Accidentally Yours (7 page)

He pulled a pen out of his pocket and wrote on a scrap of paper on the counter. “I’ll have something sent over,” he told her. “You have any preferences?”

“I don’t think they deliver.”

“They do now. I’ll get some food in here, too. What do you want?”

W
HEN
N
ATHAN
K
ING DECIDED
to take charge, he did it in a big way, Kerri thought as she watched him talk to the manager of her local Albertsons. He’d already persuaded the local liquor store clerk to drop off his order and now was negotiating the same treatment with the grocery store.

She knew she should have protested the gallons of milk, the jumbo laundry detergent and the pounds of meat and chicken he’d requested, but that would take more effort than she had. What did it matter if
Nathan bought her and Cody some food? When the sky was falling, it was hard to worry about the little things.

After he’d hung up the phone, he put down his pen. “I got fried chicken for tonight. I didn’t think you’d want to cook.”

“That was thoughtful. Thank you. For all of it.”

He shrugged. “No big deal.”

“I’ll never get through all that liquor.”

“The Scotch is for me.”

“What about the rest of it?”

“One day you’ll want to celebrate. And you’ll be ready.”

“For a whole party?” She studied him, the hard lines of his face, his dark eyes. She never would have thought of him as a kind man, yet it was there…in him.

She glanced at the clock. “Cody will be home soon.” She was going to have to pull herself together. Make sure he didn’t know she’d been crying. “You can’t say anything.”

“I won’t,” Nathan told her.

“It’s better if he doesn’t know. If he believes everything will be fine, then maybe it will.”

“I agree.”

Did he? Really?

“Why are you here?” she asked. “What made you come over today?”

“Linda called and told me there was a problem. You weren’t at work and you didn’t answer your
phone at home. I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

Checking up on her? No one had done that in years. Not since Brian—a lifetime ago.

“Don’t get too excited,” he told her. “This isn’t going to happen again.”

But it had happened now. She had someone to lean on, even for a moment. It felt good.

“I need to get cleaned up,” she said, and retreated to her small bedroom with its even tinier bathroom.

When she looked at herself in the mirror, she nearly shrieked. She looked like an extra from a cheap horror movie. Her skin was blotchy, her eyes and mouth swollen.

After washing her face, she put a cold, wet wash-cloth on her eyes for a couple of minutes, then went for a lot of concealer and mascara.

When she was sure she wouldn’t frighten her son, she returned to the living room, just as Cody walked in the front door.

“Do I know you?” Kerri asked.

Her son grinned at her. “I’m your only kid.”

“I don’t think so. I’m sure I would have remembered giving birth.”

“You’re really weird, you know that, right?” Then he dropped his backpack on the floor and moved toward her.

She let him hug her so she wouldn’t squeeze too hard, even though she wanted to hang on forever
and never let go. When he stepped back, she pointed to Nathan.

“You remember Mr. King,” she said.

“Hi, Mr. King,” Cody said.

“Call me Nathan.”

“Okay.”

There was an awkward silence. Kerri picked up her son’s backpack. “Do you have any homework?”

“Just some reading. I did it at lunch. I’m hungry. Are there any cookies left?”

She pointed to the cracked, twice-glued cookie jar in the shape of a football and tried not to think about the fact that her son could do his reading at lunch because he couldn’t run around and play like the other kids.

“We’re having fried chicken for dinner,” she said to distract herself. “Nathan is having it delivered.”

Cody spun around. “Really? Takeout?”

“You bet. Mashed potatoes and gravy, along with coleslaw and rolls.”

“Sweet!”

“Because there’s something wrong with my cooking?” Kerri asked, pretending to glare at her son.

“No, Mom. It’s great. But sometimes, you know, a change is good. I like takeout. And restaurants.” He made a fist and pretend-punched her in the arm. “But your cooking is the best.”

“I know a pity compliment when I hear one.”

Cody grinned. “Can Brandon come over after dinner?” he asked.

“Sure.”

“I’m going to my room.” He took his backpack from her and maneuvered down the short hallway.

