About That Night (16 page)

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“
N
O,”
C
.
J
. SAID
into his phone to his assistant, Julia, “I’m not sure when I’ll be back.”

“You do realize we’re in the middle of a merger here, don’t you?” Julia asked.

His fingers tightened on the phone as he got out of the rental car. “I’m well aware of everything that goes on with the company.” He opened the back door and pulled out a suitcase. “Everything’s under control.”

Julia made a humming sound. “Your father never would have left town with this much going on. With so much hanging in the balance.”

C.J. slammed the door shut. “Senior believed in delegating when necessary. Which was why he always insisted on having the best people work for him. Roger can handle this.”

“He’d better be able to,” Julia said of the company’s vice president—a job Senior had always hoped Oakes would take over. “I only have a few more years until I retire, and I want to make sure you don’t do something stupid and cost me my pension.”

She hung up. C.J. shoved the phone into his pocket. Julia had worked for Bartasavich Industries for over forty years and had been his dad’s assistant. C.J. hadn’t had the heart to hire his own assistant after his dad’s stroke but he wished he had. He didn’t mind Julia speaking her mind. Other people’s opinions didn’t bother him.

Not when he had final say.

But he was tired of being compared to his father. He was proud of Senior, knew how hard he’d worked to make the company what it was, but C.J. wanted to make his own mark. Leave his own legacy.

Not be known only as Senior’s oldest son. His namesake.

C.J. climbed the porch steps, noted how well maintained the bed-and-breakfast was, with new siding and windows, the lawn lush and green. In the background he heard a mower, could smell the scent of freshly cut grass. The sun was warm on his head, the day bright and hot.

At least, by northern standards. This was nothing compared to the oppressive heat he’d left in Houston.

There was a plaque stating that Bradford House was listed on the historical registry of Shady Grove. He wasn’t sure of the protocol, so he stepped inside the foyer, where it was cooler, the colors rich and inviting, the ceilings high, the woodwork gleaming. He could see two rooms—a library and what looked to be a living room, both comfortably furnished.

The sound of footsteps made him look up, but it wasn’t Ivy coming down the wooden stairs, but a very thin, tall woman with a soft smile and a reddish tint to her hair, which was pulled back in a tidy braid.

“Hello,” she said. Even her voice was soft, like the colors she wore—a pink top and light blue jeans. “May I help you?”

“This is Bradford House?” he asked, though he’d read the plaque stating it was.

“Yes. I’m the manager, Fay Lindemuth. Do you have a reservation?”

“No, ma’am,” he said, giving her his most charming grin, “but I’d like one.”

Her own smile stayed merely polite. “Let’s see what we can do for you, then. Follow me, please.”

She led him into the office, then indicated the chair across from a small desk, while she sat behind it and booted up a computer. “How long would you like to stay with us?” she asked.

“Indefinitely.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

He sent her a grin, hoping to put her at ease. “I have some...unfinished business here in Shady Grove. And,” he added, wondering if bringing in a local connection would help his case, “my brother lives in town.”

“Your brother?”

“Kane Bartasavich.”

Her expression softened. “Oh, yes. He’s marrying Charlotte Ellison. We’re hosting Charlotte’s bridal shower this October.” She typed something into the computer. “I’m afraid we’ve never had a guest stay more than two weeks, so you’ll have to bear with me. Now, what kind of accommodations are you looking for?”

“I’d like a room with as much privacy as possible, a desk and internet access.”

He could work with that.

“All rooms in Bradford House have access to free Wi-Fi,” she murmured, her attention on the screen. Her desk was cluttered. Framed photos hung on the walls around it. The room itself was more homey than functional, with its brightly patterned sofa and pictures of two little boys in huge hockey jerseys. “You’d probably be most comfortable in the Back Suite. It has its own sitting room with a desk and the most privacy of all the rooms.”

“I’ll take it.”

“Unfortunately, it’s booked until tomorrow night. I can put you up in the Blue Room for now.”

He nodded, and she handed him a form to fill out. He did so quickly, passed it back to her along with his driver’s license and credit card. While she typed in his information, he glanced around. It had taken him five days to tie up loose ends at work, delegate responsibilities and hand over two key projects before he’d been able to leave Houston. Five days of thinking about Ivy and how he’d mishandled things.

