Книга - His Forever Family

His Forever Family
Sarah M. Anderson


Found: one baby…and the boss’s future bride?Tiny and helpless—the abandoned newborn that venture capitalist Marcus Warren finds during a morning run takes him by surprise. So does the sudden longing for his capable assistant, Liberty Reese, who reveals her tender side with the baby.But Liberty must resist her gorgeous boss’s advances. Her secrets could destroy his trust, her career and the chance to care for the foster child they are both coming to love. Even so, she can’t deny the heat between them—or the fear that her past will end their chance to create a forever family.







She was doing this, she really was.

She was crossing that little line and getting into an elevator with Marcus.

“Okay?” he asked as the doors slid shut, blocking them off from the bright lobby. He slid his arm around her waist and pulled her in close. “Still okay?”

In her dreams, Marcus swept into the office and kissed her and told her how much he needed her and yes, they wound up in bed.

But in those dreams, Marcus was the one doing all the sweeping. She didn’t do anything but let herself get carried away in the over-the-top romance of the whole situation.

This was stupid. This wasn’t just a risk—this was practically career suicide. Yes, she wanted Marcus and yes, he wanted her, and thank God they were both unattached, consenting adults.

It didn’t change the fact that she was initiating a physical relationship with her boss. It didn’t change the fact that she’d kissed him back.

But there was no going back to the way things were.

“Better than okay,” she said, pulling him down for a kiss.

Marcus’s lips moved over hers as he spun and backed her against the wall of the elevator.

* * *

His Forever Family is part of Mills & Boon’s no. 1 bestselling series Billionaires and Babies: Powerful men … wrapped around their babies’ little fingers


His Forever Family

Sarah M. Anderson






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Table of Contents

Cover (#u2dc86954-18f1-5578-a303-34a76a577fa6)

Introduction (#u02e5e316-30f2-5f10-88c8-0029ab874943)

Title Page (#u2f356e0e-2425-5125-a55a-facc9513999d)

His Forever Family (#ulink_e34a87a9-fcc2-54e3-bb28-22b80e8d3a1d)

About the Author (#u678e77ef-eb8c-5d33-9fa3-8f39e91c5d05)

Dedication (#u84b08a87-865a-5d14-ba49-b56da5e09b83)

One (#ulink_5f6647fc-4ac3-5b1f-89af-51f3ba62d452)

Two (#ulink_8db34095-1033-5634-8b00-7f488d21d660)

Three (#ulink_9cf5b65c-46e7-5cd3-8365-dc279e1888a2)

Four (#ulink_b61f1af4-bf52-5c05-beb6-dce0e1e63c0b)

Five (#ulink_26e42928-59e6-5b41-bc9e-31b4fcb0a1aa)

Six (#ulink_aa8f8552-2931-5db1-821c-9c2c10f42396)

Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Never Too Late (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 1 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 2 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 3 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 4 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


His Forever Family (#ulink_f190d684-2192-5bcb-b4ee-3ce088fd4359)

Sarah M. Anderson


Award-winning author SARAH M. ANDERSON may live east of the Mississippi River, but her heart lies out west on the Great Plains. With a lifelong love of horses and two history teachers for parents, it wasn’t long before her characters found themselves out in South Dakota among the Lakota Sioux.

Sarah’s book A Man of Privilege won the RT Book Reviews 2012 Reviewers’ Choice Best Book Awards Series: Desire. Her book Straddling the Line was named Best Desire of 2013 by CataRomance, and Mystic Cowboy was a 2014 BBA Finalist in the Single Title category as well as a finalist for the Gayle Wilson Award of Excellence.

When not helping out at her son’s school or walking her rescue dogs, Sarah spends her days having conversations with imaginary cowboys and American Indians, all of which is surprisingly well-tolerated by her wonderful husband. Readers can find out more about Sarah’s love of cowboys and Indians at www.sarahmanderson.com (http://www.sarahmanderson.com).


To Sasha Devlin, my Spring Fling buddy. We’ll always have Chicago!

And when we don’t, we’ll always have Twitter!


One (#ulink_a1d03afd-45f0-5a2f-bb33-0104fb1f1d3f)

“Come on, Ms. Reese,” Marcus Warren called over his shoulder. “It’s not that hot.”

He paused in the middle of the jogging path to wait for his executive assistant, Liberty Reese, to catch up with him. He looked around, checking for any vans with dark windows that didn’t belong. It was an old habit, keeping an eye out for danger. But as usual, aside from some other runners, he and Ms. Reese had the shoreline to themselves. Thank God. The past was in the past, he repeated to himself until his anxiety faded.

Man, he loved Lake Michigan. The early-morning light made the rippling water a deep blue. The sky was clear and warmed by the sun, which seemed to hover just about a foot over the surface of the water. Later today, the heat would be oppressive, but right now, running along the lakefront with a cool breeze blowing in from the water?

This was as close to free as Marcus got to feel.

He checked his Fitbit. His heart rate was falling. “You’re not going to let the heat beat you, are you, Ms. Reese?” he teased, stretching out his quads.

Ms. Reese puffed up next to him. “May I take a moment to point out—again—that you’re not taking notes while you run?” she said, glaring at him.

But he wasn’t fooled. He saw the way the corner of her lips curved up as she said it. She was trying not to smile.

He kept stretching so she could catch her breath. “But I’m talking. That counts for something, right?”

She rolled her eyes and finished off the water. That made him grin. He was Marcus Warren, heir to his father’s Warren Investments financial empire and his mother’s Marquis Hotel empire. He was the sole owner of Warren Capital, a venture capital firm he’d started with his trust-fund money. He owned half of the Chicago Blackhawks and a quarter of the Chicago Bulls, in addition to 75 percent of the pro soccer team, the Chicago Fire. He was one of the richest bachelors in the country and possibly the richest one in Chicago.

People simply did not roll their eyes at him.

Except for Ms. Reese.

She tucked the bottle back into her belt. Then, her fingers hovering over the Bluetooth earpiece she wore at all times, she asked, “So how do you want to proceed with the watchmakers?”

Rock City Watches was a boutique firm that had set up shop in downtown Detroit and wanted a fresh round of investing to expand its operations. Marcus looked at his watch, made just for him. The 24-karat gold casing was warm against his skin. “What do you think?”

Ms. Reese sighed heavily and began to plod up the jogging path again. She was not a particularly graceful runner—plodding was the only word for it—but she kept up with him and took notes while they ran. It was the most productive time of day. He did his best thinking while they ran.

Which was why they ran every single day, in rain or heat. Ice was about the only thing that kept them indoors, but he had a treadmill in a room off his office. Ms. Reese could sit at a small desk and record everything and provide her opinion.

He let her get a few feet ahead of him. No, she was not terribly graceful. But that didn’t stop him from admiring the view. Ms. Reese had curves—more than enough curves to give a man pause.

He shook his head, pushing all thoughts of her backside from his mind. He was not the kind of billionaire who slept with his secretary. His father had done that enough for both of them. Marcus’s relationship with Ms. Reese was strictly business. Well, business and running.

He caught up to her easily. “Well?”

“No one wears watches anymore,” she panted. “Unless it’s a smart watch.”

“Excellent point. I’ll invest twenty-five million in Rock City Watches.”

Ms. Reese stumbled a bit in surprise. Marcus reached out and steadied her. He didn’t allow his hand to linger on her warm skin. “You okay? We’re almost to the fountain.” Buckingham Fountain was the point where they turned around and headed back.

She gave him a hell of a side eye. “I’m fine. How did you get from timepieces are a dead market to let’s invest another twenty-five million?”

“If no one wears watches anymore, then they become what they once were—a status symbol,” he explained. “Only the wealthiest consumers can afford a watch that costs several grand. The timepiece market isn’t dead, Ms. Reese. The mass-market timepiece market is. But the luxury timepiece market?” He held out his wrist. “It’s a hell of a nice watch, don’t you think?” This particular watch went for $4,500.

She nodded. “It’ll be great PR, as well. Made in America and all that.”

“But they need to accept the realities of the market.”

She nodded. “Such as?”

“Marketing and wearables. Let’s get back to the Rock City Watch people with requests to see their marketing mock-ups. I also want to set up a meeting to discuss a hybrid device—a luxury watch that can slot wearable tech into the band.”

They reached the fountain and she stopped, her head down and her hands on her knees as she took in great gulps of air.

“What else?” he asked.

“You have to make a decision about attending the Hanson wedding,” she said in between gasps.

Marcus groaned. “Do I have to?”

“You’re the one who decided you should go to this wedding,” she told him flatly. “You’re the one who decided you should take a date. And you’re the one who decided to kill two birds with one stone by scheduling the meeting with the producers of Feeding Frenzy the day after the wedding.”

Marcus allowed himself to scowl at his assistant. Her lack of sympathy was not comforting. Attending the Hanson-Spears wedding in Los Angeles had not, in fact, been his idea. Who the hell wanted to watch his former fiancée get married to the man she’d cheated on him with? Not him.

But his mother had decreed that Marcus would attend the wedding with a date and put on a happy face so they could “put this unfortunate event behind them.” Of course, if his mother had had her way, Marcus would have married Lillibeth Hanson anyway because what was a little affair in the grand scheme of things? Lillibeth came from old money. Marcus came from old money and made new money. Together, his parents had reasoned, they could apparently rule the world.

