Underfoot
Leanne Banks

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated to all of you who have stepped up to the plate to help a child or a parent or a sibling when it was inconvenient, difficult or painful for you to do so. You make the world a better place.

Underfoot

If you’re going to walk down a primrose path,

make sure you’ve got a great pair of shoes.

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Thank you to my readers, great friends and family who encouraged me to write and finish this book. Cindy, Rhonda, Cherry and Pam, thank you for being there for me. Special acknowledgments to other people who inspire me, my sisters Janie and Karen, my husband, Tony, and my children, Adam and Alisa. And always, the best parents in the world—mine! Thank you, Mom, for not being like Trina’s mom and for teaching me common sense, and Daddy, for the gift of persistence.

CHAPTER ONE

IT WAS LATE when she sank onto the barstool. Still wearing her best dressed-to-kill sexy tuxedo dress, Trina Roberts had received immediate attention from the bartender.

“Hot night?” he said. “What’ll you have?”

Hot didn’t cover it. Train wreck didn’t cover it. Nuclear explosion didn’t cover it. “Mojito, please.”

“Coming up,” he said.

While she waited, she took a deep breath and glanced around the bar. The crowd had thinned out. Her gaze stopped on a man seated at the other end of the bar, his head bowed over a squat glass of amber-colored liquor.

His tux tie was unfastened along with the top buttons of his shirt. She knew that profile, the hard jawline, straight nose and dark hair uncharacteristically mussed over his forehead.

Walker Gordon.

Her heart clenched for him. He looked miserable, desolate, destroyed. She couldn’t blame him. After all, he’d just been publicly dumped at the altar by Brooke Tarantino, the great-granddaughter of the founder of Bellagio Shoes. That was bad enough, but the dumping had been conducted on live television with millions of witnesses.

Trina had attended the wedding because she worked for Bellagio in PR. In fact, she’d worked with Walker, an advertising contractor that Bellagio had hired several years ago. From the beginning, she’d liked his combination of quick intelligence and sense of humor. And it didn’t hurt that he had a great body and sexy eyes.

The bartender returned with her drink and she paid her tab, sipping the mojito and trying not to look at Walker. Her gaze, however, kept wandering toward him. She’d never seen him missing an ounce of confidence. He oozed solid assurance and even though she hadn’t totally understood his relationship with Brooke Tarantino, he’d once revealed part of the attraction. Brooke was entirely too self-involved to ever want children. That suited him fine because he didn’t want children, either. Being a father, he’d confessed, would be a surefire path to failure for him. He’d made a joke in that way that people did when they weren’t completely joking, that he’d come from a long line of bad fathers and he was determined not to continue the trend.

His broad shoulders were folded forward. He leaned against the bar, his gaze vacant.

Pity mixed with anger. Why had Brooke done this? Especially this way. With a sigh, she picked up her mojito and wandered to the stool beside him.

He glanced at her and closed his eyes, but gave a nod of recognition.

“Sorry,” Trina said. “Sucks to be you.”

His mouth twitched slightly and he opened his eyes, taking a sip from his glass. “Can’t disagree.”

“I saw one reporter get you. Did anyone else—”

“I didn’t move fast enough. Two more caught me before I left the church.”

She winced. “Sorry.”

“Can we talk about something else?”

Trina nodded, another surge of sympathy sliding through her. “Sure,” she said, searching her mind for a neutral topic. She took a few sips and swallowed the last of her mojito. “So, what’s your favorite game show?”

“Jeopardy,” he said taking a sip. “What about you?”

“Wheel of Fortune.”

“You’re a word person,” he said.

“And you’re a fact person,” she said.

“Pretty much.”

Silence fell between them. Trina felt the urge to fill it. “There was another old game show I liked. I only saw it in reruns. Name That Tune.”

“Oh, yeah. I think I saw it a couple of times when I stayed home from school because I was sick.” He tossed back the rest of his drink and lifted two fingers toward the bartender, indicating he wanted a refill for both of them. “What kind of music do you like?”

“A little of everything. Back then I liked whatever my mother hated,” she said with a smile.

His lips tilted in a half smile. “Teenage rebel?”

“Some. I just couldn’t do the Stepford debutante thing. I dug in my heels and made my mother crazy. What about you?”

“My father hogged all opportunities for rebellion. He left my mother and moved to the Cayman Islands, started a financial service and married a woman down there.”

Trina winced. “That doesn’t sound like fun for the wife and kid he left behind. Did you ever visit him?”

“Kids, plural. I visited him once.” He paused. “I come from a long line of terrible fathers. There are just some men who shouldn’t reproduce. I thought marrying Brooke was a good idea because she said she didn’t want any children, and she was so focused on herself that I knew…” He broke off and took a long swallow from the drink the bartender had placed in front of him.

Trina couldn’t help thinking about the huge differences between Walker and Brooke. He’d probably always been studious and responsible, levelheaded to a fault. Brooke, on the other hand, was rebellious, daring and fun. She supposed it hadn’t hurt that she was beautiful and her father was loaded.

What a night, she thought, feeling the mojito ease the rough edges. She took a sip of the fresh drink the bartender had placed in front of her.

“Not to dwell on the evening, but you missed some other drama. One of the reality TV hosts did a live interview with Jenny Prillaman about the degree she didn’t get from design school.”

Walker tore his gaze from his glass and looked at Trina. “Oh, no. You’re kidding.”

Trina shook her head and shuddered. “It just got worse after that. She confessed that she didn’t have a degree. Alfredo Bellagio turned purple with rage and fired her on the air.”

Swearing, Walker raked his hand through his hair. “Oh, what a mess. Poor kid.”

“I felt sorry for her. She’s nice. Very talented with or without a degree.” She glanced at her watch, wondering if she should leave him to nurse his misery by himself. “I should probably go home.”

“Must be nice,” he said. “I’m sure as hell not going back to my condo. You can bet there will be reporters camped outside. Even if I made it inside, the phone would be ringing off the hook or friends would be pounding on the door to check on me.”

She made a face. “Yeah, that wouldn’t be fun.” She looked at his shoulders hunched toward the bar. He usually stood so straight, everything about him confident. Not tonight. Another shot of pity stabbed at her.

“My apartment’s right around the corner if you’re willing to take the couch,” she impulsively offered.

He glanced up at her and looked at her, really looked at her. She felt his gaze take in her face then skim over her body and back up to her eyes. “You sure?”

Something in his greenish hazel eyes made her stomach take a dip. She shook it off. It was probably just the second mojito. “Yeah.”

“Okay, I’ll take you up on your kind invitation,” he said. “Let’s just have one more for the road.”

“I haven’t finished my second,” she said.

He took a long drink. “Swallow faster,” he said and motioned again for the bartender.

Two more mojitos later, she might have been fuzzy-headed, but she had enough sense to let the bartender call a cab. She supposed they could have walked, but her coordination wasn’t at peak level.

Neither was Walker’s, but he helped her out of the car. “You’re really nice to let me have your sofa, Trina. I always thought you were nice,” he said, his voice slurring slightly.

“Thanks, Walker. I always thought you were nice and very intelligent,” she said, feeling wobbly on her Bellagio heels as they walked to the elevator.

“Which floor?” he asked.

“Six,” she said, aiming for the right button and missing. “Oops.”

He chuckled. “Let me do it,” he said, and he missed, too.

For some reason, that struck her as hilarious. They both reached for the button and finally pushed number six. The elevator, however, stopped on floors four and five due to their misses. By the time they arrived at her door, she and Walker couldn’t stop laughing. She managed to find her keys in her purse. He managed to take them from her hand and eventually found the one for her door.

Trina tripped as she stepped inside, but Walker caught her against him just before he closed the door. “Whoa,” he said. “No falling. You’re not allowed to fall.”

Grabbing his shoulders for balance, she took a deep breath and caught a draft of his aftershave. “You smell really good,” she said.

“Do I?” he asked and grinned. He ducked his head into the crook of her shoulder and inhaled noisily. “You do, too.”

“Thanks,” she said, liking the way he felt against her. She liked the way his hair looked when it was messed up, not so smooth and perfect. And he had really sexy eyes and one dimple. “Did you know that you have a dent right here?” she asked, lifting her finger to the dimple that added charm to his hard jaw.

“Yeah, I probably got it fighting with my brother or sister,” he said, his voice growing a stronger Southern drawl.

“Where are you from?”

“All over the South,” he said. “Lived in too many houses and trailers to count. That’s what happens when Dad doesn’t pay the bills.”

She shook her head in sympathy, the movement blurring her vision. “Before he died, my father spent a ton of money on a court fight for his business principles.”

“Ouch,” Walker said. “Fighting for your principles in court can be very expensive.”

“Yeah,” she said, and got distracted by his thigh pressed against hers. She studied his eyes. “Did you know that your eyes change colors?”

He shook his head. “No. I haven’t looked at them much lately.”

“They look very dark green right now, but they don’t always look green,” she said.

He leaned closer. “Yours are brown. Like cocoa. Or hot chocolate. I always liked hot chocolate.”

Her heart tripped at the husky sound of his voice. “Oh.” His mouth was inches away, she thought, and wondered what it would be like to kiss him. She’d wondered more than once before, but had always pushed aside her thoughts.

As she should push them aside right now. “I should get a blanket and pillow for you,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said and she felt his green gaze drop to her mouth. “Why do you think Brooke dumped me?”

Trina’s heart squeezed tight. Her chest hurt. “I have no idea.”

He met her gaze. “Really? How was I not enough? Not smart enough? Not good-looking enough? Not exciting enough?”

“I’d have to say no to all the above,” she said.

“Really?” he asked and she knew the combination of liquor, his wounded ego and heart were talking. He would croak when he realized he’d discussed this with her.

“Really,” she said, because she believed it and she felt sorry for him. “You’re smart, entirely too good-looking, and plenty exciting.”

One side of his mouth tilted upward and he pulled her against him in an embrace. “You’re really nice, Trina.”

“I’m not just being nice,” she told him. “I’m telling you the truth.”

“You’re nice. You feel really nice, too,” he murmured against her hair.

She heard a change in his voice and felt her sense of gravity shift. A muted sense of warning pushed through her muddled mind. She should back away. She did, looking up at him. “I should get your blanket,” she whispered again.

He nodded, but lifted his hand and slowly rubbed his finger over her lips.

Trina was surprised but mesmerized by the soft touch.

