Secrets & Seductions (3 page)

When he came back and handed her the water, she took an obligatory sip before setting it down. “Thank you.”

He was watching her closely, as though he expected her to do something crazy. Was there a secret alarm that he'd activated, calling for security? Somehow she doubted it. With his height and athletic build, he appeared more than capable of handling whatever she could dish out.

“Is there anything else I can do?” he asked when the silence began to lengthen between them.

Anything
else?

“Surely there's another channel I can explore,” she said. “Some person I can talk to, an appeal process,
something,
in order to find out what I need?”

“I'm sorry. I'm afraid the buck stops with me.”

Suddenly she had an idea. “You can contact them for me. They have a right to know that I'm looking for them, so they can give you permission to show me my file.”

She was babbling, but she didn't care. “I'll swear on the Bible that I won't bother them if they don't want me to,” she promised. “But society has changed a lot in the last twenty-seven years. Maybe they meant to revoke the ‘no contact' order, but they forgot all about it. You could ask them.”

“That's not possible.” He looked genuinely regretful. “I'm sorry.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?” she demanded, her frustration bubbling over.

“I know it sounds trite, but you have to accept the things you can't change,” he said, spreading his
hands wide. “I wish I could offer something more, but I can't.”

“Accept?” Her voice rose like a hot-air balloon. “You want me to
accept
what I can't change?” She leaped to her feet, barely noticing that her purse had dropped to the floor, and leaned over Morgan Davis to look right into his killer blue eyes.

They widened slightly.

“Let me tell you what I've had to accept lately.” She stuck her hand under his nose, fingers spread, and began ticking off items.

“I couldn't change my miscarriages or the divorce that followed.” She tapped two fingers. “How about the layoff from my job as a school counselor? How was I supposed to change that?” There went another finger. “Unfortunately, none of the other districts around here are hiring, either, and I have bills to pay.”

She hesitated, then decided that deserved a finger, too. “Maybe my creditors will have to accept not getting any money from me until I find another job, huh?”

He opened his mouth, but she cut him off ruthlessly. “If all that wasn't enough, I found out that I'm not even who I thought I was.”

She waggled her splayed hand at him. “How can you tell me that not knowing my parents' names is just one more thing I have to accept?”

For just an instant he looked genuinely horrified before he quickly masked his expression. When he
got to his feet, he was a head taller than Emma, who was forced to retreat.

“I wish there was something I could do,” he said with apparently limitless patience.

“But you're the director,” she cried. “I know you could make an exception if you really wanted to.”

“No, I can't.”

Stubborn ox! She had failed at so many things lately, being a wife, a mother, a successful counselor. How could she go away from here empty-handed?

Normally she hated whiners, but she was running out of options. “No one else would have to find out,” she wheedled softly. “I'd never let on where I got the information, I swear, please.”

“Ms. Wright,” he said.

Back to formality, she noticed.

“You may not believe me,” he continued, “but I truly can understand your disappointment. However, this agency has entered into a contract with the people who entrusted you to us for placement in the first place. It's a binding legal document that I am not willing or able to violate.”

Emma began to steam. Why had he told her the information was only a few feet away—to taunt her? How sadistic was that?

How could this petty bureaucrat in his fancy suit, sitting in his corner office like some potentate in his ivory tower, claim to know what she was feeling?

She had to try one last time, just in case he was beginning to weaken. “Are you sure there's nothing you can do?”

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his slacks and rocked back on the heels of what were no doubt very expensive shoes. “If you want to send me your résumé, I could ask around,” he suggested with obvious reluctance. “Have you checked with the employment agencies here in Portland?”

“No!” Emma exclaimed, her frustration finally breaking through as she threw up her hands. “That's not the help I meant, and you know it!”

He shook his head. “Eventually you'll adjust to the idea that you were adopted by two people who wanted a baby very much,” he insisted. “They should have told you a lot sooner, but they didn't. There it is and you can't change it.”

If he said it was time to move on, she was going to slug him. Instead he shrugged.

“I've been doing this for a long while,” he continued, apparently encouraged by her silence. “The adoption process isn't something that people go through unless they're desperate for a child. It's expensive and time-consuming. Their privacy is shredded, their lives picked apart.”

