Driving Heat (14 page)

It felt like a Monday. Not only because she’d not seen Byron for the rest of the weekend and her phone calls were responded to by text, but because Jayden had returned home with some type of virus. She’d split her Saturday and Sunday between sitting in emergency, wiping up vomit, and worrying herself to the point where she herself felt ill. After tossing and turning half the night, she got up early and phoned the regular babysitter, Tanishia, who was home from college, to ask if she could look after Jayden. The sitter had agreed to come over right then. Cynthia had jumped into the shower, and for the first time in months arrived at the office before her assistant, Ivy, at exactly 7:15. She wasn’t so much excited to dig into the overflowing workload as she was to escape her incessant thoughts.

“Oh!” Cynthia’s hand went to her chest as she expelled a relieved breath. She’d gone to the break room for the requested extra sugar that the coffee shop employee had failed to add to her order. Had she known it was occupied, and especially if she’d been privy to who, she would have drank the joe black. “I didn’t expect anyone else in this early.”

“Well! I certainly never expected to see
you
before nine or after five. I don’t know how you manage to accomplish so much in so few hours. I seldom leave before seven each evening and still have a ton left to do.” Margo eyed Cynthia’s perfectly tailored ivory skirt suit, smooth bare legs, and four-inch heels with a mixture of envy and contempt. “Whoever gets the director job will have to be totally committed.”

“I agree.” Cynthia’s voice rose with enthusiasm, as if talking to a best bud. “She also must be well-organized and able to work effectively in a timely fashion.”

A subtle shade of red rising from Margo’s neck upward was the only outward sign that the words had hit their mark. Even so, a smirk settled on Margo’s face. “How was your weekend?”

As if you care.
“It was very nice, thank you. And yours?” Cynthia reached for a packet of raw sugar.

Margo’s fake laugh was like nails on a chalkboard. “Very nice, thank you,” she repeated. “A girlfriend and I went to the promenade in Santa Monica.”

Cynthia was glad her back was turned. She slowly opened and poured the packet of sugar, forcing calmness into her voice as she reached for another.
Is she the voice I heard that night? Of course not. In a city as large as Los Angeles, what are the chances?
None, but Cynthia focused on this verbal spar as a fencer would his conversation. “I love that area, and would live there if it weren’t so expensive and more child-friendly.”

“Have you been there lately?”

Antagonism, like thick, black oil, oozed through the cheerful tone of the question.
She knows.
Picking up her cup, Cynthia took a carefree sip of coffee as she turned around. “As a matter of fact, I was there this weekend, just like you.”

“You’re kidding? What a small world. Had I known that we could have met for drinks.”

Not if hell had frozen over and you had the pick for our escape.
This thought was hid behind a patient smile.

“Were you on a hot date?”

“Hardly; I attended a fund-raiser for medical research.”

“Ooh, that’s a smart way to snag a doctor,” Margo teased, wiggling a manicured finger. “Of course, to do that, you’d have to go alone.”

“If that were one’s motive, arriving alone would be best.”

“So, did you?”

“Did I what, snag a doctor?”

“That, too, but did you go alone?”

Cynthia reached for a napkin. “Margo, it is truly too bad we didn’t run into each other this weekend. It was an invitation-only event focused on art, but given the handsome doctors in attendance and your considerable interest in medicine, I think you would have had an enjoyable time.” She headed toward the door but was stopped by Margo’s question.

“Did you purchase any?”

“A couple pieces,” Cynthia said, turning around once more.

“Wow, you’re a gambler.”

“Not really. This type of art is a pretty safe investment.”

“Perhaps, but I was talking about spending money frivolously when you’ll soon be out of work.”

“Oh, I missed a memo?”

“Let’s face it, Cynthia. You’re a pretty girl, but it’s going to take more than looks to head up this agency. I’m simply more experienced and better qualified to do that than you.”

“Then it’s clear why you’re not worried. That being said, I think I’ll wait until the official announcement to clear out my office.”