Kerri turned back to Nathan and found him watching her son. She tried to read his expression and couldn’t. Hardly a surprise.

“Are you okay?” she asked quietly.

Nathan turned to her. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I didn’t know if this was hard for you. Being around Cody.”

“Your son has nothing to do with me,” he told her.

“I’m trying to be sympathetic.”

“Not required or welcome. We aren’t all emotional basket cases.”

“What?” She glared at him. “Excuse me? I’m a rock. Considering the setback, I think a small but tasteful breakdown was in order. Who do you think you are, judging me?”

She felt like backing the car over him. She wanted to be intimidating enough to make him cringe.

He stunned her by smiling slowly. “That’s the Kerri I want around. Anger is a lot more useful than self-pity.”

It took a couple of seconds for his words to sink in. “You are so not allowed to play me.”

“Whatever works. Besides, you played me first.”

“It was for a worthy cause.”

“So is this.”

Which meant what? she wondered. “You’re not easy,” she murmured.

“I don’t try to be.” Nathan shoved his hands in his front slacks pocket. “You trust the world and I trust no one.”

“I’m the optimist.”

“Which one of us is going to end up being disappointed?”

He was right about that. “But there’s more to life than being right,” she said.

“There’s winning.”

“Is that what matters most?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

“It beats losing.”

N
ATHAN HUNG UP
the phone and reached for his wine. Kerri sat across from him at the table littered with the remains of their dinner. Cody had inhaled fried chicken like he hadn’t eaten in a week and then excused himself to go off to his room. Kerri was flushed from a single glass of wine, which fit with what he knew of her. She was a good girl, from the top of her glossy hair down to what he would guess were sensibly unpolished toes.

“You’re scary,” she told him. “Dr. Wallace is in big trouble.”

“Nobody screws with me,” Nathan said. “Jason
will find out Wallace’s weakness and use it against him.”

“You could just sue him.”

“That would take too long.”

He waited for her reaction to his words, but there wasn’t one. The fact that her son was living on borrowed time wasn’t news to Kerri.

Laughter and a few shouts drifted back from Cody’s bedroom, where he’d retreated with his friend Brandon. Kerri shrugged.

“Video games. Apparently it’s very intense.”

“You don’t play?”

“I’ve tried a few times. I always get my butt kicked. I don’t have the time to devote to becoming an expert. I limit his access to the games, but not by much. He’s a good student. If he enjoys them, why not let him?”

Nathan knew enough to read between the lines. Cody should get in as much fun now as possible, because there wasn’t going to be a later.

He remembered having the same thoughts about Daniel. His son had—

He drew in a breath as an unexpected pain shot through his chest. It was emotional rather than physical, but breath stealing nonetheless.

After all this time, he thought, surprised the ache still existed. He would have said he was over it. But maybe one never recovered from the death of a child.

She picked up her wine and took a sip. “So,
Nathan King, tell me about yourself. I only know business stuff. Do you have family?”

“There’s no need to discuss my personal life.”

“Ooh, doesn’t that sound pompous. Does that stick up your butt make it painful to sit down?”

As soon as she spoke, her eyes widened and she set down the glass.

“Did I say that out loud?” she asked, sounding horrified.

“Yes.”

“I am so sorry. That was rude. This is my house and you’re a guest and I should keep comments like that to myself.” She took another drink. “But if you don’t tell me, I’ll just go to Google and get the info that way.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t.”

“I know some things from my research. There’s a reporter who really hates you. Grant Somebody.”

“Grant Pryor. I know him.”

“What’s his deal?”

“He wants to work for a real paper. He thinks the right story about me can get him there.”

“That’s a lot of pressure. For you, I mean. Holding someone’s career in the palm of your hand.”

He smiled. “Now you’re playing
me.
”

“I know. It’s fun, isn’t it? So why you? Why not some other rich guy?”

“Because I’m a coldhearted bastard and that makes me interesting.”

“Do you really see yourself as a bastard?”

