Return of the Secret Heir (11 page)

He picked up his cutlery. “Pia, there's something I need to tell you.”

“Sounds ominous,” she said, then took a sip of juice.

He speared a mushroom with his fork, then paused to meet her eyes as he delivered the news. “My attorney is lodging my claim on the Bramson estate today. I wanted to wait till you were back at work.”

She drew in a breath and nodded. “Thanks for telling me. And for waiting. You're counting on there being no evidence Warner knew about you?”

“Yes.” He was sure now that none existed. The arrogant man must have assumed that when he frightened his poor secretary, she'd gone ahead and obtained an abortion. Gut burning, he stabbed another mushroom.

But the good news was if Warner hadn't known about his existence, then it gave JT the standing to challenge the will. His attorney couldn't foresee any problems, and once there were court-ordered DNA tests on Warner's other two sons, the judge would have no choice but to split the inheritance three ways. His mother would finally get the public acknowledgment and compensation she'd been denied for thirty-one years.

And it all started today.

As did his new life back at his own apartment. He looked around Pia's sweet dining and living rooms with their curtains and pink window seat. It surprised him, but he'd miss this apartment. Not the couch—it'd given him far too many kinks and sleepless nights before he moved into Pia's bed. But still, he'd started to almost feel at home here…?.

He stabbed a tomato with his fork, annoyed that he'd let himself start to relax into something that was temporary.

“Before I leave this morning,” he said, “I'll throw my things in the car, but I want you to promise me you'll call if you have the slightest need.”

“More rules between us, JT?” she asked with a curve of her voluptuous lips. “Though, I think you'll be the one needing help.”

He thought of his large, cold bed and decided she was probably right. But he also knew that wasn't what she was referring to. “Help with what?”

“The media were always interested in the Bramson family, but since Warner's death, they've been frenzied around Ryder and Seth. Even when Ryder was in Australia, the paparazzi found him.”

He remembered seeing that photo of Ryder kissing his future wife—it had been grainy and slightly blurred, but it'd been splashed over the internet and papers within hours of when it was taken. And she was right, everyone in the country knew the members of Warner Bramson's family—from the business pages the gossip pages, and the front pages.

“And,” she said, scooping some eggs onto her fork, “with Seth's engagement to a world-famous singer, the media value of the Bramson family has grown even more. They won't let you rest in peace once this story hits their radars.”

Something soft touched his calf. He looked down and saw Winston curling around his legs and under the chair. Absently, he leaned down to rub the cat's head. “I'm sure they'll run stories about it, but no one knows me—I'm not a media magnet like those two.”

“Even if you're not as famous now as Ryder and Seth, you're also not used to the media attention. They grew up with it.”

The few small brushes he'd had with the media had made his skin crawl. There had been ribbon cuttings and announcements of his company's new developments, but he left them to his PR department. Having his image, his words, beamed into houses all over the country was beyond an invasion of his privacy.

He'd heard of cultures where they believed taking a photo of someone would steal part of their soul and he'd sympathized with the theory. The public's appetite for gossip and celebrity pictures was insatiable. That had to
strip away at a person, and it was something he would have no part of.

He swallowed a mouthful of black coffee. “The lifelong media attention is one thing I don't envy Bramson's other sons.”

Pia's fork dangled from her fingers as she regarded him. “Tell me something honestly. If you could go back and choose now, would you want the childhoods they had, even with all the money?”

Not regularly changing schools? Enticing. Having enough money for everything he needed? Damn attractive. But he wouldn't have learned how to rebuild a bike, wouldn't have become as self-sufficient. Wouldn't have met Pia; for all the heartache of their teenage romance, it'd given him some of his happiest memories.

“No, I wouldn't trade my childhood for theirs. For better or for worse, it made me who I am.” He finished the last swig of his coffee and put the mug on the table. “But I do wish my mother had their mothers' life instead of working menial jobs, never having anything for herself so I had enough, always looking over her shoulder.”

“Have you told her yet?” she asked, her violet eyes both nervous and curious at the same time. “About the baby?”

They'd discussed this only last night. It was only the second trimester—far too early to get carried away with announcements. “If we make it to term.”