Marcus didn’t see the point. He’d refused to reconcile with Lillibeth and he’d thought his parents had accepted that decision. But then the wedding invitation came.

And the hell of it was, his parents were not entirely wrong about the effects the scandal had had on Marcus’s business. To some, his inability to see the truth about Lillibeth until it was too late might also indicate an inability to make good investment choices. So his parents had strongly suggested he attend the wedding to show that everyone was on good terms. And they strongly suggested he take a date because it would be an admission of defeat to show up at your ex’s wedding alone.

All Marcus had to do was pick a woman.

He looked at Liberty. “What are my options, again?”

“Rosetta Naylor.”

Marcus cringed at the celebutante’s name. “Too shallow.”

“Katerine Nabakov.”

“Too Russian Mafia.”

Liberty sighed heavily. “Emma Green?”

Marcus scowled harder. He had actually gone out with Emma several times. “Really?”

“She’s a known quantity,” Liberty explained. “No surprises.”

“Wrong. People would think that us dating again is a sure sign of wedding bells.” Specifically, his parents.

Marcus had done many things to keep the peace with his mother and father. Hell, he’d come damn close to getting married to Lillibeth Hanson, all because they thought that was best.

He wasn’t going to risk that kind of trap again.

“The options are limited and time is running short, Mr. Warren,” Liberty said in exasperation. She jammed her hands on her hips. “The wedding is in two weeks. If you insist on attending with a date, you need to actually ask someone to go with you.”

“Fine. I’ll just take you.”

The effect of this statement was immediate. Liberty’s eyes went wide and her mouth dropped open and, in a fraction of a second, her gaze dropped over his body. Something that looked a hell of a lot like want flashed over her face.

What? Did she actually want him?

Then it was gone. She straightened up and did her best to look imperial. “Mr. Warren, be serious.”

“I am serious. I trust you.” He took a step toward her. “Sometimes I think...you’re the only person who’s honest with me. You wouldn’t try to sell all the details of a date to the gossip rags.” Which had been a huge part of the scandal with Lillibeth. She had capitalized on her affair, painting Marcus as a lousy boyfriend both in and out of the bedroom.

Liberty bit at her lower lip. “Honestly? I don’t think you should go at all. Why would you give her the chance to hurt you again?” Her voice had dropped and she didn’t sound imperious at all. Instead, she sounded...as if she wanted to protect him.

It was a fair question. He didn’t want to go. He didn’t want to give Lillibeth the chance to cut him down again. But he’d promised his parents that he’d put a good face on it and make sure the Warren name still meant power and money.

“And for the record,” she went on, “I think doing that Feeding Frenzy reality show is also a bad idea. The whole problem with Lillibeth was that your private life suddenly became public fodder. Going on television to bid on investment ideas? You’re just inviting people to further make a commodity out of you.”

“It’s supposed to be a good way to build my brand.”

Liberty rolled her eyes again, as if that was the stupidest thing she’d ever heard. “Seriously? You’ve built a successful venture capital firm without being a celebrity. You have plenty of people dying to pitch to you. Heck, I’m surprised we haven’t been accosted by a ‘jogger’ lying in wait to pitch you his million-dollar idea yet.”

He tensed at the idea of being accosted by anyone. But no—no suspicious vehicles with armed men were around. The past was in the past.

“But you know what?” Liberty took a step toward him, jabbing at him with her index finger. She could be a formidable woman in her own right. “You do this reality show, that’s exactly what’s going to happen. You won’t be able to run along the lake without plowing through idiots in running shoes who want a piece of your time and your fortune. Don’t feed the machine, Marcus. Don’t do what ‘they’ think you should do. For the love of God, do what you want.”

Marcus. Had she ever called him by his first name before? He didn’t think so. The way her lips moved over his name—that was the sort of thing he’d remember. “Maybe I want to take you to the wedding.”

It was hard to say if she blushed, as she was already red faced from the run and the heat. But something in her expression changed. “No,” she said flatly. Before he could take the rejection personally, she added, “I—it—would be bad for you.”

He could hear the pain in her voice. He took a step toward her and put a hand on her shoulder. She looked up, her eyes wide and—hopeful? His hand drifted from her shoulder to her cheek and damned if she didn’t lean into his touch. “How could you be bad for me?”

The moment the words left his mouth, he realized he’d pushed this too far. Yes, Liberty Reese was an exceptional assistant and yes, she was beautiful—when she wasn’t struggling through a summer run.

But what had started as an offhand comment about a date to a wedding now meant something else. Something more.

She shut down on him. She stepped out of his touch and turned to face the lake. “It’s getting warmer,” she said in a monotone voice. “We need to finish our run.”

“Do you have any water left?”

She looked sheepish. “No.”

He held out his hand. “Give me your bottle. There’s a water fountain a couple hundred yards away. I’ll fill it up.”

She unhooked her bottle and handed it over. “Thanks,” she said, sounding perfectly normal, as if he hadn’t just asked her out and touched her face. As if she hadn’t turned him down flat. Somehow, it made him admire her even more. “I’ll wait here. Try not to get any brilliant ideas, okay?”

Marcus took off at top speed. He heard Liberty shout, “Show-off!”

He laughed.

The water in the drinking fountain was too warm. He let it run for a few seconds, hoping it’d cool off. As he waited, he looked around. There was a trash can only a few feet away, boxes and bags piled around it on the ground. Marcus scowled at the garbage. Why couldn’t people take care of the park, dammit? The trash can was right there.

As he filled the water bottle and debated calling the mayor about the garbage pickup schedule, he heard a noise. It was a small noise, but it didn’t belong. It wasn’t a gull crying or a squirrel scampering—it was closer to a...a cat mewing?

Marcus looked around, trying to find the source of the noise. A shoe box on the ground next to the trash can moved.

Marcus’s stomach fell in. Oh, no—who would throw a kitten away? He hurried over to the box and pulled the lid off and—

Sweet Jesus. Not a cat. Not a kitten.

A baby.


Two (#ulink_d06e5a25-84a3-5e8f-a760-85fd26f382f4)

Breathing hard, Liberty admired the view as Marcus sprinted away from her. When he reached the water fountain, she turned her attention back to the lake. It wouldn’t do to be caught staring at her boss’s ass. Even if it was a fine ass. And even if the owner had just made one of himself.

Instead, she took the time to appreciate the gift that was this morning. She hadn’t set foot in a church in a good fifteen years. But every morning she stood here and looked out on Lake Michigan and gave thanks to God or the higher power or whoever the hell was listening.

She was alive. She was healthy. She had a good job that paid for food and a safe apartment. There was even some money left over for things like running shoes and haircuts.

“Liberty?” Marcus yelled from the water fountain. “Liberty!”

Even though Marcus couldn’t see her, she glared at him. What the hell had gotten into him this morning? One of the reasons she worked for him—aside from the insane salary he paid her—was the fact that he treated her as an equal. It was a bit of delusion on her part to pretend that she was on par with the likes of Marcus Warren, but it was her delusion, dammit.

And that delusion worked only because it was just her and Marcus on these runs, both in running clothes. The delusion didn’t work when he was wearing a four-thousand-dollar suit and she had on the finest suit she could find on 80 percent clearance at Macy’s. And the delusion sure as hell wouldn’t work if she accompanied him to a three-day destination wedding extravaganza that no doubt cost more than she’d ever earn in her lifetime.

Someone would see through her facade. It’d get ugly, fast.

“Liberty!” He was even louder this time.

Was he not used to women saying no to him? Oh, whom was she kidding? Women didn’t say no to him. Why would they? He was gorgeous, single, richer than sin and eminently respectable. “What?”

“I need you!” he yelled over his shoulder. “Hurry!”

She realized he wasn’t standing at the water fountain anymore. He was on his knees by a trash can in the gravel that surrounded the fountain. His shoulders were hunched over and he looked as if—oh, God, he wasn’t having a heart attack, was he?

Liberty began to hurry. The three years of daily morning runs with Marcus had given her enough stamina that she broke into a flat-out run.

“Are you okay?” she demanded as she came up to him. “Marcus—what’s wrong?”

He looked up at her, his eyes wide with fear and one hand over his mouth. Just then, something in front of him made a pitiful little noise.

She looked down. What she saw didn’t make sense at first. There was a box and inside was something small and dark and moving.

“Baby?” Marcus said in a strangled voice.

“Baby!” Liberty cried with a start. She didn’t know much about babies, but this child couldn’t be more than a week old. The baby was wrapped in a filthy rag, and dark smudges that might have been dirt but were more the color of dried blood covered its dark skin. Wisps of black hair were plastered to its tiny little head. Liberty stared in total shock, trying to make sense of it: an African American newborn in a shoe box by the trash can.

“It was—the box—it was closed,” Marcus began to babble. “And I heard a noise and—baby. Baby!”

The baby opened its little mouth and let out another cry, louder this time. The sound broke Liberty out of her shock. Jesus Christ, someone had tried to throw this baby away! In a box in this heat? “Move,” she commanded and Marcus dutifully scooted out of her way.

Her hands shaking, Liberty lifted the baby out of the box. The rag fell away from the impossibly tiny body—no diaper. A boy, and he was caked in filth.

“Oh, my God,” she whispered as the baby’s back arched and it let out a squeal. His little body was like a furnace in her hands.

“What do we do?” Marcus asked. He was clearly panicking.

And Liberty couldn’t blame him. “Water,” she realized. “He’s too hot.”