He paused for breath while she gave him her iciest glare. “It sounds as though you've had a heck of a bumpy ride lately,” he said, “but you look like a capable woman. Give yourself time to accept once
again the identity that you've grown up with and the parents who raised you.”

Emma's fuse, which had often been regrettably short, finally blew at the platitudes he was trying to heap on her poor head.

She picked up her purse. “You may think, just because you run this agency, that you're so wise and all-knowing about how it feels to be adopted, Mr. Davis.” She grabbed the knob and yanked open the door, too angry to thank him for his time.

“As for your advice, your platitudes and your pseudo sympathy,” she continued loudly, pointing at the big vase, “you can stick them right into that cheap, tacky glass monstrosity you seem to be so proud of.”

Head held high, she sailed out the door and slammed it shut behind her.

 

Morgan stood in the suddenly silent office with his hands braced on his hips. He understood the reasons behind the agency's confidentiality regulations; he agreed with them one hundred percent.

In this case, Emma would never know that he was protecting her as well as her biological parents. She had been through enough without having to deal with a father who would never acknowledge her because the personal cost to him and his career might be more than he was willing to pay.

Between the shouting and door slamming, Emma
Wright's exit had been a noisy one. At any moment he expected his assistant to burst into his office in order to reassure herself that he was still in one piece.

Absently he looked around, his glance landing on the large blown-glass vase that Emma had disparaged on her way out the door.

“It's not tacky,” he muttered defensively as he studied the blue and purple sculpture. Created in the manner of Dale Chihuly, a prominent Northwest artist, the twisting, fluid shape resembled either a man-eating flower or a floppy hat, depending on the angle from which it was viewed.

“And it sure as hell wasn't cheap.” Morgan winced as he recalled his winning bid at the recent charity auction. Even so, he would have willingly given up the vase in exchange for a magical elixir to remove that wounded, lost look from Emma Wright's sad gray eyes before she got angry and they turned to fire.

He had plenty of experience reading people, and the most satisfying part of his job was being able to help them. Emma's case was an unusual one, but she didn't know that and he couldn't tell her. It was part of the reason she stayed in his mind.

It had nothing to do with the fact that she was hot.

Portland was full of hot women wearing vividly colored cropped tops, tight miniskirts and miles of bare skin that replaced winter's long, dark raincoats and high boots. Quite a few of them worked right
here in the hospital complex, but he'd gotten good at ignoring them.

His mother was always nagging him about giving her grandchildren, but he had rules about mixing business and pleasure. His rules hadn't protected him from Emma. Her red knit top hadn't been especially snug, nor did her short khaki skirt expose an unusual amount of her long, attractive legs. It was those big gray eyes that grabbed him first, eyes a man could dive into and get lost. Wavy brown hair he wanted to plunge his fingers into and muss all up.

Full lips…

His appreciation of Emma Wright as a woman wasn't what she needed, so he forced himself to ignore the rush of heat as several rapid knocks sounded on his closed door.

“Enter,” he called out as he turned away from the window.

Just as he had expected, it was Cora who poked her head inside. “Everything okay?” she asked.

As much as he was tempted to ask her opinion, he didn't have that luxury.

“Everything's fine,” Morgan replied with a reassuring smile.

She studied him for another moment with a concerned expression, like a soccer mom checking for injuries, before she finally returned his smile with one of her own.

“Okay, good,” she said. “Since you don't have any wounds in need of binding up, I'm going to lunch.”

 

Around the corner from the assistant's station, Everett Baker had pressed himself against the wall so that he wouldn't be discovered. He'd been on his way back to the accounting department where he worked when he heard the woman shouting at the director. Yelling and anger always made Everett's stomach knot up. Absently he had rubbed slow circles on his midsection as he watched the pretty woman in the red shirt rush past Cora's desk.

Why did women always start shouting when they got upset? If they would only ask nicely, they might get whatever it was that they wanted.

No one ever seemed to notice Everett, so he was able to watch the other employees whenever he had a break from his work. Sometimes he was able to listen to their conversations, if they talked loud enough. It helped him to figure out why some people had so many friends and others, like him, didn't.