The smile remained on Cynthia’s face until she reached her office and closed the door. Unfortunately, her peace didn’t last. Between a manager’s meeting and a case involving a mother and her teenage daughter that they had to work on together, Cynthia was forced to interact with this walking irritation for most of the day. Even more, the snide comments Margo made about Santa Monica continued to bug her. She’d not given much thought to Byron being related to her client, hadn’t believed their coffee date would go beyond that. Given that her position was already tenuous, the possibility of their being a conflict of interest, even improper if reported by a certain competitor, had to be explored. Then again, Byron hadn’t called. Perhaps there was no longer a problem to worry about.

Even if there were, it took a back seat once she’d arrived back home from work. Jayden said he no longer felt sick, but lying in bed most of the day had obviously given him time to think.

“Mom.”

“Yes, Jay.”

“Who is my dad?”

The question caught her off guard. But not as much as what she saw when she turned to face him. They were in his bedroom where he reclined against a pillow, his fingers latched behind his head, looking very much like the person in question.

“Why all of these questions lately about your father?” Her voice was light as she came to sit beside him, an exact opposite contrast to the weight of her heart. “It’s been a while since you’ve thought of him.”

“No, it hasn’t. I just don’t tell you.”

It was hard to absorb these words with a nonchalant face. “You’re getting older. It’s only natural you’d be curious.”

“Who is he?”

“I don’t know where he is.” Not quite an answer to the question but at least not a lie.

“Why not?” He sat up, and met her eye-to-eye.

“As I’ve told you before, once he and I were no longer together, we both moved on with our lives.”

“He’s no longer your boyfriend, but he’s still my dad!”

This was different. When discussing Jayden’s father with him she’d seen curiosity, sadness, even longing. But she’d never seen anger.
What brought this on?

“Did something happen today that made you want to see your father?”

“Doesn’t every child want to see their dad?”

The question pierced her heart. “Yes.”

“I’ve asked you before, but you never tell me anything about him. You won’t even tell me his name and now I know why. Because you know I’d search for him on the Internet. And I’d find him, too.”

“I know how difficult this must be for you—”

“How can you say that when you know Grandpa?”

“Yes, I know Dad. I’m speaking of the difficulty of this whole situation. It’s very complicated, Jayden, which is why I’ll explain everything when you’re older. Not now.”

“That’s not fair,” he said, tears welling up in his eyes. “Bobby’s got a dad. Zachary’s got a dad. Joshua’s got
two
dads!”

“Does he have a mom?”

“No, but he’s got a dog!”

Cynthia would have chuckled, had the light in her child’s eyes not dimmed so quickly. And if not for his next question.

“Do I look like him?”

“You’re way more handsome.” Silence. “You have his eyes, and body structure. When you smile, there’s a hint of a dimple in your right cheek, just like him.”

Her voice broke, and Cynthia fought for restraint. Unresolved feelings and prolonged guilt is only part of why Cynthia had hoped Jayden would outgrow the curiosity about her first love, and biggest mistake. Clearly, this was wishful thinking. The questions wouldn’t get easier. For her and Jayden to move peacefully into their future, she’d have to step back into a tumultuous past.

Once in her room, she went straight for her cell phone and tapped her thumb on the face she’d snapped of Byron when just before leaving for the art show in Santa Monica, he’d done the same. Just seeing his smile calmed her spirit. Love might trump pride after all.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” is how Byron answered his phone.

“But you didn’t call.”

“No.”

“I understand.”

“Do you?”

This evoked an unlikely snort that would have made Anna swoon. “For the second time tonight, my ability to understand has been questioned.”

“Perhaps there’s a reason.”

“There is, and I’d like to tell you about it.”

“I’m listening.”

“Not over the phone.”

“It’s late, and a weeknight. Tyra’s already in bed.”

“I’m . . . it’s . . .” The dam of restraint tethered to resignation slipped. She closed her eyes to staunch tears, held a sob behind clenched teeth, straightened her spine, and swallowed pity. “It’s okay. I’m sorry to have bothered you. Good night.”

“Cynthia.”