Marcus held out her water bottle, the one he’d been filling. She grabbed the rag and said, “Soak that in the fountain,” and took her bottle.

The baby squirmed mightily in her arms and she had this moment that was almost an out-of-body thing, where instead of looking down at a little baby boy she’d just plucked from a shoe box, she was looking down at William, the baby brother she’d never gotten the chance to see, much less hold. Was this what he’d been like, after their mother gave birth in prison and the baby was taken away to a foster home? Had William died like this?

No. This baby, whoever he was, was not going to die. Not if she had anything to do with it.

“This is disgusting,” Marcus said, but she didn’t pay any attention to him.

She folded herself into a cross-legged position on the gravel, ignoring the way the rocks dug into her skin. “It’s okay,” she soothed as she tried to dribble some water into the baby’s mouth. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you? Oh, you’re such a sweetheart.” The baby turned his head from side to side and wailed piteously. Panic gripped her. What if he wasn’t going to make it? What if she couldn’t save him? “You’re loved,” she told him, tears coming to her eyes. “And you’re so strong. You can do this, okay?”

“Here,” Marcus said, thrusting the rag at her. Except it wasn’t the rag—it was his shirt.

She looked up and found herself staring right at Marcus Warren’s bare chest. In any other circumstances she would have taken her time admiring the view because damn. He was muscled and cut—but still lean. He had a true runner’s body.

The baby whimpered. Right. She had much more important things to deal with than her boss suddenly half-naked. She held the baby away from her body. “Drape it over him.”

Marcus did as he was told, laying the sopping-wet cloth over the baby’s body. The sudden temperature change made the poor thing howl. “It’s okay,” she murmured to him, trying to get a little water into his mouth. “You’ll feel better soon.”

“Should I go for help? What should we do?”

Help. That would be a good thing. “My phone is in my pack,” she said. He didn’t run with his phone—that was her job. “Call 911.” She was amazed at how calm she sounded, as if finding a baby on the verge of heatstroke in the trash was just another Tuesday in her life.

Marcus crouched behind her and dug through the fanny pack that held her water, keys and phone. “Got it.” She told him her password without a second thought and he dialed. “We’re at Buckingham Fountain and we found a baby in the trash,” Marcus said way too loudly into the phone.

“Shh, shh,” Liberty soothed as Marcus talked to the 911 dispatcher. “Here, let’s try this.” She dipped her finger into the water and held it against the baby’s mouth. He sucked at it eagerly and made a little protest when she pulled her finger away to dip it into the water again.

He latched on to her finger a second time—which had the side benefit of cutting off the crying. Liberty took a deep breath and tried to think. There’d been a baby at her second foster home. How had the foster mother calmed that baby down?

Oh, yes. She remembered now. She began to rock back and forth, the gravel cutting into her legs. “That’s a good boy,” she said, her ears straining for the sounds of sirens. “You’re loved. You can do it.”

Agonizingly long minutes passed. She couldn’t get the baby to take much more water, but he sucked on the tip of her finger fiercely. As she rocked and soothed him, his body relaxed and he curled up against her side. Liberty held him even tighter.

“Is he okay?” Marcus demanded.

She looked up at him, trying not to stare at his body. Never in the three years she’d worked for Marcus had she seen him even half this panicked. “I think he fell asleep. The poor thing. He can’t be more than a few days old.”

“How could anyone just leave him?” Now, that was more like the Marcus she knew—frustrated when the world did not conform to his standards.

“You’d be surprised,” she mumbled, dropping her gaze back to the baby, who was still ferociously tugging on her finger in his sleep. Aside from being hot and filthy, he looked healthy. Of course, she’d never seen William before he died in foster care, so she didn’t know what a drug-addicted newborn looked like. This child’s head was round and his eyes were still swollen; she’d seen pictures of newborns who looked like him. She just couldn’t tell.

“You’re just about perfect, you know?” she told the infant. Then she said to Marcus, “Here, wet your shirt again. I think he’s cooling down.”

Marcus did as he was told. “You’re doing an amazing job,” he said as she wrapped the wet cloth around the baby’s body. The baby started at the temperature change, but didn’t let go of her finger. Marcus went on, “I didn’t know you knew so much about babies,” and she didn’t miss the awe in his voice.

There’s a lot you don’t know about me. But she didn’t say it because it’d been less than—what, twenty minutes? If that. It’d been less than twenty minutes since Marcus Warren had said he trusted her because she was the one person who was honest with him.

She wasn’t—honest with him, that was. But that didn’t mean she wanted to lie outright to him. She hated lying at all but she did what she had to do to survive.

So, instead, she said, “Must be the mothering instinct.” What else could it be? Here was a baby who needed her in a truly primal way and Liberty had responded.

The baby sighed in what she hoped was contentment and she felt her heart clinch. “Such a good boy,” she said, leaning down to kiss his little forehead.

Sirens came screaming toward them. Then the paramedics were upon them and everything happened fast. The baby was plucked from her arms and carried into the ambulance, where he wailed even louder. It tore her up to hear him cry like that.

At the same time, a police officer arrived and took statements from her and Marcus. Liberty found herself half listening to the questions as she stood at the back of the open ambulance while the medics dug out a pacifier and wrapped the baby in a clean blanket.

“Is he going to be okay?” she asked when one of the paramedics hopped out of the back and started to close the door.

“Hard to say,” the man said.

“Where are you taking him?”

“Northwestern is closest.”

Marcus broke off talking with the cop to say, “Take him to Children’s.” At some point, he’d put his shirt back on. It looked far worse for wear.

The paramedic shrugged and closed the doors, cutting Liberty off from the baby. The ambulance drove off—lights flashing but no sirens blaring.

The cop finished taking their statements. Liberty asked, “Will you be able to find the mother?”

Much like the paramedic, the cop shrugged. She supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, she’d barely survived childhood because, aside from Grandma Devlin, people couldn’t be bothered to check on little Liberty Reese. “It’s a crime to abandon a baby,” he said. “If the mother had left the baby at a police station, that’s one thing. But...” He shrugged again. “Don’t know if we’ll find her, though. Usually babies are dumped close to where they’re born, and someone in the neighborhood knows something. But the middle of the park?” He turned, as if the conversation was over.

“What’ll happen to the baby?” Marcus asked, but Liberty could have told him.

If they couldn’t find the mother or the father, the baby would go into the foster system. He’d be put up for adoption, eventually, but that might take a while until his case was closed. And by then, he might not be the tiny little baby he was right now. He might be bigger. And he was African American. That made it that much harder to get adopted.

She looked in the direction the ambulance had gone.

The cop gave Marcus a sad smile. “DCFS will take care of it,” he said.

Liberty cringed. She did not have warm and fuzzy memories of the Department of Child and Family Services. All she had were grainy memories of frazzled caseworkers who couldn’t be bothered. Grown-up Liberty knew that was because the caseworkers were overwhelmed by the sheer number of kids in the system. But little-kid Liberty only remembered trying to ask questions about why her mom or even Grandma Devlin wasn’t going to come get her and being told, “Don’t worry about it,” as if that would make up for her mother’s sudden disappearances.

What would happen to the baby? She looked at her arms, wondering at how empty they felt. “Marcus,” she said in a hoarse voice as the cop climbed into his cruiser. “We can’t lose that baby.”

“What?” He stared at her in shock.

She grabbed on to his arm as if she was drowning and he was the only thing that could keep her afloat. “The baby. He’ll get locked into the system and by the time the police close his case, it might be too late.”

Marcus stared down at her as if she’d started spouting Latin. “Too...late? For what?”

Liberty’s mouth opened and the words I was a foster kid—trust me on this almost rolled off her tongue. But at the last second, she snapped her mouth shut. She’d created this person Marcus saw, this Liberty Reese—a white college graduate, an excellent manager of time and money who always did her research and knew the answers. Liberty Reese was invaluable to Marcus because she had made herself valuable.

That woman had had nothing in common with Liberty Reese—the grubby daughter of an African American drug addict who’d sold herself on Death Corner in Cabrini-Green to afford more drugs, who’d done multiple stints in prison, who hadn’t been able to get clean when her daughter was shipped back to foster care for the third time, who couldn’t tell Liberty who her father was or even if he was white, who’d given birth to a baby boy addicted to heroin and crack and God only knew what else.

That’s not who Liberty was anymore. She would never be that lost little girl ever again.

She looked back in the direction the ambulance had gone. That little baby—he was lost, too. Just as her brother had been in the few weeks he’d been alive. Completely alone in the world, with no one to fight for him.

Liberty would not allow that to happen. Not again.

She opened her mouth to tell Marcus something—she wasn’t quite sure what, but something—except nothing came out. Her throat closed up and tears burned in her eyes.

Oh, God—was she about to start crying? No—not allowed. Liberty Reese did not cry. She was always in control. She never let her emotions get the better of her. Not anymore.

Marcus looked down at her, concern written large on his face. He stepped closer to her and cupped her chin. “Liberty...”

“Please,” she managed to get out. “The baby, Marcus.” But that was all she could say because then she really did begin to cry. She dropped her gaze and swallowed hard, trying to will the stupid tears back.

The next thing she knew, Marcus had wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his chest. “It’s okay,” he murmured, his hand rubbing up and down her back. “The baby’s going to be fine.”

“You don’t know that,” she got out, trying to keep herself from sinking against his chest because Marcus Warren holding her? Comforting her?

