Another Notch in the Beltway (9 page)

“You've raised a great kid, Lenore, and you should be proud of that.”

Nate had done an internship with one of Connor's partners who specialized in patent law over the summer and had received a great deal of praise for his work.

“I am very proud of him. He's my best work.” She looked up, giving her attorney a genuine smile. “I want to spare him as much pain and grief as possible. If word that Maxwell has an illegitimate child gets out, it will be a media feeding frenzy, especially when the mother is none other than LaSandra Lacy.” She said that last bit with some dramatic flair to lessen the tension.

“You're right. But I can't imagine Maxwell would want it to become public knowledge.”

“I wouldn't think so either, but the more people who are involved, the more problematic it becomes.”

Before Connor could say anything else, his admin buzzed to let him know that Gerald Morris had arrived.

“Is it okay for him to come back?”

“I wish I never had to see him again in my life, but, yeah, let him join us.”

“I can deal with him alone if you want.”

“I want, but I won't. Not when Nate is involved.”

Gerald Morris joined them. He was about six feet tall, balding but in a distinguished sort of way that did not detract from his appearance; his eyes, deep brown, seemed to take in everything around him.

“Lenore,” he said, extending his hand and looking her over from head to toe then settled on her face.

“Mr. Morris,” she said, giving his hand a quick, firm shake.

“You used to call me Gerald.”

“In another life. Connor Walker,” she said, not missing a beat, “this is Gerald Morris, Byron Maxwell's chief of staff and oldest friend.”

“Mr. Morris,” Connor said by way of greeting and took the man's outstretched hand.

“Please call me Gerald.”

Connor waved to a seat while saying, “Connor.”

“It is my understanding that you wished to meet with Ms. Held,” Walker said, moving right to business.

“Yes, you see, Jack Maxwell…” Morris took the next several minutes to rehash what Lenore had told him. Connor did not interrupt him.

“Lenore,” Morris turned to her and said, “Byron asked me to extend his apology for his intrusion into your home and his behavior in general.”

She acknowledged the statement with a barely perceptible nod. Lenore knew that Maxwell was never sorry for anything he did and that Gerald was always cleaning up for him.

“I guess the question is,” Walker said, moving the meeting along, “what exactly is your boss looking for, Gerald?”

“He wants to see if Nate is a match.”

“Because he is a sibling,” Connor said.

“Yes.”

“Does Byron Maxwell intend to acknowledge Nate as his son then?”

Morris shifted, glanced at Lenore, then back to Walker. “He was hoping that Lenore could convince him to get tested. Say it was a friend's child or something.”

Lenore gave a sarcastic laugh. “You must be joking. Maxwell wants my son poked and prodded to save his own child, and he wants me to lie to him to get him to cooperate? You must both be out of your minds.” Her voice was deadly calm and even, but the flashing in her eyes warned Morris off. “If there is even a possibility that Nate is tested, the rules of engagement will be mine.”

Both men looked at her and waited for her to speak.

“I will discuss the matter with Nate and explain to him that his half brother needs a donor. If he wishes to be tested, he can. If he wishes to meet his sperm donor, his sperm donor will meet with him. What Nate negotiates after that point is his own doing. He will not be alone with Maxwell. Connor and/or I will be there, and any meeting, should there be one, will take place here, on a Saturday or Sunday.

“It's less likely they will be seen together here and recognized than in D.C. I do not want Nate or myself, for that matter, to be caught up in a media circus should word get out that Maxwell has a child by a woman other than his wife. Did you get all that, Connor?”

“Yes, I did, Lenore.” He played his role perfectly.

“Did I miss anything?”

“For now, I think that should be enough. Should Mr. Maxwell agree to your terms, there might be other things to consider.”

“Fine,” she said, standing up and glancing at her watch. “I have another commitment. Should Byron agree to the terms I have suggested, call my attorney. I won't mention anything to Nate until Byron agrees,” she said to Morris.

