person better than another?”
“Who would meet your approval? Lincoln? Einstein?”
“It doesn’t matter who contributed to Nicholas’s genes or what their lives were like. He’s a new life, filled with wonderful, endless possibilities. I will not limit his horizons by burdening him with the achievements or sins of his ancestors.”
“What kind of burden would it be to learn that his father was an inventor and a damn good one? When he graduated from college he—”
“I don’t care what David Demerchant did,” she interrupted. “I’m not interested in him or his family. They have nothing to do with Nicholas or me. You’ve no proof I received his sperm. I won’t let you shove the Demerchants into our lives, Truesdale.”
She was one determined lady. And a lovely one, too. The fact that she continued to fight didn’t disappoint him. Nothing he’d learned about her from A.J.’s investigation over the last two weeks had disappointed him. But a lot had piqued his curiosity.
“Why don’t you call me Marc?”
The request brought a puzzled frown to her brow. “Why?”
“Why not?” he said, moving an inch closer as he
sent her his most charming smile.
She squinted at him as his message got through. “I’m not getting friendly with you. You’re the man responsible for bringing all this chaos into my life and my son’s.”
“Remy, there are a lot of women who would like—no, correction, love—a little billion-dollar chaos coming into their lives.”
She rose to her feet and looked down at him in clear and ever present disapproval for having to remind him. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I am not a lot of women.”
Marc leaned his arms onto the back of the cedar bench and gazed up at her. “No, you’re certainly not,” he agreed, amused. “You’re tough as nails, lady.”
Her eyes sparkled. “That’s from being hammered on,” she said proudly.
Despite all the charm he threw her way, that lovely, determined chin and those steady, cinnamon eyes continued to regard him coolly and dispassionately.
She remained so deliciously, so challengingly, unattainable. He told himself that since it was her son and not her he represented, it wouldn’t really be unethical for him to pursue her.
No, it was too close to the line. Marc knew better than to mix women with business. Still, he couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to follow his very strong and natural inclinations toward the lady.
“Forget it, Truesdale,” she said, accurately reading the contemplative look on his face. “It’s not going to happen.”
“That so?” he said, shooting to his feet to tower over her. A moment ago he’d been ready to walk away. Now he couldn’t help but seize the gauntlet she’d just so tantalizingly flung into his face.
Her eyes widened in alarm as he stepped closer.
He paused, deliberately letting his eyes caress her face and come to rest on her lips. He was giving her fair warning that he intended to kiss her. She had plenty of time to retreat. But she held her ground. Marc smiled. Her first tactical mistake. And she was about to pay for it.
He ran his finger along her stubborn jaw and then under that challenging chin. He was close enough to drink in her scent, that sweet spice sprinkled with pepper.