The feeling, the smell of his body—awareness of Marcus as a man—blindsided her. Want, powerful and unexpected, mixed in with the panic over the baby and left her so confused that she couldn’t pull away like she needed to and couldn’t wrap her arms around him like she wanted to. She was rooted to the spot, wanting more and knowing she couldn’t have it.

Marcus leaned back and tilted her head up so that she had no choice but to look him in the eyes. It wasn’t fair, she thought dimly as she stared into the deep blue eyes that were almost exactly the same color as Lake Michigan on a clear day. Why couldn’t he be a slimeball? Why did he have to be so damned perfect, hot and rich and now this—this tenderness? Why did he have to make her want him when she didn’t deserve him?

He swiped his thumb over her cheek, brushing away a tear she hadn’t been able to hold back. “It’s important to you?” he asked, his voice deep. “The baby?”

“Yes,” was all she could say, because what else was there? Marcus Warren was holding her in his arms and comforting her and looking at her as if he’d do anything to make her happy and dammit all if this wasn’t one of her fantasies playing out in real life.

“Then I’ll make it fine,” he said. His thumb stroked over her cheek again and his other hand flattened out on her lower back. One corner of his mouth curved up into a smile that she knew well—the smile said that Marcus Warren was going to get exactly what he wanted.

And although she knew she shouldn’t—couldn’t—she leaned into his palm and let herself enjoy the sensation of Marcus touching her. “You will? Why would you do that for me?”

Something shifted in his eyes and his head dropped toward hers. He was going to kiss her, she realized. Her boss was going to kiss her and she was not only going to let him, she was going to kiss him back. Years of wanting and ignoring that want seemed to fall away.

But he didn’t. Instead, he said, “Because you’re important to me.”

She forgot how to breathe. Heck, she might have forgotten her own name there for a second, because she was important to him. Not just a valuable employee. She, Liberty Reese, was important.

The alarm on her phone chimed, startling them out of whatever madness they’d been lost in. Marcus dropped his hand from her face and took a step away before he handed her phone to her. In all that had happened, she’d forgotten he had it.

It was eight forty-five? They’d started their morning run at seven. “You have a phone call with Dombrowski about that proposed bioenergy plant in fifteen minutes,” she told him. Despite the heat that was building, she felt almost chilled without Marcus’s arms around her.

Marcus laughed. “We’re a little off schedule today. We haven’t even showered.”

Liberty froze as the image of the two of them in the shower together barged into her mind. Normally, they ran back to Marcus’s condo, where he got ready while she caught the train to the office. Marcus had installed a shower in the restroom, so she would shower and dress there. She’d get started on organizing the notes she’d made during the run and Marcus would show up by nine thirty, looking as if he’d walked off a red carpet.

There was no showering together. Heck, there wasn’t even any showering in the same building. That’s how it worked.

But then, before ten minutes ago, there hadn’t been any tears or hugs, either. Their physical contact was limited to handshakes and an occasional pat on the back and that was it.

“Shall I call him and reschedule?”

“Please do. Then we’ll head back and I’ll make a few calls.” That was a perfectly normal set of Marcus responses.

Liberty was confident they were going to pretend that the touching and the holding and even the wedding date invitation had never happened. And that was fine with her, really.

But Marcus leaned forward. Even though he didn’t touch her again, she still felt the air thin between them. His gaze dropped to her lips and, fool that she was, she still wanted that kiss that hadn’t happened. The kiss that couldn’t happen. “I promise you, Liberty—we won’t lose that baby.”


Three (#ulink_8a2f11cb-deba-55d5-a0c0-04adb8363b53)

It took Marcus the better part of three hours to find the right bureaucrat to deal with. The CEO of Children’s Hospital, while sympathetic to Marcus’s plight, could not legally provide any information on the baby. He did, however, call Marcus back in twenty minutes with the number of a DCFS supervisor.

The supervisor was less than helpful, but Marcus got the name of the manager of DCFS Guardians, who was responsible for assigning workers to these cases. It took some time to get ahold of the manager, and when he did, Marcus discovered a caseworker hadn’t even been sent out.

“We’re doing the best we can, Mr. Warren,” the tired-sounding woman said. “But we have a limited amount of social workers and a limited amount of funds available to us. The baby will probably be in the hospital for several days. We’ll send someone out as soon as we’re able.”

“That’s not good enough,” Marcus snapped.

“Well, how do you propose we deal with it?” the woman shot back.

The same way he dealt with everything. He wasn’t about to let something like red tape get in his way. Marcus did a cursory web search and discovered that the current head of DCFS had gone to school with his father.

Well, hell. He should have started there. He knew how to play this game. He’d been raised playing an extended game of Who’s Who. Political favors and donations were the kind of grease that made the wheels in Chicago run.

It took another twenty minutes to get through to the director’s office and an additional twenty before Marcus had the man’s personal promise that a caseworker would be assigned within the hour. “Of course, we don’t normally keep nonfamily members updated...” the director said.

“I’d consider it a personal favor,” Marcus said and in that, at least, he was being truthful.

Because after watching Liberty fold herself around that infant and cuddle the baby until he calmed down? After seeing Liberty’s anguish as the baby was driven away in the ambulance? After impulsively pulling her into his arms because she was going to cry and feeling her body pressed against his?

After seeing that look of total gratitude when Marcus had said he’d take care of things?

Yeah, this was personal.

“Give your father my best,” the man said at the end of the call.

“Will do!” Marcus said with false enthusiasm. He’d rather his father not find out about this particular conversation or the reason behind it. If Laurence and Marisa Warren knew about this, they’d give Marcus that disappointed look that, despite the decades of plastic surgery, was still immediately recognizable. It was one thing to trade political favors—but to do so for this? For an abandoned baby? Because his assistant got a little teary?

“What do you hope to gain out of this?” That’s what his mother would say in her simpering voice, because that’s what life was to her. Everything, every single human interaction, had a tally associated with it. You either gained something or you lost.

Warrens were never losers.

And his father? The man famous for his affairs with his secretaries? “If you want her, just take her.” That’s what his father would say.

He didn’t want to be that man. He didn’t want to use Liberty because he had all the power in their relationship. He was not his father.

Still, his father cast a long shadow. Marcus had gone to the university his parents had picked. His girlfriends had been preapproved daughters of their friends. Hell, even his company, Warren Capital, had been his father’s idea. What better way to curry power and favor than to literally fund the businesses of tomorrow?

It had taken him years to loosen the ties that bound him to his parents, but he’d managed to separate his life from theirs. Liberty was a part of that, too. His mother had some friend of a friend she’d wanted him to hire—someone she could use to keep tabs on Marcus. Instead, he’d defied her by hiring a young woman from a family no one had ever heard of based on the strength of her recommendations and her insistence that she jogged regularly.

Marcus had paid for that act of defiance, just as he’d paid for refusing to marry Lillibeth Hanson. He may have lost favor with his parents, but he’d gained much more.

He’d gained his independence.

Still, he couldn’t have his parents finding out about this. It simply wouldn’t do for them to interest themselves in his life again.

“Mr. Warren?” Liberty stuck her head through his office door. He didn’t miss the way that he was “Mr. Warren” again, as if she hadn’t called him Marcus by the side of the jogging trail this morning.

“Yes?”

“Mr. Chabot is on the line.” Marcus must have looked at her blankly, for she went on, “The producer for Feeding Frenzy? He wants to confirm the meeting when you’re in Los Angeles after the wedding.”

Right. Marcus had spent his entire morning tracking down someone—anyone—who knew about the little baby. He did actually have work to do.

“What did you tell him?”

She notched an eyebrow at him. “I put him on hold.” The panic-stricken woman from the run this morning was gone and in her place was his competent, levelheaded assistant. Ms. Reese was impeccably dressed in a gray skirt suit with a rose-colored blouse underneath. Her hair was neatly pulled back into a slick bun and her makeup was understated, as always.

He’d wanted to kiss her this morning. The impulse had come out of nowhere. He’d watched her hold that child and felt her palpable grief when the ambulance had driven off. He’d wanted to hold her, to let her know it’d be okay. And then she’d looked up at him with her deep brown eyes and...

“Thank you, Ms. Reese,” he said because what he needed right now was not to think about that impulse or how he’d joked that he should take her to the wedding only to realize he hadn’t been joking. Which was a problem. She was an assistant—not part of his social circle. If he showed up with her, people would talk. Marcus Warren, slumming with his secretary. Or, worse, they’d assume that Liberty was manipulating him just as Lillibeth had.

But he wanted to take her. She was safe and trustworthy. And she was the one telling him to do what he wanted.

She gave him a little nod and turned to go.

“Liberty,” he said.

She paused for a beat before she turned back around. “Yes?”

“I’ve made some calls about the baby. I’ll let you know when I hear anything.”

Her face softened and he was struck by how lovely she was. Underneath that executive-assistant mask was a beautiful woman. He just hadn’t realized how beautiful until this morning. “Thank you.”

He had nothing to gain by tracking down that baby. The child wouldn’t bring him more power or money. The baby boy wouldn’t be able to return a favor when Marcus wanted.

But he’d made a promise to Liberty.

He was going to keep it.

* * *

The ad mock-up for Rock City Watch drifted out of focus as Liberty wondered about that little baby. It’d been four days since she’d held him to her chest. Was he still in the hospital? Was he okay?

She shouldn’t be this worried, she decided as she tried to refocus on the ad. Worrying wasn’t going to help anything. And besides, Marcus had promised he’d look into it and she had to have faith that he’d keep that promise to her.