“Yes.”

“Give me a half hour.”

“Don’t ring the bell. Call when you get here. I’ll let you in.”

Forty-five minutes later, her phone face lit up. She tipped down the stairs and opened the door. “Hello,” she whispered, before placing a finger to her lips and motioning him inside.

They were quieter than cat burglars as they returned to her room. She closed the door and visibly exhaled. “I can’t believe I’m so nervous. He’s a very sound sleeper.”

“If he knocks on the door, I’ll jump in the closet.”

“That’s a good idea!” She attempted a smile and failed miserably.

Byron’s eyelids lowered along with his already soft voice. “Cynthia, come here.”

She fairly ran into his arms. Tears followed suit and ran down her face.

“Shh. It’s okay.” He looked around. “Let’s go over here and sit on this big chair.”

Chaise,
she thought automatically but didn’t correct. As long as he kept his arms around her, she didn’t care what he called it.

He sat down and settled her between his legs, gently rocking her silent but shaking body as the tears flowed. After several long moments she pushed away from him, and got up to blow her nose. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No, I’m good.”

“Well, I’m in need of liquid courage. Be right back.”

Byron watched her leave, then looked around him. His brow furrowed as he thought.
What in the world has happened?
It had to be serious for her to invite him here. He rested his head back against thick, plush fabric, noting how the chair almost conformed to his frame. Everything around him matched and looked expensive. As was the case on his other lone visit, not so much as a piece of paper was out of place. Yet his being there alone was proof of a mess somewhere.

Cynthia returned. Still shaken, but composed. “I brought the bottle and an extra glass in case you changed your mind.” She placed the tray on a table beside the chaise. “There’s a savory trail mix as well, so please, help yourself.”

She sat at the end of the chaise facing Byron and took a couple sips of wine. “Where’s Tyra?”

“My neighbor came over to watch her.”

Now, Byron watched Cynthia. And waited.

She drank half of the wine in her glass. “Jayden asked about his father.”

“Not an unusual question, especially for a boy his age.” She nodded, took another sip. “What exactly did he want to know?”

“Where he lived . . . and his name.”

“He doesn’t know his father’s name?”

Byron hadn’t meant to sound so incredulous but . . . for real?
Stay calm, man. This is hard enough for her as it is.

Cynthia finished her wine and set down the glass. She took a deep breath and spoke without emotion. “I was seventeen when I met him, the summer before I left for college. He was thirty-one, an investment broker doing business with my father. I was hanging out with friends by our pool when he arrived, had no idea he was there. We were playing around and one of the guys started chasing me. I ran into the house in nothing but my bikini, hair plastered to my body, something I’d done countless times. Only this time, I ran straight into him.

“I looked up and into the eyes of the most amazing man I’d ever seen—in person, at the movies, on television . . . ever. Looking back, I think I fell in love right then. But, of course, I denied it. Especially when my dad came out of his office and sternly commanded I change out of my wet suit.”

“What did this guy do?”

She shrugged. “Not much. It happened so fast. He said, ‘whoa,’ or something like that. We looked at each other and then I heard my dad. When I came back out of my room, he was gone. It would be four years before I saw him again.”

Cynthia stood, walked over to the table, and poured wine into two glasses. She gave one to Byron, who held it but did not drink.

“I graduated from college with a degree in sociology, and decided to take off a semester before returning to get my master’s degree in business administration. It hadn’t been easy maintaining a 3.8 GPA and I was burned out. One night I went into the city with some friends, to attend a private party.”

“The city?”

“Minneapolis. That’s about an hour away from where I grew up. It had been awhile since we’d all seen each other and we were ready to cut loose. We rented a limo that was stocked with champagne. Brought the party
to
the party.” Her smile was bittersweet. “We were young and carefree, had the world by the tail. We knew several of the other guests. The house was huge, a mansion, and soon we’d all gone our separate ways. Eventually I got tired of dancing and went outside to get some fresh air. And there he was.”

“Why won’t you say his name?”