“For such a nice girl, I’ve always thought you had a bad-girl mouth.”

Surprise bumped at her again. “Why?”

“Your lips are puffy,” he said, still rubbing her mouth. “And pink. Except when you wear red lipstick. Makes a guy wonder all sorts of things about your mouth.”

He was saying things he shouldn’t, but his voice was low and sexy and the darkness surrounded them like a cocoon.

“Would you mind if I kiss you just once?” he asked.

It was just a kiss, her liquored-up brain told her. One little kiss, and heaven knew she’d been curious about him. What could one little kiss hurt?

“Just one,” she said and he immediately lowered his mouth to hers. He surprised her by taking his time. He rolled his lips against hers as if he wanted to feel every bit of her. Every bit of her lips, she reminded herself.

When he increased the pressure, she automatically opened her mouth and he slid his tongue just inside, just for a second. Then he flicked his tongue over her lower lip and back again.

She felt heat rise. Alcohol flush, she told herself, but everything he did made her want a little more. Make it last longer, she thought. Taste me more. Do that again.

He kept the kiss going in one form or another for minutes, until she was leaning into him, sliding her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. His chest felt so good and hard against her breasts and, oh, he felt better than she’d thought he would.

He took a quick breath and his mouth slid over hers again. “You feel so good,” he muttered against her mouth and lowered his hands to the small of her back, pulling her lower body against his.

More than his chest was hard. His obvious arousal made her heart speed up and her mind slow down. It was so easy to let her senses take over. He smelled so good, his mouth was like a drug, and the slight gentle rhythm as he moved her against him felt too sexy for words.

Some vestige of something pushed from deep inside her brain and she pulled back. The man had been scheduled to get married tonight. His heart was hurting. His ego was hurting. “Maybe we should stop,” she said.

“Yeah. Just one more,” he said, kissing her again.

This one went on longer than the other and Trina felt so hot she could have been in the Caribbean on a summer afternoon. He moved one of his hands over her waist, up her rib cage to the side of her breast. He slid his thumb inside the halter tux top and just glanced her nipple.

She inhaled sharply.

He stopped and swore. “What the hell am I doing? This is crazy. I shouldn’t be—” He broke off and swore. “But hell, I want you.”

He lowered his hands to her hips and Trina tried to make her mind work. She felt his heart beating against her chest. She could almost taste the knot of rejection he felt in his throat, the misery, and the desire to forget it until he had more strength to deal with it. She didn’t know which she felt more, turned on or sorry for him.

She lifted one of her hands to his jaw and saw the mixture of pain and arousal in his eyes.

He pressed his mouth against her palm.

“What you really want is a night of hot, mindless sex,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said. “With you.”

Because she was the woman who was there. Trina sighed. He was so hot, she thought, and she really didn’t want to bludgeon the poor guy’s ego again tonight. In this situation, there was really only one thing a nice girl could do.

CHAPTER TWO

Nine months, ten days, twenty-two hours and thirty-six minutes later…

“WHERE ARE MY DRUGS?” Trina screamed through the pain ripping her in half.

The nurse gently squeezed her arm. “I told you. The anesthesiologist is on his way.”

“You said that hours ago,” Trina accused, feeling her contracted muscles relax slightly. She wiped her sweat-dampened forehead with the back of her hand. She was in hell. The cheerful yellow chintz curtains and Yanni music playing in the background couldn’t fool her. She was in pain, her mother was spouting platitudes and Nurse Beamer, aka Nurse Hatchett was her guide through labor hell.

“No, you’re confused,” Nurse Hatchett said. “I told you that twenty minutes ago. The anesthesiologist is with another patient right now”

“You’re lying.” Trina felt the beginning of another contraction and desperation stabbed at her. Her muscles tightened around her abdomen like a vise, making it impossible to breathe. “I’m never going to have this baby, am I?”

“Of course you are,” the nurse said, and placed a cool washcloth on Trina’s head. “As soon as the doctor checks you, I’m sure he’ll tell you to start pushing.”

Trina moaned. “When is he coming? Where is he? Why isn’t he here?”

“Darling, the nurse already told you,” her mother said. “He’s delivering another baby. He’ll be here any minute.”

“That’s what she said about the anesthesiologist,” Trina said, shaking her head.

“I really don’t know why you can’t just knock her out,” her mother said to the nurse.

“Please knock me out,” Trina pleaded. “Please.”

“We don’t do that anymore except for emergency C-sections,” the nurse said.

“Cut me,” Trina said, her contraction easing. “Please just get it over with. Where’s the doctor?”

“He’s coming,” the nurse said.

“I don’t believe it,” Trina said. “He’s eating donuts. Or banging someone in the closet,” she added. “Men are pigs,” she muttered, imagining what Walker Gordon was doing right now—drinking wine in some French bistro with a thin French woman or eating a croissant and delicious coffee for breakfast with a thin French woman. Depending on the time zone. Trina didn’t even know what time zone she was in right now.

“Miss Roberts,” a man said cheerfully as he swept into the room. “I’m Dr. Hanson. We met during one of your monthly office visits. Let me check your progress.”

Trina vaguely remembered the man. After two shift changes, they were all starting to look the same. He was happy, she noticed as every muscle in her body began to tighten in another contraction. For a fleeting second before the pain gripped her, she wondered if he’d been eating donuts or getting laid. The pain took her breath again and she grasped at his arm. “I need an epidural,” she begged. “Knock me out. Shoot me. Something,” she said.

“Really, darling,” her mother said in a chastising voice. “Where is your dignity?”

“Get her out of here,” Trina told the nurse in a voice that sounded as if she was possessed. Where had that voice come from? She felt her fingers pried loose from the doctor’s arm.

The doctor moved to check her. “You’re ready to push,” he said.

“What about my epidural?”

“It’s time for you to push. You don’t need an epidural.”

“Says who?” Trina asked, panic cutting through her. “I want an epidural. She promised me an epidural,” Trina said, pointing to the nurse.

“I promised that the doctor would be here soon,” she said.

The doctor flipped through her chart. “Did this patient take prepared childbirth classes?”

“Yes, but I didn’t practice the breathing because I knew I would get an epidural,” she said, her abdomen tightening again.

“Lean forward and push,” the nurse said, supporting Trina’s shoulders.

Trina did as she was instructed. She would do anything to get out of pain. It wasn’t labor. It was hell.

She continued to push for what had to be days. At some point, her mother was thrown out. Trina vaguely recalled a derogatory comment about how her hair looked.

Nurse Hatchett coached, “Just one more push.”

Big fat lie. One more meant a million more.

“I can’t do this much longer,” Trina said, out of breath and nearly out of energy.

“Sure you can. You’re almost there.”

“Are you sure it’s a baby?” Trina asked, wanting whatever it was to just get out of her. “Maybe the ultrasound was wrong and it’s a mule. Maybe it’s a beast. Or an alien. Or—”

Another contraction hit and she gave a scream as she pushed for all she was worth.

“Good girl,” the nurse said.

“The baby is crowning,” the doctor said.

“It’s human?” Trina asked, caught between delirium and excitement.

“Sure is,” the doctor said with a chuckle. “Give me another good push.”

“One or two more,” the nurse said. “And I really mean it this time. Watch the mirror.”

Trina pushed again, and had the odd sensation that she was going to split apart. She pushed through the sensation.

“Head’s out. Look at that hair,” the nurse said.

Trina glanced at the mirror and felt disconnected from the image of her body and the baby’s head. Still not completely birthed, the baby began to cry.

Trina watched in awe. “It’s crying.”

“Let me get the shoulders,” the doctor said and seconds later, he held her screaming baby in his hands. “It’s a girl.”

Relief and elation rushed through her. She couldn’t take her eyes off the baby. “It’s a girl. My baby’s a girl. She’s okay, isn’t she?”

The nurse weighed the baby, wiped her off, put a little socklike cap on her head, wrapped her in a blanket and handed her to Trina. “Eight pounds and eleven ounces.”

Trina’s heart overflowed at the sight of her baby, the weight of her in her arms. “You’re gorgeous,” she said. “You’re a sweetie pie and I’m going to make your life as happy as I possibly can and I won’t make you go to private girls’ school if you don’t want.”

She glanced up at the doctor and the nurse, who, she was sure, were angels in disguise. “Thank you so much,” she said, her eyes filling with tears. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Nurse Beamer said.

“But I was a pain.”

“No more than most,” the nurse said with a smile. “I couldn’t wait to see you with your baby in your arms.”

Trina looked down at her baby and touched those tiny, tiny fingers. “I’m so glad I have you,” she whispered to her daughter. “But I never want to do this again, so I’m never ever going to have sex again.”

CHAPTER THREE

ONCE UPON A TIME Trina had been in control of her life. She’d successfully distanced herself from her overbearing mother and managed her romantic life so that she enjoyed casual dates, but nothing that interfered with her plan to remain single and free of domestic responsibility. Yes, there’s been a blip in keeping her love life under control by the name of Stan Roch when she’d been nineteen, but she’d taken care of that and put it behind her.

Once upon a time, although she normally kept her apartment neat and clean, she’d only been in charge of her own laundry and she only bought food she needed, which she could eat on her own schedule.

Once upon a time, she’d been on the fast track to her second promotion at the designer shoe company, Bellagio, Inc. She’d been someone management knew they could depend on to be prompt, levelheaded, poised and always ready with a brilliant idea.

All that had changed as a result of her temporary insanity fifteen months ago. As she rushed into her office late brushing food particles from her suit, she prayed no surprises would greet her.

“Good morning, Dora,” she said to the PR group’s assistant. “How are you? Any pressing messages?”

Dora, who Trina was convinced was determined to replace her, took a casual sip from her latte. “Yup. There’s a meeting with marketing for the new season that started five minutes ago.”

Trina began to sweat. She stared at Dora. “This wasn’t on my schedule. Why did they start without me?”

Dora shot her a faux sympathetic glance. “Because Alfredo Bellagio called the meeting.”

“Crap. Is he actually on site or just speakerphone?”

“On site.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I offered to take notes for you during the meeting.”

I’ll bet you did. She felt her stomach tighten with pressure. The beginning of a panic attack. She’d never had panic attacks until fifteen months ago.

“Where are they meeting?” Trina asked.

“Umm, let me see,” Dora said, slowly perusing the few papers on her desk.

