Teddy Bear Heir (9 page)

The thought of finding this woman, tracking her down, and spending a few weeks in bed with her was uppermost in his mind.

But where to begin?

This was the age of information, and the internet was still the most powerful medium known to mankind. The first campaign had worked and brought women into his life in droves. He'd have to create another one and ensure that it did the job.

It would have to be subtle, a masterpiece of production. He couldn't just go online and demand to know who'd been sleeping in his bed. Half the female population of San Francisco would probably show up. He was only interested in one.

He called in the same employee who had created the first campaign and tried to explain exactly what he had in mind. And why.

Chuck Berrigan was in his early fifties, fat, slovenly and unshaven. He constantly had an expensive unlit Cuban cigar hanging out of his mouth and looked like a character in a Billy Wilder comedy. He had a fondness for khaki pants and baggy sweaters and wore his gray hair long enough to brush his collar.

But he had the heart of a pussycat beneath his brusque demeanor and created content like no one else.

Teddy's Toys had employed him before. He'd created several of their most successful ad campaigns, including the famous one three Christmases ago in which Julian had dressed up as Kris Kringle and Mrs. Monahan had had to suffer through the same session dressed as a long-suffering elf. But the reindeer they'd rented for the day had loved her and practically licked the skin off her forearms.

Chuck was pacing the length of the office, back and forth, back and forth. His cigar remained unlit, as Cameron had no fondness for secondhand smoke. Finally the writer stopped pacing and faced his employer.

"Let me get this straight," he said. "You went to bed with this broad and don't even remember who she was?"

"The room was totally dark," Cameron explained patiently. He couldn't blame Chuck for his reaction. The whole story seemed incredible to him. And he'd been there.

"But if it was that terrific—"

"I wasn't thinking very clearly," Cameron said wearily, running his fingers through his hair. "I wasn't really thinking at all."

"She must have been some broad, all right. Okay, Cameron, we can do this."

"I'm counting on you to write me something that's—restrained and—tasteful."

"Sure thing. But before we begin, let's use some logic here."

Cameron groaned inwardly. Chuck was a brilliant writer and his absolute favorite reading material was detective novels. He fancied himself an amateur sleuth. Cameron was sure those instincts were going to come to the fore in about two seconds.

"What about one of those maids in the hotel? I mean, she would've had access, with her key and all. Jeez, Cameron, you know broads were climbing in the windows when you were interviewing candidates for your baby mama."

"Don't remind me."

"We could start by getting a list of employees working that night at the Four Seasons."

It wasn't that bad an idea. Cameron frowned in thought.

"Take a memo," he said wearily to Mrs. Monahan, who now sat by his desk, steno pad in hand. If she thought this whole situation too incredible for words, she wisely didn't let a single emotion flit across her face.

"Now," said Chuck, starting to warm up. "Was there anyone else who might've been at the scene of the—crime. So to speak."

"I appreciate your subtlety."

"Hey, just doing my job. If we can figure out who this dame was, you can save a bundle."

Cameron paid Chuck by the hour and he had to concede that if they figured out this woman's identity relatively quickly, they would save Teddy's Toys an astronomical amount of money.

It would save
him
  an astronomical amount of money.

"I appreciate your thoughtfulness."

"What about the lawyer?" Chuck accentuated his question by taking the ever-present Cuban cigar out of his mouth and jabbing the air with it for emphasis.

"Mike?" Cameron laughed, the sound mirthless and abrupt. "I don't think so."

"I dunno," Chuck mused. "I saw her out in the front office. She's quite a looker."

"Mike? Here?" Cameron turned to Mrs. Monahan.

"She had another contract for you to look over but I referred her to your grandfather."

"Get her in here."

Within minutes, Michaela entered the spacious office.

"You wanted to see me?"

"Did Julian look that contract over?"

"Yes. I was just leaving—"

"Give it to me."

She sat in one of the chairs next to his desk, between Mrs. Monahan and a man she didn't know. He was chewing on the end of a cigar and studying some notes he'd scribbled on the back of an envelope.

