About That Night (21 page)

“I think you need to take it one day at a time,” Fay said. “And understand that this might be new to him, too. Unless...” She frowned.

“Unless what?” Ivy asked.

“Unless he has other kids?”

“He doesn’t. That much I do know. Well, that and I didn’t find anything about him having ever been married when I looked him up online.” She explained about the Bartasavich family. Their wealth and power and how Clinton, after his father’s stroke, was now head of it all. Head of an empire. “It’s like a horrible, low-rent version of Cinderella. Except I don’t want to marry the prince.”

“I’d marry him,” Gracie said, taking over the dishes for Ivy.

“What about love?” Fay asked, and Ivy almost pitied her for still believing in the concept of true love after everything she’d been through.

“He’s handsome and rich,” Gracie pointed out. “What’s not to love? I mean, it’s just as easy to fall in love with a rich man as it is with a poor man, right?”

“That’s what my mother always said.”

At the familiar deep voice, Ivy shut her eyes and groaned. What was Clinton doing here, in her kitchen, her sanctuary?

She opened her eyes to find him in the doorway, a smile on his handsome face, his hair perfect, his clothes pressed, his shirt blindingly white. While flour covered her stomach, her hair was frizzing from the stupid humidity and she’d spilled syrup on her shorts.

“It’s sound advice,” Gracie said, letting the water out of the sink. “And, if you think about it, fair. You should love someone because you love them. Whether or not they have money shouldn’t have any bearing on your feelings.”

He winked at Gracie. “Smart girl.” He tipped his head, narrowed his eyes. “Does everyone who works at King’s Crossing work here, too?”

She beamed, obviously pleased he remembered her from Valentine’s Day. “Ivy got me a job here. The hours are much better, and Fay’s about a thousand times nicer than Wendy.”

“You’d have to be an actual demon to be meaner than Wendy,” Ivy pointed out. She faced Clinton. “Guests aren’t really allowed in the kitchen, so unless you need something—”

“I do.”

When he didn’t continue, just leaned against the counter, making himself at home, a large envelope in his hand, she huffed out an exasperated breath. “What?”

“You.”

She blinked. Her mouth dried. “Excuse me?”

“You asked what I needed. I need you. To see you,” he corrected.

She didn’t like the sound of that. Oh, who was she fooling? The problem was she did like the sound of it, of him saying he needed her. She liked it way too much.

“Gracie,” Fay said, standing, “why don’t you come help me finish cleaning up the dining room?” She shot a worried glance between Ivy and Clinton. “You can finish the dishes after Mr. Bartasavich and Ivy are done.”

“We’re done,” Ivy said quickly, hating that she was so weak, such a coward that she didn’t want to be alone with the man. But there was something about him today, an intensity in his gaze and the way he’d said he needed her that made her wary. Worried. “You don’t have to leave.”

But they were already heading toward the door, and Ivy refused to give in to the need to ask them to stay.

“I hope I didn’t put you in a difficult position with your boss,” Clinton said, setting the envelope on the counter.

“She’s not the one you have to worry about,” Ivy assured him as she shot a death glare at her boss’s retreating back.

So much for thinking she and Fay might be almost friends. Friends didn’t let friends have private conversations with handsome men who wreaked havoc on a girl’s hormones and her resolve.

“You won’t get into trouble,” he asked, “breaking the rules by having a guest in here?”

“No one gets in trouble with Fay. It’s why her six-year-old is on the fast track to reform school. What do you want?” she asked, hoping he’d get the hint that she was busy and not in the mood for idle chitchat. She’d never be in the mood for it with him. He put her on edge. Put her back up.

And made her feel like a complete bitch.

God, pregnancy was making her unhinged. She’d never minded being a bitch before he’d come along, before she’d known she was going to be a mother. Mothers should be held to a higher standard, shouldn’t they?

C.J. helped himself to a cookie, which irritated her for some reason. “Gracie, she’s about what...fifteen?”

“Seventeen.”

“That’s around my niece’s age. Maybe the next time Estelle visits Kane and Charlotte, Gracie and Estelle could meet. Hang out.”

She remembered his niece from the engagement party. Blonde, beautiful and, if she had to guess, spoiled rotten. “I doubt she and Gracie have much in common.”

