The Billionaire's Fake Engagement / Man From Stallion Country. Robyn Grady
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setting his cup on the table, Alex lowered into cushioned wrought iron chair and Mateo did the same then asked, “How can I help?”
“I need to find out if I’m the father of that baby, and I need to find out fast.”
“Estimated dates?”
“If I am the father, twenty-four weeks.” He’d checked his PDA calendar late last night.
“Gestational age would be twenty-six.” Mateo’s pensive look cleared. “To get a more accurate estimate, we need an ultrasound. Scans are routine. Her GP or OB would likely have scheduled at least one. There’s no risk to mother or unborn child.” Elbows on the chair arms, he laced his fingers, index fingers steepled. “Now for some good news regarding prenatal paternity tests.”
Alex rubbed his brow. He could use all the good news he could get.
“Nowadays they’re easy to perform and results are available within days,” Mateo told him. “We need a blood sample from the mother and a simple mouth swab from you. The results are one hundred percent accurate on negative identification and ninety-nine point nine percent accurate on positive.”
“So if I’m not the father of the baby we’ll know conclusively.”
Mateo nodded and reached for his cup. “If you’d like the lady to see me, I’ll happily fit her in and arrange for the tests to be performed.”
Sounded good. “I’ll speak with Bridget…though I’ll need to get past her father first.”
“As I recall, you’re not Joe Davidson’s favourite person.”
Mateo knew about the hydraulics contract affair. “After last night I’ve officially hit the bottom of his Christmas card list.”
Mateo sipped, shrugged. “You have better things to worry about.”
Alex huffed over a wry grin. “Want to hear the real kick in the pants? Three months ago I met a woman I share an amazing chemistry with and now she wants to end our affair.”
“So you love this other woman?”
Alex sat back and gazed at the half-dozen sparrows darting across the flawless blue sky. “No. But I do know I love being with her.” Especially in the bedroom.
His parents had been in love. As a child their bond had made him feel safe. As an adult it had made him proud. Teresa and Zach had the right recipe, too. Their till-death-us-do-part vibes radiated out, an invisible yet powerful force. But he didn’t see that kind of all-consuming love in his future.
He agreed wholeheartedly with his father’s advice about choosing the right woman to marry. Raymond Vacanti, a friend from university days, had been less analytical. The month after Ray was left a sizeable inheritance, he’d fallen hard for a gorgeous, streetwise blonde. Two years into the marriage, Blondie got herself a good lawyer, filed for divorce, was awarded most of Ray’s money then moved onto the next chump. Anyone could see that woman was a heartless tramp. Poor Ray, however, had been blinded by love.
Alex had made his mind up early never to leave himself open like that. As his father had said, better not to love at all than to fall in love with the wrong kind of woman.
But Natalie…
Alex sat up and tugged his ear. “Natalie’s special.”
Mateo white teeth flashed. “That does sound serious.”
“I did say I intended to marry her.”
Mateo’s gaze dropped to his middle fingertip circling the rim of his cup. “And if you are the father of Bridget Davidson’s baby?”
“Guess we’ll know soon enough.”
“Indeed.” Mateo thought for a moment, then downed his coffee and sat forward. “I have tennis booked with Eddie Boxwell at eleven. Care for a hit? I promise to let you win a set.”
Alex chuckled. “Such a generous man.” He eased to his feet. “I have another stop to make this morning.”
“Bridget.”
“Natalie.” He cringed. “This is complicated.”
“You can’t change the outcome of that child’s paternity.”
“And I can’t turn back time.”
Mateo pushed to stand and strolled with Alex back toward the kitchen. “It’ll work out.”
“Is that your bedside manner talking?”
“Is it helping?”
Alex grinned. “I’ll let you know in a few days.”
Fifteen minutes later, after stopping to make a purchase, Alex entered the reception area of Phil McPherson’s Real Estate. A number of clients sat with attentive agents among strategically placed desks. In fact, the place was buzzing, but Natalie was nowhere to be seen.
On slick castors, the receptionist rolled a chair over from her workstation to the main desk.
“Can I help you, sir?”
Hands landing on the chest-high counter, Alex craned his neck to peer around the photocopier corner. “I want to buy a property. Nothing under ten million. I need your top agent.”
The woman’s chocolate-brown eyes rounded before she surreptitiously examined his monogrammed shirt, his Swiss brand watch. Then, doubling up on her smile, she rang through to an extension.
“Natalie, a gentleman here wants to look at properties.” A pause. “But he’s interested in nothing under ten mill.” She stole a glance at him from beneath her lashes. “Uh-huh. I’ll let him know.” She replaced the receiver and beamed over an anything-you-want smile. “Natalie Wilder will be right out.”
Her sentence wasn’t finished before Natalie breezed out from a back office, her gait catwalk-model worthy, her soft sable hair pulled back in an elegant workplace twist. When their gazes clashed, she stopped dead and the professional smile slid from her face.
“You.”
He could almost smell her fresh flowery scent from here. Could almost feel her sensuous curves moulded against his. God, he’d missed having her share his bed last night. Tonight they’d make up the deficit.
When her eyes narrowed, he remembered his story, which, he decided now, was true. Visiting Mateo this morning made him realise he needed to upgrade. More than that. His sleek and sizeable bachelor pad had served a purpose but now he would invest in a real home. A place in which he envisaged a woman. The sensual, bristling, goddess of a woman standing before him.
He nudged his chin at a poster to the right of the reception station. “I’d like to see that property.”
Natalie knotted her arms over her smart navy blue dress. “Sorry, I’m unavailable.”
He merely grinned. Wrong answer.
While the receptionist gaped at Natalie, Alex opened his mouth to coax her to agree, but another voice interrupted their discussion.
“Natalie, would you come through to my office, please?”
Alex’s attention skated over to a fifty-something-year-old who wore blindingly shiny shoes and slicked back hair. From the glint in his eye, Alex saw he was a man of purpose. The sign on his office door read, Principal, Phil McPherson.
Natalie held her breath.
She’d told Alex last night it was over. She’d told him this morning she wasn’t interested in meeting. Yet he’d ignored her—surprise, surprise—and now she had Phil breathing down her neck. If her boss had heard any part of their conversation, she knew what he wanted and it wasn’t to collect lunch orders.
Natalie eyed Alex. He looked so in control, so breathtakingly masculine and commanding, in deep blue jeans. The man was hot,