"Would you like something to drink?" Cameron offered, scanning the pages of the legal document.

"Coffee would be fine," Michaela replied, giving Mrs. Monahan a reassuring smile.

The assistant returned with her cup, then sat back down in her chair by the desk and picked up her steno pad, poised and waiting for whatever Cameron chose to do next.

"Okay," said Chuck. "So if it’s not one of the maids and it's not this lady—"

Cameron looked up, a distinctly amused twinkle in his dark blue eyes as he caught Michaela's incredulous expression. "No, I'd say I'm ninety-eight percent sure about that."

"What are you talking about?" Michaela asked.

Chuck answered. "The broad that snuck into his bedroom about a month ago and—how can I say this?—rang his chimes, cleaned his clock...ah, you get my drift."

Cameron rolled his eyes as if to say,
Writers.

"And why couldn't it have been me?"

"What do you mean, Mike?"

"Am I that—staid and dull and boring?"

"Not at all. But you just don't strike me as the... type."

"Thank you, Mr. Black."

Chuck was watching their entire exchange with quiet fascination. Even Mrs. Monahan had put down her steno pad and was enthralled.

"What's wrong with you today, Mike?"

"Wrong? With me? Oh, nothing at all. Just because you've conveniently consigned me to the roll of a sexless, lifeless fuddy-duddy, I can't see any reason to get upset over something like that."

"Mike, I didn't—"

"What if I just wanted to unlace my orthopedic shoes, kick up my heels and get crazy one night? What if I lost my head
completely
  and wanted to have one night of anonymous, lust-filled, crazed, animal passion? What if I saw the entire experience as a way of feeling
totally
  alive for just one night, then resuming my dull, boring, lawyer-like existence?"

"Mike, I didn't mean-"

"Yes you did. I know exactly what you meant and I'm not going to let you get away with it! Nope. Just because I wear these businesslike suits and stuffy little blouses, just because I wear sensible heels and quiet, understated jewelry, doesn't mean that the heart of a total, sexual maniac doesn't beat behind this stuffy facade!"

"Mike, I-"

"Coleman, Watts and Burrell happens to be one of the most conservative firms in the city.
And
  the most prestigious. But if you hired me and I was on retainer to Teddy's Toys, I might just come into work in tight jeans and a black lace bustier—"

"That I would like to see," Chuck said, leaning back in his chair and chewing on his cigar.

"Or red hotpants and a see-through blouse—"

"I'd buy it," Chuck remarked to no one in particular.

"Or maybe even a mini-dress and no underwear—"

"Baby, you should be writing this copy," Chuck said, then burst out laughing.

Cameron was staring at Michaela as if he'd never truly seen her. But before he could say anything, she gathered up all the papers on his desk, rammed than into her briefcase, then stood and strode out of the room.

"Wow," Chuck said as she reached the door.

"Men!" Michaela said as she threw the office door open. "All of you make me sick!''

The door slammed behind her grand exit and utter silence blanketed the three people that remained in Cameron's spacious office.

"Well," Chuck said after a short pause. "She's either guilty as sin or that's the most incredible case of PMS I've ever seen."

* * *

She strode to the elevator, her color high, her heart pounding. Who the hell did Cameron Black think he was, to stick her into some preconceived little cubbyhole like that? To judge her as a woman he might like to have sex with but could never imagine having the sex of his life with?

She jabbed the elevator button with her finger.

Men. They were all pigs. Inconsiderate oafs. Even bedroom skills that would have earned Cameron a place in the Sexual Olympics Hall of Fame didn't make up for a basic insensitivity, a gross disregard for her feelings –

She jabbed the elevator button again and broke a nail. Dropping her briefcase, she kicked the wall.

She'd never in her life lost her temper that way, never in her life done something so foolish. The last thing she wanted to do was call attention to herself, make Cameron believe she might have been in bed with him that night. It was like a scene out of
Crime and Punishment.

What is wrong with you?