“They’re both teenage girls,” he pointed out as if being the same age and gender automatically made two people bosom buddies. “They can talk about boys and movies and music.”

“Absolutely,” Ivy said as she plated cookies, “because the only thing of any real interest girls have to talk about are boys.”

He grinned, and damn him for being so sexy. “If teenage girls think about boys half as often as teenage boys think of girls, then Kane is in big trouble.” He frowned as if suddenly realizing something. “You really think the baby’s a boy? Because I just had a flash of my life in sixteen years if the baby’s a girl.”

His face was white, and he looked so freaked by the idea of having a daughter, she didn’t have the heart to remind him that they didn’t have the information he needed to prove the baby was his.

But she could poke him a bit. “Well, I did say I was new at all of this, so I’m probably way off base. And if the baby is anything like me, you won’t have to wait sixteen years.” She winked at him. “Let’s just say I was an early bloomer.”

He sat heavily on the stool. “Shit.”

She smiled. She couldn’t help it. When he swore, his accent came out, making him seem less wealthy playboy and more...normal. “Your niece is pretty wild, huh?”

“No. She’s a good girl. And if she’s not and someone knows about it, I don’t ever want them to tell me.”

“So you don’t mind a bit of deception in certain situations?”

“Mind? It’s how I can sleep at night.” He took another cookie. “When Estelle went to the prom a few months ago, I almost hired someone to follow her and that college boyfriend of hers. Shouldn’t he be dating girls his own age?”

“I’m sure not even college girls can compare to Estelle.”

He grinned. “Yeah. She’s a beauty. Takes after her mother. But don’t let those angel looks fool you. She got her mean streak from her daddy.”

“So, Estelle lives in Houston?”

“With her mother, about half a mile from me. I get to see her often. Well, as often as work allows, which hasn’t been much since my father’s stroke.”

“It’s nice,” Ivy allowed, wiping up the counter, “that you’re there for her. That you’re willing to spend time with her.”

“It’s no hardship. She’s funny and bright. Besides, it gives me a chance to keep tabs on her, since Kane is more than happy to let her run wild.”

“Would you stop eating the cookies?” she asked, wishing she wasn’t so disappointed that he spent time with his niece only to keep an eye on her, to make sure she was behaving properly as a Bartasavich should. “They’re for the guests.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I’m a guest.”

“They’re for later,” she said, feeling flustered because he was right. She moved the rest of the cookies out of his reach. Maybe if he didn’t have something to nibble on, something sweet, he’d go on his way.

“You really don’t think Estelle and Gracie would like each other?” he asked. “I know Estelle loves visiting her dad and Charlotte, but I think she gets bored, not having many kids her own age to hang out with while she’s here.”

“Teenage girls can be tough to befriend,” Ivy said, remembering how they sure hadn’t wanted her to be in their groups. “They tend to congregate in packs of at least two or more, and it’s tough to break in. Especially if one in the group doesn’t like you or is jealous of you.”

“You sound as if you speak from experience.”

He sounded interested. As if he was trying to figure her out, get to some deep dark secret she kept inside her head. She smiled. “This might come as a shock to you, but I was a teenage girl at one point in my life.”

“Not so hard to imagine,” he murmured. “Were you a member of a group, making the rules about who could and who could not join?”

“Hardly. I was one of the girls they kept out of their inner circle. It’s tough to be friends with someone you’re afraid is going to steal your boyfriend.”

He was watching her closely. Too closely. “Is that what you did? Steal their boyfriends?”

“Didn’t matter what I did, only how I looked. They disliked me, though they never bothered to take the time to get to know me.” She scrubbed the counter so hard, she was surprised she didn’t leave a groove. “The boys were attracted to me. The girls were jealous or just insecure or not strong enough to go against their other friends. Some women still judge me, but I’ve learned not to let it bother me. I’m fine on my own.”

Even if sometimes she was lonely.

“You’re not alone or on your own,” Clinton said. “The day I checked in here, Fay took me aside and threatened to toss me out if I upset you. And it’s obvious Gracie admires you.”