“I'm sorry. I forgot you don't believe this baby will make it.” She said the words without judgment, perhaps even with a touch of compassion, but there was a hurt behind them.

“I wouldn't say I don't believe,” he said carefully.

Her head tilted to the side. “What would you say, then?”

“How about, I don't want increased pressure on you. No unnecessary scrutiny.” Dr. Crosby had told them to watch
Pia's stress, and his mother's well-meaning excitement and eagerness to be involved was an extra pressure Pia didn't need right now. They needed to keep it simple. “That's why you still haven't told your parents yet, isn't it?”

“How do you know I haven't told them?” she asked, gaze on her plate.

He almost smiled. She needed to ask? The first clue was her father hadn't knocked on the door to warn him off. Her parents weren't the live-and-let-live kind. “Have you?”

“No,” she admitted.

He was glad. Keep it simple. Low pressure. For Pia's health. “I understand why you needed to tell your boss.” She had her ethics and that was a good thing. “But I want an agreement between us not to tell anyone else.”

He looked into her clear, violet eyes and had to be brutally honest, if only with himself. Telling people, having conversations about their baby with someone other than their doctor, would make it too real. Might allow a flicker of hope to grow in his chest, leaving him open to a crushing fall if things didn't work out for the best. After all his work to keep any glimmer of hope at bay, creating channels for it to enter his system would be foolish.

She laid her cutlery on her empty plate and pushed it to the center of the table, her features neutral. “There will be a baby bump that will show through my clothes soon. How long are you thinking we keep everyone in the dark?”

He wanted to say,
Until we know for sure one way or the other,
but that would be an insensitive thing to say to an expectant mother. Instead he settled on a compromise and hoped she'd allow the sleight of hand. “We'll talk about it in the third trimester.”

“Okay,” she said and he could have sworn her eyes held a flash of relief. Was Pia as wary of announcing their
news as he was? She stood and picked up her dishes, then paused. “If it's okay with you, I'll let Ryder and Seth know that you're lodging the claim today. To keep everything as fair and open as possible in this situation.”

It grated to give any advantage, however slim, to the men who were blocking him from justice. Regardless that they'd probably find out during the day from their attorneys, for one unreasonable moment, he wanted Pia to stand by him. To choose
him
instead of choosing to be fair. But he brushed the feeling aside before it could take hold.

“Sure, why not,” he said and picked up his empty plate.

 

The first thing Pia did when she got in to work that morning was conference call Ryder and Seth. Linda Adams was in court and this couldn't wait, although she made sure to leave Linda a message on her cell explaining the situation.

“Good morning, Ms. Baxter,” Seth said. “I thought we were dealing with Ms. Adams now.”

“In general you are, but I've had some advance warning that the claim to Warner Bramson's estate will be lodged today. Given the amount of media coverage that other developments in this case have generated, I thought you'd like to be prepared.”

“Thanks,” Ryder's voice rumbled. “I take it you garnered this information via your relationship with Hartley?”

“I did. And again, I assure you—”

“No need,” Ryder interrupted.

“Thank you,” she said, touched. “I appreciate it.”

“And we appreciate that you shared this information,” Seth said. “It's one advantage of having you close to the enemy. I'll alert my security and switchboard about the potential media interest.”

After the call, she spent the morning in meetings, being briefed on anything she'd missed by not being in the office when she'd worked from home.

By the end of the day, the media had picked up on the development. Arthur came into her office and switched on the television. A news program had a reporter on the steps of the court, holding a large microphone in front of her face.

“No one's heard of JT Hartley before and his lawyer, a Philip Hendricks, tells us he won't be making any public comments. Our sources tell us Hartley's in property development and that his mother, Theresa Hartley, once worked for Bramson Holdings in the secretarial pool.”

“Any word from Ryder Bramson or Seth Kentrell?” the news anchor asked.

“No, Jimmy. Despite repeated attempts to contact Warner Bramson's sons for comment, neither has been available. We'll continue trying and keep you up to date.”