Of course it’d also been four days since Marcus had wrapped his strong arms around her and told her he’d find the baby because the child was important to her and she was important to Marcus.

Since that time, there’d been no hugs, no long looks. There’d been no more mention of the wedding, although that would have to change soon. If he continued to insist on going, he needed to pick a date. A safe date, she mentally corrected herself. Someone who wouldn’t look at him and see nothing but a hot body and a huge...

Bank account.

The phone rang. “Warren Capital Investments. How may I assist you?”

“Ms. Reese.” The coquettish voice of Mrs. Marisa Warren floated from the other end of the line. Liberty gritted her teeth. So this was how today was going to go, huh? “How is my son today?”

“Fine, Mrs. Warren.” But Liberty offered no other information.

When she’d first been hired, Marcus had made it blisteringly clear that she worked for him, not for Laurence or Marisa Warren. If he ever caught her passing information to his parents about his business, his prospects or his personal life, well, she could pack her things and go. End of discussion.

Luckily, Liberty had gotten very good at telling people what they wanted to hear without giving anything away.

“I was wondering,” Marisa simpered, “if my son has settled on a date for the Hanson wedding? It’s a few weeks away and he knows how important it is.”

When she’d first started fielding these nosy calls, Liberty hadn’t entirely understood why Marcus was so determined that nothing of his life leak out to his parents. After all, she’d grown up dreaming of having a mother and a father who cared about her. And Marisa Warren seemed to care about her son quite a lot.

But appearances were deceiving. “Mrs. Warren,” she said in her most deferential tone because it also hadn’t taken her long to realize that while Marcus might treat her with respect and dignity, to his parents she was on approximately the same level as a maid. “I couldn’t speak to his plans for the wedding.”

“Surely you’ve heard something...”

Liberty focused on keeping her voice level. “As you know, Mr. Warren doesn’t share personal information with me.”

She wasn’t sure at what point this wedding had crossed from personal to business and back again. When Marcus’s relationship with Lillibeth had blown up in the media, she’d read what she could—but he’d never once broached the topic during office hours. It was only when they were running that he’d even touch on the subject—and even that was more about damage control than “feelings” and “sharing.”

He’d asked her to prepare a roster of acceptable women with whom to attend this wedding. And then he’d asked her—however jokingly—to be his date.

“Hmph,” Mrs. Warren said. It was the least dignified sound she was probably capable of making and, in her honeyed voice, it still sounded pretty. “Have him call me when he’s free.” She never asked to speak to Marcus when she called his office number. That was the thing that Liberty had realized about that first call. Mrs. Warren wasn’t calling to talk to Marcus. She was calling to talk to Liberty about Marcus.

Liberty knew where her loyalty lay, even if Mrs. Warren didn’t. “Of course, Mrs. Warren.”

She hung up and finished analyzing the Rock City Watch ads. If Marcus was going to push them as a high-end luxury good, then the ads needed to be slicker. There was too much text talking about Detroit’s revival, and the photography needed to give off a more exclusive vibe, she decided.

What rich people wanted was exclusivity. That’s what she’d learned in the three years she’d worked in this office on North LaSalle. Not only did they want the best, they wanted to be damned sure that it was better than what everyone else had. It wasn’t enough to own a great watch or a fancy car or live in an expensive building. Rich people wanted to make sure that theirs was the only one. She figured that was why they spent so much money on artworks. By definition, those were one of a kind.

This world was all still foreign to her, but after three years she felt as if at least she was becoming fluent in the language.

She was just finishing her notes when Marcus called out, “Ms. Reese?”

“Coming.” She grabbed her tablet and the ad materials and walked into his office. This place, for example, was a perfect example of how a rich person simply had to have the very best. Even though Warren Capital was a relatively small operation—Marcus employed fifteen people to handle the finances and contracts—the business was located on LaSalle Drive on the top floor of one of the most expensive office buildings in Chicago. Marcus’s office sat in the corner behind walls of glass that gave him expansive views of downtown and Lake Michigan. Warren Capital was the only company on this floor—no one else could claim this view. It was the best—and it was his.

And through sheer dint of will, Liberty managed to carve out a place where she could fit in this world. Sure, it was as an assistant and yes, she had to buy new running shoes every six months. It didn’t matter. She loved this office, this view. Everything clean and bright. There were no holes in the wall, no critters scurrying about. If something broke, maintenance had it fixed within hours, if not minutes. The lights were always on and the heat always worked. This office was as far away from the apartment in the Cabrini-Green projects as she could get.

“Your mother called,” she said, taking her usual seat in front of Marcus’s desk. His office furniture reflected a modern sensibility—black leather seating, glass-topped desks of ebony wood and chrome. Even the art along the wall was modern. Among others, he had an Edward Hopper and a Mark Rothko—names she’d had to look up online because she certainly hadn’t heard of them before. Marcus had bought the Rothko for $35 million.

Yes, he had one hell of an impressive...bank account.

“I assume to pump you for information about my wedding plans?” he asked without looking up.

“Correct. She’s concerned about your date. Or lack thereof.”

Marcus sighed heavily. “I’ve had an update on the baby, if you’re still interested.”

“What?” Her heart began to pound as he glanced at her in surprise. She tried again. “I mean, of course I’m still interested. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You hadn’t asked.”

She blinked at him. “You promised you’d make some calls. I didn’t want to bother you.”

He gave her a look that was partly amused. But she also thought she saw some of the tenderness beyond why he’d made that promise to her in the first place.

“Liberty,” he said in a gentle voice. A creeping flush started at the base of her neck and worked its way down her back. Was it wrong to like how he said her name? Was it wrong to want him to say it some more? “You are not a bother to me.”

She swallowed, willing her cheeks not to blush. They were getting off track. “What did you hear? About the baby?”

“Ah, yes.” He looked down at his computer. The moment he looked away, Liberty exhaled.

“The baby has been discharged from the hospital.”

She gasped. “How is he? Is he okay? Did they find his mother yet?”

“Apparently he’s surprisingly healthy, given the circumstances—but no, they haven’t located his parents yet.” He gave her an apologetic look. “They don’t seem to be looking too hard, despite my encouragement. I don’t think they’ll find the mother.”

Liberty didn’t know what to think because on one hand, that poor child—being abandoned and never knowing his parents?

But on the other hand, he’d already been abandoned once. What if they found his mother—then what? There were other ways to abandon a child than just leaving him in a park. That she knew personally.

Marcus said, “I’ve been assured that the foster mother is one of their best and that the baby’s needs will be met.”

She gaped at him for a moment before she realized her mouth was still open. She got it shut and tried to remember to look professional. This was probably as good as the news would get. One of their best foster mothers? Personal assurances that the baby would be well cared for? Those were all things she’d never gotten when she was in the system. “That’s wonderful. Can I visit him?”

Marcus looked at her in surprise, as if she’d asked for a space pony. “I didn’t get the address.”

“Oh.” She stared down at her tablet. “I just thought...” She cleared her throat and tried to get back on track. “Here’s the analysis of the Rock City Watch ad. I don’t think it’s hitting the target market you were looking for yet. And you still need to find a date for the wedding.”

She stood and handed the ad material over to Marcus. Then she turned and headed for the door.

It was better this way. She’d done her part. Marcus had upheld his end of things. The baby was going to be fine.

Besides, what was she going to do? Adopt a child? Please. She worked from 7:00 a.m. until 6:00 p.m., five days a week, and she came in on Saturday to prepare for the next week’s meetings. She had to. There was so much about his world that she didn’t know and she couldn’t afford to be exposed as an outsider, so she did her homework day in and day out.

She was at the threshold when Marcus spoke. “Liberty.”

She paused. He wasn’t going to ask her to the wedding again, was he? “Yes?”

She turned to face him. The way he was looking at her—it wasn’t right. It wasn’t normal anyway. What she would give for that look to be right because there was something to it, something that was possessive and intense. It scared her, how much she wanted him to look at her like that.

So she went on the defensive. “You can’t want me to go to this wedding with you.”

His lips curved into a seductive smile. “First off, aren’t you the one telling me to do what I want?”

He couldn’t mean that he really wanted to take her—could he? “Yes, but—”

He held up his hand like a king. “Do you want to see him again? The little boy.”

She gave him a long, hard look. Was this a game? If so, she wasn’t playing. “Mr. Warren, you’re not going to make this awkward, are you? You’ll get me the foster mother’s address if I agree to attend this ridiculous wedding as your—what, your personal human shield?”

A muscle in his jaw twitched and he looked quite dangerous. Very few people said no to Marcus Warren. But she was one of them. “Just answer the question—do you want to see the baby again?”

She gritted her teeth. “Yes,” she said, bracing for his counteroffer.

“That will be all,” Marcus said, turning his attention back to his computer.

The dismissal was so sudden and unexpected that she just stood there for a moment. Marcus didn’t look back up at her. He didn’t acknowledge her continued presence at all. He merely ignored her.

It was not a good feeling.


Four (#ulink_9e3093d9-9a81-5de4-b721-ccf564b7a3fd)

This time, the DCFS supervisor didn’t hesitate to give Marcus the name and address of the foster home. All he had to do was say who he was and the woman practically fell over herself to give him what he wanted.

Well. It was nice that someone was acting appropriately. Because his executive assistant sure as hell wasn’t.