Trina resisted the urge to give Dora’s hair a strong yank. She was convinced that beneath Dora’s silky black locks lay a pair of horns. “I guess I can call Marc Waterson’s assistant. She would know.”

Dora immediately lifted a piece of paper and offered it to Trina. “No need. Here’s the message Ben left for you.”

Executive room, she read and rushed into her office to pull her laptop from the case then checked her desk for any further messages that Dora the devil may have delayed delivering. Nothing.

Mentally reassuring herself that her tardiness was no big deal, she took the elevator up to the executive floor and gave a nod to the gatekeeper.

She turned the doorknob as quietly as possible and entered the conference room that held at first glance about a dozen Bellagio executives and key employees who all looked at her.

Trina gave a falsely confident smile and murmured, “Good morning.”

She despised being late, especially for business meetings. It immediately put you behind the game, and Trina had always tried to stay on top of her game.

Bellagio was predominantly dominated by men of Italian descent with years of chauvinistic conditioning. She’d known from the beginning she would be putting herself in an uphill battle to get where she wanted to go. The chemistry of the people at the company, and the fact that they took innovative, even ballsey measures to increase their market share had been irresistible. Plus, she loved the product. Great shoes. Bellagio shoes did amazing things for a woman’s legs, rear end and her self-confidence, and for her, they were free.

Taking a seat at the large table next to her PR chief, she opened her laptop and booted it up. A cute peppy blond woman resumed speaking, pointing to a Power-Point presentation with pie charts indicating public opinion polls, studies and demographic profiles.

She typed a few notes as the woman began to display proposed ads for Fall and Winter shoes. After concentrating on the ads, she suddenly noticed the ad company’s logo in the corner of the screen.

Her stomach immediately drew into a tight knot of panic. Eager to get the attention away from her tardy entrance, she’d only taken a cursory glance around the room. She looked more thoroughly, her gaze taking in each person.

Leaning forward, she looked past her PR chief, past two marketing execs to VP Marc Waterson as he cocked his head to one side and there he was.

Trina’s breath stopped in her chest. Panic roared through her. Oh, my God, please help! She had known that eventually she would see him again. She’d prepared for a hundred scenarios, even this one, but her brain locked up.

Walker Gordon rose to his feet beside perky girl wearing his confident, reassuring half smile. His shoulders were broad and his black suit fit his lean, muscular body well. He was obviously still working out, she observed sourly. He was so well-groomed he almost could have been a model, but Trina knew that the sexiest thing about Walker wasn’t his body. It was the way his mind worked.

He was a fascinating mix of conservative and risk-taker. He came across as both solid and innovative and he didn’t rely on his charm to get a deal.

“We’re excited about this ad campaign, and about the prospect of working more with Bellagio,” Walker said. “Thank you for letting us bid for your business again. We’d love to have your feedback.”

He gave a nod of respect to Alfredo Bellagio and glanced around the room. His gaze lingered on her for a long moment and she suddenly felt self-conscious. She knew what he saw. Her hair had grown past her shoulders and was in dire need of a cut and style. Despite early mornings and nonstop days that sent her crawling to bed by 10:00 p.m., she still hadn’t quite gotten rid of fifteen pounds she’d gained. Feeling his scrutiny, she wondered if he saw the dark circles she tried to hide. Had she put on concealer this morning? Everything had been a blur.

“What is the model wearing underneath her trench coat and how can I get her number?” a guy from marketing cracked, breaking the silence.

Trina felt light-headed. She wondered how long a person could go without breathing. She had to get out of here. Just for a moment. A week would be better. But she would take a moment.

Her oxygen-deprived brain quickly provided an option. She pressed a button on her cell phone, casually placed it on the cherry table and seconds later it vibrated.

She picked it up. “Looks like someone from the Atlanta Constitution,” she whispered to her supervisor, Ben. “I’d better take it. Excuse me,” she said, and darted out of the room.

Heading straight for the restroom, she locked the door behind her and covered her face with her trembling hands. “Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap. What am I going to do?”

When Walker had left for Paris and hadn’t returned for over a year, she’d told herself the fairy tale that she would never have to talk with him again.

The memory of what had happened between them the night of his nonwedding bombarded her. Exhausted from handling the press, maximizing exposure opportunities at the same time she performed damage control, she’d slipped into a bar close to her apartment for a mojito.

And that had been the beginning of when her pity had gotten her into mojito trouble, Trina thought as she stared into the ladies’ room mirror. She needed to pull herself out of Memoryville and get back to that meeting. Yanking a towel from the dispenser, she dampened it with cool water and pressed it against her forehead and throat.

She could do this. She could return to this meeting and pretend that she was okay-fine for a maximum of forty-five minutes. She could pretend. Pretending was what PR was all about.

Trina wasn’t pretending, however, that she didn’t want Bellagio to renew the advertising contract with Walker’s company. She’d strongly advocated putting the contract out for bid and the board had decided to give Walker’s group first shot. If they didn’t pan out, then Bellagio would accept other bids.

Reentering the room, she gave a businesslike nod and returned to her seat next to her supervisor.

“I like the sophistication of this campaign,” Walker said. “The models we have in mind will portray wealth and beauty. They’ll be the kind of person your customer wants to be.”

“Anyone mention the bar ads yet?” she whispered to her boss, Ben.

He glanced at her and shook his head. “No. Good point.” He turned toward Walker. “One of the things we want to achieve with this campaign is appealing to a younger demographic. I believe we discussed via e-mail that we wanted to see an ad in a bar featuring a well-dressed woman with men surrounding her offering her drinks. And of course, she would be wearing Bellagio shoes. To target younger men, we also suggested an ad of a man watching a sports game with beautiful women on either side.”

Walker shot a quick glance at perky girl.

Perky girl cleared her throat. “We’d already put together the proposal when we received that memo, but we can have something for you by the end of the week.”

Uh-oh. Busted. Trina saw just a hint of tension in Walker’s jaw, but she’d bet Miss Perky would do well to get her resume ready for some serious faxing.

“We can have it for you later this week,” Walker corrected in a crisp voice. “I’ll take care of it myself.”

“Who’s going to cover for Walker when he’s in Paris?” Trina whispered to her supervisor.

Her supervisor nodded. Ben cleared his throat. “We also need to know who will be covering Bellagio. If you’re handling international accounts in Paris, we need to know who our point person will be.”

Expectant silence descended over the room. Trina glanced at the board members and saw that Ben had asked the question on everyone’s mind. The question that would open the door for Bellagio to work with another advertising agency.

Walker’s answer and subsequent absence from her life would provide her with a peace of mind that money couldn’t buy.

She turned her attention to Walker.

His jaw was set and the expression in his eyes reminded her of a gladiator going into a fight. The expression made her uneasy.

“I’ll be your point man,” he said. “I’m not going back to Paris.”

CHAPTER FOUR

AS SOON AS HE ANNOUNCED himself as the point man, that he wouldn’t be returning to Paris, Walker felt the level of tension in the room drop at least sixty percent. The knowledge boosted his confidence and would ultimately boost earnings for his company.

Brooke Tarantino might have dumped him at the altar on live television. She might have stomped his ego into the ground and made him look like a joke. She might have succeeded in motivating him to leave Atlanta in order to get his mojo back.

But Walker was hell-bent and determined on keeping the Bellagio account. He’d nurtured this account from the beginning and it was growing bigger every year. Atlanta would burn again before he would let another agency raid his account and take the spoils.

“That’s good to know,” Alfredo Bellagio said. “So you’ll give us some more ads on Friday and we’ll think some more.”

Walker nodded, feeling a shot of adrenaline. He would need to hustle to pull it together, but he could do it. He’d done it before. Everyone in the room stood, taking Alfredo’s words as a signal that the meeting was adjourned.

Walker shook hands with Alfredo and one of the VPs sitting next to him. He caught sight of Trina Roberts moving toward the door and he remembered that one hot night….

Her gaze slid away from his. Curious, he thought. They’d parted on good terms. It had been a one-night stand. Damn good one from what he could remember. Unfortunately he couldn’t remember much because he’d been loaded.

He sure didn’t want awkwardness between them now. Not now when he needed every Bellagio insider backing him. He made a mental list of who he should contact personally. Marc Waterson would be inclined to back him. After all, his fiancée, Jenny Prillaman, had been fired as a result of the Brooke wedding debacle. Fortunately she’d been rehired. He made another mental note to contact the marketing VP.

And Trina, he thought. He may as well catch her in her office now. Turning to the assistant that had been assigned to him, he motioned toward the presentation materials. “Please go ahead and pack everything up, Stephanie. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”

He left the conference room and made his way toward Trina’s office, waving at people he hadn’t seen in over a year. With a nonchalance no longer feigned, he’d prepared himself for discomfort, pity, even lame jokes. A year away from Brooke Tarantino had cured him. Hell, a month away from her had cured him.

Truth was, Brooke hadn’t crushed his heart. She’d just blasted his ego and temporarily disrupted some of his business plans. After a year spent developing the European market and enjoying the attention of more than one creative, attentive mademoiselle, he was as good as new.

He punched the elevator button and nodded at the receptionist. “How’s it going, Thelma? I meant to ask, are your kids doing okay?”

The woman blinked. “Oh. I wouldn’t have expected you to remember. It’s been a long time since you’ve been—” She broke off and cleared her throat as if she didn’t know what to say.

“And a lot has happened. All water under the bridge, now,” he said cheerfully. “And your kids?”

“Good,” she said, clearly relieved. “Benjamin is playing Little League this year.”

He shook his head. “They grow so fast. It seems like just yesterday you were talking about his first steps.”

“You’re so right,” she said as the elevator door slid open. “You have a good day. It’s good to see you again, Mr. Gordon.”

“Walker,” he corrected. “You’ll be seeing me a lot more often now.” He took the elevator down two floors and headed for the PR suite of offices.

A dark-haired woman sitting at the receptionist’s desk gave him a thorough once-over and smiled. “How can I help you?”

Her voice oozed invitation. He smiled in return. “I just wanted to speak to Trina Roberts for a minute. Is she in her office?”

“Sure. She just returned from a meeting. You can go on in…Mr.…?”

“Gordon. Walker Gordon.” He saw the moment the woman registered who he was.

“Oh, Brooke’s—” She covered her mouth in horror.