“Thanks, Angela.” The screen switched to the news anchor. “Now we cross to one of JT Hartley's ex-employees who says—”

Pia clicked the television off. “So it's started,” she said, almost to herself. Then she looked over at Arthur. “Thanks for letting me know.”

Arthur nodded and headed for the door to his office. “The reception desk has had calls, too. I think the media are desperate for information.”

As her assistant disappeared, Pia thought of JT at his office, probably with media swarming out front wanting a piece of him. The phone on her desk lured her to call and check on him, but
she'd
been the one to establish the new, stricter boundaries to their interactions. And for good reason.

Calling the man every time she thought about him
would mean she'd be ringing regularly. He could handle himself with the media, and he had a staff who she was sure would be well equipped to deal with anything that arose. JT was the father of her unborn child. That was all. And the sooner she accepted that, the better.

She noticed her hand was lightly caressing her stomach. Pulling it away, she picked up the files for a case that had nothing to do with Warner Bramson's offspring and determinedly put JT out of her mind.

T
he next day, Pia sat at her desk, attempting to blot out the world so she could simply get her work done. The night had been achingly lonely with only Winston to warm the bed. She'd lain for hours, staring at the wall, missing JT's presence as if she were missing a limb. The sheets still held his scent; her skin still held memories of his touch. Her body was hollowed out, empty, without him.

She paused in reading the second contract of the morning and slipped the pen between her teeth. She'd been right to insist JT leave yesterday—if she was this badly unsettled after only a few weeks with him in her bed, how would she have coped after a longer time? Developing a dependency on him had been one of her fears from the start and it seemed she'd just caught this one in time.

Her cell rang and when she reached for it, she saw JT's number. Her foolish heart leaped, and she laid a hand over her chest to steady it as she stared at the screen. Had she
just congratulated herself on catching the dependency in time? She rolled her eyes at herself and pressed the talk button.

“Good morning, JT.”

“Are you watching the news?” he asked with no preliminaries.

She looked down at the contract on her desk, with an ironic smile. “No, I'm busy trying to impress my boss and make partner.”

“The media knows I was staying with you.” His voice was strained, as if he was holding back the anger by only a tenuous thread.

A swarm of butterflies took flight in her belly. It was on the television? The entire world would know by the end of the day. Her parents, her sisters. JT's mother. JT's half brothers. She squeezed her eyes shut and whispered, “How?”

“Someone's leaked it. Maybe someone in your office who noticed my things when they dropped your work off, or just as easily a neighbor who recognized my face on the television,” he said, voice weary. She could imagine him running fingers through his hair. “It hardly matters now.”

Her heart sank into her stomach with a heavy thud as a realization hit. “I hadn't told my boss you were staying.” She dropped her head into her hand. This would change the playing field. Change everything—who knew how Ted Howard would react?

“He'll know soon enough,” JT said grimly. “But my main concern is your security. As you pointed out, anything to do with Warner Bramson's family has always been big news, and my being involved with someone from your firm has the undeniable scent of scandal attached. They'll have a feeding frenzy and I won't have you tracked down or your safety threatened.”

Just at that moment, Ted Howard's secretary knocked on her open door, then dropped a note on her desk.

Ted wants you in his office as soon as you have a moment.

Bright panic flared in her chest, but she quickly tamped it down—if she didn't stay on top of the situation, she'd drown. “My boss just sent word he wants to see me,” she said, adjusting her scarf with her free hand. “I have to go.”

“Listen, I'm sending a car over to you tonight. I'd come myself, but that will make it worse.”

Already planning what she'd say to Ted Howard, she blinked and had to replay JT's words. “A car? Why?”

“It'll be someone I trust to bring you to my place. Just grab Winston and what you need. We can send someone back for more of your things later.”

Overloaded with thorny information, her temples began to throb. “You want me to move to your place when I'm in a hot vat of trouble over your staying at my place?”

“The media is going to camp out in front of your apartment,” he said, voice adamant. “You don't have enough security to deal with them.”

She'd watched the media go wild when JT's half brothers had become involved with women recently, but both those women had already been famous—Macy had grown up in the limelight as the daughter of a movie star and a business magnate, and April was a world-famous jazz singer. Sure, there was the angle of her working on the estate JT was claiming against, but it was hardly in the same league.