On a really good day, he would see Leslie Logan. She came often to Children's Connection, looking like a modern-day queen. Everett had a special reason for watching her, but it wasn't what anyone else might think. Leslie was old enough to be his mother.

Everett glanced at his watch and saw that it was
time for him to get back to his desk before someone asked where he'd been. Nervously he pushed back his hair as he looked around to make sure that no one was watching him. The hall was empty and the pretty woman in red was gone. He was in the clear.

E
mma was still fuming over her appointment when she hurried to meet her friend Ivy Crosby for lunch at a little café near the computer company where Ivy worked. Even though her family owned Crosby Systems, Ivy never took for granted her position there, so Emma didn't want to be late and hold her up.

She could see Ivy already seated at one of the small tables outside the café, her curly blond hair easy to spot, even in the middle of the lunch-hour crowd. She smiled and waved when she saw Emma coming down the sidewalk.

Despite her own foul mood, Emma waved back
before she ducked inside and worked her way through the groups of people waiting to be seated.

“I'm joining my friend at an outside table,” she told the hostess.

Emma and Ivy had been roommates in college. Despite their polar-opposite personalities and wildly diverse backgrounds, they had made the effort to remain close.

When Emma got to the table, Ivy stood up and gave her a hug.

“I'm so glad to see you,” Ivy exclaimed. “I missed you.”

“You, too.” Emma returned her hug, blinking back tears. “I'm glad you're back.”

Ivy's perfume was a designer scent that cost more than Emma's laptop, or her trendy outfit from an exclusive boutique. Beneath the affluent veneer, Ivy was the most genuine and loyal friend Emma had.

“How have you been?” Ivy asked after they had both sat down. “Fill me in.”

“Is there steam coming out of my ears?” Emma asked teasingly. Inwardly she was still fuming about her meeting.

Ivy's blue eyes widened as she folded her hands on the menu. “Oh, dear,” she replied. “It sounds as if you've had a bad morning. Tell me what's wrong.”

Emma was touched by her friend's concern, but she knew how much Ivy hated being late back to work. She said it set a bad example for the other em
ployees. “My problems will keep. Let's order.” She glanced at her menu. “Then I want to hear about your trip. Where was it again that you went?”

“Lantanya.”

“I've never heard of it.” Emma wondered if she had imagined the momentary coolness in Ivy's voice, even as the poetic name rolled off her tongue.

“No one has. It's just a tiny principality located right on the Adriatic Sea.” She tossed her blond head. “Lunch is my treat. Don't even bother to argue.”

Emma was embarrassed by Ivy's generosity, but she was too broke to protest. After they had both ordered seafood salad and iced tea, she managed to smile at her friend.

“Did you meet a handsome prince while you were in Lantanya?” Emma asked teasingly.

To her surprise, Ivy's expression froze. “I wasn't there to play,” she said. “It was a business trip.”

“I was only kidding,” Emma replied, refusing to take offense. She was well aware of the stress Ivy felt when it came to her job. “So how was business?”

Ivy's face relaxed again. “Crosby Industries is putting computer systems in the schools there. The children are so excited. It's a heartwarming project.”

When it came to kids, Ivy was a cream puff. A few months ago, she had started volunteering at Portland General, working with the crack babies.

“That sounds great,” Emma replied. “Will you be going back?”

Again Ivy's smile wavered and she glanced away. “I doubt it.”

“I suppose the country is pretty primitive,” Emma said. “Is it hot and barren?”

Before Ivy could reply, the waitress brought their salads and tall glasses of iced tea.

“Anything else?” the young girl asked. When both of them shook their heads, she left the check on the table and departed.

“Lantanya is a lovely country,” Ivy murmured, picking up her fork. “I've just had enough traveling for a while.”

Something wasn't right here. In college the two girls had spent a lot of time talking about all the places they wanted to visit when they had an opportunity to travel. Before she left, Ivy had been eager to go on this trip.

Concerned, Emma leaned across the small table. “Honey, what's wrong? Did something happen while you were gone?”

To her dismay, tears swam in Ivy's eyes before she blinked them away. “I guess you could say that,” she whispered. “I met someone.”