“We’re not having that conversation.”

“All right, but now you have to tell me something about your family.”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Yes, I do.” She smiled. “Come on, Nathan. We’re practically friends. Who’s around still? I know you have an ex-wife, but is that it? Mother? Father? Siblings?”

“One sister.”

“There. Was that so hard?”

Not for her, he thought. But maybe for him. He didn’t like thinking about Frankie, about how she blamed him for what had happened.

“I was pretty young when my parents died,” she told him. “It was a car accident. My grandmother raised me. What about you?”

He supposed in her world the exchange of personal information was natural and expected. It wasn’t in his.

“My mother shot my father, then turned the gun on herself the second year I was in college,” he said flatly. “My sister was seventeen and at home at the time. She walked in on them after the first gunshot.”

Kerri’s face froze in horror. “Oh my God. That’s terrible. For all of you. Nathan, I’m sorry.” She reached across the table and rested her fingers on his hand, as if her touch would help.

“I’m fine,” he told her. “It was a long time ago.”

“Where’s your sister now?”

“Here. In Seattle.”

“Are you close?”

“She blames me for what happened,” he said. “Because when I left, things got worse. My dad was a drunk. A mean drunk. He beat the crap out of my mom and me. Although he never touched Frankie, he wasn’t an easy man to live with. I got out—a football scholarship to USC. That left Frankie by herself to deal with it. Dad picked on her verbally because she wasn’t…” He hesitated. “She has some problems.”

Kerri frowned. “Like what?”

“OCD, mostly. She gets something in her head and it doesn’t go away.”

“Is she seeing a doctor or psychologist?”

“I have no idea.”

Kerri’s eyes widened. “How come?”

“We have nothing to do with each other. I’ve tried to talk to her, get her help, but she won’t have any part of me.”

He’d done more than try. He’d practically kidnapped her to get her into a place that was supposed to be cutting-edge, but Frankie wasn’t sick enough to be committed. She’d simply walked out. Sometimes he was convinced she didn’t want to change. That she was happy being on the fringe.

“I support her,” he added, knowing it was stupid—both the mention and the reality of it. She used most of her salary to fund that idiotic out-there ecology group she belonged to, and looked for ways to punish him.

“I’m sorry,” Kerri murmured.

“Don’t be.”

“I can’t help it. I’m very softhearted.”

“You’re wasting your energy on something that doesn’t matter.”

“We’re talking about your family.”

“Mine, not yours,” he reminded her.

“You’re a total cynic.”

“You’re a softhearted fool who assumes the world is a good place.”

She fluttered her eyelashes at him. “I’m also really, really cute.”

She was that, he admitted. More than cute. Sexy. There was something about the way she moved, the openness of her smile. He’d known a lot of beautiful women, but no one like her. Her combination of innocence and determination baffled him. How could she have blackmailed him into giving up fifteen million and yet still be so damn trusting?

Unexpected heat surged within him, making him want to pull her close and kiss her again. He’d liked kissing her before and wouldn’t turn down a repeat performance. There was only one thing standing in his way—he couldn’t know if she was responding because she enjoyed what he was doing or if it was because she owed him.

His ego said of course she liked kissing him, but his brain was less sure, which put him in a damned uncomfortable position.

He stood. “I need to get back to the city.”

“Okay. Want to take some leftovers? There are still a couple of pieces of chicken.”

“I have a full-time housekeeper who cooks for me.”

“Then never mind. We’ll keep them.”

She rose and followed him to the door. “Thanks for coming to check on me,” she said. “You made me feel better, which I didn’t think was possible.”

Unable to help himself, he touched her cheek. “Don’t worry. We’ll get Wallace back into his lab and digging for the answers. Trust me.”

“You just spent a lot of time telling me I was really dumb for trusting people.”

“I’m different.”

She smiled. “Why did I know you were going to say that?”

L
INDA WAS GONE
.
Abram felt it as soon as he walked into the lab the next morning. There was something in the air, something dank and moldy, as if the roof had started to leak. Only there hadn’t been any rain and there was no reason to suspect the structure.