Marcus stared at the information he’d written down on a piece of company letterhead. Hazel Jones. He googled the address and saw that it was way up in West Rogers Park.

This was ridiculous. He should be game-planning how to survive this wedding, not diverting his time, energy and accumulated favors for an abandoned baby and his assistant. And yet, here he was, doing just that.

There was nothing to be gained here. He did not need Liberty as a personal human shield and the implication—that he couldn’t attend this stupid wedding without one—was an insult to his pride. He was a Warren, dammit all. He didn’t hide from anyone or anything and woe unto the person who tried to stand between him and his goal.

Who, at this exact moment, was Liberty Reese.

He strode out of his office to find Liberty on the phone. She glanced up at him, and the fact that he saw a hint of worry in her eyes only made him madder. What had he ever done to make her afraid of him? Not a damned thing. His father would have had her pinned to her desk by the end of her first month here and if she’d so much as sneezed wrong afterward, he would have done everything in his power to bury her.

And what had Marcus done? He’d treated her with respect. He’d never once laid a hand on her, never implied that her job was in some way connected to her sexuality.

All he had done was ask her to go to a wedding with him. And now she was treating him as if he was some lecherous old man to be feared.

“Yes,” she said into the phone. “That’s correct. No—no,” she said in a more severe voice. “That is not the timetable. That information needs to be on my desk by the twelfth.” She notched an eyebrow at him and mouthed “Yes?”

He crossed his arms and mouthed back, “I’ll wait.”

There it was again, that hint of worry. Okay, so maybe he shouldn’t have asked her to the damned wedding. Hell, if he had his way, he wouldn’t even be going to the thing.

“No, the twelfth. What part of that isn’t clear? The. Twelfth,” Liberty snapped at the caller. Marcus grinned. He’d hired her because she was outside his parents’ sphere of influence and she ran. But she’d turned into an exceedingly good assistant who was not afraid to push when she needed to.

She rolled her eyes at the phone and then dug through a small stack of papers on her desk, pulled one out and handed it to him.

“Available for the Hanson-Spears wedding” was the label of a column. Below was a list of names and phone numbers.

Marcus gave her a dull look, which she ignored. “Yes. Excellent. We look forward to seeing what you put together.” She hung up the phone and took a deep breath. “I have to say that, at this point, the baby-wearables people are not winning any points in terms of organization or professionalism. They may not be ready to move to the next level.”

Ah, yes. The company that wanted funding for a line of baby clothes and blankets with smart technology built into the fabric so anxious parents could monitor sleeping and eating habits from the comfort of their phones. The idea was intriguing, but he didn’t like to see his money squandered by poor planning. “So noted.”

She turned a bright smile to him. It was not real. “Was there something I could help you with?”

He held out the name and address he’d copied down. “Here. It’s in West Rogers Park, up on the north side.”

Liberty made a small noise, like a gasp she was trying her best to hold in. “I...” She looked up at him and at least for right now, any hint of worry or fake smiles was gone and he found himself looking down at the same woman whom he’d held in his arms beside the jogging path.

She would do anything for that baby, he realized. Anything. Even attend a wedding.

He knew it. And given the way her cheeks colored a pretty pink and she dropped her gaze, she knew it, too.

It’d make his life a hell of a lot easier. A plus-one for this wedding in exchange for a little information, and he wouldn’t have to worry about finding a media-ready, parent-approved date who wouldn’t view the event as a stepping-stone to bigger and better things. He could go with Liberty and might even enjoy himself. At the very least, they could run on the beach along the Pacific Ocean in the mornings instead of Lake Michigan.

She wouldn’t be able to say no.

And he wouldn’t be any better than his father was.

“As promised,” he said and turned to walk back to his office.

He heard her chair squeak as she got up to follow him. “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” he said, sitting down. He felt strange and he wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t a bad feeling. He stared at the list she’d given him. He’d gone out with a half dozen of these women and he knew the other half. Any one of these women would make a great date to this wedding and appease his mother.

He crumpled the paper up and threw it in the trash.

“You’re not going to...” She let the sentence trail off but he could hear the words anyway. You’re not going to force the issue?

“Insist you do something you obviously don’t want to that falls outside of your job parameters? No,” he replied, trying to sound casual. He was seriously just going to let this go? If he didn’t get a date and he didn’t take Liberty, he’d just go alone. Sure, his parents might disown him for it. “Why would I?”

He glanced at her then and wasn’t surprised to see her looking as if she’d stepped into a room full of snapping alligators. “That’s...thank you.”

Even stranger, that made him feel better, as if her appreciation was all that he needed. “You’re welcome.”

But she didn’t leave. Instead, she took another step into the office. “Marcus...”

It wasn’t as if she hadn’t said his name before. She had. But there was something about the way she said it this time that held him captive.

“I know I shouldn’t ask this—but...” She looked down at the paper again as if he’d given her a sheet of solid gold. “Can I leave early today? Just today,” she hurried to add. “This won’t be a regular thing. I just...”

And he remembered how she’d soothed the baby, how she hadn’t just hummed a lullaby but had told that little child that he was loved and he was strong and he could make it. And Marcus remembered how watching her holding that baby had rocked him to his core.

“I’ll come in on Saturday and finish up whatever I don’t get done this week,” she offered, mistaking his silence for disapproval.

He stared at her. Did she think he didn’t know she came in on Saturdays anyway?

Liberty went on. “This won’t affect my job performance at all.”

And he was reminded that he held all the power here and that meant he could gain something from this interaction.

He looked at his watch. It was three forty-five—early by their standards. “Here,” he said, holding out his hand for the paper. “Give it to me.”

“Oh.” The disappointment on her face was a painful thing to see. “Yes, of course.” She trudged forward—there was no other word for it—and handed over the paper. Then, without looking him in the eyes, she turned and headed back to her desk.

“Get your things packed up,” he said, picking up his phone. He had nothing to gain from this but he was going to do it anyway. Because he wanted to. “We’ll go together.”

* * *

Somehow, Liberty found herself sitting in the passenger seat of Marcus’s Aston Martin, zipping up Lake Shore Drive. One minute, she’d been crestfallen that she couldn’t immediately go see the baby. The next, Marcus had been hustling her into his car—his very nice car—and personally driving her to the foster home.

She’d never been in his car before. Oh, sure, she’d attended a few business functions with him, but those were either after-hours events when she’d take the El as she always did or business lunches with potential clients when he’d have her order a car big enough for the entire group.

The Aston Martin was his personal car. And he drove it like a bat out of hell. Of course he did, she thought as she surreptitiously tried to grab on to the door handle when Marcus took the curve without braking. He drove as he ran.

“We don’t have to go this fast,” she said, trying to sound calm. “I’m not in that big of a hurry.”

“This isn’t fast,” he replied and then, the moment they hit the straightaway, he gunned it. Liberty was pushed back into the seat as Marcus accelerated, weaving in and out of traffic. Lake Shore Drive was still mostly clear—it wouldn’t fill up for another half hour with commuters. Marcus took full command of the road.

If she wasn’t so concerned with dying in a fiery heap by the side of the road, she’d be forced to admit that it was kind of sexy. How often did a billionaire act as her personal chauffeur? Never.

They zipped up the drive in record time and then cut over on Peterson. There, at least, Marcus slowed down.

She was nervous. What if this foster home was one of the best—and it still wasn’t very good? She tried to think back to the three homes she’d been in. The first home was fuzzy. It was just after she’d started kindergarten. Less than two weeks into the school year, her mom wasn’t there when she got off the bus one day. Liberty had done okay on her own for a few days, going to see Grandma Devlin for food, but before long, she’d been in a foster home.

She didn’t remember much, just that it got cold in her room and that the other girls were mean to her. But she hadn’t been hungry and there hadn’t been the same kind of screaming and fights as at home.

“Why do you need to see him so badly?” Marcus asked when they got stuck at a light.

Liberty tensed. Were they still in the tug-of-war they’d been in earlier? Or were they back to normal? Since they were out of the office, was this the kind of conversation they might have while they were running?

Marcus glanced at her. “I’m just asking, Liberty,” he said, sounding tired. “And it has nothing to do with the wedding.”

Oh, if only she could just answer honestly. But how would that be possible? Because the truth hurt. And what would Marcus think if he knew the truth about addict moms and foster homes and being an unwanted, unloved little girl? Would he still want to take her to this stupid wedding—or would he look at her and see an imposter who was not to be trusted?

Still, she understood what he wanted to know. It wasn’t her deepest, darkest secrets. It was a simple question that was only one step removed from polite conversation. She had to hope he’d be satisfied with her answer. “I had a little brother,” she said and she was horrified to hear her voice quaver.

She’d never said those words out loud. Who would she have said them to when she was a kid? Her foster parents? They had enough kids to worry about. Her teachers? That would have only made them pity her more, and she had enough of that. Her friends? Ha.

“I didn’t realize,” Marcus replied. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s no big deal,” she lied because that lie came as naturally to her as breathing air. None of it had been a big deal because she’d survived. She’d thrived. She could afford to ignore her past now.

Or she had been able to. Right until she’d seen the little baby in the trash. Then everything had come back.

She swallowed and tried to get her voice to work right again. “He was born with a lot of birth defects and didn’t make it long.” Which was a version of the truth that was palatable for Marcus’s refined taste.

