Keeping His Secret: A Secret Baby Romance

by Kira Blakely

  Chapter 24

  Brayden

  There were advantages to owning your own jet. You didn’t have to wait in line for tickets, for take-off and you didn’t have to stop for a layover in New York. We touched down at Charles De Galle just as the sun was rising. I went directly to the terminal where Collin’s plane would land.

  I watched him come through the gate with Meghan tripping along behind him. They still needed to go through Customs, so I had to time this well. I tailed them like the wolf on my shoulder.

  They finally emerged onto the concourse, bound for the exit. I came up behind them and was about to grab Meghan’s hand when someone seized me from behind.

  I tried to turn but burly arms held me back. There was a man with sunglasses on either side of me and their expressions were not welcoming. I tried to calmly shake loose, but they weren’t having it. I couldn’t afford to alert the security—I would lose track of Meghan.

  It was too late. I turned back. Collin was pulling her into a taxi and I’d lost them. The arms let go then and I was left standing alone and watching the taxi pull away.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck!

  All that, only to lose them a finger’s breadth away. I was re-strategizing and the only way to go was forward. I claimed a taxi and ordered it to take me to a hotel. The only thing I could do was wait.

  I was in my room, my gut churning from the tension. My cell buzzed.

  “That was close, bro,” he said, snickering. “Lucky for me I had a few friends backing me up.”

  “What do you want?” I wasn’t wasting any more time.

  There was a hesitation on the line. “It’s not me, it’s them.”

  “Damn you, Collin! That’s what I figured. You couldn’t take the golden offer I made you and just disappear? You had to get Meghan involved? You dirty fucker!”

  “Sorry, but it’s a me-or-her situation, bro.”

  “How deep are you in?”

  “Deep.”

  “What do they want?”

  “You’re not going to like it, bro.”

  “How much?!”

  “Utopia.”

  “What? Are you fucking kidding me? How the hell did you let it go that far, Collin? You’ve always been selfish and stupid, for the record. Now you’ve brought in an innocent child and lost something that didn’t even belong to you.”

  “What’s the answer, bro? They’re in a hurry.”

  I had no options but I knew the priority. Nothing, absolutely nothing, could jeopardize Meghan’s health. “Take it. But so help me God, if I ever see you again, you’re dead. Bring her back to the airport and I’ll sign the papers.”

  “See you there in three hours.”

  The line went dead, and I barely made the bathroom before I puked. I laid on the bed, my stomach churning and tried to rationalize any way out of it. I was out of options. It didn’t have anything to do with Utopia. I didn’t need it and had even considered selling it now that Harper was in my life. I sure as hell didn’t need any money. I just… wanted… out.

  Three hours later, I was signing a document that cost me a lifetime’s work and I didn’t blink an eye. Meghan and I were back on my jet and in the air in under a half hour. I called Harper from the jet, but she didn’t answer. My next call was the front desk, who reported they’d seen her leave just before dawn. I was trying not to panic, but I put in a call to one of my contacts at the Miami police department and gave them a description of her car. A few hours later, we landed. They’d found her and were holding her, so we diverted to Cleveland.

  Chapter 25

  Harper

  For the first six hundred miles, I berated myself for having gotten involved with Brayden. The next six hundred miles were sad and lonely feeling. I was on the outskirts of Cleveland when the flashing red lights behind me demanded I pull over. I was exhausted and might have been weaving as I drove.

  “May I see your license and registration, please?”

  “Was I speeding?”

  “Your license and registration, ma’am?”

  I handed them over.

  “Please exit the car, Miss. Face the car and put your hands on the roof.”

  “What? What for? What did I do?”

  “This vehicle has been reported as stolen, and you’re being charged with car theft and transporting stolen goods over several state lines.”

  The bastard!

  I’d never been in a jail cell before, and certainly not on the inside. There were two other women in the holding cell and neither one wanted anything to do with me. I was scared and panicking, hoping I could start up a conversation and figure out what to do next. Aren’t I allowed a phone call or something?

  They called my name and an officer unlocked the door, pulling me out by the arm before he slammed it shut. I was escorted through a couple of locked doors and then my cuffs were removed. Someone handed me my purse and a paper to sign. I didn’t care what it said, I just wanted out.

  There was a man waiting in the front area. “I’m Brayden’s attorney. Just follow me,” he said bluntly, and I had no choice but to do exactly as he told me. We drove to a small airport, and he motioned for me to precede him up the steps of a small, private jet. Inside, I found Brayden.

  “Harper?” he called, coming to take me in his arms.

  I fought him off. “Get away from me, you bastard! Who do you think you are?”

  “I’m the man who loves you.”

  “Yeah, right. I saw how much you loved me when you left me unconscious on a bed and went carousing again.”

  He was shaking his head. “No, you’re not understanding. You don’t know what happened, Harper. Look, sit down and buckle in. Let me explain, if I can even remember it all. It’s been a helluva couple of days.”

  I sat as requested and he buckled me in, but I wasn’t giving in that easily. “Where is Collin?” I wanted to know where my enemy was.

  “I can’t give you a definite location, but he’s somewhere in France.” He went on to tell me all that had transpired from the moment I’d awakened to find Collin straddling me.