He found proof on his desk, in the form of a letter. The contents were painfully specific. He was not the man she’d thought he was. She had devoted her life to him, assuming he was dedicated and honorable. Instead, she’d discovered he was little more than a quitter who would rather let the world suffer than deal with the past and move on. She could accept the rest of his flaws, but leaving children to die when he could prevent their demise was unforgivable. She regretted every minute she’d spent with him.

The last statement was the worst. He could handle her accusations by telling himself she simply didn’t understand. But knowing she had regrets made the darkness inside him grow until he knew there would be no escape from the shadows.

Still holding the letter, he moved toward his com
puter and sat down without turning on the machine. He stared at nothing and remembered another time and another woman leaving him. His wife.

She had seemed to admire his devotion to his work, until the day they married. Then she’d said he was too involved, that his lab took all his time and energy, leaving neither for her. They had argued. In the end, what she said had proved to be true—she wasn’t his passion. When she left, he barely noticed.

Her leaving hadn’t been more than a ripple in his life. He had his research and Linda. Always Linda. While there had never been anything romantic between them, she was the one constant he could count on. She was always there, looking after him, encouraging him, making sure he ate right and slept. She understood what the breakthroughs meant, how he got discouraged when there was no progress. She believed in him. He couldn’t imagine life without her.

He stiffened. No. That wasn’t possible. She was a convenience, like a coffeemaker, nothing more. Except…except…

He missed her. Missed the sound of her footsteps, her calm voice, the way she organized his desk, brought him lunch and listened while he talked about his work. She understood what he was trying to do and always had suggestions and encouragement.

He missed talking to her. He missed her quirky movie reviews, her attempts to be a vegetarian that
always failed within twenty-four hours, the way they did Sudoku together over coffee.

Which meant what? That he had feelings for her? For Linda?

Abram considered the possibility and knew, while he might have great affection for her, what bothered him the most was losing her respect. Because she had always believed in him, he had been able to believe in himself, even through the dark times. He could probably recover from her leaving, but knowing she did so while thinking less of him was impossible to bear.

Fifteen minutes later he parked in front of her small house and hurried to the front door. He opened it without knocking, knowing she rarely locked it no matter how he lectured her on her personal safety.

He heard noises coming from the rear of the house and walked down the hall, only to stop in shock as he saw open boxes scattered around the room. Boxes she was filling with her belongings.

“You’re leaving me,” he said, his voice low and harsh.

She didn’t bother looking up as she emptied her dresser. “You were right. I should always remember to lock my front door. You never know who is going to break in.”

“Linda, no.”

She ignored him. After finishing with the dresser, she started on her nightstands. Item after item was tossed in the boxes.

When his wife had left him, he’d come home to an empty house and had barely noticed. She had been right—their marriage had been a mistake and he had never loved her. But Linda was different. Linda mattered.

He wanted to physically reach out and stop her. To unpack the boxes himself.

“You can’t leave,” he told her. “I need you.”

“Ask me if I care.”

He’d never seen her like this. Distant and cold. His chest tightened.

“I’ll do it,” he said. “I’ll open the lab, hire the scientists. Whatever you want. Just don’t leave.”

She straightened and stared at him. “Not good enough, Abram. You can’t do this for me. You have to do it for yourself—because you believe—and for the children, because they deserve a chance.”

“I’ll do it because it’s what I’m meant for,” he said slowly, praying the words were enough. “Because I’ve been blessed and because it’s both my responsibility and my passion.”

She stared at him as if she didn’t believe him. Disbelief thinned her mouth.

“Please,” he said, begging for the first time in his life. “Please.”

He took a step toward her and gently removed the T-shirt from her hand.

“We will find a cure,” he said. “For Cody. For the other children. Together. I will do it, Linda. Even if
you leave, I will move forward with this work.” He meant the words, even if he wasn’t sure how he would work without her at his side. “But I’ll work faster if you are with me. Please stay.”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Everything is different.”