Her two priorities at the moment were her baby and her career. Her baby wouldn't be impacted by whether she went to JT's apartment or not, but her job most certainly would. It could make her situation at this firm even more precarious than it was already.

Her decision was plain—she couldn't go to JT.

“I appreciate your concern in making a plan to protect me, JT, but it won't be necessary.”

“Pia, they're swarming,” he said, voice deep. “But if you won't come to me, I'll have to insist on at least providing secure transport to your apartment. There will be a car waiting when you leave.”

She looked down at the scrawled note on her desk from her boss's secretary and her stomach clenched. He was waiting for her. “Thank you, that's sweet, but I'm sorry, I have to go.”

She straightened her jacket and smoothed her hair back, convincing herself she was ready for this meeting. That she had a chance of salvaging her career after the unacceptable mistakes she'd made. She would tell him everything, expose her actions and decisions as much as she needed to climb out of the hole she'd dropped herself in.

When she reached Ted Howard's reception room, his secretary smiled sympathetically. “He said you could go straight on in.”

“Thanks, Margie.” She took a deep breath and opened the door. Ted looked at her for a long moment over his glasses, then waved her into a seat.

“Is it true?” he asked.

She gave a short nod and interlaced her fingers over her crossed knees. “As you know, when I was working from home, it was on the doctor's recommendation for my safety. The doctor also recommended having someone in the apartment when I showered or did anything that would be dangerous if I fainted. JT was my only option. I have no family in town and he's the father of the baby. So he stayed at night. I ensured there was no paperwork pertaining to the case in the apartment when he was there.”

Ted nodded and removed his glasses. “Pia, I have to
be honest. I've had some calls from clients who've seen the story on the news. They're worried about the firm's integrity.”

Her mouth dried. She'd brought the firm into disrepute. Her lack of self-control around one man had created a domino effect that now had the potential to destroy so much.

She swallowed her pride and made the only offer she could see to fix the mess she'd created. “I'm prepared to take all my vacation time owing to carry me through to the start of maternity leave. With the extra months after the birth that the partners have approved, it should be enough time for the media interest and the speculation to have died down when I come back.”

“That should help,” Ted said, not missing a beat, obviously having considered this option already. “You should also know that when you come back from leave, things will be different. This has been a serious breach, Pia, and your new position will reflect that.”

He
was
demoting her. “I understand,” she said, her voice not much more than a croak.

“How long will it take you to hand your cases over?”

Digging her nails into her palms to keep from going numb, she checked her watch. Four-thirty. “I'll make a start now. I should have it all done by lunchtime tomorrow.”

“Do it,” he said, then looked back down at the papers on his desk, dismissing her with none of the professional esteem he'd given her until recently. Despite flinching at the sharp slap of the rejection, she had to acknowledge it was nothing more than appropriate for the person risking the firm's reputation, so she set her shoulders, ignored the sinking feeling in her stomach, and returned to her office.

The rest of the afternoon went by in a daze of handing cases to other lawyers and emptying her in-box. By the
time she reached her building's foyer, she was almost drooping with mental exhaustion. Two security guards met her and explained JT had sent them, and that there were already journalists outside the building. Goose bumps erupted across her skin, so she thanked them and followed them through to the basement garage.

When they turned into her street, she saw a small group of journalists and photographers awaiting her on the sidewalk outside her apartment building and groaned. JT's warnings—and offer to stay with him—replayed in her mind, but she dismissed it, and when the media called out asking for a comment, she ignored them. The security escorted her to the door and saw her in before leaving. The idea of living in a fish bowl sent shivers across her skin, but as she'd told Ted Howard, it would die down soon enough.

As evening fell, even her bags of netting and ribbon couldn't distract her from the swelling group out front. With no response, they'd become more bold, and now there were regular knocks at her front-facing window. It had state-of-the-art security, so there was no physical threat, but she felt assaulted every time they called out.

“Pia, let us tell your side of the story!”

“Ms. Baxter, don't you want to set the record straight?”

