The Million-Dollar Catch: The Substitute Millionaire. Сьюзен Мэллери
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this time was different, that this time he would stay. Only he never did.
Julie had stopped believing in him a long time ago but her mother led with her heart.
“He’s not a man to be tied down,” her mother said quietly. “I’ve accepted that. I wish you could. This will always be his home and I will always be his wife.”
“I can’t do that. I can’t understand him and I won’t forgive him.”
“Having a child changes you,” her mother told her. “It changes everything.”
Julie knew it wouldn’t change her enough to see her father’s view of the world, but that didn’t matter. She shifted the subject to something less divisive.
“Ryan thinks we should get married,” she said.
“What do you think?”
“That he’s crazy. We’ve had one date. Okay, it went really well until he admitted he was a lying rat, but that’s not enough to build a life on.” She looked at her mother. “You’re going to tell me I should marry him, aren’t you?”
“I’m going to say that he’s your baby’s father and that you need to meet him at least halfway.”
“What if I don’t want to?”
Her mother smiled. “That’s mature. I’m so proud.”
“Mo-om.”
“Julie, life is about compromise. What Ryan did was wrong. If he’s really the jerk you say, then why is he going to all this trouble to convince you he’s sorry? Jerks don’t bother with things like that. And how is marrying you a win for him? If he was only interested in the victory, he’s already slept with you.”
“Ouch.”
“I’m just saying that men who are into the conquest for the sake of numbers don’t hang around. He’s hung around. He says he wants to be a father to his child. That’s not a bad thing. You don’t have to marry him. You don’t have to do anything. But you might want to think about getting to know him. Start there and see where it goes. Maybe he’s secretly a good man.”
“You think?” Julie asked. “With my luck?”
Her mother’s words made sense, but Julie so didn’t want to go there. She wanted to stay mad. It was safer. Getting to know Ryan meant putting herself at risk. What if she started to believe in him? He would only hurt her.
“Not every man is Garrett,” her mother said.
“You want to bet?”
Eight
Ryan lived in a high rise condo that was all glass and steel. Julie was sure there had to be more to the construction because this was L.A. and earthquakes were a certainty. Regardless of what high-tech innovation kept the building standing, she was unimpressed by the modern coldness of it all. Sure, the location was great and the concierge service would take care of all the details of life, but she preferred her slightly scruffy neighborhood where lawns were normal and kids played on the sidewalk.
Of course being critical of Ryan’s building was a fabulous distraction, she admitted as she stepped off the elevator and walked down the hall to his condo. She’d decided to take her mother’s advice from the previous weekend and get to know the man. She’d called him and suggested they get together, and he’d offered lunch at his place.
She rang the bell. He answered right away.
He seemed taller than she remembered, but maybe her brain was fuzzy from the shock of seeing him in casual clothes. The designer suit was gone. In its place were worn and faded jeans and a long-sleeved white shirt. Both emphasized his lean strength.
His shirt was open at the collar, exposing a tanned chest and a light dusting of hair. She remembered touching him there, running her hands across his warm skin and feeling him react to her caress. Of course she’d pretty much touched him everywhere, and that memory playground was a place she wanted to avoid.
“You made it,” he said. “Come on in.”
“It wasn’t that hard to find.”
“I thought you might change your mind,” he admitted. “After last time.”
Right. Last time. Their fight in her office, because he’d proposed. Just thinking about it made her angry enough to spit, although honestly, she’d never spit in her life. But if anyone was going to make her, it was Ryan.
Still, she wasn’t here to argue with him. “You said on the phone we could pretend that never happened.”
He smiled. “You’re right. So this is me pretending. Come on in.”
He stepped back and she entered the foyer. The shock was instant. They were the only living things in a room of glass and metal.
“I think it’s important we get to know each other,” she told him, deciding it was polite to ignore the stark surroundings. “The baby isn’t going away and neither are you. So here we are.”
He smiled. “But you’d like me to go away.”
“It would uncomplicate my life.”
“Boring isn’t better.”
“I’m not talking boring,” she said. “Just a few less surprises.”
“I’ll try to keep them at a minimum. So we’re having a truce with lunch?”
“I’m willing. We’ll think of it as a spicy side dish.”
His dark gaze settled on her face. “Meaning I shouldn’t mistake your pleasant conversation for forgiveness?”
She’d hoped they could avoid discussing what had happened, but maybe that was impossible. “I’m working on it.”
“I understand. You’re not easy. I respect that.”
Despite her nervousness, she laughed. “Apparently I am easy. That’s what got me into this position.”
He took a step toward her and lowered his voice. “You’re not easy—I’m irresistible.”
“Why doesn’t that make me feel any better?”
“I’m not sure,” he said, leading the way through the foyer. “At least it feeds my ego, which I always appreciate.”
“I can imagine,” she murmured.
“Come on. I’ll give you the tour.”
She followed him out of the foyer and into an open living space. His unit was on the corner, so he had two walls of glass, giving him a perfect view of Hollywood, the Hollywood Hills and to the east, in the distance, the skyline of downtown.
Here the predominate color was gray, accented with wood tones and bright splashes of red and orange from a large canvas of very abstract art. The end tables and dining-area table were glass and steel. The sofa and chairs, a medium gray. The walls were a lighter shade of the same. The hardwood floors and leather ottoman provided the only hint of warmth.
“What do you think?” he asked.
She set her purse on an Ultrasuede-covered chair. “It’s, um, very modern.”
“Not your thing?”
“Not really.” And based on the little she knew about Ryan, she would guess it wasn’t his thing, either.
“I was dating a decorator when I moved in. She offered and I took the easy way out.”
Ah, so it wasn’t his style. Funny how that made her like him a little.
He led the way into the kitchen. It opened onto the rest of the room and was all hard surfaces done in gray. Concrete countertops, various shades of gray in the polished glass tile backsplash, stainless appliances.
“You