What a Rich Woman Wants (2 page)

“There are times, Ms. Robinson, when loyalty to an entity or to another person is tested, when you have to decide whether the price for your loyalty is more than you want to pay. That's what I had to decide.”

He was sure he'd struck a chord. Her expression changed subtly, as if he'd surprised her or reminded her of something significant.

She glanced at the open file in front of her. “You were never arrested, is that correct?”

She glanced up when he said, “Yes.”

“I thought an arrest record was a badge of honor to a gang member.”

“I had no interest in being locked up for any reason. I was no angel, but you're not going to hold it against me because I was smart enough not to get caught, are you, Ms. Robinson?”

“Of course not. Thank you, Deputy.” She cleared her throat, gave him what almost passed for a smile. “Niko,” she acknowledged. She stood and extended her hand, so he did the same. “I'll see you out.”

He followed her down the hallway, liking the sway of her hips beneath the skirt, even though she needed more meat on her bones. He couldn't help but notice how rigidly she held herself. She pretended to relax but never actually did. He wondered why she seemed so ill at ease in her own home.

She held the door open for him. “I'll be in touch about setting up a presentation to the board.”

“Thank you.”

The door closed decisively behind him. He breathed in the fresh air and let it out on a sigh. He reminded himself once again that he had no control over what happened next. He opened the back door of the Acura and laid his sports coat across the seat. At the same time he became aware of the sound of a ball bouncing off the rear bumper of his car. He looked around for the source of it but could see nothing through the landscaping. A soccer ball rolled away from the back of the vehicle. He took a couple of quick steps to stop its progress. A small boy appeared several feet away when Niko scooped up the ball.

“Hello.”

The child regarded him silently. Niko figured he was five or six years old. Dark hair, dark eyes, slender build. Both wary and shy, ready to bolt at any moment.

Niko hunkered down to make himself less threatening. “This must be yours.”

The kid stared and nodded, but just barely.

“Are you practicing your goal shots?”

He shook his head.

“Would you like to?”

“I don't have a net.”

“Oh. My name's Niko. What's yours?”

The kid glanced over his shoulder as if expecting a reprimand from that vicinity. “Ricky,” he told Niko, keeping his voice down. “I didn't mean to hit your car.”

“It's okay. Is your name Ricky Robinson?”

Surely that couldn't be right. But Ricky nodded. Was he Lesley Robinson's son?

Lesley wrapped her arms tightly across her chest and made her way back to her office. Once there she closed the door and sank into the chair behind her desk. By force of will she relaxed her arms and shoulders, and rotated her head from one side to the other to ease the tension in her neck. She did her deep-breathing exercises, telling herself to relax, although she'd gone through some semblance of this routine less than half an hour ago in preparation for her meeting with Niko Morales.

She didn't like anyone to rattle her or for anyone to see that they'd done so. She had to be in control because if she wasn't…if she wasn't, well, what then? Nothing good. She couldn't lose her head, her cool, her calm, her reason. She couldn't listen to her heart and make decisions on what it wanted. She'd done that once before, and the consequences had been disastrous.

Instead she kept everything on a tight leash. She'd been doing it for so long, holding herself, her family, her home, the foundation together, she'd forgotten how not to do it. She never let go, never relaxed. She had to be vigilant because she knew from past experience if she wasn't, bad things would happen.

After a few minutes she swiveled her chair to gaze out the window. The gurgling fountain just a few feet beyond the panes of glass and the view of the carefully tended landscaping never failed to soothe her. After closing the door behind Niko Morales, she needed to be soothed.

Yes, she'd done her homework on him, but a cold, clinical background check hadn't prepared her for his presence up close. She'd trained herself not to react to men, or at least not to give any sign of her reaction. Though to be honest, she met very few who caused her to react in any significant way anymore. Most of the men she met were her father's age or older, his peers from the country club and the business community. They sat on the foundation's board. Some were family attorneys or accountants or old cronies of her father's or the husbands of her mother's circle of friends.