And now that he’d temporarily put his life on hold and traveled more than one thousand miles to be here, he had no idea what his next step was. All he knew was that he needed to be in Shady Grove. He had to see Ivy again, talk to her.

He had to get to the truth.

He didn’t like being this...unsettled. An unplanned pregnancy would have that effect on anyone he supposed, but he wasn’t used to not having a plan. An idea of what to do next, which step to take.

“You’re all set, Mr. Bartasavich,” Fay said as she stood. She turned, took down a key—an actual key, not a pass card—from a locked box behind her. “If you’ll follow me, we’ll get you settled. Breakfast is served from 7:00 a.m. to 10:00 a.m., Monday through Friday. Weekends from eight to eleven. We offer free coffee and snacks in the afternoon in the library. Wine and cheese in the evenings. I can also give you suggestions on places for lunch and dinner and tourist attractions.”

“I appreciate it.” Though he wouldn’t have time to do any sightseeing.

They stepped out into the hall. “Here,” she said, “let me take your bag.”

He grinned at her. “And have them kick me out of the man club? No, ma’am.”

She smiled back at him shyly. She was a pretty thing with her strawberry-blond hair and those light eyes.

The door at the far end of the hall opened, and Ivy stepped out. C.J.’s heart nearly stopped—which was idiotic. He was a grown man, not some teenager in the throes of his first crush. But still, she took a man’s breath. Today she was wearing light green shorts that showed miles of her toned legs and a loose tank top. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she’d wrapped a floral scarf around her head like a headband. She froze when she saw him.

He nodded. “Hello, Ivy.”

For a moment he thought she was going to simply turn around and walk back into the kitchen, pretend he wasn’t here.

If she really was pregnant with his baby, he wasn’t going to let her ignore him.

Instead, she walked toward him, all attitude and sex appeal. “You’re a long way from home, cowboy.”

Fay glanced between them. “Do you two know each other?”

C.J. inclined his head. “You could say that.”

“We met at Charlotte’s engagement party,” Ivy said quickly, shooting him a shut-it-or-die look. “What are you doing here?”

He held up his key. “Just booked a room.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she crossed her arms, which only lifted her breasts up, and damn if he didn’t notice. She smirked, knowing the effect she had on men. They probably dropped to their knees, either in prayer or to beg for a moment of her time, when she walked down the street.

“Now, why would you do a thing like that?” she asked.

“Because you’re here,” he said simply.

“Oh, no,” Fay murmured, shifting to stand next to Ivy. “You’re not one of those guys, are you?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

She waved a hand at Ivy. “Men who book a room here just to get Ivy’s attention.”

He couldn’t help it. He laughed. “Men actually do that?” he asked Ivy.

“Legions,” she said so solemnly, he wasn’t sure if she was kidding or not.

“I’m here,” he told Fay, “because I didn’t like how Ivy and I left things.”

“Funny,” Ivy said, “but I liked how we left things just fine. Mostly the part about us never seeing each other again.”

“We have unfinished business,” he told her.

“There is no we, cowboy. Unless you’re talking about you and the little brain you have in your pants.”

“I think it would be better if you found somewhere else to stay,” Fay said, now shifting to stand in front of Ivy, which was funny because she looked as if a stiff wind could blow her down. As if she were afraid of her own shadow.

He held Ivy’s gaze. “You going to let her kick me out, Ivy? Because that won’t stop me from getting what I want. From what I came here for.”

“Do you want me to call the police?” Fay asked Ivy, looking really worried now. As if C.J. was planning to add Ivy’s head to his collection in a basement.

“No,” Ivy said. “He’s basically harmless.”

But her look said she wasn’t so sure. Good. He wouldn’t hurt her, but no one thought he was harmless.

She turned to Fay. “Why don’t I show Mr. Bartasavich to his room? Since we’re such good friends and all?”

“Are you sure?” Fay asked. She lowered her voice, sent him a glance. “He seems sort of...dangerous. Possibly unstable.”

“I’m standing right here, darlin’,” he drawled. “And dangerous or unstable, my hearing’s just fine.”