“I’m not. I can be the man you thought I was. One chance. Just one.”

She stared at him for a long time. “Just one, Abram. Don’t press me. I
will
leave if you screw this up.”

“I know. I won’t. You’ll see.”

He would prove himself to her. He had no choice. Without her, he was nothing.

T
IM SHIFTED
his weight from foot to foot, looking uneasy and making Nathan feel they were both on a boat in restless seas.

“It’s, ah, ten days,” Tim said, then swallowed.

“No problem,” Nathan told him. “You have plenty of time on the books. You should take a couple of weeks off.”

“No. Just the ten days is fine. I’ll make sure the substitute driver is filled in. The transition will be seamless.”

“I appreciate that.” Nathan studied his driver. “You don’t take a lot of time off.”

“I know. But Lance wants to go on a cruise. To Alaska. He booked the trip and gave it to me as a surprise.”

From his tone, Nathan guessed Tim would have been more excited by a box of scorpions.

“You’ll have fun,” Nathan told him.

“I guess. Okay, boss. That’s all.”

Tim left. Nathan watched him leave and tried to imagine Tim in a tropical shirt, sunbathing on deck. Although in Alaska, there wouldn’t be a lot of warm weather. Still, the image eluded him.

His secretary knocked on his door and entered. “Hey, Mr. K. Just reminding you I’m leaving early today. My granddaughter is in her school spring play.” Ellie grinned. “She’s lead tree.”

“You wouldn’t want to miss that.”

“I know. So I’ll be leaving about one-thirty.”

He nodded and she backed out of the room.

It occurred to him that everyone he knew had someone else and he didn’t. It wasn’t a new situation. He preferred to be alone. It was cleaner that way, with less complications. He’d been married once and little about his relationship with Paige was something he wanted to repeat.

Still, he felt a restlessness that had him reaching for the phone.

“Hair Barn,” a female voice said.

“Kerri Sullivan.”

“Hold on.”

Seconds later he heard, “This is Kerri.”

“It’s Nathan. I want us to have dinner tomorrow night here in town. Somewhere people will notice. I’ll
have my assistant drop a few hints to local media. Tim will come pick you up about five and you can spend the night in a hotel. He’ll take you home in the morning.”

“Aren’t you all imperious,” she said. “Sorry, I can’t.”

He frowned. “I own you.”

“I said I would do my best to cooperate. There’s a difference.”

“Which you’re not doing.”

“Oh, please. I’m not just dropping everything for you. What about Cody? He’s nine. I can’t leave him alone for the night.”

“He can stay with his friend.”

“I have to work.”

“Reschedule. I’m sure the old ladies of Songwood can wait to get their hair dyed blue.”

“You’re incredibly disrespectful,” she told him, not sounding amused. “For your information, tomorrow is prom Saturday. I’ll be working all day, at least until six-thirty, because there’s always one emergency that requires a quick fix.”

“You’re saying no?”

“I’m saying this isn’t your finest hour, then I’m saying no.”

Before he could respond, she hung up on him.

N
ATHAN WAS STILL
pissed off the next day. Kerri obviously didn’t understand the finer points of their arrangement. Determined to explain them to her, he
drove to Songwood, arriving a little after four in the afternoon.

He went directly to the Hair Barn and found he had to park more than three blocks away. There were dozens of cars and when he walked into the salon, he understood why.

Teenage girls filled every available chair and most of the open space. They were in groups, laughing, shrieking, running around with curlers in their hair. They didn’t seem to notice him and as he wasn’t into jailbait, he ignored them.

He walked directly to Kerri’s station, where she worked on a girl’s hair, spraying strands, curling them into long ringlets, then spraying them again.

“What were you thinking?” she asked, meeting his gaze in the mirror. “You don’t want to be here today.”

“I came to check out my competition.”

She handed him the can of hair spray, then smoothed a curl into place. “This is girl central. Teenagers come in from all over the mountain. They travel in packs and don’t leave until they’re all done. There’s enough estrogen in this place today to turn you into a woman.”

