His Forever Family. Sarah M. Anderson
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would do anything for that baby, he realized. Anything. Even attend a wedding.
He knew it. And given the way her cheeks colored a pretty pink and she dropped her gaze, she knew it, too.
It’d make his life a hell of a lot easier. A plus-one for this wedding in exchange for a little information, and he wouldn’t have to worry about finding a media-ready, parent-approved date who wouldn’t view the event as a stepping-stone to bigger and better things. He could go with Liberty and might even enjoy himself. At the very least, they could run on the beach along the Pacific Ocean in the mornings instead of Lake Michigan.
She wouldn’t be able to say no.
And he wouldn’t be any better than his father was.
“As promised,” he said and turned to walk back to his office.
He heard her chair squeak as she got up to follow him. “That’s it?”
“That’s it,” he said, sitting down. He felt strange and he wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t a bad feeling. He stared at the list she’d given him. He’d gone out with a half dozen of these women and he knew the other half. Any one of these women would make a great date to this wedding and appease his mother.
He crumpled the paper up and threw it in the trash.
“You’re not going to...” She let the sentence trail off but he could hear the words anyway. You’re not going to force the issue?
“Insist you do something you obviously don’t want to that falls outside of your job parameters? No,” he replied, trying to sound casual. He was seriously just going to let this go? If he didn’t get a date and he didn’t take Liberty, he’d just go alone. Sure, his parents might disown him for it. “Why would I?”
He glanced at her then and wasn’t surprised to see her looking as if she’d stepped into a room full of snapping alligators. “That’s...thank you.”
Even stranger, that made him feel better, as if her appreciation was all that he needed. “You’re welcome.”
But she didn’t leave. Instead, she took another step into the office. “Marcus...”
It wasn’t as if she hadn’t said his name before. She had. But there was something about the way she said it this time that held him captive.
“I know I shouldn’t ask this—but...” She looked down at the paper again as if he’d given her a sheet of solid gold. “Can I leave early today? Just today,” she hurried to add. “This won’t be a regular thing. I just...”
And he remembered how she’d soothed the baby, how she hadn’t just hummed a lullaby but had told that little child that he was loved and he was strong and he could make it. And Marcus remembered how watching her holding that baby had rocked him to his core.
“I’ll come in on Saturday and finish up whatever I don’t get done this week,” she offered, mistaking his silence for disapproval.
He stared at her. Did she think he didn’t know she came in on Saturdays anyway?
Liberty went on. “This won’t affect my job performance at all.”
And he was reminded that he held all the power here and that meant he could gain something from this interaction.
He looked at his watch. It was three forty-five—early by their standards. “Here,” he said, holding out his hand for the paper. “Give it to me.”
“Oh.” The disappointment on her face was a painful thing to see. “Yes, of course.” She trudged forward—there was no other word for it—and handed over the paper. Then, without looking him in the eyes, she turned and headed back to her desk.
“Get your things packed up,” he said, picking up his phone. He had nothing to gain from this but he was going to do it anyway. Because he wanted to. “We’ll go together.”
* * *
Somehow, Liberty found herself sitting in the passenger seat of Marcus’s Aston Martin, zipping up Lake Shore Drive. One minute, she’d been crestfallen that she couldn’t immediately go see the baby. The next, Marcus had been hustling her into his car—his very nice car—and personally driving her to the foster home.
She’d never been in his car before. Oh, sure, she’d attended a few business functions with him, but those were either after-hours events when she’d take the El as she always did or business lunches with potential clients when he’d have her order a car big enough for the entire group.
The Aston Martin was his personal car. And he drove it like a bat out of hell. Of course he did, she thought as she surreptitiously tried to grab on to the door handle when Marcus took the curve without braking. He drove as he ran.
“We don’t have to go this fast,” she said, trying to sound calm. “I’m not in that big of a hurry.”
“This isn’t fast,” he replied and then, the moment they hit the straightaway, he gunned it. Liberty was pushed back into the seat as Marcus accelerated, weaving in and out of traffic. Lake Shore Drive was still mostly clear—it wouldn’t fill up for another half hour with commuters. Marcus took full command of the road.
If she wasn’t so concerned with dying in a fiery heap by the side of the road, she’d be forced to admit that it was kind of sexy. How often did a billionaire act as her personal chauffeur? Never.
They zipped up the drive in record time and then cut over on Peterson. There, at least, Marcus slowed down.
She was nervous. What if this foster home was one of the best—and it still wasn’t very good? She tried to think back to the three homes she’d been in. The first home was fuzzy. It was just after she’d started kindergarten. Less than two weeks into the school year, her mom wasn’t there when she got off the bus one day. Liberty had done okay on her own for a few days, going to see Grandma Devlin for food, but before long, she’d been in a foster home.
She didn’t remember much, just that it got cold in her room and that the other girls were mean to her. But she hadn’t been hungry and there hadn’t been the same kind of screaming and fights as at home.
“Why do you need to see him so badly?” Marcus asked when they got stuck at a light.
Liberty tensed. Were they still in the tug-of-war they’d been in earlier? Or were they back to normal? Since they were out of the office, was this the kind of conversation they might have while they were running?
Marcus glanced at her. “I’m just asking, Liberty,” he said, sounding tired. “And it has nothing to do with the wedding.”
Oh, if only she could just answer honestly. But how would that be possible? Because the truth hurt. And what would Marcus think if he knew the truth about addict moms and foster homes and being an unwanted, unloved little girl? Would he still want to take her to this stupid wedding—or would he look at her and see an imposter who was not to be trusted?
Still, she understood what he wanted to know. It wasn’t her deepest, darkest secrets. It was a simple question that was only one step removed from polite conversation. She had to hope he’d be satisfied with her answer. “I had a little brother,” she said and she was horrified to hear her voice quaver.
She’d never said those words out loud. Who would she have said them to when she was a kid? Her foster parents? They had enough kids to worry about. Her teachers? That would have only made them pity her more, and she had enough of that. Her friends? Ha.
“I didn’t realize,” Marcus replied. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s no big deal,” she lied because that lie came as naturally to her as breathing air. None of it had been a big deal because she’d survived. She’d thrived. She could afford to ignore her past now.
Or she had been able to. Right until she’d seen the little baby in the trash. Then everything had come back.
She