They ignored him.

“He won’t hurt me,” Ivy assured her. She turned to him. “Come on.”

He winked at Fay to let her know he wasn’t some deranged madman with murder on his mind and followed Ivy up the stairs.

CHAPTER NINE

D
AMN IT.
D
AMN IT!
What was he doing here? Ivy thought as she stomped up the main staircase, her hand trailing over the glossy wood rail.

She rolled her eyes. Okay, she knew what he was doing here. She just hadn’t expected him to actually follow her back to Shady Grove. Especially after he’d reacted the way she should have known he would, by blaming her, ditching his responsibility and going on his merry way, letting her and the baby go on theirs.

She turned left at the top of the stairs, went to the second room and unlocked the door for him, shoving it open. “Come on.”

“So gracious,” Clinton murmured, brushing past her, the scent of his cologne taking her back to their night together. And the day last week when she’d been at his apartment. “No wonder you’re the chef here and not hostess.”

“I’m the chef here because I’m good at what I do,” she said, shutting the door behind them. “Played Nancy Drew yourself, did you? Tracked me down and all that?”

“I didn’t actually do the tracking down myself.”

He turned, his big body looking out of place in the feminine room with its soft blue walls and floral quilt. He put his suitcase on the bed. He wore a suit, much like the ones she’d already seen him in, but this one was slate gray.

How many expensive suits did one man need?

“What do you mean, you didn’t do it yourself?” she asked, her eyes narrowed.

“I had someone else find you—though I’m sure I could have managed to do so myself. Shady Grove isn’t that big, after all.”

No, it wasn’t, and Ivy was easy enough to find. Plus, she wasn’t hiding. She had no reason to hide. Nothing to be ashamed of.

“Your coworker doesn’t know you’re pregnant?” he asked.

“Fay is my boss and yes, she knows. She just doesn’t know who the sperm donor is.” As Ivy had hoped, his mouth flattened at that. “And don’t think I’m going to thank you for not spitting it out about our night together.”

But she was grateful to him, and she didn’t want to be. If she owed him, he’d take advantage of that. Would use that against her in the future.

“Any reason you don’t want her to know I’m possibly the father?”

She strolled to the dresser. Picked up the antique hand mirror that was sitting there. “Such as this all being a big ruse meant to drain you of your piles and piles of gold?” She shook her head. “Nope.”

“Then why not let her know?”

“I hadn’t planned on telling anyone about our...connection. Why bother? I have your check, and you have my promise not to bother you again. Though why you’re here, I have no idea.” She set the mirror down. Linked her hands at her waist. “So...why are you here? Really?”

“I didn’t handle things well,” he said, his voice gruff, his gaze steady, “when you came to Houston.”

“You don’t say?” she asked so drily, she was surprised puffs of sand didn’t come out of her mouth.

“I was shocked. Upset. I don’t think that makes me a bad guy. We don’t know each other, and it seemed as if you may have planned all of this.”

“Well, I must be some freaking genius,” she said, sitting in the armchair next to the window and crossing her legs. “Imagine putting this plan together so flawlessly. Let’s see, first of all, I had to know you were going to be at that party and I had to know you’re not just some random, good-looking, smooth-talking cowboy but the heir apparent to some huge corporation. That you’re worth more money than God and you’d be alone that night and in the mood for company.”

Clinton sat on the corner of the bed, his lips pursed. “I guess that might be a bit far-fetched. But you did know who I was before we slept together.”

“I knew you were Charlotte’s future brother-in-law. Someone I found attractive. Someone I wanted to spend the night with. That was all it was supposed to be. And if I remember correctly, you were the one who came on to me first. You paid Gracie to come fetch me like some errant puppy.”

He had the grace to look abashed. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

She winked at him. “Well, you talked to me all right.”

“I just... It’s dangerous sleeping with someone you don’t know.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Really? A lecture on morals? Not knowing me didn’t seem to bother you when we were in your room. If I recall, you were all for it. Don’t play that double standard with me. I was attracted to you. I enjoy sex. So I slept with you. Thought that would be the end of it. Instead, it’s not. Now we both have to deal with it.”