Ivy remembered how Fay had held her hand while Ivy had told her she was pregnant. How Gracie had jumped in with her offers to babysit. “Maybe,” she said quietly, afraid to count on either of them. Wanting so badly to be able to. “But Estelle is going to have some of the same issues, people judging her based on her appearance. They’re going to like her because she’s blonde, beautiful and rich and only because of those things. Or they’ll dislike her for the same reasons. But you might be right about her and Gracie. Gracie will give Estelle a chance. She’s the fairest person I know.”

“Good to know,” he said, looking out of place in his dress pants and button-down shirt. Did the man not own a pair of jeans? “What about you?”

“I’m too old to hang out with teenagers.”

“I’m not talking about giving Estelle a chance. I’m talking about me.” He stepped closer, and her heart picked up speed. She wanted to touch him, to see if that spark between them was still there. Stupid thought. Of course it was still there. She felt it every time they were together, like an electric current running through the air.

One that was alive and, oh, so dangerous.

“What about you?” she managed, proud her voice was even, that it didn’t betray her emotions or her weakening knees.

“Are you going to give me a fair chance?” he asked, his voice low, his gaze hooded. “Or are you going to keep disliking me based on my family’s name? My money?”

She smirked. “News flash, cowboy, I don’t dislike you based on those reasons. I dislike you because of your personality.”

“Maybe,” he said, not seeming the least bit offended by the idea. “Though you seemed to like me just fine before you knew how much I’m worth.”

It was true. But she didn’t want him to see her that clearly. She needed to keep some parts of herself hidden from him so he couldn’t use them against her. “Now, that’s the difference between us. You base worth on a number. I base it on how people live their lives. What they do.”

“Not on what they say?”

“Hardly. Words are too easy to twist, to manipulate.”

“Fair enough.” He reached back, picked up the envelope and held it out to her. “This is for you.”

She eyed it warily, felt herself shrinking back from it, sensing whatever was inside, she didn’t want to see. “What’s that?”

“It’s the report from the private investigator. The report on you.”

“When did you get it?” she asked, refusing to ask what he’d found out about her.

“Yesterday.”

Yesterday. The thought of him knowing about her past, about looking into her life, chilled her. “I’m sure it made for a riveting read.”

“I wouldn’t know. I didn’t read it. I didn’t even open it.”

She snorted. “Right.”

“I didn’t open it,” he repeated, his voice low and intense. “I didn’t read it and I’m not going to. I’ve never lied to you, Ivy.”

“Everyone lies.”

He nodded slowly. “They do. But I won’t lie to you. Ever.”

It was pathetic how badly she wanted to believe him. How much she wanted to make him the same promise.

But she didn’t make promises she couldn’t keep.

She took the envelope, flipped it over to find it was still sealed. Maybe he was telling the truth after all. “What do you want me to do with this?”

“Whatever you want. Burn it. Rip it to shreds.”

“I suppose now you’re going to tell me this is the only copy.”

Disappointment flashed across his features. She wanted to take her words back, but she couldn’t. “You don’t trust anyone, do you?”

“Not without a reason.”

He tossed up his hands. “What the hell do you think I’m trying to do?”

She knew. He was giving up a piece of his power—information he could have about her, about who she was—in exchange for her trust.

The least she could do was give him a small measure of it.

“Thank you,” she said grudgingly. “And...thank you...for not reading it.”

He smiled but it wasn’t cocky as much as...relieved. “You’re welcome,” he told her, his solemn tone mimicking hers. He reached out and touched her hair. Her breath caught. “Have dinner with me tonight.”

Oh, how she wanted to agree. When he spoke to her in that low tone, when he touched her so sweetly, she wanted to agree to anything he asked. Give him everything.

And that made him dangerous.

“Why?” she asked, when she’d meant to just say no.

“Let’s call it a fresh start. No preconceived notions, nothing but you and me getting to know each other.”

That was the problem. She didn’t want to get to know him. But she couldn’t show that sort of weakness. Not when she worried he already suspected she was nervous around him. “Fine. A fresh start.”

“And dinner?”

She swallowed. “And dinner. But not tonight.” She’d picked up an extra shift at the River View. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow, then.” Lifting her free hand, he turned it and pressed a warm kiss to her palm. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”