Sheltering His Desire (18 page)

“I don’t know.” Mikki turned her attention
back to her work, typing as she talked. “Maybe. I know, he’s ten
years older, they’ve been waiting for a long time, but we’re not
sure if we want to do that.”

Alyssia hadn’t ever heard that from Jared
before. Not that they spent a lot of time talking about his baby
plans. Still, she’d always just assumed it was something she’d do,
it was something Jared would do. “So are you saying you’ll
never…?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I’ve still got time, and
we’re still having fun, you know?”

“I completely understand.” Tate was making
scrolling motions on the screen now, instead of random taps.

Currents of uneasiness rocked through
Alyssia. “Which bit?” She tried to keep her tone casual. “The not
knowing for sure, or the ‘it’s probably never going to
happen?’”

He looked up, and his gaze met hers. “I have
a press release explaining your situation with Thompson’s dog.
Something to help you change the perception of the shelter back to
positive. Do you want to hit up the online news outlets with the
information, or stick to local television stations?”

“Online too. Everyone who’ll listen.” She
squashed her rising disappointment. She shouldn’t jump to
conclusions. It wasn’t as if he’d said it was never going to
happen. And again, it wasn’t even like they had moved that far in
their relationship. But she’d struggle to make things work, even
with him, if kids weren’t an option. Had he really thought this
confession of love thing through? Had she?

She’d never kept what she wanted from her
future a secret. Was she overreacting, or was this just one of many
things they were about to clash over?

“So.” Mikki looked back and forth between the
two. “Speaking of media outlets, any news on Thompson?”

Tate shook his head. “Certified mail says he
received the letter.” They’d decided to give him one more chance to
rescind the stories about the shelter, and to drop the lawsuit. To
issue a public apology, and then just let the issue die. The
alternative wouldn’t quite be as brutal as what he’d done to the
shelter, but it certainly wouldn’t paint Thompson or his local TV
station a good light, and Alyssia’s attorney already had a
counter-suit drawn up if needed. “No response. He won’t take my
calls, and has refused any in-person meetings.”

“Bryce Thompson was not available for
response,” Mikki said in chirpy voice.

Alyssia stifled a laugh when the other woman
flipped her hair over her shoulder, and adjusted an invisible
jacket. It was Mikki’s anchorwoman impersonation. She’d been
sliding into it off and on for days.

“So, we crucify the bastard.” Tate tapped out
something on the screen in front of him.

“You’ve got one more avenue.” Alyssia didn’t
want to bring it up. Tate would hate the idea. But she still felt
like Thompson deserved a chance. His kid didn’t. That sadistic fuck
needed to pay, but just because his dad was delusional didn’t mean
he should lose the things he’d worked for.

“No, I really don’t.” Tate rubbed his eyes.
“All right, fine. She’s out of town until Friday, though. I’ll talk
to her then. She’s not going to listen. Especially when I tell her
we don’t need Skriddie’s hardware anymore.”

“I’m missing something,” Mikki said.

“His mother has certain ins with Mr.
Thompson,” Alyssia explained.

“They’re fucking. Have been for years.” Tate
made himself comfortable in a nearby chair.

Mikki’s brows rose. “And I thought my family
was dysfunctional.”

“You have no idea.”

Alyssia frowned at the resignation in Tate’s
voice. The entire evening of conversations was just one bad
reminder after another. A nudge, asking if she and Tate knew what
they were doing. Or worse, reminding her this may be far more
temporary than she’d like. She didn’t want to think that way, but
every time she banished the insistent voice in the back of her
head, it pecked at her resolve until it was free again.

Alyssia stood in front of her bathroom
mirror, stomach clenched in knots. Which was the entire reason she
was doing this. To convince herself the nausea she felt on an
almost daily basis was the stress of working so hard, and not
something deeper. More… internal.

Tate. His name twisted her insides further.
She looked again at the piece of plastic in her hand, and the pink
plus sign in the middle. Two weeks of bliss, and everything was
going to fall apart again when she told him she was pregnant. He
may have made the leap to committing to her, but she couldn’t
imagine he was ready for a family. Not after all the protests he’d
put up over the years.