“No problem. That’s ancient history,” he said, and headed for Trina’s office. The door was open. She was standing in front of the window, gazing outside as if she were lost in thought. Her hair was longer than he remembered, darker blond. The style was more casual. He remembered Trina as chicly manicured from her head to her toenails. She filled out the suit she was wearing differently. She’d been model slim the last time he’d seen her.

He watched her bite her lip and wondered what else was different. “Hey. Better not let Ben see you staring out the window on company time,” he joked.

She jerked around and gaped at him, her chocolate-brown eyes wide with surprise. Almost shock. “Um, hi. What are you doing here?”

“Good to see you, too,” he said and laughed.

“Sorry,” she said, pushing her hair behind her ear and moving toward her desk. “How was Paris?”

“Healing,” he said. “But I’m ready to be back. I’d like to know you’re on my side with keeping the Bellagio account. Can we get together for dinner tonight? Tomorrow night?”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

She refused him so quickly he blinked. “Hmm.” He picked up her left hand. “I don’t see signs of engagement or marriage.”

“I have other commitments. Sorry.” She shot him a quick glance. “Looks like things are going well for you.”

“Except I’m going to need a new assistant,” he said, referring to the gaffe during the presentation.

“Not a bad idea,” she said with a smile and glanced at her watch. “I wish I could talk, but my schedule’s packed today.”

“Okay,” he said, wondering at her lack of friendliness. “You’re not upset about that night we—”

“No,” she said before he could finish. “It was just one of those strange things that happen. Like a meteor dropping in the desert. Or an airplane dropping frozen water on a house.”

He wrinkled his brow at the comparisons she chose for the night they’d spent together. He wasn’t sure he liked the second one. “I don’t really remember that much about—”

“Neither do I because we were both smashed. So there’s really no need to discuss it.”

He nodded. “I hope it won’t affect our working relationship.”

“If we work together, I’m sure it won’t be a problem. Long time ago.”

“We will be working together,” Walker said, determined to remove any doubt. “I’ll do what it takes to keep the Bellagio account.”

She didn’t jump for joy at his words, making him wonder. Trina had always been friendly toward him. Not seductive, but nice. Why the change?

“You do want me for this account, don’t you?”

“I want the very best for Bellagio,” she said. “How can we be sure you won’t head back to France?”

“Because I said I’m staying here. It’s not just for business reasons,” he told her. “My uncle just had heart surgery. He needs someone to live with while he recovers. I’ve been elected.”

She looked at him in surprise. “Wow. I never saw you as the nurturing type.”

“I’m not,” he said. “But this is different. He showed up for my graduations, gave my sister and brother and me money every now and then. He didn’t ever have any kids of his own, but he kept an eye on us after my father cut and ran.”

“Gordon curse,” she murmured.

“What?”

“Oh, it was something you mentioned about why you didn’t want to have children. Some sort of curse, long line of fathers…”

“Yeah,” he said, surprised that she recalled. “I didn’t remember telling you that. I don’t talk about my father much.”

She shrugged. “It was a very strange night.” She glanced at her watch again. “I need to run. I’m glad you’re doing well.”

“Same,” he said. “I’ll be seeing you soon and often.”

“Take care,” she said and slid into her chair, opening her laptop.

TRINA WATCHED the very fine backside of Walker as he left her office, and told herself to breathe. Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of her baby daughter Maddie’s picture and held it in her lap. Her fingers began to tremble.

She hadn’t counted on him returning to Atlanta, let alone to Bellagio. Walker had plenty of accounts. He didn’t need Bellagio. And why put himself in a position where he had to respond to gossip and bad jokes about his failed wedding?

But she hadn’t counted on his pride. Trina had convinced herself that she wouldn’t meet him face-to-face again until she was on her death bed, or at least until Maddie, her daughter, graduated from high school.

She swore under her breath.

Dora burst through her doorway. “That was Walker Gordon. He’s so hot. Why did Brooke dump him?”

Trina’s hands continued to shake and she closed them around each other over the photo in her lap. “I couldn’t say,” she managed.

“But he seems like he’s so over her.” Dora twirled her finger around her hair. “You worked with him before. What do you know about him? He obviously works out. Do you know which club he belongs to? Where does he hang out?”

Trina stared at Dora in exasperation. “How would I know? He’s been hanging out in Paris for the last year.”

“Chill out. I was just asking. I’m single. He’s single. I wouldn’t mind a chance to help rebuild his—” She paused and smiled like a female devil. “Ego.”

“I don’t think his ego needs rebuilding,” Trina muttered.

“Oh really?” Dora asked, her face lighting up. “What makes you say that? Did he say anything about me? He gave me the look, you know, like he liked what he saw.”

“I’m sure he did,” Trina said, hoping her agreement would shoo Dora away. “You’re a pretty girl.”

Dora gave a coy smile. “Well, what a sweet thing to say. Thank you,” she drawled. “I’m so lucky I’ve never had a weight problem. I can eat anything I want.”

Before she’d gotten pregnant, Trina had been able to eat anything she wanted. Not so now. She gritted her teeth and smiled.

“You know, if you would lose ten pounds and cut your hair, I bet you would get out a lot more.”

“I don’t really want to get out a lot more right now,” Trina said.

Dora appeared not to have heard her. “I’m not sure you could get Walker’s attention but—”

Trina blinked at the insult. She should have seen it coming. The way Dora pulled a knife out in her sweetest tone reminded Trina of her mother. She took a deep breath. “Dora, trust me. I couldn’t be less interested in getting Walker Gordon’s attention.”

Dora fell silent and stared at Trina for a long moment. She narrowed her eyes. “You know something. What’s wrong with him?”

Gross miscalculation to reassure Dora of her lack of interest in Walker. Her second or third miscalculation of the day.

Trina spent the rest of the day unsuccessfully dodging Dora’s questions.

“Does he have a mental condition? Is he a secret sicko?” Dora asked an hour later.

“Not to my knowledge,” Trina said and left for a meeting.

When she returned, Dora followed her into her office. “Is he emotionally or physically abusive?”

“No,” Trina said in horror. “At least, I haven’t heard that he is.”

Dora sighed in obvious frustration. “Then maybe it’s something super personal.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Does he have a forked—” She stopped. “You know. Down there?”

“A forked wha—” She broke off as realization hit. “Absolutely not,” she said, then quickly added, “Not from what I’ve heard.”

Dora frowned. “Then why don’t you want him? He’s gorgeous. He’s loaded. He’s smart.”

“It’s probably hormonal,” Trina manufactured. “Since I had Maddie, I’m not interested in anyone. I’m much more interested in a good night’s sleep.”

“Oh,” Dora said with a nod of sympathy. “And that’s probably why you’ve let yourself go.”

Trina blinked. She should have seen that insult coming. Counting to ten, she gritted her teeth. “How kind of you to notice.”

Dora’s eyes widened. “Oh, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. It’s just obvious you’re not putting a lot of effort into your appearance. I could help you if you’d like.”

“That’s okay, Dora. What I’d like is for you to print the press releases for Jenny Prillaman’s new designs along with the accompanying letters. I’d like to give them a quick once-over before they’re sent out. Thanks,” she said in a dismissive tone.

Trina took her quick lunch break at the company day-care center. Due to a bumper crop of pregnancies and babies, Bellagio had joined with another company close by to provide service for the children of their employees.

After going through three nannies, Trina had brought Maddie to the day-care center with a few reservations. She preferred one-on-one care for her daughter and also worried about infections, but she loved the proximity and the convenience of visiting Maddie when she could squeeze in a break during her workday.

She walked into the room for babies where her six-month-old daughter was being fed oatmeal by an assistant teacher. “How has she been today?”

“Sweet, but active. I think she may be an early crawler. Good luck,” the teacher said with a rueful smile.

Just then, Maddie glanced up and caught sight of Trina. She let out an earsplitting shriek and banged her fists on her high chair.

“Looks like she’s happy to see you,” the teacher said.

A thrill shot through Trina. Her child’s adoration for her never failed to give her heart a squeeze. “How’s my little carrot cake?”

Maddie gave a wide oatmeal-lined smile and Trina walked over to take over the feeding duty. She brushed a kiss over her daughter’s soft head where her carrot-red topknot tilted to the right.

“And how has your day been?” Trina asked Maddie as she lifted the spoon to her daughter’s rosebud mouth.

Maddie swallowed the oatmeal and made a gurgling sound and other sounds in an unintelligible language as if she were making conversation.

“Gramma Aubrey would not approve of talking with your mouth full, but we’ll wait on that one. Okay?” Trina said with a nod.

Maddie nodded and opened her mouth for another bite. Trina finished feeding Maddie then cleaned her face and hands despite her baby’s protests.

After changing her diaper, Trina carried Maddie to a rocking chair in a quiet corner of the room and began to rock. After a morning that had shaken every nerve in her body, the weight of her little daughter in her arms felt so reassuring.

As Maddie relaxed, Trina felt her own heart rate and her breathing slow. The muscles in the back of her neck loosened. She would have never predicted it, but in her arms, Trina felt as if she were holding the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

When she’d first learned she was pregnant, she’d panicked and considered terminating the pregnancy. She wasn’t in a position to be a mother. Her apartment was too small. She didn’t have a husband. Plus she had a mother who would die if her daughter became an unwed mother. Aside from that, Trina had plans that didn’t include children until, if, or when she should get married. And there was the fact that Trina had no mommy skills. Heck, she hadn’t even done much babysitting during her teen years. What did people do with babies anyway? They seemed like little savages that cried and peed and cried and pooped and cried and ate and cried some more.

So the obvious choice had been to call the doctor to do the deed and not be pregnant anymore. She’d made a mental note to call the doctor to make an appointment tomorrow, but she’d been too busy that day. And the next tomorrow, she’d felt creepy about calling, which was hormonal, she was certain. So she told herself she would call when she didn’t feel creepy about it, when she felt confident and sure and had no regrets.

That tomorrow had never arrived.

She’d hid her pregnancy reasonably well until her sixth month when her abdomen had sprouted outward. She’d avoided face-to-face contact with her mother by claiming business was taking her out of town. Lord knew, her mother could smell weight gain of anything over a pound.

People at work had reacted with surprise and curiosity. Trina had reacted as if it were perfectly normal for her to be pregnant. Pretty soon, the questions died down.

Her mother, however, had gone into a hysterical frenzy that had required heavy doses of sedatives. She’d locked herself in her bedroom for a solid week.

Trina had secretly hoped she would stay locked up longer, say a year. Or two.