She jabbed the button again, then tore off what was left of her nail. That wasn't like her, either. Normally she would've raced to her manicurist and had it repaired.

Where the hell is that elevator?

"Mike?"

She turned to find Cameron standing in the hallway, staring at her.

"What!"

"I wanted...to apologize.”

It was the last thing she remembered before she fainted.

* * *

Julian Black started as Mrs. Monahan burst into his office.

"She's fainted! I almost called 911 but Cameron insisted on taking her to Dr. Mallory—"

"What!"

He was out the door in a shot, racing toward the teaching hospital.

* * *

When she came to, she was lying in Cameron's arms in the back of a company limousine and he was smoothing her hair out of her eyes.

"Don't talk," he said softly. "Don't move. We'll have you at the doctor's in no time."

"But I'm-"

"Healthy as a horse," he finished for her, putting his finger across her lips to stop her words. "I know. Just humor me, Mike. Let me take care of you."

She closed her eyes.

"I didn't mean to upset you," he said, his voice uncharacteristically rough with emotion. "It's not that I couldn't picture you as a sexual siren, it’s just—"

"It doesn't matter—"

"Shh." He smoothed her hair back and simply held her as the limousine made swift progress through the city streets. Within twenty minutes she found herself in a doctor's office with Cameron waiting outside.

"Could you be pregnant?" Dr. Mallory asked conversationally as he took her blood pressure.

"No. That's not an option."

"Why?"

"I... can't."

"When were you actually tested and found to be infertile?"

"Well, I wasn't. I mean, I was married and we tried for a few years. He went for tests and it wasn't his problem, so...1 knew it was me."

"I see. Then let's consider pregnancy an option."

"You're wasting your time. And I'd really rather not be put through a full-scale physical right now."

He patted her arm comfortingly. "I understand. But let's just humor your concerned young man. Let me run some tests, just a few standard procedures. I'll be back from my conference in a few days and I'll phone you with the lab results."

She hesitated.

"My guess is that you're perfectly all right and simply overworked. Or stressed."

"Okay. But not too many tests."

He smiled reassuringly. "Just a few. Let's just say I like to cover every possibility."

When she walked out of the examining room and into the waiting room, four pairs of anxious eyes turned toward her.

Cameron, Julian, Mrs. Monahan and Chuck.

"I'm fine."

None of them looked convinced.

"Really. I am."

"You're taking the rest of the day off," Cameron announced. "Even if I have to chain you to your bed.''

"She's the one," Chuck muttered under his breath to no one in particular.

* * *

Cameron drove her home after placing a call to Coleman, Watts and Burrell. Michaela fretted. Two sick days within thirty days. It just wasn't done.

Cameron's language shocked her when he told her what he thought of a company that put its so-called principles before the health and welfare of its employees.

He carried her up the steps and inside her house over her protests and placed her on the overstuffed couch in her living room. Tucking an afghan around her, he proceeded to order in chicken soup from one of the excellent restaurants the city was so famous for.

Trust Cameron not to simply open a can.

Gomez and Morticia liked him immediately, which Michaela took as a good sign. Or maybe the black- and-white cats simply liked the smell of the soup.

"I want you to lie down and try to sleep."

"Cameron, for God's sake—"

"Don't fight me on this one, Mike."

When she looked up into his eyes she saw genuine caring there. It wasn't love but it was the next best thing. The thought that Cameron cared for her made her smile and she realized how terribly tired she was.

"I am kind of sleepy."

"I know you are. You look exhausted."

She sighed and snuggled beneath the warmth of the crocheted afghan. She'd been feeling funny lately and couldn't seem to shake either the dark circles beneath her eyes or the constant feeling of nausea.

She heard him talking on her phone and just before she drifted off to sleep, heard him calling Dr. Mallory's office and scheduling a follow-up visit to go over the results of various tests.

* * *

The second time she went to see Dr. Mallory, only Cameron accompanied her. And luckily he remained in the waiting room.

"Well," said the doctor as he swept into his office. "I believe congratulations are in order."