Lesley couldn't recall the last time she'd met a man in her own age range who sent a zing through her with just the touch of his hand. Maybe not since Steven, though she shied away from that thought. She'd been divorced from him for over five years.

Had it been that long since she'd had anything but a passing interest in a man?

In fairness, she acknowledged that she'd been devastated by her husband's infidelity, an act he'd perpetrated right under her nose. She'd been forced to make quick decisions, to exert damage control to contain the chaos he'd created, and to protect the life of an infant.

But she'd never stopped blaming herself for all of it. For believing his lies, believing he cared for her. Most of all she couldn't forgive herself for making the foolish decision to marry him.

And then Maria's pregnancy had happened, as had the complications. She remembered Maria's fear for her son's survival. Even now Lesley didn't know how she could have turned her back on Maria's pleas. Not in the light of Maria's impending deportation. The universe had been so unfair to the woman, Lesley had to do what she could to help.

Then the universe revealed its twisted sense of humor, and she learned who the baby's father was. Steven had made sure Maria was deported before she could tarnish his sterling reputation, and refused any responsibility for the child he'd created with her. That had been the last straw. Lesley had divorced Steven but kept the child. She'd made a promise to the young woman Steven had seduced and abandoned. To watch over and protect the son she had to leave behind. And unlike Steven, promises meant something to her.

A figure crossed her line of vision as she gazed absently out the window. Niko Morales had discarded his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves. He was walking backward across the driveway when he suddenly dodged to his left and stopped, then kicked at something the landscaping hid from view.

Lesley stood to get a better look and saw a soccer ball roll back toward Niko. It looked like the one she'd given Ricky for his birthday last month. It had been a ridiculous gift, she'd realized after he opened it. Ricky had no one to play soccer with outside of school because he had few friends. But it looked like perhaps he'd made one.

Niko spoke and gestured. Lesley shifted left and leaned closer to the window. Now she could see Ricky listening and nodding at whatever Niko was telling him. Niko kicked the ball and Ricky managed to bring it to a stop underneath one of his sneakered feet. Niko made a clapping motion and said something that Lesley couldn't hear. She tried to remember the last time she'd seen Ricky smile.

Chapter Two

The following morning Lesley made her way from her suite to the main kitchen. She'd slept poorly and she needed coffee desperately. A lot of it. Lita would have it ready. She always did.

Even before Lesley entered the kitchen, she could hear Ricky chattering away with Lita. She knew as soon as she arrived he would clam up and barely acknowledge any conversation she tried to make. Lita had bonded with Ricky. Lesley had not. It was Lita who had cared for him, who had gotten up in the middle of the night when even the nanny Lesley hired hadn't heard his whimpers. Although Lesley was legally his adoptive parent, Lita was more of a mother to him than she'd ever been. She hated that this was the way things were, but it was her own fault.

She braced herself as she continued forward, forcing a smile onto her face as she stepped into the kitchen. “Good morning, Lita. Good morning, Ricky.”

“Good morning, Miss Lesley,” Lita greeted her in her heavily accented but perfect English. Lita poured coffee into a delicate bone china mug and handed it to her.

Lesley took a sip. “Mmm. Thank you, Lita.”

She joined Ricky at the table, where Lita had given him a breakfast of cereal and fruit, toast, juice and milk.

“How are you this morning, Ricky?” She smiled at the boy, who regarded her before addressing his reply to his bowl of cereal.

“Okay.”

Lesley gazed out the windows at the side garden. A narrow strip of beach was visible from here. She blinked, wishing as she did almost every morning that her life were different, that she were different. She sipped her coffee and glanced at Ricky once again. It wasn't his fault that he reminded her so much of Steven. Yet his presence was a constant reminder of Steven's treachery and her own foolishness.

But what Lesley berated herself for most was not getting over her own feelings enough to give Ricky what he needed—a loving mother figure. She simply couldn't do it. He had Maria's dark eyes, and they seemed to judge her and find her wanting. Thank God for Lita, she thought, just as the other woman set a plate with a slice of plain whole-grain toast in front of her. She gave Lita a weak smile and a thank-you. Lita replied by topping off Lesley's cup.