Emma was probably the only person who knew just how inexperienced Ivy was when it came to men. “And?” she prompted.

“And we hit it off, and now it's over.” Ivy's eyes were downcast as she speared a bite of her salad.

“I'm sorry.” Emma was dying for more infor
mation, but it was obvious that Ivy wasn't ready to talk about whatever had taken place in Lantanya. For a few moments the two of them ate in silence.

Finally Ivy lifted her head, her smile firmly back in place. “Okay, no more stalling. When you first arrived, you looked fit to be tied, as my nanny used to say.”

Ivy already knew about Emma's medical condition, her divorce from Don and her layoff. Emma hadn't yet mentioned her estrangement from the people who had raised her or the reason behind it.

As briefly as possible, Emma explained how finding out about her endometriosis had led to the news that she was adopted.

“I don't know what to say,” Ivy murmured. “Are you sure it's true?”

Emma speared a fat pink shrimp, even though she wasn't at all hungry. The one good thing that had come out of the recent weeks was that she had lost a few pounds. “Mom admitted everything.”

Ivy sprinkled pepper on her hard-boiled egg. Her own childhood had been less than ideal. She had been raised by a series of housekeepers and nannies after her parents' divorce, but at least Ivy knew who she was.

“I'm so sorry,” she said with a sympathetic smile. “What they did was wrong, but they're good people at heart and they love you. I know you'll work it out.”

“We're not speaking,” Emma said bluntly as she poked at her salad. “I can't forgive them for lying to me all these years.”

At the next table, a cell phone rang and the man sitting there launched into a loud, annoying conversation about a deal he was putting together.

Ivy rolled her eyes in reaction. “What exactly did your parents tell you?”

Emma arched her brows. “Do you mean the Wrights?” she asked, unable to resist.

After her divorce, she had taken back her maiden name. If she had known when she signed the papers what she knew now, she wouldn't have bothered.

“They're still your parents,” Ivy chided gently before taking a dainty bite of arugula.

Emma didn't bother to argue. She couldn't expect her friend to understand her sense of betrayal. Ivy was under constant pressure working at the family firm, but at least they
were
her family.

Someone dropped a tray inside the café with a loud crash that made Emma's hand jerk. Iced tea sloshed over the rim of the glass.

“Did they tell you anything else about your background?” Ivy asked.

“Only that I was a newborn when they adopted me,” Emma explained as she wiped up the spill with her napkin. “It was handled by an agency here in Portland called Children's Connection.”

Blotting her lips with her napkin, Ivy studied her
thoughtfully. “I've seen their ads. The Logans are big patrons of their fertility clinic.”

Emma was aware that Ivy's family and the wealthy Logans had a long, mutually antagonistic history, but she wasn't sure why. Ivy had told her their companies were rivals, but the rift seemed far too bitter for that. “I'm sorry,” she said. “I didn't know they were involved.”

“No reason you should.” Ivy studied her thoughtfully. “It's good to know the adoption was legitimate and not part of some backroom black-market baby ring.”

“I guess,” Emma acknowledged.

A sudden breeze stirred Ivy's hair. Two men at a nearby table stopped talking to stare at her. Despite being so pretty, she had been raised in the shadow of her older siblings, which made her rather shy. She was oblivious to the men's attention.

“I don't know what I'd do if I found out something like that,” she told Emma. “Is that where you went this morning?”

Emma leaned closer and lowered her voice. Thankfully the hotshot at the next table had concluded his call and was eating his lunch. “I had an appointment with the director, because I wanted to learn everything I could about my biological parents.”

Ivy set aside her plate. “I guess I'd want to know the same thing. What did you find out?”

“Nothing!” Emma's frustration bubbled out. Several patrons glanced over at her, so she quickly lowered her voice. “He refused to tell me anything. He claimed that my file is confidential.”

“Well, maybe it's for the best,” Ivy said in a conciliatory tone. “I mean, are you sure you
really
want to know the reasons someone gave you up? What if they're painful?”

“Like what?” Emma fired back at her. “You mean, if my mother was too young to take care of me, or if I was the result of some kind of assault or incest, or left in a Dumpster?” She had already spent a lot of time thinking about all the different possibilities.