Trina glanced down at Maddie, asleep on her lap. Her dark eyelashes stood out against her fair complexion. Trina had fallen in love with her daughter at first sight. What she didn’t know about child rearing could fill a library, but she understood a few things about what her daughter needed. Love, food, sunshine, a bath, sleep and her mother.

Trina figured she would learn what she needed to know along the way. Lifting Maddie against her chest, she carried her to the crib marked with her name and laid her down, her heart full at the sight of her baby.

Waving to the teachers, she left to return to her office.

DESPITE TRINA’S BEST EFFORTS, Dora continued her inquisition about Walker throughout the afternoon. Every mention of his name shredded her nerves even more. Bamboo sticks under her fingernails or water torture would have been easier to bear.

Promising herself she would buy Lean Cuisine the next time she got to the grocery store, Trina picked up Maddie and grabbed a take-out sandwich through a drive-thru while Maddie sang in her car seat in the back seat.

Before she arrived at her town house, she smelled a distinctive scent that told her the first thing she would be doing when she got inside would be changing Maddie’s diaper.

Grabbing Maddie’s bag and her carryout sandwich, she walked inside, dumped both bags in the foyer and immediately headed for the nursery.

Just as she put on a fresh diaper, the doorbell rang three times. Trina paused. The doorbell rang again, this time five times and Trina tensed. Her mother.

“Please tell me I still have some wine in the fridge,” she said to Maddie.

Maddie gave an unintelligible but sympathetic sounding response.

“Carter-Aubrey?” her mother called from the now open doorway. “Carter-Aubrey, are you there?”

Trina groaned. Her mother refused to call her by her preferred middle name. The other two just did not fit her at all. “I’m here, Mother,” she called from the top of the stairs.

“Thank God you’re okay,” said Aubrey Carter-Elizabeth with a perfect hairstyle, dyed perfectly auburn. She wore a perfect size-four suit and sported a perfect manicure. “I looked at the mess in this foyer and was afraid your house had been looted.”

“Just needed to make a quick diaper change,” she said. “What brings you here?”

“Oh, look at her. She’s a mess. Nanna Aubrey will get you shiny clean in no time,” she said, reaching for her granddaughter. She glanced down at the fast-food bag on the floor. “Dear, you really need to eat better food. You’ll never lose your baby weight if you keep eating that stuff.”

“Thanks for the encouragement, Mother,” Trina said with a heavy trace of sarcasm.

“I’m just looking out for your best interest. Someday you may meet the right man who will be a good father for our little Madeline and you want to be ready.”

Meaning Trina clearly wasn’t ready today.

Her mother studied her suit jacket. “What is that?” she asked, scraping her fingernail over the sleeve.

Trina glanced down and shrugged. “Oatmeal? Applesauce? I dunno. I don’t have anything to offer you except baby food and half my sandwich. Are you interested?”

“No, thank you,” her mother said, wrinkling her nose. “I just came over to see Madeline and drop off the application for the Ambrose school for girls. You probably should have signed her up the day she was born. They have a very long waiting list. It’s so competitive to get in, but since you, your grandmother and I graduated from Ambrose, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

Trina felt her stomach twist as she led the way into her kitchen. “I haven’t decided if Ambrose is the best place for Maddie. I’m looking into the Montessori school.”

Aubrey gasped. “Not there. Oh, darling, there’s hardly any structure, no uniforms and she’ll never meet the right people.”

Trina bit her tongue and lifted her fingers into a peace sign, the sign she used to tell her mother she was overstepping her bounds. Again.

Aubrey dropped her mouth. “Oh, you can’t think I’m interfering by merely bringing over an application. And speaking to Owen Randall in admissions,” she added.

Trina continued to hold her peace sign.

Audrey sighed. “May I give her a bath?”

“She’ll love it.”

Aubrey beamed at Madeline. “She’s as beautiful a baby as you were. You did well.” She tossed Trina a sideways glance. “Although it would have been nice if you’d at least married her father.”

“Life’s not perfect,” Trina said. “You should know. And remember our agreement about the discussion of that subject.” If Aubrey didn’t bring up the subject of Maddie’s father or Trina’s love-life disaster when she’d been nineteen, then Trina had agreed not to bring up the subject of her father or the fact that he’d died due to an automobile accident when he’d been arguing with her mother.

Her mother sighed because her life wasn’t going as planned, either. Aubrey was determined to hang on to the family home despite the fact that she didn’t have nearly enough money for the upkeep. Her mother had married her father for his nouveau riche money. Her father had married her mother for her name, which provided him, an outsider, a way into Atlanta’s upper class. Unfortunately her father had lost most of the money in court, suing over principle. After years spent in court, he’d lost his fight and died a month later, leaving her mother with bills.

Trina had long encouraged her mother to sell the estate to someone who could afford to refurbish it, but her mother, who had apparently watched Gone with the Wind way too many times, had cast herself in the role of Scarlett, determined to hang on to the family land.

Too much melodrama for Trina. She was happy with her condo, Jacuzzi bathtub, and loved the fact that her community association fees covered all the lawn work.

“You want to feed her, too?” Trina asked gently.

Her mother nodded.

“Fine. I’ll get an apron for you.”

CHAPTER FIVE

AFTER FIRING STEPHANIE and temporarily commandeering his partner’s longtime admin assistant, putting together a skeleton ad and calling in favors to get a cameraman, producer and some actors, Walker dragged himself into his condo.

He heard a ball game blaring from the television and smelled the combined scents of a Dominican cigar and burger and fries.

Everything his uncle Harry wasn’t supposed to be consuming with the exception of alcohol.

Walker felt a headache pound through his skull. He knew why he’d been chosen to provide a place for Uncle Harry after his uncle had spent a couple weeks in a rehab facility following bypass surgery. Uncle Harry trusted Walker. Plus Walker was financially independent and the Gordon family had a sketchy history with finances, banks, taxes and creditors.

He shrugged out of his jacket as he walked through the wooden foyer toward the den. His balding, hard-of-hearing uncle sat in Walker’s favorite chair, holding a cigar in one hand and a beer in the other. A telltale bag advertising a fast-food burger joint lay crumpled on the TV tray beside Harry.

With a sigh, Walker crept behind his uncle and plucked the cigar and beer out of his hands.

“Hey! What are you—” Harry jerked around with an expression of indignation that quickly changed to a cagey grin. “Walker, my boy, I was wondering when you would get here.”

“Obviously should have been sooner,” Walker muttered. “You know you’re not supposed to be smoking and drinking. And why bother with the bypass surgery if you’re going to clog up your veins the second you get out of the hospital?”

“I haven’t had a burger in months,” Harry complained, pressing the remote to lower the TV volume. “I was due.”

“How’d you get this stuff? I can’t believe that home health aide allowed this.”

“Oh, I sent her home early,” Harry said with a dismissive wave. “And you know I’m supposed to take short walks. I chatted with one of the security guards. Real nice guy. I told him I thought I could get him a good deal on a double-wide for his thirty-year-old stepson that refuses to leave his house. He brought me dinner after he got off his shift.”

“Did he bring the beer and cigar?” Walker asked, feeling like a mother and not liking it.

Uncle Harry lifted his mouth in a craggy grin. “I keep a stash handy. Hey, it’s not like they’re Cuban. Cubans are overrated anyway.”

“And the beer?”

“Was under your bed,” Harry said and wagged his head from side to side. “Pretty lame, boy. I would have expected better from you.”

Walker rested his hands on his hips and bit his tongue to keep from laughing. His uncle Harry had shown up for graduations and contributed money at times when he, his mother, sister and brother had been broke.

Of course, nowadays his mother, brother and sister still had times when they provided the giant sucking sound in Walker’s bank account. Or Harry’s. Depending on which one picked up their cell phone first.

“Gimme back my beer and tell me what you did at work today, boy,” Harry said.

“No,” Walker said and took the beer and cigar to the kitchen. He dumped the beer down the drain, stubbed out the cigar and grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge. Returning to the den, he twisted the top off one and gave it to his uncle.

Harry made a face, but took a long draw.

“I almost lost a big account today.”

Harry nodded, his gaze turning serious. “Almost means you can still keep it.”

“Yeah,” Walker said. “Bellagio Shoes.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Bellagio. That Tarantino girl who dumped you at that altar in front of God and everybody. Wasn’t she related to those Bellagios?”

“Yeah,” Walker said and took a drink of water, wishing it was bourbon, not because he’d lost Brooke, but because he didn’t want to lose the Bellagio account.

“That’s why I never got married,” Harry said.

“Because you were afraid of being dumped at the altar?”

“No. Because of the Gordon curse,” Harry said. “We stink in the marriage and fatherhood department.”

“I thought it was more of a fatherhood issue. Brooke and I had agreed not to have children.”

Harry snorted. “Talk to your mom if you think it’s just fatherhood. How you gonna keep the account?”

“They like me and trust me. They know I deliver. But they probably think I should have been able to keep my woman under control.” Walker took another draw from his bottle of water. “I need to produce a bang-up commercial fast. If I can pull a few key Bellagio people onto my side, I think I can keep the account. Especially since I’m staying in Atlanta.”

Walker thought of Trina and frowned. He wondered why she had been so reticent with him. He’d enjoyed their friendship before he’d left for France. Trina had been fun to be around. He’d felt as if he could let down his guard with her and everything would be okay. Plus she had assured him that their one-night stand hadn’t meant anything to her. Now, he didn’t know what to think.

“By the way, your phone rang a couple of times, but I didn’t pick up,” Harry said. “Caller ID looked like it may have been your brother.”

“BJ usually calls the house first,” Walker said, wondering if his brother’s latest troubles were financial or personal. “I’ll call him. Enjoy the game, but don’t sneak any more cigars or beer tonight.”

Harry made a face. “Okay,” he conceded. “I won’t tonight.”

Walker walked upstairs to his home office and sank into the leather chair behind his desk. He picked up the phone and dialed the latest number his brother had given him at the same time he opened a desk drawer and pulled out his checkbook. Conversations with BJ almost always involved his checkbook. He didn’t resent it. He was just glad he had the ability. Someone had to make up for his father.

One half of a ring later, he heart his brother’s voice. “Walker?”

“BJ, what’s up?” Walker asked, rubbing his face. “Everything okay?”

“Could be better,” BJ said. “I got a woman pregnant.”

Walker’s stomach clenched.

“Are you sure the baby is yours? You use protection, don’t you?”