Both men were already standing, a testament to country club breeding. She extended her hand to each and walked out.

Lenore then walked into the nearest ladies' room, dashed into a stall, and proceeded to become violently ill. All the ugliness, all the struggles, everything had come flooding back to her when she saw Gerald Morris, more so than when Maxwell had walked into her house unannounced the week before. Maybe it was because MP was there with her, maybe because of simple shock. But the full reality of the situation had hit her hard today.

Morris had warned her about Byron before she started sleeping with him. Sleeping nothing—they'd never spent the night together—before she started fucking him. In her twenty-year-old mind, it had been romantic, and she had called it making love, but there was no love on Maxwell's part.

He used her, fucked her, and discarded her and her child. Now, because of circumstances she could not control, he was coming back to do it to her again. This time she thought it was uglier than that. It was rape. Though there would be no physical penetration, the emotional fallout would be akin to rape.

As she leaned against the stall door her cell phone started ringing. Lenore thought about not answering, then dug it out of her purse and, looking at caller ID, saw it was MP.

“Hello,” she said in a raspy voice and tried to clear her acid-burned throat.

“
Mo chuisle
, where are you? I know Morris left because I saw what he looked like when he gave his name at the desk.”

“Ladies' room. I'll be out in a few minutes.” Her voice was clogged with tears, and there was no disguising it.

“Are you alone?”

“Yes.”

“I'll be right there.”

“But—”

The phone went dead.

****

MP quickly talked to the receptionist, who took him to the ladies' room and got one of the other women to stand guard to warn off anyone who might take exception to a man in the women's restroom.

“Lenore, come out of there,” he spoke softly.

“What…” she opened the stall door and was immediately embraced by him.

The tears flowed. She was consumed by them, scorching rivulets burning tracks down her cheeks, her neck, heading for her heart.

There was a small lounge area at the entrance to the restroom, and MP literally scooped her up and carried her there. Settling her on his lap, taking a white handkerchief from an inside pocket of his jacket, he wiped the tears away, then handed it to her.

“Ohh m-my G-god, Michael Pa-Patrick, I'm soo, soorry I fell apart,” she said in a shuddering breath.

“It's okay,” he murmured, stroking her back in slow, soothing motions.

“No, no, it's not. I don't lose it or fa-fall apart. I'm n-not some weepy heroine who can't get a grip.”

“Never would have confused you with one.” He tilted up her chin and smiled at her. “It's okay to be sad and angry. I'm betting your tears are from pent-up anger and frustration and not from sadness, though. You've never, ever struck me as sad.”

“You're right. I'm mad as hell—”

“And you're not gonna take it anymore,” he quipped the old movie line.

She did her best to smile. “You're absolutely right and I'm not going to shed any more tears over Maxwell.”

“That's my lass.” He moved in to kiss her.

She quickly covered her mouth. “While I'd like nothing better, you deserve better.”

“I don't care, but because you do, I'll wait until you brush your teeth.”

“Thank you.” She laced her hand through his and rested her head on his shoulder. “I mean, not simply for understanding about…” She pointed to the bathroom stalls. “But for being here, for not staying behind when I said I wanted to come alone.”

“Not necessary, but you're welcome.” He brushed the hair from her face. A face that several hours ago had been alight with the afterglow of loving was now swollen and tear-stained. “I'd like to take out both Maxwell and Morris and throttle them both.”

“They'd probably enjoy it.”

He grinned at her and raised an eyebrow.

“I think I'm okay to leave. We've commandeered the ladies' room long enough.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, and I want to tell you what transpired in the meeting.”

“Give me the keys. I'll drive.”

As Michael Patrick drove, Lenore recounted what had occurred at the meeting.

Romance writer or not, her personal history with men was limited. Based on what MP had seen, he must think she was some kind of wanton siren, but what he'd seen was a blip on the screen. She involuntarily shivered.