“Not possible.”

She grinned. “Want to bet?”

“Absolutely.”

She grabbed the can and sprayed again, then thrust it back at him. “You’re just crabby because I wouldn’t change my plans for you.”

“It isn’t a behavior I want repeated.”

Her eyes sparkled with amusement. “Will you want to spank me later?”

She was teasing him, which should have bugged him, but instead he found her almost charming.

“You’ll be done at six-thirty?” he asked.

“Yes, but I’m not driving into the city with you, so don’t even think about it. I’ll be exhausted.” She finished the last ringlet. “Okay, Brittany, now do you want it all up with the curls falling down the back of your neck?”

“Uh-huh. I brought ribbon.” The teenager smiled at Nathan. “It matches my dress.”

The kid was an uncomfortable combination of all grown-up and little girl. “How old are you?” he asked.

“Sixteen, but my boyfriend’s a senior.”

“She could be your daughter,” Kerri said sweetly.

The girl looked at him. “You do kind of look like my dad.”

“How flattering.” He put the can of hair spray on the counter in front of him. “I’ll pick you up at seven. We’ll eat locally.”

“I can’t decide if it’s your charm or your graciousness that I like the best,” Kerri told him.

“You have the next couple of hours to figure it out.”

“Y
OU’RE THE WORST
,” April said as she grabbed the eyeliner from Kerri. “Close your eye. You’re all squiggly. You’re supposed to be the adult here.”

“I
am
the adult here,” Kerri muttered.

“You’re not acting like it,” the fifteen-year-old told her. “You can’t even do eyeliner right.”

“I never wear it.”

“You won’t get a boyfriend if you don’t make the effort.”

“Words to live by,” Kerri muttered. “I don’t want a boyfriend.”

April’s mouth dropped open. “But then you’ll be
alone.
”

“There are worse fates.”

“I can’t think of any.” The teenager stepped back. “Okay. That’s better.”

Kerri looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes looked bigger, darker and possibly mysterious. She turned slowly, checking out the black wrap dress she’d borrowed from Michelle. Her hair was still in curlers and her feet hurt from standing all day, but otherwise, she thought she just might be pretty enough to get a boyfriend.

She checked her watch. It was five to seven. “I’m late,” she murmured as she began pulling the curlers out of her hair. “Nathan is always on time.”

April leaned against the door frame. “Is he that rich guy I read about in the paper?”

“Yes.”

“Cool. Think he’ll pay me extra? You could tell him my family is really poor and I’m saving for college.”

“Your father is a doctor and you’re an only child. Money is hardly tight.”

“I don’t get a lot of allowance. My dad says I have to come up with half the insurance money or I won’t get a car next year when I turn sixteen. He says I need to learn responsibility.”

Which explained her availability to babysit at the last minute on a Saturday night.

“I’ll be paying you the usual amount,” Kerri said firmly.

“Bummer. But if he offers, don’t tell him no. I mean, it wouldn’t hurt for me to inflate my prices just a little. He can afford it.”

“Just because he can afford it doesn’t make it right to charge him more,” Kerri said, then remembered that she’d charged Nathan seventy-five dollars for a haircut.

An entirely different circumstance, she told herself, ignoring the sliver of guilt sliding down her spine.

April sighed heavily. “Okay. Fine. My regular amount.”

“I made cookies, if that helps.”

“It does. Besides, watching Cody is no big deal. He just wants to play games or watch TV. Not like some of the families I work for. I hate it when there are babies. I always get the poopy diapers. It’s gross.”

Someone knocked at the front door. Kerri shrieked and went to work on her hair.

April grinned. “You look nervous.”

“I’m fine. Please answer the door. I’ll be right out.”

The teenager left. Kerri fluffed her hair, then sprayed it. She applied a last coat of lip gloss, grabbed her purse and walked out to the living room.

Nathan stood talking to April. At the sight of the tall, good-looking man, she felt a distinct tightening in her chest. Anticipation, she thought absently. She was looking forward to their evening together.