“Well, yeah, but this girl, she seems pretty sure.”

“Girl,” Walker echoed. “Tell me she’s over eighteen,” he said, praying his brother hadn’t knocked up an underage teenager.

“She’s twenty-two,” BJ said and paused. “I think she wants me to marry her.”

Walker closed his eyes and could barely stifle a groan. His younger brother had tried to pull off a lot of crazy ventures over the years—trying to use chicken manure for fuel, pet time-share sales, propelling a chain letter he was certain would yield him a fortune, real estate agent for a Caribbean island that didn’t exist.

Walker had bailed him out with repeated warnings. He and his brother parted ways on many things, but one area on which they’d always agreed had been the subject of fathering. Don’t just say no. Say never.

“Walker, I know we always said we wouldn’t have any children, but I gotta tell you I want to be a good father for this baby. I want to be a husband for Danielle. I never thought I would say it, but I want to be a family man.”

For how long? Walker wondered. In all the time Walker had known his brother, BJ had exhibited the staying power of a fly. “BJ, this isn’t another business investment you can dump and move on to another one. This is a human being. A person. Do you really want to take on that responsibility? And this girl? Do you love her enough to stick with her and try to get a real job and earn a real living?”

“I know the baby’s a human being, and yeah, I do love Danielle. I have for a while now. I just didn’t want to tell you. I can tell you don’t believe in me. Can’t say I blame you.”

“I didn’t say I don’t believe in you,” Walker replied. “I’ve always said you had great potential.”

“And you’ve always gotten me out of trouble. You know I can be a hard worker, though,” BJ said.

“Yeah,” Walker admitted. Hard, just not all that focused.

“So, Danielle and I think it would be better for us to move to Atlanta. I’d like to go to work for you, big brother. It’s always been my dream.”

Alarm shot through him. Despite the Bellagio principle of having all those relatives work for the same organization, he’d always firmly believed that family working for family was not a good idea. In fact, it was a horrible idea.

“I can do it,” BJ continued. “I’ll do anything you ask. I’ll run errands. I’ll answer the phone. I’ll help you sell advertising. Just give me a chance.”

Walker cleared his throat. “I’m not sure you would be happy in the advertising field, BJ. You have a lot of entrepreneurial spirit. That’s great, but sometimes it makes it hard to take orders from someone else.”

“Walker, I need to make a fresh start if I’m going to make this work. I need your help like I’ve never needed it before. I gotta grow up and be somebody else’s daddy.”

THE NEXT MORNING, Trina’s supervisor, Ben Ferguson, invited her into his office and closed the door behind him. First clue that something unusual was up.

He sat across from Trina and looked at her for a moment. She returned his glance calmly, although her stomach twisted.

“There are some changes in the works. I need to know if you want my job.”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“If I were to move up, are you sure you want my job?”

“Of course I do,” she said. “I’ve always wanted your job.”

He laughed. “That’s what I like about you, Trina. You want my job, but you don’t stab me in the back to get it. You help me get promoted instead.”

She smiled. “What I like about you is that you realize I’m trying to help you.”

“You’ve made me look good. Good enough that I’m filling in for Anthony Tarantino’s VP spot this summer. He’s talking about retiring.”

“That’s great,” she said. “You’ve got to be pleased.”

“I am,” he said. “But I’m going to be in a limbo phase where I’m filling in for Anthony at the same time I’m still acting PR supervisor. If you’re really sure you want my position, then I need you to step up now.”

“I always have.”

“I hesitate to mention this, but you’ve had a baby and you’re a single parent. Is that going to be a problem?”

“Absolutely not,” Trina said, although she felt the slightest twist of uncertainty. “Women have been successfully multitasking for ages. Have you noticed a dip in my performance?”

“No. You’ve been late a few times and had to skip out early for a few doctor appointments, but you’ve always come through when Bellagio needed you.”

“Thank you for noticing,” she said.

Ben gave her another considering glance. “Okay. First order of business is Walker Gordon.”

Trina’s heart leapt. “You want me to fire him?”

Ben laughed. “Hell, no. The board is still partial to him even after the Brooke fiasco. There’s a point person assigned to him from marketing and we need a point person from PR. That would be you.”

She swallowed a gasp. “I thought he still needed to present a commercial before the board approved him.”

Ben shrugged. “Yeah. It better be a decent commercial. But when has Walker done anything that wasn’t stellar? As long as Bellagio has his personal attention and he’s got his game going, we’re going to go with him this time. Marc Waterson himself told me.”

She swallowed seven swear words. How was she supposed to work with Walker? If he was going to stay in Atlanta, she was going to have to tell him about Maddie.

Her expression must have revealed her lack of enthusiasm. “You don’t look happy about it. I always got the impression that you and Walker got along well.”

“We did,” she said without much conviction.

Ben wrinkled his brow. “Has something happened that I need to know—”

“Oh, no,” she said quickly, her heart racing at the lie. She prayed the color of her cheeks didn’t betray her. “I, uh—” She cleared her throat and gave a tight smile as she manufactured a reason for her response. “I just thought Bellagio would benefit from a fresh point of view. In terms of advertising.”

Ben relaxed. “I see your point, but you gotta admit Walker has always done a good job for us. So we’ll see how he handles the next campaign. And of course since you’re the point person, it will be your job to make sure it’s a success,” Ben half joked, pausing when she remained silent.

“If you think it’s going to be too much, we could turn it over to Dora.”

“Oh, no,” Trina said, feeling protective of her job, her future, her baby’s future. “I’m up for it.”

“Just because I’ll be upstairs doesn’t mean you can’t call me for anything,” he assured her.

“Thanks and congratulations,” she said, rising to her feet.

“Yeah.” He stood, too. “Don’t spread it around. Nothing’s official yet.”

“Okay, I’ll talk to you later,” Trina said and left his office, her mind whirling. This was the promotion she had been working for since she’d started at Bellagio. She’d called in favors from old schoolmates to get exposure for Bellagio. She’d worked late and sacrificed. Finally, it was within sight. The promotion was more important than ever to her now that she was in charge of Maddie’s welfare. Trina knew she could do the job. She also knew she would need support. Someone who could do her grocery shopping, occasionally prepare meals and take care of Maddie when Trina needed to work late. Her stomach twisted at that last possibility, but she didn’t dwell on it.

Walking into her office, she opened a file on her computer and made notes about requirements for the position she needed. She sucked down a cup of coffee and called Bride Magazine to confirm a mention of Bellagio shoes in the June issue. It took some extra delving, but she learned the shoe size for the fashion editor at a top women’s magazine and arranged to send her pair of Bellagio sandals.

Grabbing a Diet Coke, she started to dial marketing when her phone rang. “Trina Roberts, hello.”

One beat of silence followed. “Trina, it’s Walker.”

Her throat tightened and she took a breath to help her relax. “Walker, hello.”

“I just talked to Ben and he told me you’re going to be one of my go-to people.”

“That’s what I hear,” she said with forced cheerfulness. “What can I do for you?”

“I thought it would be good to touch base with you about the commercial and my ideas. Is a drink after work okay?”

“Let me check my schedule and I’ll get right back to you. It might be easier for me if we meet at the office earlier in the afternoon.”

“I’m stuck all day shooting this commercial.”

“Okay, then let me call you back.” She hung up, hating the fact that her hands shook. She was going to have to get hold of herself. Reviewing her options, she called Jenny Prillaman.

“Hey, girl,” Jenny said with a smile in her voice. “How’s your gorgeous baby?”

“Gorgeous and growing,” Trina said. “You offered to keep her every now and then. Any chance you could keep her for a little while this evening?”

“Oooh, hot date?” Jenny asked.

“Business.”

“Oh,” Jenny said in a disappointed tone. “I wish I could, but the wedding machine is in high gear and Marc and I have a meeting with the minister tonight.”

“That’s okay. No problem,” Trina said.

“But you have to promise that you’ll ask me again,” Jenny said.

“I promise,” Trina said, thinking Jenny had to be one of the sweetest people in the world. “But since you’re getting married soon, you may be starting on your own babies.”

“One thing at a time. Call me soon.”

“Sure thing,” Trina said and dialed the number of another friend who already had plans.

She winced as she regretfully dialed her last choice. “Mom, it’s Trina.”

“Hello, dear. I’m playing bridge.”

“Okay, I’ll keep it quick. Any chance you could pick up Maddie tonight and keep her for a little while?”

“Yes. Do you have a date?”

“No, business.”

“Oh,” her mother said, her voice full of disappointment. “I wish you would start—”

“Thanks so much, Mom. I shouldn’t be long. Just pick her up at the company day care. Kill ’em at bridge,” she said and hung up.

After work, Trina stopped by a salon close to the office and got a shampoo and blow-dry. With every sweep of the round brush, she rehearsed how to tell Walker about Maddie.

I had a baby six months ago. You’re the father.

I don’t expect anything from you.

I don’t want anything from you.

I don’t know why the contraception didn’t work. Perhaps because we were both plowed.

Why didn’t you tell me before? he would ask.

I just kinda never got around to it.

Trina rolled her eyes at herself. Lame, lame, lame. She glanced at her fingernails and wished she had time for a manicure. With Maddie-girl, she was always washing her hands after changing a diaper or before feeding or after cleaning carrots off Maddie’s face.

She was glad she’d worn black today. It made her feel less vulnerable. Exactly how was a woman supposed to dress when she told a man that she’d had his baby?

She swallowed over the bubble of panic in the back of her throat.

What could he do to her? she asked herself, trying to approach the situation rationally. He couldn’t accuse her of trying to trap him into marriage. He couldn’t accuse her of trapping him into being a real father to Maddie because she had resolved a long time ago to ask and expect nothing of him.

What if he didn’t believe her?

She clenched her jaw. That bothered her. That really bothered her.

It probably wouldn’t happen, she assured herself as she left the salon and ducked into a drugstore to pick up a compact, lipstick and mascara. She applied the cosmetics in her car, feeling as if she were putting on an extra layer of armor.

She possessed the edge here, she told herself as she walked into the bar. She had the knowledge and she had Maddie. That last thought warmed her like sunshine.

She glanced around the bar and didn’t see Walker. A cowardly sliver of relief ran through her. Oh, good, he was a no-show.

“You beat me by seconds,” a familiar male voice said from behind her.

She whispered a swear word, but managed to turn around with a smile. “I wondered if we might need to reschedule.”