“Are you cold, lass?” MP asked, already boosting the heat.

“A little.”

“Do you think Maxwell will go for your plan?”

“I'd say there's a ninety-eight percent chance he will. He wants to save his son. As a parent, I empathize, but as Nate's mother, I want to protect him. I've come up with what I think will help minimize the hurt. Still, there's bound to be some, no matter what the plan.”

“I can understand that,” MP offered, and then they lapsed into silence.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her hand tremble and took it. “
A chuisle
, are you sure you're all right?”

“I'm not sure I'm all right, but I'm better. Thank you for coming and picking up the pieces.”

“You're welcome, but no thanks are necessary, and you've already thanked me.”

“I want you to know I appreciate you and your kindness. Not every man, or woman for that matter, would walk into the middle of someone else's mess.”

He squeezed her hand, “I'm not most people, and I don't do anything halfway.”

She gave him a weak smile and sat in silence again.

A few moments later, he added, “Contrary to what you may think, I don't get involved easily and have been intimate with only a small number of women.” MP ran his thumb over her knuckles.

“Nikko is right about us then; we write romance because we're not getting any.”

“Correction. We weren't getting any.”

She laughed a real laugh, and it warmed his heart to hear it. “Are we making up for lost time then?”

“You bet, but it was worth the wait.”

“Yes, it was.” She raised his hand to her lips and kissed it.

“Am I going to get dog germs now?”

She slapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh my God. I am so sorry, I forgot.”

“Teasing you, wee one. I would have kissed you before, too.”

“Yeah, probably would have gotten more than dog germs,” she said, fishing a breath mint out of her purse. “Hand sanitizer?” She followed up, holding a travel-size bottle.

“Nah, I think I'll risk it.”

“We need to work on the book when we get back. I'll brush my teeth, make us some lunch, and then we'll get down to business.”

“What do you say we work on some of their more intimate moments? Nik said that you were looking to do squirmy love scenes. You never did elaborate on what those are.”

He glanced at her. “You have such pretty color in your face,
a chuisle
.”

“Don't tease.”

“I'm not. I'd like to do some field research on squirmy sex. Especially now that I have a willing partner.” He wanted to get her mind off Maxwell and Morris.

She laughed again.

“Tell me about the squirm factor.”

“To me, it's when you read a book and it leads you into the hero and heroine's love life to the point where… well, for a woman—when she feels wet and needy. I suppose for a man it would cause an erection and make him feel desire or horny, if you prefer something more masculine and twenty-first century.”

“Either works for me. You're working for me.”

Doing something totally out of character, she disengaged her hand from MP's and ran it lightly over his fly. “I see.”

He let out a sigh. “If you want to stay on the road, Lenore my love, I wouldn't do that again.”

“No?” She couldn't help herself and touched him, exerting a little gentle pressure this time.

“Talk about squirmy sex,” he said grabbing her hand, bringing it to his lips and giving her index finger a little love nip. “Save it for home,
mo chuisle
.”

“After I brush my teeth.”

“After you brush your teeth.”

“I've read that having oral sex right after brushing one's teeth or using mouthwash adds a little extra zip to the act.”

“You wish to conduct an experiment to see if it's true?”

“Maybe. Maybe I can even make you squirm.”

“No maybe about it.”

“My teeth are all nice and clean. I'm going to take a quick shower and wash the rest of the ugliness away,” Lenore said, peeking her head out of the master bath and into her bedroom.

“I'll join you,” MP said, rising from his reclining position on the bed. Approaching her, he pulled her in for a kiss. “You taste like a winter breeze.”

“Mr. Finnegan, are you going to use that line as part of Cass's dialogue?”

“No, Ms. Held. The book has been forgotten.” He kissed her again and walked her backward toward the large shower enclosure, one hand on her and one hand opening the shower door.

Lenore stopped and pulled away laughing. “You coming in with your clothes on?”