“Because it feels like I’ll choke on it.” She came back to the chaise, sat close to Byron but with her back to him. “Stewart Monihan. That’s the name I haven’t spoken aloud since Jayden was two months old, which was also the last time I saw him.”

He slid his hand across the downy material near her leg, but not touching. She reached over, clasped it, and continued. “He seduced me that night. It wasn’t hard. The relationship I’d entered during my sophomore year in college was one I knew wouldn’t last. After graduating, we wished each other well and went our separate ways. A few years ago we reconnected on Facebook. He’s married, has a daughter, doing well.

“After that amazing night with Stewart, I thought I was doing well, too, incredible, in fact. We had an intensely torrid love affair, clandestine because I was sure Dad wouldn’t approve. A little more than a month later, I found out I was pregnant, and he was married.”

“Damn.”

“Exactly. As bad as that sounds, it wasn’t the worst mistake. No, that happened three days later, when I told my mom.”

“How was that worse?”

His voice was soft, laced with concern, as he disengaged his hands from hers and ran them up her arm to squeeze her tense shoulders. She leaned back against him and picked up the glass of wine he never drank.

“From the way my mother reacted, you would have thought I screwed the pope. I think to have murdered someone would have been a lesser crime. Somehow the fact that I had no idea he was married got lost along with the lucrative business deal my dad could no longer continue. I thought to get an abortion.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because of Stewart, and the promises he made: to leave his wife, get a divorce, marry me and carry me and our child off into the happily-ever-after sunset. By the time I realized he had no intention of leaving his trust-fund darling, I was almost seven months along, and not at all happy.”

“What did you do?”

“Get shuttled off to upstate New York and an aunt I barely knew. I had Jayden and returned to Minnesota, a near prisoner in my parents’ home. It’s pathetic, but I still believed there was a chance with Stewart, that after seeing how beautiful our baby was he’d choose us and leave her. He didn’t. Within a week, I’d packed up my life and returned to Chicago, where I’d gotten my undergrad degree. I hired a live-in nanny, threw myself into work and school, got my master’s degree, took specialized certification classes in various types of counseling, and built the reputation that led me here.”

Finally, she turned and looked at him. “I am my mom’s most profound disappointment. She never lets me forget it, and I’m always trying to live up to her high standards. It’s why the other night you couldn’t be a bus driver.” One lone tear began a soulful journey down her cheek. “I was practicing the lines I’d use if you met her. I was lifting you to the standard that I know she demands.”

She rested her head against his chest. He caressed her tenderly, kissed the top of her head. She ran a hand up his arm, much as he’d earlier done to her. He inhaled her perfume, the scents of jasmine and citrus mixed with vulnerability and relief. Her hand moved to his cheek, as her lips grazed his collarbone. Her tentative movement unleashed something deep inside of him. A desire, no, a mandate that he shield her, protect her, make sure her heart was safe. His plan was to simply comfort her. Cynthia had other ideas. She turned and covered his lips with her own. The kiss was deep, wet, hungry, and haunting. Soon clothes were off and bodies touched, hands groped and found and caressed the other’s sex.

“Do you have condoms?” Byron urgently whispered.

Cynthia scrambled off the bed, retrieved the foiled protector, and returned to the bed. Byron was as impatient as she, pulling her to him, teasing his tongue over every inch of her body before lapping the nectar from her private paradise.

“Now, I need you inside me.”

Byron needed that, too. Within minutes he had her mewling. She grabbed a pillow, pressed it to her mouth to stifle the screams. He loved her once, twice, three times before morning. She woke up feeling satiated, and free.

After a quick shower, Byron and Cynthia tipped down the stairs to her front door.

She gave him a last quick kiss. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I’m glad that you called.”

She opened the door. He stepped out, then turned around. “Tell your son about his father. The circumstances can remain hidden, but the father’s identity is part of your son’s identity, and is something he needs to know.”

As he walked to his car, those words rang in his ears. Tanya continued to insist he was little Ricky’s father. Which meant there was another little boy who needed to know the truth about his father. Byron needed to know this, too.