He shook his head. “No. I’ve been looking forward to this all day.” He gestured toward a table across the room and waved at the bartender for service.

She felt his hand hover at her back and automatically quickened her pace.

He pulled out her chair for her. “Busy day?”

“The usual,” she said, taking her seat and thinking she didn’t remember him being so tall.

He sat across from her. She didn’t remember his shoulders being quite so wide. She did remember the intensity in his eyes, his mouth, and the way he had kissed her that night. Frustration had mixed with some kind of carnal wanting. She’d felt the same way, frustrated from the insane almost-wedding day and curious to find out how he would handle a woman. How he would handle her. He must have felt some curiosity, too. The first time had been fast, but there had been a second. And a third.

Trina felt a rush of heat. The sensation reminded her of how two glasses of wine affected her, the warmth that spread from her chest to her face and the way her heartbeat accelerated. It was the memory of wild sex, she told herself. It wasn’t specifically Walker.

A waiter approached their table. “I’ll take a beer. Whatever you have on tap,” Walker said and turned to her. “What do you like? Martini?” he asked and looked at her for a long moment. “No, it was something else,” he said, shaking his head with a wry grin. “Mojito.”

The fact that he’d remembered her drink gave her a thrill. A very stupid thrill, she told herself. “It’s different now. I’ve turned into a lightweight. Pinot Grigio,” she said to the waiter.

“Lightweight,” Walker echoed curiously. “When did that happen?”

“A while ago,” she said with a shrug and wished she had a glass so she could do something with her hands. Should she tell him before the waiter returned or after?

He nodded. “Okay. So what have you been doing for the last year and a half?”

Having a baby. Not quite right, she thought, looking away from his expectant gaze. “Working, moving. How was Paris?” she asked, turning the conversation away from her.

“Good.”

The waiter returned with their drinks and she fiddled with the stem of her wineglass. “Hard to come back?”

“Yes and no. It was time and I didn’t want to lose Bellagio.”

She lifted her glass to her lips. “It’s just another account, isn’t it? With the bonus of public humiliation and a few bad memories.”

He paused a half beat and studied her carefully. “I could almost think you didn’t want me around,” he said in a silky but cold voice.

“Of course not,” she said, forcing the words from her throat. “Everyone knows you’re great at what you do. I just thought you might prefer to avoid the discomfort.”

“I did that,” he said and took a long draw from his beer. “The marriage to Brooke didn’t work out and that was for the best, but I’m not losing Bellagio over a failed engagement.”

Trina’s stomach sank at the steel in his tone. She couldn’t imagine how he would respond to her announcement that he was the father of her baby.

“Speaking of Bellagio, I wanted to show you some of the models I’m using for the commercial.” He reached into his pocket for his PalmPilot and turned it on. He pushed some buttons and handed it to her. “What do you think?”

She looked at the headshot of a toothy blonde. “Pretty,” she said. “But we’re not going for perfect,” she added. “We’re going for Ms. And Mr. Everyday who can clean up nicely.”

He nodded. “Don’t want to be intimidating.”

“Right,” she said and took a sip of her wine, mentally girding herself. “There have been some changes. I need to talk about them with you.”

He leaned closer. “At Bellagio,” he said.

She moved her head in a circle. “More with me, and it’s something you should know. I, uh. We, uh—”

“Walker Gordon, when did you get back in town?” a woman’s flirty Southern drawl oozed from a few steps away.

Trina glanced at her perfectly groomed and coiffed former classmate, Blair Smythe Manning Davis, twice divorced.

“Blair—” he said, obviously searching for her last name as he stood.

She beamed, her porcelain veneers gleaming as white as chalk. “You remembered me. The last time we met we were both committed, but you’re single now and so am I.” She shot a quick dismissing glance in Trina’s direction. “It’s been so long since you and I have seen each other, Walker. Would you mind if I join you? Or am I interrupting something important?” she asked as an afterthought.

Walker looked at Trina. “We’re discussing business.”

Blair made a clucking sound and tapped her diamond-encrusted watch. “It’s way past five o’clock. Quitting time,” she said and pulled a chair from another table.

Walker helped Blair with the chair. She smiled at him as she sat down then glanced again at Trina. “Hello, I’m Blair—”

“Davis,” Trina finished because she couldn’t resist.

Blair blinked and she studied Trina.

“Trina Roberts,” she said, rescuing the woman. “You and I went to the same girls’ school.”

“Oh,” Blair said and gave a hesitant smile. “I’ll have to look you up in my yearbook.”

“I’ve let my hair grow and I was a couple years behind you,” Trina couldn’t resist adding, noticing that Blair looked razor thin and had a man-eater look in her eyes. Her hair was highlighted platinum and her skin faux-tanned just this side of oompha-loompha. Two husbands down, ready for number three. She wondered if blood dripped from Blair’s incisors at night.

“Really?” Blair said in disbelief and gave a forced laugh. “I’ll definitely have to dig out my yearbook. But enough about me. Walker, make my dream come true and tell me you’re back in town for good?”

He shot a look of discomfort toward Trina and cleared his throat. “I’m back for good.”

“That’s great. The Walthams are hosting a party this weekend. You absolutely must come with me.”

“I’m still settling in,” he said.

She gave an exaggerated pout. “You can do that anytime. I just want to borrow you on Saturday night. For starters, anyway,” she added with a seductive glint in her eye.

And so it went for twenty more minutes while Trina nursed her little glass of wine and contributed eleven nods and eight uh-huhs. The ball of apprehension in her chest turned to irritation in her stomach.

Tonight was clearly not the night that she would tell Walker about Maddie. She glanced at her watch and was forced to interrupt Blair’s latest combination of gossip and flirting. “Excuse me. I hate to say this, but I have some other plans this evening, so I need to leave.”

She stood and Walker rose to his feet. “Let me walk you to your car.”

“Not necessary. I can find it on my own.”

“I need to cover a couple more things with you,” he said, frustration edging into his tone.

“Let’s try meeting at my office. Give me a call in the morning.”

“I’ll still walk you out.”

“What a gentleman,” Blair said. “Let him walk you out and he can come back and chat with me.”

Trina gave a tight smile. “Okay. It was great seeing you Blair. You look more amazing than ever.”

“Thank you. What a sweetie you are.”

Trina headed out of the bar, feeling Walker catch up to her in just a few strides.

“Were you really going to leave me with her?” he asked.

“Hey, she’s a great contact. She knows everyone and talks about them, too.”

He adjusted his tie. “I didn’t know you went to school with her crowd.”

“I may have gone to school with her, but that doesn’t mean we were friends,” she said, approaching her car and wondering if Walker would notice the infant safety seat in her car. At least she’d remembered to put the top up on her convertible.

She knew, however, that Walker could be very observant. Her edginess ratcheted up another notch. Not wanting to tell him he was a father in the parking lot of a bar, she quickly stepped in front of him. “Sorry I could only give you a brief reprieve from Blair. She’s beautiful and well connected, though.”

“And pushy as hell,” he said and swore. “This didn’t turn out the way I planned.”

She smiled. “It happens that way sometimes.”

“I’ll call you in the morning,” he said and she felt his gaze fall over her in some kind of combination that included masculine scrutiny.

She resisted the urge to suck in her abdomen. “Fine,” she said, backing toward her car.

“We’ll get together tomorrow.”

“No problem,” she said, fighting the jumpiness in her belly at the determined expression on his face.

He nodded. “It’s good to see you again, Trina. I’ve missed talking to you. I always felt like I could level with you.”

“Mmm,” she said with a nod and lifted her hand. “Talk to you tomorrow.”

Walking the rest of the way to her car, she got inside and tossed her purse on the passenger seat. She started the engine and drove out of the parking lot. In her rearview window, she saw Walker still watching her.

CHAPTER SIX

ENTERING THE FOYER of her home, Trina kicked off her heels and plopped her purse and keys on the antique Italian credenza she’d bought at an auction.

The sound of her mother singing a wobbly, warbly rendition of a lullabye broke the silence. Trina rolled her eyes at the sound, but smiled at the same time. Trina and her mother hadn’t gotten along well for about twenty-eight of Trina’s twenty-nine years and they were nowhere near compatible now, but Maddie had managed to bring them to speaking terms.

Maddie had softened the edges of Aubrey’s harsh, often sharp personality, and Trina found it difficult to hold a grudge when she saw her mother willing to make a fool of herself for her only grandchild.

After her lousy meeting with Walker, Trina just wanted to see her baby. She had a terrible feeling that things would change once Walker learned the truth. Now it was just Maddie and her. And while it had been hard in the beginning and Trina never would have predicted it, Maddie provided her with a haven from the insanity of the rest of the world. She tiptoed up the stairs to the nursery and peeked inside.

Her mother eyes were closed as she continued to warble. Maddie made conversational nonsense noises and waved her little hand toward Aubrey’s face.

The poor child was probably trying to find a way to stop the noise her mother was making. Trina scolded herself for the wicked thought.

Aubrey’s eyes opened and she immediately met Trina’s gaze. Her mother’s instincts about her had always amazed her. Aubrey stopped singing mid-phrase and glanced down at Maddie. She sighed. “You’re wide-awake. Time for your Momma.”

“Thank you for taking care of her.” Maddie walked to the rocking chair and took her daughter into her arms. The soft warm weight of her filled a hollow space inside her. She looked down at her carrot-topped baby. “You smell good enough to eat,” she said to Maddie. “Did your Nanna give you a bath?”

Maddie’s mouth stretched into a wide smile and she chortled.

“She’s just like you. Loves her bath,” Aubrey said.

“Thank you, again,” Maddie said, settling into the rocking chair.

“You’re welcome,” Aubrey said. “It was a bit short notice, but since I didn’t have anything scheduled, I could help you. I don’t understand why she won’t go to sleep to the lullabye. It always worked for you.”

“She’s definitely an individual.”

Aubrey sniffed. “She got that from you, too. I’ll wait downstairs for you.”

Trina began to stroke Maddie’s forehead and talked in a soft voice. She’d found it didn’t matter what she said. The stroking and the tone did the trick. “I had a totally terrible time tonight,” she said softly. “I would have enjoyed being with you much more.” An image of Walker raced through her mind and she paused.