An uncomfortable silence boxed her in. She could see Marcus thinking and she couldn’t have that because if he kept asking questions and she kept having to come up with better versions of the truth, sooner or later she’d either let the truth slip or be forced to tell a real lie. So she barged into the silence and said, “I appreciate you coming with me for this, but it wasn’t necessary. You should be focusing on the list I gave you.”

“You mean the list I threw away?” There—they were back to their early-morning teasing and banter.

“I have other copies,” she announced and was rewarded with Marcus rolling his eyes and grinning at her. “You need to be focused on the wedding and the meeting with the producers, not on taking me to see an abandoned baby.”

“Maybe this is what I want to do.”

“Be serious, Marcus.”

They hit another stoplight. “I am serious. You think you’re the only one worried about that baby?”

She stared at him. “You are?”

“I can’t explain it,” he said in a quiet voice. “But watching you hold him...”

Oh. That was bad. The way his voice trailed off there at the end? The way he sounded all wistful and concerned?

Very, very bad. Damned bad, even.

She was not good for him. She could never be anything more than a valuable employee who got up too early every morning to jog with him. “I can’t do anything for your reputation except drag it down.”

Marcus didn’t even look at her. He kept his attention on the road, but she saw him clench his jaw again, just as he had in his office earlier. “My reputation isn’t everything.”

She desperately wanted to believe that, but she knew that in his world, her mere existence would be a scandal. “I’m not good for you,” she said in a whisper.

He pulled onto a side street and parked. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

That was exactly what she was afraid of.


Five (#ulink_3d3e6621-2708-55fc-aca5-a3067828210d)

Marcus got out of the car and looked around. He’d only ever lived in the Gold Coast, with luxury high-rises and doormen and valets. He rarely left the downtown area and when he did, it was to see the White Sox play or catch a Bulls or Blackhawks game at the United Center—from his owner’s box, of course.

He looked up and down the street at the two-story buildings that stood side by side with older bungalows. Most yards were mowed. Was this a good neighborhood?

“This is nice,” Liberty said, sounding shocked.

“What did you expect—slums?”

There was something about the way she avoided looking at him as she laughed that bothered him. She stared down at the address on the letterhead. He saw her hands were shaking.

“This one,” she said, indicating a trim little bungalow. It was white with a wall of windows framed in dark wood. The paint around the windows was a little chipped and the white was grubby, but it didn’t look bad. He hoped.

“Ready?” he asked.

She took a deep breath and gave him an apologetic look. “You don’t think this is ridiculous, do you?”

He had that urge to once again pull her into his arms and tell her it was all going to be fine. But he didn’t. Instead, he told her, “Coming to see the baby? No. I want to do this with you.”

Her eyes got huge again, but she didn’t say anything. They walked up to the front door of the house and knocked. And waited. Marcus knocked again.

“She knows we’re coming, right?” Liberty said. The panic in her voice was obvious. “Should we have—”

The door opened. “Mr. Warren?” Marcus almost grinned at the appearance of the little old lady standing before him. Maybe she wasn’t that old, but she was petite, with a crown of white hair cut into a bob and a huge pair of vintage-looking glasses on her nose.

“Mrs. Jones, hello. We spoke on the phone.” He offered his hand but she just nodded and smiled. “This is Liberty Reese. We found the child together and we just wanted to see how he’s doing.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Jones,” Liberty said. She sounded stiff.

“How sweet of you to come. Please, call me Hazel. All my friends do. Come in, come in. Shut the door behind you, if you don’t mind.” She turned and began to climb up a short flight of stairs.

Marcus made sure to shut the front door behind him, which took a little shove. The entryway contained another set of doors that led both upstairs and downstairs, and he had to wonder if this was a single-family home or if someone else lived in the basement.

Hazel and Liberty finally went through the upstairs door and Marcus followed, shutting it behind him. Then he looked around.

Wow. Once, when he’d been really little, he’d had a nanny who loved The Brady Bunch. His parents didn’t believe in television, so getting to watch any show was a big deal to him. The nanny—Miss Judy—let him catch a show if he got all his lessons done. She’d make a bowl of popcorn and they’d snuggle on the couch and for a half hour at a time, he’d gotten a glimpse at what normal might look like.

It’d been years since he’d thought of The Brady Bunch. But this was like walking into the Brady house. Everything looked as if it was original to the 1960s or ’70s—the pine paneling, the vinyl covers over the sofa cushions, the preponderance of autumn gold and orange everywhere. Marcus leaned over to catch a glimpse through a doorway—yes, there were avocado-green appliances in the kitchen.

This was one of the best foster homes in the system?

“He’s in the nursery,” Hazel was saying. “He’s still napping. Oh, they sleep so much the first week or so, but he’s starting to wake up.”

“Is he okay?” Liberty asked anxiously.

“I think he’s perfect,” Hazel said as she guided them through a small dining room and past two doorways that led to a bedroom and a television room. The third doorway was the nursery. “I understand your concerns, though. I’ve had children who were coming off drugs or the like and he doesn’t seem to have those problems.” She stopped and sighed. “His poor mother. One has to wonder.”

“Yes,” Liberty said. “One does.”

Hazel gave Liberty a maternal smile as she patted her arm. “It’s good you’ve come. This way.”

They all crowded into the small room. A metal crib was by one wall and a larger, wooden crib up against another. There was a dresser with a blue terry-cloth pad on it next to a worn rocking chair. Marcus had to wonder how long Hazel Jones had had these things—since her own children had been babies?

All over two of the walls were pictures of babies, he realized. Old pictures, with the edges curling and the colors faded to a gold and brown that matched the furniture in the rest of the house. There were hundreds of pictures of little babies all over the place.

Next to a window was an antique-looking swinging chair that squeaked gently with every swing. And inside the swing was the baby boy. He was clean and dressed and Marcus swore he’d grown in the past five days, but there was no mistaking that child. Marcus would know him anywhere. How odd, he thought dimly.

Liberty made a noise that was half choking, half gasping. “Oh—oh,” she said, covering her mouth.

Hazel patted her on the arm again. “You’re his guardian angels, you and your boyfriend. He would have likely died if it hadn’t been for you.”

“We’re not—” Liberty started to say, but Hazel cut her off.

“It’ll be time for his bottle in a few. Would you like to feed him?”

“Could I?” Liberty turned to Marcus, her brown eyes huge. “Do we have time?”

As if she had to get his permission. “Of course.”

“I’ll be right back.” In contrast to her slow climb up the stairs, Hazel moved quickly to the kitchen. “Don’t go anywhere!” she jokingly called out.

“Is this what you wanted?” Marcus asked Liberty as they stared at the baby.

“Oh, God, yes. He’s okay,” she said as if she still couldn’t believe it. The baby exhaled heavily and turned his head away from the window. Liberty gasped and flung out a hand in his direction and Marcus took it. He gave her a squeeze of support and she squeezed back. “Look at him,” she said in awe.

“Is this place okay for him, do you think?” Marcus looked around the room again at the worn, battered furniture. “They said it was one of their best homes...”

“No, it’s really lovely.” Marcus stared down at her, but she was still looking at the baby. “And it seems like she only has him right now. This is amazing.”

There was something in the way she said it, the way she meant it, that struck him as odd. But before he could ask about it, Hazel said brightly, “Here we are.”

He dropped Liberty’s hand and stepped out of the way. Hazel handed him a bottle and he took it, even though he had no idea how to feed a baby.

“Does he have a name yet?” Liberty asked Hazel.

“Oh, no. He’s still Baby Boy Doe.” As if on cue, the baby began to lift his little hands and scrunch up his eyes. “I suppose he should have a name, shouldn’t he?”

“William,” Liberty said without hesitation. “He’s William.” She said it with such conviction that again, Marcus found himself staring at her.

“Oh, that’s lovely. My husband was Bill. That’s a good name.” The baby began to fuss and Hazel deftly carried him over to the dresser and laid him out on the pad. She unzipped his blanket-thing—a blanket with arms? Was there a name for that? Hazel began to change his diaper with the kind of practiced motion that made it clear she could do this in the dark, in her sleep. Marcus wondered how many babies she’d changed just like that.

“We never had children,” Hazel went on as she got out a clean diaper from the top drawer, all the while never taking her hand off the baby’s belly. “But I loved babies so... I was offered an early retirement from my teaching position back in 1988 and I decided that I was going to be a grandmother one way or another.”

“All babies?” Liberty asked.

“Oh, yes. I just love this age. They’re such little angels. I can’t keep up with them when they start crawling and walking, though.” Hazel shook her head. “Babies are just my speed.”

Marcus watched as Hazel changed the diaper. She made it seem easy but the mostly naked infant was squirming and then there was the cleaning part and...

Suddenly, he was terrified. It wasn’t the same kind of terror he’d felt when he’d opened the box and found this child—that had been stark panic, with a life hanging in the balance. That danger was safely past, thank God. But when Hazel got the diaper on and asked Liberty if she wanted to help re-dress William, and Liberty still looked as if she might start sobbing with relief at any moment, the whole scene was so far outside his realm of experience that he might as well have landed on Mars.

Liberty got his tiny little feet back into the blanket contraption and zipped him up. “Here we go,” Hazel said in a singsong voice as she picked William up. “Dear, why don’t you sit in the rocker?”

Liberty sat and Hazel laid the baby in her arms. In that moment, everything about Liberty changed; it was as if he were looking at a different woman. This wasn’t his take-charge assistant—this was Liberty, the real woman.