  “Is Meghan okay?” I asked quickly.

  He nodded. “She’s pretty confused and I know she will suffer some trauma from all this. She isn’t sure who is who, but I have plans to fix all that.”

  “What kind of plans?”

  “I want you to marry me, Harper. You know you love me, and I love you. I want us to take Meghan and move. Somewhere, anywhere, I don’t care. You can build your website business, and I will sit nearby adoring you. Will you marry me, Harper?”

  Here was the man who literally had occupied my dreams from high school and he wanted me to marry him. It was everything I’d ever wanted and thought I would never get.

  I nodded. “Yes.”

  Epilogue

  Harper

  I became Mrs. Brayden Campbell just two weeks later. Meghan was my maid of honor and Stephanie my only bridesmaid. We were married on Vermillion Key, at sunset, and I wore a crimson gown that blended with the sunset behind us. The hundred or so guests dined on lobster and caviar, magnums of champagne and we made the society pages as the hottest ticket in the wedding schedule. We had a certain operatic tenor sing “Ave Maria” and Mrs. Sims and Captain Bob sat in the front row as the groom’s family.

  My least favorite guest, Ripley, pressed a fat envelope into my hand and then turned to Brayden and asked if there was any chance he could buy Utopia.

  “It’s not mine to sell, Ripley, but I happen to know the guys who own it. They really aren’t very good in the hospitality business, so I think if you make them a really good offer, they’ll probably take it.”

  “Really?” he replied, unable to believe his timing and good luck.

  “Sure thing,” Brayden said, patting him on the back. “Tell you what. Check in at the front desk and ask to speak to the new owners. In fact, tell them I sent you.”

  Ripley drifted away, his dreams of grandeur already filling his head.

  “That w
as mean, Bray,” I told him, “but his just dessert.”

  Brayden laughed and hugged Meghan.

  I asked, “Do you think Collin will ever show up again?”

  Brayden shook his head. “Not if his life depended on it, and it probably does. Anyway, who cares what he does. This family is moving to California, and we’re going to build another house on another ocean. I thought we might let Meghan name this one. What do you say, Megs?”

  “Sure, but you have to promise that I get a car like Harper’s as soon as I get my license. That will be my fee for getting you two together.”

  We both looked at her.

  “Well, you sure did a lousy job of it on your own. Somebody had to pull this thing together,” she said, making a joke of the entire kidnapping adventure. I thought she had a great sense of humor and a healthy perspective of what she’d been through.

  “And you, Mrs. Campbell?” Brayden turned to me. “Will you love me forever?”

  “Only if I get a new car, too. Mine is still sitting in that police impound lot in Ohio.”

  “You shall have whatever you like, my sweetheart. As long as I have you.”

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  One Hot Daddy

  I want to shove her against the wall and f*ck the innocence right out of her.

  There’s just one problem.

  She interns for my company and we have a no fraternizing policy.

  As a single dad, I don’t have time to get wrapped up in scandal.

  This is going to be... hard!

  Imagine my shock, ok, desire, when I stumble upon her in the elevator where I live and find out she’s just moved in.

  I’m screwed!

  I can’t take it anymore. Her firm breasts, peeking out beneath her business suit. Her bright smile, greeting me, making me hard the minute she looks at me.

  It’s too much!

  This is so wrong. And WTF was I thinking making a no-fraternizing policy?

  Well, we know which head will win this battle. I’ve been wearing the good guy hat too long.

  F*ck being Mr. Nice Guy. Nice guys finish last.

  I’m going back to the old me. I’ll show her what a real man is like.

  I’m going to finish again, and again.

  Chapter 1

  Charlotte shuffled up the front steps of the downtown Manhattan office building wearing black, pointed shoes. She held her head high, her chin sure and firm, her eyes glazed with false confidence. After moving to New York City just a week before from her small, sleepy town in Ohio, she was beginning her first “adult” gig as an intern at Mad Music Magazine—MMM—a writing gig she’d coveted since she was a girl. Peeking at her figure in the side mirror of the building’s foyer, she inspected her taut, tight waist, her firm, rounded breasts, and her long, swirling brunette hair. If she hadn’t chosen to write about bands and music, she would have been welcomed as a groupie, unquestionably. But she felt herself to be too intelligent for that.

  The rest of the interns were huddled, quivering, in the far corner of the MMM offices, wearing similar black business jackets and standing unsteadily in heels. Redheads, blondes, a few quirky gay guys wearing dark, thick glasses, all stood like deer in headlights, peering up at the woman who’d hired Charlotte. Maggie. The intern-organizer. The woman who’d half-bragged about her outrageous party days in her twenties, when she hadn’t thought for a moment about taking a job in any office like this. Not until Quentin McDonnell took over as editor, of course. That’s when Maggie had known the magazine was going to take a turn. That’s when she knew the street cred would shine. Of course, Quentin wasn’t who he was when Maggie had first known him. He was grown up. Older. Responsible. No longer the rock star he’d been before he’d become editor.

  Quentin McDonnell had been editor of MMM for the previous two years and had virtually revamped the magazine, giving it back to musicians and artists, moving away from supporting top-tier labels and other “moneymakers.”