Maddie squirmed as if to signal she wanted Trina to continue. Trina smiled and began to stroke Maddie’s forehead again. “But let’s not talk about that. Let’s talk about me meeting you for lunch tomorrow. Do you think you would like sweet potatoes and green beans? Does that sound good? And if it’s pretty outside, I’ll take you for a stroll…”

Maddie’s little body relaxed and her breathing settled into a steady rhythm. “Works like magic,” Trina said and laid Maddie in the crib.

She walked downstairs and found her mother sitting in the den. Aubrey glanced up and studied her from behind her half-glasses. “You’re wearing makeup,” her mother observed. “And you’ve done something to your hair.” She lifted her eyebrows. “Who did you meet tonight?”

Trina waved her hand and went to the refrigerator for a bottle of water. “Just someone from the advertising agency Bellagio has hired. No big deal.” Except he was hot, and the father of her child.

“Male?” her mother asked.

“Yes, but I think he’s gay,” she lied. That always ended her mother’s inquisitions.

“Oh,” her mother said, then frowned in confusion. “Then why did you dress up?”

“Maybe I listened to my mother and decided it was time to make some effort,” Trina said, swallowing a long drink of water.

“Well, I think that’s wonderful. Are you going to join a weight-loss plan? I’ll be happy to take care of Maddie while—”

“One thing at a time,” Trina said, feeling a sharp jab of irritation. “Why do people find it necessary to comment on my weight? It’s not as if I’m as big as a barn. I’m carrying ten or fifteen extra pounds. In a different century, I would still have been considered too thin for Rubenesque.”

“Oh, other people are commenting,” her mother said sympathetically. “I’m sorry to hear that. It’s because you’re just so close and it would take so little effort—lose a few pounds, get a haircut and color, put on some makeup and buy a new outfit. Then maybe you could get a date.”

As if she couldn’t get one now. Trina didn’t really know if she could get a date. It had been so long since her last date, since the last time she’d had sex. Walker. Last sex…but it hadn’t been a real date. And if skinny Blair had her way, Walker would be taking her out, maybe marrying her.

The thought irritated her. It shouldn’t, she told herself, because marrying Blair would provide its own punishment for Walker. Unless he actually preferred that kind of woman.

Which was none of her business anyway.

“I told you, Mother, that I’m really not dying to date right now. And with my job changes, I’m going to have even less time than before.”

“Job changes?” her mother echoed. “What job changes?”

Trina bit her tongue and wished she’d kept her mouth shut. “Nothing major, but I’ve been asked to take on more responsibility.”

“What about Maddie?”

“I’m thinking of hiring someone to help me out. Grocery shopping, meal preparation, taking care of Maddie when I need to stay a little late.”

“Well, I could shop for you and take care of Maddie, and I’m sure Hilda would be happy to cook.”

Trina shook her head. Hilda had been her mother’s nanny during her growing-up years. She was the only hired help still living with her mother and that was primarily because Hilda was eighty-one and had nowhere else to go. “No. Hilda has enough to do and you have a full schedule with bridge and charity.”

Her mother turned silent and her lower lip began to quiver. “You don’t trust me to take care of Madeline.”

Trina immediately felt split in opposing directions. While Aubrey treated Maddie with grandmotherly indulgence, Trina wasn’t sure when that might change to critical intrusion, and she was determined to protect Maddie and herself from the attitude she’d endured during her childhood and adolescence…hell, make that most of her entire life. “That’s not true,” Trina said, trying to be diplomatic. “I asked you to keep her tonight for me, didn’t I? But everyday care is different.”

Her mother opened her mouth to protest and Trina shook her head. “I’ve had a long day at work and I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Thank you for taking care of Maddie tonight.”

“But you should listen to me—”

“Mother, we’ve been over this. You may be my mother, but I am Maddie’s mother, so what I say goes.”

Her mother pressed her lips together in disapproval. “You never listen to me. I may as well go home. Good night,” she said and stiffly walked out of the room.

Trina heard the slam of the front door and winced. Her stomach twisted in a knot and she closed her eyes to take a deep breath. It was all about control, her counselor had told her years ago, and her mother couldn’t stand not having control.

She grabbed the mail her mother had brought in from the kitchen counter and went to the den to collapse onto the couch. Bills, advertisements. She fanned through the envelopes and paused at one that was handwritten. A letter, and the return address wasn’t family. She opened it, and the salutation nearly gave her a heart attack.

Dear Kat, How about a blast from your past? I’ll never forget the time we had together in Myrtle Beach. I’m getting out of prison soon. We should get together. Write back. Affectionately, Stan

Trina stuffed the letter back into the envelope and rushed to the kitchen to throw it in the trash can. She stared at the trash can for a moment then washed her hands with antibacterial cleanser and rinsed them thoroughly.

She never wanted to see the man again in her life. Mistake didn’t cover what she’d done with Stan Roch. Nineteen, stupid and rebellious, she’d married the man. She’d obtained a divorce six weeks later, but only after he’d been hauled off to jail for armed robbery.

Standing in the complete quiet of her home, she wondered which was worse, having her ex-husband, who happened to be an ex-convict, show up wanting to resume the relationship. Or having to tell a man that he was the father of her six-month-old daughter.

SINCE WALKER HADN’T STOPPED since five that morning, he could only squeeze in a cell call to Trina’s voice mail with the message that he would drop by to talk with her after a lunch meeting.

Finding the PR receptionist reading a celebrity gossip magazine at her desk, he cleared his throat. No response. “Is Trina Roberts around?”

Dora glanced up at him blankly, then pulled an earpiece out of her ear and smiled. “Sorry. The local radio is running a contest for a cruise and I thought I’d give it a try. Sounds sweet, doesn’t it?” she asked and gave him a wanna-come-with-me look.

“Yeah, sweet. I was looking for Trina.”

The assistant’s face fell. “Oh, she took a late lunch. I think she said something about visiting her baby.”

Walker blinked. “Baby?” he echoed, surprised. No, shock was a more accurate description.

The assistant nodded. “Yeah. You didn’t know? I’m surprised because you know she’s still carrying a little baby weight and she’s got terrible circles under her eyes. Hello? A little concealer goes a long way.” She sighed and shrugged. “But I guess she’s overwhelmed being a single mom. Lord knows I’d never do that.”

Baby? Single mother? Walker tried to digest the information. He just didn’t see Trina as the motherly type. He remembered her as a mix of warm but sophisticated, sharp and together. “When did, uh—”

“Oh, Maddie’s six months old. And she is cute as a button. For a baby. But, you know, she’s still a baby and they cry and poop and are really demanding.” The assistant turned around in her chair and glanced out the window. “Oh, look, Trina’s taking her for a stroll. I guess you could catch up to her if you really want. Or I could get you a cappuccino and keep you company.”

“Thanks for the offer,” he said. “But I’m running short on time. I’ll head outside.”

The assistant pouted. “Okay, but make time for a little break next time you come around.”

“Have a good day,” he said and walked toward the elevator. The assistant was clearly making an offer. If she weren’t working for Bellagio, then he might take her up on it. Walker was unopposed to hot, uncomplicated sex, but after his relationship with Brooke had muddied the waters with Bellagio, he figured he’d better stay away from the Bellagio honeys at least until he was on firmer ground.

He took the elevator down to ground level and walked to the side of the building where he saw Trina pushing a stroller. With the sun shining brightly, the temperature in the midseventies and a slight breeze rustling through the trees, he supposed it was a good day to take a baby for a stroll. Not that he would ever have to do that kind of thing.

“Hey, Trina,” he called as he caught up to her. “Trina,” he said again when she didn’t respond.

She came to a dead stop and turned to look at him. Her face drained of color. “Walker?”

He stared at her. “Hey, I didn’t mean to startle you. The assistant told me you were out here.”

Her eyes wide with fear, she gave a little nod. “Dora.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, Dora. She told me you had a baby. How come you didn’t tell me?” he asked, looking curiously at the stroller. His gaze landed on an infant with a blue barrette holding a wisp of carrot-colored hair in a topknot that stood straight up. She made singsong noises and moved her head from side to side. He smiled. “She’s cute.”

“Um, thanks,” Trina said and bit her lip.

She was giving off a very weird vibe, he thought and frowned. “Are you okay?”

She took a deep breath and seemed to be trying to collect herself. “I had hoped to do this differently,” she said. Meeting his gaze, she gave a choky kind of laugh. “Actually, I had hoped to never have to tell you.”

“Tell me what? That you had a baby? I’m surprised, but other people do it all the time.”

She took another breath, looked away and then met his gaze again. “Maddie is yours,” she said.

Walker stared at Trina. The distant sounds of car horns blowing and engines humming along with the baby’s babbles through the periphery of his brain. He couldn’t have heard Trina correctly. “Excuse me?”

“I said Maddie is yours. You are her father.” She looked at him silently. “Do the math. She was born nine months after that night you and I…”

He swore. “You think I got you pregnant that one night we had sex?”

“I know you did. I have the evidence.”

Walker shook his head, wondering why she was trying to pin the pregnancy on him. Did she need money or something? “I’m sorry if you think it’s me. But it can’t be,” he told her.

“Yes, it can and it is,” Trina said, exasperation creeping into her tone. “But don’t worry. I don’t expect anything from you. That’s why I didn’t tell you when you were in Paris.”

His circuits scrambled like eggs, he shook his head. “Listen, I’m sorry, Trina, but it can’t be me. I’ll tell you why. I had a vasectomy.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

I HAD A VASECTOMY.

Trina had a mental car crash. “Vasectomy,” she repeated. “When? How?”

He nodded. “A couple of months before the wedding. Brooke and I had agreed that we didn’t want children. How?” He gave a wry grin. “The usual way. Snip. Snip.”

He jammed his hands into his pockets while she tried to digest the news.

“So you see it couldn’t be me,” he said.

Exactly, she agreed. Except it couldn’t be anyone else unless she’d gotten pregnant by immaculate conception, and Trina had heard of only one woman who’d done that.

The problem was that she hadn’t had sex with anyone in months because she’d been working double time on the reality show project for Bellagio.

“I don’t know who else you were involved with at the time,” he ventured.

No one. She glanced at Walker and felt an odd surge of feelings. Loss. She felt a sense of loss. Crazy. Even though she’d known he wouldn’t want a child, she’d hoped that just seeing Maddie would make him at least give it a second’s consideration.

She saw the flat-out determination on his face that Maddie wasn’t his. Trina had envisioned a variety of responses from Walker, but never this.

“I—uh—I don’t know what to say,” Walker said.

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