She might have thought it would be all right.
Maybe it would be, and she was just overreacting. But after his
conversation with Mikki the other day…

She sank onto the toilet seat with a sigh.
How was she going to break this to him?

As if her thoughts had summoned him, her
phone rang in the other room, and the familiar song she used as his
ringtone drifted toward her. She shoved the pregnancy test deep
into the trash, and jogged to answer. “Hey.”

“Hey, gorgeous.” Tate’s smile carried over
the line. “You sound out of breath. Are you okay?”

Just questioning everything, from herself, to
him, them. She shouldn’t doubt him. Things were going well, and she
was just being paranoid. “My phone wasn’t in the same room as me. I
had to track it down. What’s up?”

“Are you free this afternoon?”

It was her day off, but she was on call.
“Until someone tells me otherwise.”

“Have lunch with me at that little diner in
Gwinnette?”

The invitation eased her doubt. She was
definitely being paranoid. “Absolutely. When?”

“One thirty, hopefully. Marge Foster pushed
my appointment back to noon.” If he was calling his mom by her full
name, instead of Mother, that wasn’t a good sign. The full name
treatment was reserved for when he was irritated with her, or
trying to pretend they weren’t related. “I wonder sometimes if she
wishes she’d had the mailman’s kid, instead of me.”

“It’ll be fine.” Alyssia tried to keep her
reassurance vague. “Say your bit, you know you’ll keep your head,
and I’ll see you after.”

“Good point. I love you, Lys.”

The simple reminder helped calm her, but it
didn’t completely erase her doubts. “I love you, too.”

****

Tate sat in one of the waiting room chairs
outside his mother’s office, doing his best not to check the time.
It was almost twenty after twelve. The door never opened, but her
assistant, Kat, finally looked up. “Ms. Foster will see you now.
Sorry for the wait.”

“It’s not a problem.” He gave her a warm
smile, a retort surged in his throat, and he choked it back. It
wasn’t Kat’s fault, and he was doing his best to keep his cool
through this. He stepped into the smaller room, pleasant airs still
painted on.

“I’m so sorry to keep you waiting.” Marge’s
southern lilt was back. “Important people demanding my time.”

“Of course.” He ignored the subtle
implication he wasn’t part of that list. “Thanks for making room in
your schedule. This won’t take long.”

Her eyebrows twitched up, and she nodded to
the chair across from her desk. “Then let’s talk business.”

He made a point of closing the door before he
took a seat. Keep calm, play it cool, don’t let her ruffle him.
That was all he had to remember. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of
a mutual associate, and haven’t been able to reach him. I’m hoping
you can help me.”

She muttered something that sounded like, “Of
course you can’t.” Out loud, she said “Bless your heart. Give me
their name, and I’ll see what I can do.”

Time to tip his hand. “I need to get a
message to Bryce Thompson.”

Her eye twitched, and her mask slid back into
place. “I’m sorry. I was under the impression this was a business
meeting. I made room in my work schedule for this.”

“It is business, Ms. Foster.” He leaned back
in his chair, posture casual. “He’s impacted a critical Skriddie
Bust Media project. One that’s estimated to increase our quarterly
revenue by at least five percent, and that’s guaranteed to
challenge our strongest competitors and give us a new foothold in
the market. I’d like to speak with Mr. Thompson, and see what kind
of an agreement we can reach. I think his taking the time to sit
down with me would be in his best interests.”

“Not yours?” Her lilting accent was gone,
replaced with a hard edge.

“This isn’t about me, it’s about the company,
and Skriddie comes out on top either way. This is just a
professional courtesy.”

Her jaw clenched, and she leaned in. “It’s a
clever game, Tate. And I’m not sure what you’re doing, but
disguising your little friend’s problems as
business
isn’t
going to cut it.”

He stood. “I see. Then you won’t help me get
a hold of Mr. Thompson.”

“Why don’t you reach out to him
yourself?”

“I tried. I haven’t been able to connect with
him.” The conversation was going almost exactly the way Tate had
expected. Disappointment welled inside. It was naive of him to
think she’d cooperate, but he’d still hoped. “I’d thought maybe if
you were seeing him soon. Tonight, for dinner maybe, you could drop
my name.”

