His Baby. Muriel Jensen
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rooms with you. That’s lame enough to sound like damning evidence to me.”
She drew a breath, prepared to advance the plan to save her marriage. Getting down and dirty. “That’s because you want to believe the worst of me,” she said, inclining her upper body toward his to make her point. “You were happy with me, Killian, and on some level I don’t understand and you probably don’t, either, happy doesn’t work for you. You’ve chosen against it. You work night and day and offer up on the altar of your sister’s disappearance whatever part of you might once have been fun.”
He took a step toward her, his eyes darkening. “Don’t speculate on what you don’t understand,” he threatened.
“Then tell me about it so I do understand!” she pleaded. “Explain to me what the kidnap of little Abigail did to you. Let me close enough to help you!”
“I don’t need you to do that,” he said with alarming sincerity. “You’re always trying to root around inside me and clean things up with your terminal good cheer. Well, you were like a…an aberration for me! I’m attracted to serious, stable women, not impulsive ingenues who laugh and party all the time as though life were just one big high.”
Hearing herself described as an aberration hurt, but she stood her ground and swallowed the pain. “You fell in love with me,” she said unequivocally.
He denied that with a shake of his head. “At a difficult period in my life, I fell in love with the idea of escaping through you.”
She scoffed at that notion inelegantly by blowing air between her lips. “Escaping it, my aunt Fanny! You thrive on the crunch, Abbott! You love facing down the enemy and making him flinch. The November Corporation is never going to launch a successful takeover and you know it. Abbott Mills is too strong. Brian probably set up that whole hotel-room scenario to rattle you, and you fell for it because you wanted a reason to send me away. I was helping you forget business once in a while and that terrified you because it meant you had to be a real human being instead of a hard drive, a digital modem and a collection of sophisticated circuitry.”
Apparently unimpressed with her assessment of his personal makeup, he put a hand to his chest and asked calmly, “Well, if you’re so offended by this machine, why did you apply for and accept a job here?”
“Because while I am offended by what you’ve turned yourself into,” she replied candidly, “I know the man you really are inside. And I want that man back.”
He stared at her for a moment in silent disbelief. Then his gaze hardened. “I’m divorcing you,” he said finally.
“I have to sign the papers,” she reminded him.
He accepted that with a nod. “If you refuse, that won’t hold it up forever. Eventually, the divorce will be allowed, and that’ll be that.”
“Yes,” she admitted. “But until that happens, I can live in hope that you’ll wake up one morning and remember what life was like when you let yourself be happy. What it was like when we were together.”
Clearly surprised and angered by her stand, he opened his mouth to offer an argument, then seemed to change his mind. He turned and stalked away.
KILLIAN HEARD Cordie following him as he headed for the elevators. She ran around in front of him and walked backward as he kept going.
“Am I fired?” she asked. “You didn’t say. Because I have scores of appointments with suppliers over the next few weeks and several critical shows scheduled for—”
Yes! he wanted to shout as she went on. But that little union troublemaker, Hunter, was pretending to sort through a rack of shorts while clearly tipping an ear in their direction. He didn’t need November to hear rumblings among the employees of an unfair firing.
Jack’s Soprano interpretation of termination would have been simpler than this, he acknowledged to himself grimly.
“No,” he replied, pushing the Down button. “But I’ll be going over your performance with a microscope. And I’ll take advantage of the first excuse I can find to fire you.” The elevator bell dinged and the doors parted. He stepped onto the car and turned to her with an air of dismissal. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going down.”
She looked into his eyes with a gleam in hers as the doors began to close. “Yes,” she said. “You are.”
Chapter Two
In the back seat of a Lincoln limousine, Killian took one last look at Abbott’s market quotes, checked the status of his personal portfolio as well as Chloe’s investments, then closed his laptop and put it aside with disciplined determination. He had to clear his mind this weekend. He could usually work sixteen-hour days for months at a time, but he hadn’t taken a full weekend off since before the Cordie-Brian debacle and he was due.
He could forget about business for forty-eight hours. Chloe was spending the weekend in the city, his brother Sawyer had left yesterday for New Hampshire on a chore for the Abbott Mills Foundation and Campbell had left a message saying he was going to Florida to check out a position at Flamingo Gables, the summer home of the Elliott Prathers.
Great. He really didn’t need his estate manager to quit at this point in time, but he knew his younger brother had issues with Shepherd’s Knoll and no amount of reasoning with Campbell seemed to change his mind. Even Chloe’s pleadings had been to no avail. So all Killian could do was let him go and hope that distance made Campbell’s heart grow fonder of his half brothers and the headache that was Shepherd’s Knoll, their family home.
“Finished for the day, Mr. Abbott?” Daniel Chambers asked from the front seat. He was African American, in his early sixties and wearing a dark business suit. Killian’s father had hired him decades ago.
Initially, Nathan Abbott had refused to hire him because he’d refused to wear a uniform. Nathan had driven himself to town the morning after the interview and had an accident on the Long Island Expressway while trying to talk to his secretary on the car phone. He’d hired Daniel that afternoon.
“Yes,” Killian replied, stretching out his legs. “You’re not going to ask for investment advice again, are you?”
Daniel laughed. “Linus Larrabee gave Fairchild advice in Sabrina and the chauffeur had millions by the end of the movie.”
“True. But it was the senior Mr. Larrabee who gave him advice, and Fairchild had a beautiful daughter for Linus to fall in love with.”
“You’re a married man!”
“Not anymore.”
“Come on, Mr. Abbott. You’re going to love Miss Cordie till the day you die. Only trouble is, you don’t know how to live with her.”
“God wouldn’t know how to live with her. I don’t need that kind of trouble.”
Daniel didn’t reply. That meant he disagreed. Killian felt alarmed at how little stock the family and staff put in Cordie’s adultery. “You’re supposed to humor me, Daniel,” Killian teased. “Tell me I’m right, that women are generally no damn good—except for your Kezia, of course—and that nobody needs the kind of trouble they bring.”
“Man’s character is honed by trouble, Mr. Abbott,” Daniel philosophized with a bright smile in the rearview mirror. “Your mother running off made a hardworking man out of your father. Otherwise, the way he was goin’, he’d have gambled away your inheritance.”
“But she proved the women-are-no-damn-good theory.”
“Yep. Every once in a while there’s one. Still, she’s responsible for you and Mr. Sawyer bein’ here, and that’s no small thing. You make money like nobody’s ever seen and Mr. Sawyer makes sure all the extra gets spread around, doing good work.”
That might have been an oversimplification of the situation, but Killian liked the sound