  “Man, fuck those guys,” Quentin had been quoted as saying, ten years before. And he’d stuck by this statement, obviously.

  Charlotte slipped in line beside a redhead named Pamela, gripping her notebook tightly against her breasts. Maggie took attendance with sharp jolts of her pen across a white sheet of paper, her eyes piercing across the top of their heads. Charlotte leaned quickly, rabbit-like, toward Pam.

  “Have you seen him yet?” Charlotte asked.

  Pam shook her head lightly, not allowing her eyes to sway from Maggie’s gaze. “Haven’t spotted him. Think he’s in his office. Had a meeting with a band this morning. The Morning Stars.”

  “Shit. They’re huge,” Charlotte murmured, impressed. “Of course, he collaborated with them, back in the early ‘00s. Must be how he knows them.”

  “Right,” Pam said, her eyes dancing, as if she were pretending to know this.

  Charlotte had been studying Quentin McDonnell for several years, since she’d been a ragtag teenager and constant listener to his grunge rock band, Orpheus Arise. Back then, he’d been a drug-addled sex-addict, with long, black, scraggly hair, taut muscles, and wild, black eyes. He’d had those kissable, pink lips, hidden there against his dark black beard. He’d been anxious, destructive, dominant, going through every model, female rock star, and actress throughout the ‘00s. Charlotte had followed his every move, becoming a kind of fan girl, obsessing over his hot body and his clearly tormented mind.

  “All right,” Maggie, the intern organizer said, scratching the last mark on her attendance sheet. “Ladies. Gents. I’d like to take you into the office and show you your desks. Several of you are social media, and you’ll be working together, while the rest of you are up-and-coming writers with aspirations to become actual music journalists. Quite an aspiration. I’ve been there, myself. And look where I stand today.” She gave them a little smirk, obviously confident.

  Charlotte’s face twitched with a brief feeling of jealousy. Becoming a writer intern at a music magazine meant she was a badass writer, sure. But it didn’t necessarily mean she’d “make it” in the industry. You had to have balls. You had to have gumption. And, quite often, people from Ohio just weren’t born with all that. They were born with shy sensibilities and too many bright, white teeth.

  Maggie ushered the interns into a side room, telling them she needed to take a pause and leave them for a few minutes. She gestured wildly, saying, “Talk amongst yourselves, now. Make friends. Don’t be shy.” She winked and then scurried out into the larger office, walking with abrupt movements and tossing her hands back as she walked.

  “Well, well,” said a particularly flamboyant, blond-haired intern who had introduced himself as Randy, off to Charlotte’s side. “I know we’re all thinking the same thing. Where’s the man of the hour? Mr. Quentin McDonnell himself?”

  The interns all tittered, eyeing the door. The flamboyant intern continued, his voice rising. “I mean, we all got into music at around the time he was a fucking rock god. I certainly had my first little boy wet dreams about him, as a teenager. Oh, boy. Good days.”

  “He’s even hotter now,” one of the interns piped up. “He doesn’t do drugs anymore. Hardly drinks, I hear. And takes good care of himself. He’s a hunk if I ever saw one. But he still exudes cool.”

  “You saw him?” another girl asked.

  “Sure. When I came in for my interview, he was having a meeting with Maggie. Maggie said something about sleeping with him, a long time ago. But I keep staring at her, wondering. She can’t have been hot back then. She’s certainly not anything to look at now.”

  “Well, she’s his age. I don’t think it’s too far outside of reality,” another girl said saucily. “Besides, I don’t think Quentin cared back then what his girls looked lik
e. He was set on fucking them, regardless.”

  “I wish he was still like that,” Randy said loudly, laughing. “I’d do anything to wake up in bed with him. The famous Quentin McDonnell.”

  The group sighed collectively. Charlotte’s heart ached with jealousy, knowing, now, that the other interns felt the same as she. But who was she kidding? It wasn’t as if Quentin would take a single notice of her. Perhaps if she’d been twenty-four when he’d been an addled, crazed rock star…

  “Don’t even think about it,” Pam said, her voice tart. “There’s a strict no-fraternization policy. Didn’t any of you read the handbook before you came in? He’s got a daughter now. I think it’s frankly disgusting to speak of him this way.”

  “So, you’re just here to work?” another girl asked, snorting loudly.

  Several of the other interns joined in laughter, taunting Pam. Pam lifted her chin, pointing her nose toward the door and obviously praying for Maggie to save her.

  Suddenly, Maggie reappeared in the main office with Quentin McDonnell himself beside her, speaking quietly and conspiratorially on the other side of the glass. Immediately, Charlotte’s throat clenched. Hunting for oxygen, her tongue tipped against the top of her mouth, making it difficult for her to breathe. He was the most handsome man she’d seen in her life, taking the outrageous gruffness of his earlier years and marrying them with a sophisticated, editorial look, with horn-rimmed glasses and salt and pepper hair. His muscles were thick, curved beneath his immaculate, gray suit, and his pink lips were just as kissable as they’d been ten years before—when he’d haunted Charlotte’s sexual dreams.