Hazel took the bottle from Marcus and showed Liberty how to hold it. The older woman got a little pillow that had been next to the rocking chair and used that to prop Liberty’s arms up. “There we go. He’s been eating quite a bit, poor dear.” For the first time in a while, she seemed to notice Marcus. “Oh—would you like a chair?”

“I’m fine,” he insisted. He couldn’t take his eyes off Liberty and William. There was something about them—something he’d seen that first time in the park...

“You’re amazing with him,” he told Liberty and he meant it. Yeah, he’d found the child, but it was Liberty who’d cooled him down and got him to stop crying. It was because of Liberty that Marcus had used his clout to make sure the baby got into the best home.

It was Liberty who’d named him.

Then she looked up at him and smiled and everything that Marcus knew to be true about himself was suddenly...not true. Not anymore.

He was Marcus Warren. A trust-fund billionaire, gossip column fodder and a potential reality-television star. He had a business and a reputation to manage. He had to carry on the Warren family name.

And quite unexpectedly, none of it mattered. What mattered was seeing Liberty rock that tiny baby and smile at him with that silly joy on her face, as if she’d been waiting her whole life for this exact moment.

What mattered was knowing he’d made this moment happen. Because he wanted that silly joy on her face. He wanted to be the one who made her smile, who gave her everything her heart desired. Not because it would give him leverage, but because it made her happy.

His entire life had been about accumulation. Things, power, favors—more and more and more. Never enough.

What if...

William’s mouth popped off the bottle and he squirmed. “Oh, is he okay?” Liberty asked Hazel.

The two of them fussed over the baby and Liberty got him burped. Then Hazel took William back and turned to Marcus. “Would you like to hold him?”

“Sure,” he said, sitting in the rocking chair. Liberty propped the pillow under his arm. He tried to position his arms the way she had.

She looked down at him skeptically. “Have you ever held a baby before?”

His face got hot. “No?”

Liberty sighed, but at least she was grinning as she moved his hands into approximately the right position as if it was no big deal to physically rearrange him. But it only made that nearly out-of-body experience he was having that much worse.

What if...

“Here we are,” Hazel said, handing William to Marcus. The baby sighed and scrunched up his nose.

Marcus was dimly aware that Hazel and Liberty were still talking, but he didn’t really hear them. Instead, he stared down at the child in his arms.

William was so small—how was this human going to grow up and be a regular-sized person? “Hi, William,” Marcus whispered as the baby waved one of his hands jerkily through the air.

Without thinking about it, Marcus shifted and held one of his fingers up against William’s hand. The baby grabbed on at the same time his little eyes opened up all the way, and in that moment Marcus was lost. How could anyone have walked away from this baby? This must have been what Liberty had felt when she’d held the baby in the park.

They couldn’t lose this baby. He’d thought he’d done his part, getting William into one of the best foster homes—but now that Marcus had seen Liberty with him, now that he’d held William himself, how could he walk away from this child?

He looked around the room again. Hazel was a good foster mother for a baby, he decided. But the stuff she had to work with was ancient. Marcus eyed the baby swing William had been in when they got here. The thing looked like a deathtrap of metal and plastic.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, which startled the baby. William began to fuss and Hazel swooped in and plucked him from Marcus’s arms. “There, now,” she soothed.

“Sorry,” Marcus said as he dug out his phone. The missed call had been from his mother. This couldn’t be good. It was already past five.

“We should go,” Liberty said. “Hazel, thank you so much for letting us visit William. This was wonderful. I’m so glad he’s got you.”

With William tucked against her chest, Hazel waved the compliment away. “You’re more than welcome to come back. Just give me a call!”

“Could we?” Liberty glanced at Marcus, her cheeks coloring brightly. “I mean, I’ll do that.”

“We can come back,” he agreed. And he wasn’t just saying that—he really did want to see the baby again. More than that, he wanted to see Liberty with the baby again.

Liberty gave him another one of her shy smiles, as if she’d been hoping he’d say that but hadn’t dared to ask.

As they walked toward the front door, Hazel followed them. “You two should consider applying for adoption,” she said. “A nice couple like you? And because you found him, you might have a better chance of getting him. If they don’t find his birth mother, that is,” she added, sounding sad. “Poor dear.”

Liberty jolted. “I don’t—”

“We’ll discuss it,” Marcus said. He put his hand on Liberty’s back and guided her down the stairs. “Thanks so much.”

He made sure to shut the door behind them.


Six (#ulink_87479441-de03-5bfc-98d2-06f031979064)

Liberty stood on the sidewalk in a state of shock. She knew she needed to pull herself together but she was weirdly numb right now.

“That place was a time warp,” Marcus said, stepping around her to the car and opening the passenger door for her.

She blinked at him. Hazel was a warm, loving, capable woman who had only one child in her charge and, by all appearances, would dote on William as if he were her own. That was weird enough, but now? Marcus Warren was opening her door for her. In what world did any of this make sense?

“Liberty?” Then he was touching her again, his hand in the small of her back as he gently propelled her toward his waiting car as if he was her chauffeur instead of her billionaire boss. Warmth flowed up her back from where he touched her and she wanted nothing more than to lean into him. “Are you all right?”

No. No, she wasn’t. Everything had changed and she didn’t know how she’d ever be the same again. But she had to try. “I can’t—you don’t have to come back.”

Marcus snorted in amusement. “I never have to do something I don’t want,” he said. “You were right. We can’t lose him.”

“We?” That word sounded different in her ears now, foreign almost. There was no “we” where Marcus and she were concerned. Not outside the office or off the jogging path. Or beyond her carefully guarded fantasies. “But...”

“Come on,” he said, almost pushing her into the car. “Let’s get some dinner. We can talk then.”

“Dinner?” She couldn’t make sense of anything he was saying. We. Dinner. “No—wait,” she said when he got into the driver’s seat. “You don’t have to take me to dinner. You should be taking a potential wedding date—not me.”

“Maybe I am taking a potential date to dinner.”

And they were right back to where they’d been earlier. Well, this time she was not going to mess around. The sooner he realized how radically inappropriate she’d be as a wedding date, the sooner they could get back to their regularly scheduled programming. “Marcus, I’m not going. I’m not good enough for you, for that crowd. I know it. Everyone else there will know it. You’re the only one who doesn’t seem to realize it.”

“That’s not—”

She cut him off because he had to see reason. She didn’t know how much longer she could be this strong. “That’s not all. Why would I want to go to this wedding? Why would I want to watch Lillibeth hurt you again? Because you know she’s going to try. And everyone will be watching to see how bad it’s going to be. You’ll be back in the media again. And I don’t want to be a part of that. I don’t want to be another reason people try to tear you down. I care too much about you to let that happen.”

The last part just slipped out. She hadn’t meant to say that she cared about him at all, but she’d built up a head of steam. But it was the truth—a truth that she couldn’t bury anymore.

“Liberty,” he said. And then something horrible and wonderful happened—Marcus touched her. He cupped her face in the palm of his hand.

“I just don’t want you to be hurt again,” she breathed. And even though she knew she shouldn’t, she reached up and held his palm against her skin.

“You won’t hurt me. I know you too well for that.”

There it was again, that blind trust he had in her. And she knew—knew—that if he learned the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth about her junkie mom and her unknown father, he would be hurt.

She wanted to lean into his touch, but she couldn’t because she was already starting to slip up and if she let herself get swept away in his touch, in his longing looks, something even more damaging might come out of her mouth.

So she shook him off. “If you don’t want to, don’t. Don’t go to the wedding. Don’t do the reality show. You said it yourself—your reputation isn’t everything. You don’t need to do any of that stuff. Do what you want.”

He stared at her for a moment, but she refused to make eye contact because she didn’t know if she could handle it. One searing look from Marcus Warren might break her resolve. So she kept her gaze locked on the windshield.

He started the car and began to drive without answering.

“Please take me back to the office. I’ll finish the work I didn’t get done earlier.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. He sounded distant.

She fought the urge to apologize, to backpedal—to take it all back. She wanted to go back to the way things had been a week ago, when he’d tease her during the run and she earned his respect by being invaluable to his business, when she didn’t offer opinions on his personal life and she didn’t run the risk of letting the facts of her life slip out at every turn.

But then, that’d mean not finding William—not knowing that he was alive and healthy and cared for. And she couldn’t imagine that. She’d seen that baby for a total of an hour and a half and she couldn’t imagine life without him.

You two should consider applying for adoption. Liberty would be lying to herself if Hazel’s idea didn’t sound like a dream come true. She’d long fantasized about Marcus. He was gorgeous, one of the richest men in the city, and she liked him. She hated running but she liked running with him. She liked his jokes and how he treated her and how he’d put that shower in the ladies’ room so she could change without going all the way back to her apartment in Logan Square.

And she’d liked the way he looked holding that baby and smiling down at him as if he really did care. It hadn’t mattered that he’d had on a suit that probably cost thousands or that William was one burp away from ruining that suit. Marcus had smiled and cooed and held his hand anyway. William was important to Marcus because William was important to her.

She’d spent her entire adolescence and adulthood trying so hard to overcome her abandonment. Her life was built around making sure no one could forget about her again. She worked harder than anyone else. She never stopped working. In college, she’d held down two jobs and carried a full class load and never done anything fun like party or date. Never. She’d passed as white because she could and because it meant she was that much further away from Jackie Reese’s life, because passing meant that she had to work only twice as hard to get ahead, not four times as hard.





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