Her upper lip pulled into a sneer. “I will,
as a matter of fact. I’ll pass your concerns to him, along with the
opinion that my son is chasing a dream and living in a fantasy
world.”

The insult sliced under Tate’s skin, and he
forced himself to ignore it. “I appreciate it. Thank you for your
time.”

He started to rise, and then paused, as if
he’d remembered something. “One more thing. We’ve discovered
Skriddie is in breach of contract for the hardware they rented to
the new venture.”

Her brows rose and her self-satisfaction
vanished. “I doubt that.”

“I did at first, too.” He slid her a folder.
The paperwork inside was from Mikki—evidence that Marge had been
responsible for throttling the crowdfunding sites’ bandwidth and
server space, he assumed to make a point about…something? He knew
other companies used negotiation tactics like that, but he hadn’t
expected it from his own.

“If there’s an issue, I’m sure we’ll resolve
it.” Her snideness was gone, as was her pleasant tone. A mask had
slid in, flat and expressionless.

“That won’t be necessary. The contract has
been violated, and is being terminated. Notarized documents will
arrive this afternoon.”

She gave him a wicked smile, eyes narrowed.
“You can’t bring this to life on your own. If you burn this bridge,
your venture will fail.”

He shrugged, not feeling nearly as casual as
he was trying to look, and stood. “I’m not worried about it.”

His hands shook as he strode from the office,
irritation and satisfaction warring for control of his thoughts. It
was true, she’d never stopped condescending while he was in there,
but he hadn’t flinched, or sunk to the same level.

Besides, he had a lunch date with a wonderful
woman. The adrenaline racing through him ebbed as he headed toward
his car. He’d be a little early, but he needed the drive and the
fresh air to clear his head.

When Lys pulled into the parking lot of the
diner, almost an hour later, he’d replayed the conversation in his
head to the point of exhaustion. He couldn’t think of a way to have
handled that situation better, all things considered. But seeing
Lys walking toward him, hair pulled into a loose bun, sway to her
hips, erased the rambling thoughts. He met her halfway, pulled her
close, and kissed her hard. She let out a tiny whimper, and leaned
into him. God, he loved everything about kissing her. He
intertwined his fingers with hers, and they headed toward the
restaurant.

“How’d it go?” she asked.

“About like I expected.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Nah.” He’d had enough time to make his peace
with it. “We knew it probably wasn’t going to happen. If Thompson
is going to be an asshole about this, he can deal with the fallout.
He never even considered you.”

“I know. But…” She shook her head. “You’re
right. His choice.”

The hostess led them to a table outside, and
he took the seat across from Lys. “It’s done and over. Did you get
up to anything interesting this morning?”

She flipped the menu open and gave it her
full attention. “Not really. Boring house stuff.”

Doubt brushed his senses. She was just
hungry. Not lying to him. “Like what?”

“Hmm?” She glanced up, but never met his
gaze. Whatever she was studying seemed to have stolen her interest.
“Cleaning. Laundry.”

He knew he wasn’t reading her wrong this
time. She was keeping something from him. But what? Fuck. “What
aren’t you telling me?”

She finally looked him in the eye, corners of
her mouth turned down. “I’m just.” She pushed her menu aside. “I
feel like this whole thing is going too well. There were so many
road bumps to get to this point. And now it’s just smooth sailing?
I guess I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

That was something he understood. He reached
across the table and covered her hand with his. “Maybe it will,
maybe it won’t. We’ll make arrangements for the stuff we can
predict, and deal with the rest of it if it happens.”

“I guess.”

“Lys.” He tugged her thumb. “We’ll make it
work. That’s what we do, right?”

“Of course.” Her expression relaxed. “You’re
right. We’ll be fine. Are you coming over tonight?”

Tate still felt like he was missing
something, but she said it was just stress, and after his morning,
he might be overreacting. “Of course. I'll be there after
work.”

****

“Lys.” Tate's voice drifted from the kitchen.
“Are you sure you’re all right?

The question filled her with an uneasiness
she didn’t expect. She set her glass of ice water on the table, and
looked in his direction. “Not unless you know something I
don’t.”