“Hello, darlings.” Lesley's mother glided into the room, wearing one of her beaded peignoirs, this one a delicate shade of lavender that matched the feathered high-heeled slippers on her feet.

“Good morning, Mother,” Lesley greeted her.

“Hi, Missy,” Ricky said, glancing her way and then taking another bite of toast. Ricky hadn't been able to get his tongue around “Mitzi” when he'd started to talk and invariably said “Missy” instead. Mitzi Robinson would never be referred to as Nana or Grandma. The title he'd given to his surrogate grandmother had stuck.

“How's my little man this morning?” From behind she placed a hand on either side of Ricky's head and dropped a kiss on his dark hair. “Ready for school?” she inquired as she took a seat at the table.

“Yes, ma'am,” Ricky replied glumly.

“Thank you, Lita,” Mitzi said as coffee appeared in front of her along with a cup filled with delicate wedges of ruby red grapefruit.

Lesley sipped more of her coffee, regarding both her mother and Ricky as they addressed their breakfasts. It never ceased to amaze her that Mitzi had so willingly accepted Ricky into her household. Lesley hadn't expected her mother, who was always conscious of her age and appearance, to allow a child who technically had no blood relation to her to be considered her grandchild.

Yet for all her flightiness and fluff, Mitzi had a special relationship with Ricky. Though she'd allowed Lita to do the dirty work of changing diapers and fixing formula once the infant Ricky had been released from the hospital, it was Mitzi who rocked him and soothed him with a tenderness Lesley hadn't known her capable of. In the evenings she read to him, often until he fell asleep. On Sunday afternoons, she sometimes took him out for ice cream or to a movie.

Lesley couldn't be sure if Ricky provided a respite from Mitzi's loneliness or if her mother truly cared for the child. A small part of Lesley was jealous, too, for she couldn't remember Mitzi ever being so interested in her when she'd been Ricky's age.

“How's Dad this morning?” she asked once Ricky had finished his meal and gone to brush his teeth at Lita's insistence.

“In a mood,” Mitzi replied. She'd finished her grapefruit and pushed the bowl away. As if on cue, Lita refilled her coffee cup. Mitzi added a yellow packet of sweetener and a drop of cream and stirred it. “But then he's always in a mood. It's no wonder, considering how long it takes him to write even a sentence.”

Uh-oh. Her father wasn't having a good morning. Although normally Mitzi carried on as if her spouse's absence didn't faze her, there were days when her frustration and sadness got the better of her.

“I'll go up and see him later.” Lesley visited her father every morning, so there was no reason to mention it, but she had so little to say to her mother. Her father's condition didn't change significantly from day to day. He was attended to by a rotating crew of private-duty nurses and physical and speech therapists. Six years after his stroke, he'd made little progress. He couldn't speak, couldn't walk or feed himself. Lesley often thought it must be hell on earth to be trapped in a body one had so little control over. But money was no object. Richard Robinson received the best care available, and with the help of the latest in high-tech computer interface assistance, he was slowly writing his memoir.

“I don't know why you spend so much time with him,” Mitzi said with a sigh as she gazed out the window. “Some days I don't think he appreciates it.”

“You don't know that.” Lesley had been a daddy's girl her whole life, and she supposed she still was. It was Richard who had encouraged her, Richard she'd spent time with as a child, although in truth much of their quality time together had occurred in his office. She'd listened and learned even while she'd colored or read or worked on puzzles. A part of her had absorbed his business sense. It was no surprise she had an MBA and had been ready to take over when he'd been unable to continue as CEO of the Robinson Group.

He'd already been shifting himself into the role of chairman of the board before the stroke, leaving the day-to-day operations to his hand-picked executive staff. Lesley had taken over his role and worked mostly from her home office. She traveled to board meetings a few times a year and also oversaw the charitable foundation.

Some days she could almost convince herself it was enough. But late at night, she felt the emptiness of her life.