Her pulse spiked each time there was a noise from outside. A voice in her head was telling her stress was bad for the baby, which made her worry more. She picked up Winston and curled up on the sofa with only one dim lamp. Seemed she'd underestimated the media interest.

Her phone rang until she pulled the cord out from the wall, and she turned music up to drown out the noise and the knowledge that they were there.

When her cell buzzed, she wanted to ignore it, but years of responding to the little piece of technology kicked in and she checked the number on the screen. JT's name
flashed up and she trembled with relief. She thumbed the talk button and before he could try to convince her or say a word, she blurted, “Send the car back.”

 

JT opened his door to find Pia with Winston in her arms, and two of the security team behind her, one carrying Pia's bags.

Her eyes were huge in her face, her skin too pale and he couldn't help but reach for her and enfold her in his arms. He'd been tormented by visions of her answering her door to the media and being confronted by a sea of camera flashes. Of a paparazzo carelessly jostling her and triggering a miscarriage. Of her being scared, and him not there to protect her. His chest had been too tight to take a full breath since the story had broken this afternoon.

He cleared his throat and spoke to the security men over her head. “Did you have any problems?”

The larger one shrugged as he put the bags down in the entranceway. “We've handled worse. Took her out a back entrance and around to a side street.”

“I appreciate it.” More than they could know. He held Pia tighter. There was a squirming against his chest as Winston struggled free and jumped down.

The men nodded and left to join the rest of the guards he'd hired this morning. JT would be making no public comment and wasn't taking a chance that the press would get close to him or Pia. Thankfully, now that she'd come to him, the guards would be able to keep a clearance zone around her and the vultures would have to try elsewhere to feed the public's morbid curiosity. They'd had their fill of Ryder's and Seth's lives, so the media's insatiable appetite for details of Warner Bramson's legacy was trained squarely on him and Pia.

After the door closed, Pia pulled back and he scanned her face. “Are you okay?”

“I am now.” She looked down and a faint blush stole across her cheeks. “I don't know why a few reporters at my door would shake me up so much.”

He could think of a number of reasons. Starting with how stressed she must be about her job. And being pregnant, responsible for the baby's well-being, had to make her feel more vulnerable. But he didn't want to remind her, so he smiled—albeit grimly—and picked up her bags. “It's your home—it's criminal that they can stalk you there. Anyone would have been stressed.”

She flashed him a grateful smile and for a long minute he simply looked his fill—her copper waves hung loose around her shoulders, and were messily tumbled as if she'd just come from bed. Her fingers had probably twined through her hair from worry, but whatever had caused it, the effect was dramatic and beautiful and his hands wanted to touch. The last thing she needed after being rattled by the paparazzi was his coming on strong, so he clenched his fists around the handles of her bags and restrained the impulse.

“Come on through,” he said and pointed to the wide archway that led into the living room. She walked in and slowly looked around, taking in the large flatscreen on the wall, and the distant views of the city lights through the open curtains.

What was she thinking? She'd known he'd done well financially, but the size and location of this apartment was irrefutable evidence of just how well. Was she surprised, being confronted with the transformation in fortunes of the outcast boy she'd befriended? Did she hate the dark color of the walls, the stark white trim?

She turned back to him and smiled. “This is nice.” Her
voice was genuine and, stupidly, he felt like he'd been given some kind of award.

Shaking off the feeling, he put her bags on a low table and guided her to the L-shaped sofa. “What did your boss say about the media story?”

“I'm using up vacation time and starting maternity leave early.” She sank down into the corner and tucked her feet underneath her. “I handed some things over today and just need to go in for a few hours in the morning.”

She looked so despondent that he couldn't say what he was thinking—that it was probably for the best. He could keep her safe here, and she could take it easy for the rest of the pregnancy. It might not be great for her career, but a large part of him was glad.

He leaned back and rested his feet on the coffee table. “Did he mention the promotion?”

“It's off the table.” She grimaced. “In fact, I'll be demoted when I go back.”

“I'm sorry.” He took her hand, intending to offer comfort, but as soon as her palm slid against his, his pulse fractured.