Ivy shrugged. “I don't know. Some people don't want anyone to find out they had a child and gave it up. They're ashamed, or they have a new family they never told. Or they just can't face what they did.”

“I still have a right to know,” Emma disagreed. “It's my personal history.” She could feel the frustration rising up again, but the last thing she wanted was to argue with Ivy.

“But you said they couldn't tell you anything, so what else can you do?”

“I said they
wouldn't
tell me,” Emma corrected. “The director, Morgan Davis, had my file with the names of my parents right on his desk. He admitted the information was all there, but it's agency policy to keep it all a big, dark secret.”

She took a gulp of her iced tea, but the ice had
melted and it tasted watery. “You'd think this was the nineteenth century, not the twenty-first,” she sputtered. “Adoption files have been open for decades!”

Ivy took out her wallet and put her credit card with the check. “Do you want to take a walk?” she offered. “I could use the exercise.”

A knot rose up in Emma's throat at her friend's suggestion. “Thanks for letting me vent, sweetie. I know you need to get back to work.” She glanced at her watch. “Don't worry. I'll be okay.”

“Any job leads?” Ivy asked after the waitress went off with her card.

Emma had to be careful not to say too much about that situation, because she knew Ivy would repeat her offer to find Emma something at Crosby Systems. Even though Ivy's family owned the business and her older brother was the CEO, she wanted to be seen there as more than a pretty face. She had struggled hard for the recognition she had achieved and Emma was determined not to impose on their friendship.

“I'm looking into a couple of things for fall,” she said with a smile. “Meanwhile I've got my part-time job at the video store and my unemployment benefits, so I'm not concerned.”

She might have been able to squeak along for a while if Don hadn't left her with more than her share of their bills. Contrary to what she had just told Ivy, she was starting to worry about how she was going to manage.

“Promise you'll let me know if I can help,” Ivy said, touching Emma's hand. “I'm serious. Give me your word.”

Crossing the fingers of her other hand beneath the table, Emma nodded. “I know one of my leads will pan out anyday.”

“And I'm so sorry about this other business,” Ivy said after she'd tucked her credit card back into her purse and they wound their way out of the café. “I'm sure not knowing is hard, but it sounds as if you have no choice but to let it go.”

The two of them stopped on the sidewalk to exchange a quick hug. “Call me whenever you feel like talking, okay?”

Once again Emma nodded. “Same goes, you know.”

Ivy's cheeks turned pink, but she didn't reply.

“Well, thanks for listening,” Emma told her, “and for lunch.” As soon as she landed a full-time job and got caught up on her bills, she was going to take Ivy to dinner at the nicest restaurant in Portland as thanks for her support.

“Anytime.” With a final wave, Ivy turned and walked quickly away.

Emma hesitated, not sure what to do next. The rest of the afternoon stretched in front of her like an empty road. After the way her morning had gone, she deserved a treat. Something more lasting than lunch.

One of her favorite places to go in downtown Portland was a bookstore named Powell's. Housed
in a big old building, it was known as the largest independent new and used bookstore in the world. Maybe a couple of hours spent perusing the shelves would take her mind off that jerk, Morgan Davis.

 

After a solitary lunch at his desk, a staff meeting and an appointment with an eager couple looking to adopt a baby, Morgan took time to double-check his vacation plans. Every summer, aided by grants and donations, he and a group of volunteers conducted a two-week summer camp in the mountains a couple of hours away from the city.

The camp session was for older children who were still waiting to be adopted. It was Morgan's way of reminding them that people cared, of giving back to a system that had changed his life. The setting, on a lakeshore in the Deschutes National Forest, never failed to renew his spirit.

As usual, most of the office staff was already gone by the time he'd returned a list of phone calls and cleared off his desk. Even Cora had finally stuck her head in the doorway to see if there was anything he needed before she left to pick up her children from day care.

He walked to his reserved parking spot a few minutes later, carrying the briefcase that had been a birthday gift from his parents. In deference to the lingering heat, he had tossed the jacket of his suit over his shoulder and loosened his Italian silk tie.