The Millionaire's Pregnant Mistress. Michelle Celmer
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is as much for yours and the baby’s protection as mine. It was abhorrent the way the media exploited my wife’s death. For months after, they made my life a living hell. There was an unauthorized biography written about her life and a made-for-television movie. Neither was what you could consider flattering, or had barely an ounce of truth. Trust me when I say that you don’t ever want to know what that’s like.”
“When I found out from the girls at work who you were, I went to the library and did a little research.”
“What kind of research?”
“Old newspaper articles and magazines, Internet stuff.”
He wanted to feel indignant, but really he had done the same thing. “And what did you find?”
“There was a lot. So I get why you’re worried.”
“Things have finally died down. I don’t want to stir the pot. The fewer people who know about this the better.”
“I understand. I don’t want that, either.”
He didn’t want to alarm her, but it was only fair that he caution her about what she might be getting herself into. “I’m not suggesting you should break all ties and avoid your friends—”
“I don’t have any friends.” She smiled and added. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. Like, oh poor me I have no friends. It’s just that I haven’t lived here long and I work so many hours I never really found the time to make too many friends. Not close ones, anyway.”
And now he was basically telling her not to make friends at all.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll be careful.”
“Then I guess that just about covers it,” he said.
“Um, actually, there are a couple more things.”
“Okay.”
“I’m not sure how to say this, so I’m just going to say it. I won’t live with an alcoholic. You have to stop drinking.”
Her words took him aback. What had given her the impression he had a problem with alcohol? Because he had an occasional drink? Who didn’t? Or had she read about him in the tabloids? Removing himself from the public eye, hiding away, had only served to fuel the media’s interest. God only knows what rumors they had been spreading lately. He’d stopped paying attention a long time ago.
He opened his mouth to deny the accusation, then realized that was exactly what an alcoholic would do. Damned if he did, damned if he didn’t.
Instead he asked, “If I refuse?”
“The deal is off.”
Seeing as how he wasn’t an alcoholic, it was a small sacrifice to make.
“I’ll quit drinking,” he told her.
She gave him a wary look, her pixie features sharpening with suspicion. “You’ll quit drinking. Just like that?”
“Just like that.” He walked over to the minibar, picked up the decanter of scotch he kept there and poured its contents into the sink. He enjoyed an occasional drink, but it wasn’t something he couldn’t live without.
She narrowed her eyes, as though she wasn’t sure she could trust him. “You’ll put it in the contract?”
“Done. Anything else?”
“After the baby is born, I’d like you to loan me the money to go back to school. I got my GED last year and I really want to go to college.”
“I’ll set up a trust that will ensure you’ll never have to work another day in your life.”
“Sitting around eating bonbons and getting facials may appeal to the women in your inner circle, but I want to do something with my life. I want to be able to look back and feel that I’ve accomplished something.”
“I have nothing against working mothers. But I do believe a child should be raised by its parents, not a nanny or a babysitter.”
Tess wondered if his movie star wife had been planning to give up her career once their child had been born.
Somehow she doubted it.
If Ben wanted to take care of his child financially, that was one thing. She was more than capable of taking care of herself.
“If it makes you feel any better,” she said, “I agree completely with your values. I wouldn’t even consider going back to work until the baby is in school. So it might take time for me to pay you back.”
“I don’t want you to pay me back.”
“But I will anyway.”
He looked as though he might argue, then gave his head a shake, like he realized it was probably useless. “Is there anything else?”
“The other day you said I could keep my doctor.”
“If that’s what you want.”
“Good. Then, I guess that covers it.”
One of those cute smiles curled his mouth and like a silly school girl she felt her knees go weak. The man was too good looking for his own good. He was wearing black again, as he had every single time she’d seen him—a good indication that he really didn’t own anything that wasn’t black. Maybe it was his trademark. She wondered if he wore black boxers, too. Or maybe bikinis.
Whatever his underwear preference, it was clear she’d made him happy, and for some reason that made her feel really good. The man had been through an awful lot. She’d tried to convince herself he was just some guy who happened to be the father of her baby. But when they were near each other she felt so…aware of him. Connected in a way that she didn’t think had anything to do with the child she was carrying.
Even worse, she was pretty sure he felt it, too.
“I’ll call my attorney and have him draw up the papers. Mrs. Smith will see you to your suite.”
“Before you do, there’s something about this that just doesn’t make sense to me.”
“What’s that?”
“If you don’t want the baby, why are you doing this?”
He was quiet for a moment and when he looked at her, his eyes were so sad. “I take responsibility for my actions.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think that’s it. If you didn’t care about this baby, it would have been a hell of a lot easier to pay me off and send me on my way.”
“I never said I didn’t care.”
If he did care, why couldn’t he be a part of the baby’s life?
And just like that, something clicked. Suddenly this whole thing made sense. Why he insisted she stay here. Honestly, she didn’t know why she hadn’t figured it out before.
He blamed himself for his son’s death. By keeping her here, he thought he was keeping her and the baby safe.
“Nothing is going to happen to me or the baby,” she said. “I’m used to taking care of myself.”
He gave her a look so full of pain and anguish she felt it straight through to her heart. “I didn’t protect my son and now he’s gone. That’s one mistake I won’t be making again.”
The malevolent Mrs. Smith led Tess up the wide marble staircase to her room. Tess followed her through the ornately carved double doors—didn’t they have any normal doors in this place—to what would be home for the next five months.
Her first impression was the sheer size of the room, but it mostly just looked dark and depressing. The scent of paint and new carpet lingered underneath the refreshing lilt of potpourri. She looked around for a light switch. “Don’t you people ever turn on