Page 31 of Shopping for an Heir
“You had no idea I’ve been in Boston for more than seven years?”
He shook his head, then winced, holding his palm against his jaw. “No.”
“We’ve been in the same city for seven years and never crossed paths.”
“We did indirectly. Who do you think drove Declan and Andrew to those family trust meetings?”
The space between them closed as she took a step toward him. “I had no idea.”
One step. He took one step, too.
The space was halved.
“I would never hurt you, Suzanne. Never. I’d die before I’d let anyone hurt you, including me.”
“I know.”
“And I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
Could she do this? The funny part was that the dreams he had—hurting her?—didn’t matter. Not one iota. It was the secrecy. The shame he felt in telling her. Was that still there?
“Were you going to tell me? Before Kulli beat you to it?”
“Yes.”
She believed him, and not just because she wanted to believe him.
A soft laugh, sardonic and bittersweet, escaped her. “You’re in so much legal trouble for assaulting Kulli.”
Gerald gave a half smile. “I know a great lawyer.”
She groaned, the moment changing, the feeling in the air between them shifting to that sense that they lived in their own bubble, a place where the rest of the world whooshed on around them. Where balance came naturally and they were understood.
“I don’t take criminal cases.”
“I’m a criminal? Huh.” He stared at her. “Ever date a bad boy?”
“No. I only date good guys. Men in uniform.”
“There’s a first time for everything.”
The kiss was tender, his lips bruised. She tasted copper, a hint of blood, and his mouth tightened.
“You have to admit, hitting him was cathartic,” she said, squeezing his hips.
His hand brushed her hair over her shoulder, the knuckles raw. “I was stupid.”
“We’ll get the charges dropped.”
“I love you.” Even when they’d been together, he’d said it rarely. To hear it now was unbelievable, like breaking the sound barrier with your heart.
“I love you too, Gerald.” He leaned in for another kiss, but instead she punched his chest.
“What’s that for?”
“For not trusting me. For wasting ten years.”
“How many punches do you want? I deserve it.” Braced for impact, he closed his eyes, then opened one.
Groaning, she reached for his hand and began walking. “Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“Home.”
Chapter 14
“You strike me as the kind of man who wants to earn his success. Not have it handed to him. I admire that.” A week later, Gerald was working, driving James McCormick to a meeting at a venture capital firm on the 128 belt outside of Boston.
He’d just rejected James McCormick’s offer of seventy million for the relic.
“I’ll donate to the cultural institution of your choice—law permitting—on one condition,” Gerald offered, wondering if the old man would bite.
If James McCormick admired him, might as well go for the gold.
Er, so to speak.
“What’s that?”
“The Montgomery Foundation agrees to sponsor the Westside Center for the Arts in perpetuity. All programs, plus a to-be-determined number of camp scholarships.” He quoted their annual budget.
“I spend that on fine dining in a year, Gerald,” McCormick scoffed. “And you’re asking my sons to use Elena’s family money to support your center.”
James McCormick’s eyes met Gerald’s in the rearview mirror, one of his bushy white eyebrows cocked. He looked just like his son, Andrew, in that moment.
“Why should I care what you do with that artifact? And why would I stake charity money on your decision? If you wanted that kind of investment, you could have asked for it without the contingency.”
Gerald had just swallowed his pride to ask.
Now he swallowed a lump in his throat.
“Then it’s a done deal?”
James harumphed. “Talk to Becky tomorrow. She’ll arrange the details.”
“Thank you.”
“No need to thank me. You know I grew up in South Boston.” He didn’t add qualifiers to any of his comments or questions. Gerald admired that.
“Yes, sir.”
“I wish we’d had a club for arts and recreation. Instead, we used cans and sticks.” He gave a strange grin. “My children had fencing coaches and ski lessons.”
“We work to give our kids a life that’s better than the one we had, sir.”
“That we do. That we most certainly do. Do you have children, Gerald?”
He thought of Suzanne.
“Not yet.”
“We never planned for three.” James McCormick’s voice was unusually wistful. “Elena and I were surprised by her pregnancy with Terry. It’s not that he wasn’t wanted. Just, well...unexpected. A bit early, you might say. We didn’t have the time together that most husbands and wives cherish before focusing on building businesses and families.”
Gerald said nothing.
“And then Declan two years later, and Andrew after that. Blessed with three healthy boys, we used to say. Elena wished we’d had a girl—said I would have spoiled her rotten. That men like me needed a ‘daddy’s little girl.’”
Gerald watched covertly in the rearview mirror. McCormick’s stare was unfocused, his mind wrapped up in memory. “But no such luck. Three boys it was for us.”
“They are all fine men, if I may say so, sir,” Gerald said, meaning it.
“Thank you. I agree. It does a man good to know he’s built something with a strong foundation. From the ground up. And while the result is never perfect, neither is the journey, Gerald. All we can do is our best.”
Our best.
“You decided what to do with that relic long ago, Gerald. That’s evident. Eleven years ago you made sure it made it to safety. I never thought you’d actually sell it to me.”
“What—you—you knew? You knew that I was the one who...”
“Who smuggled the relic into the U.S. from Afghanistan? Yes.”
“How?”
“Background check.”
“Background check? No background check would reveal that part of my life,” he argued.
“The kind Anterdec does most certainly would. And did. You weren’t hired to be a chauffeur, Gerald. You’re part of our crack security team. And when I found out what you did, and how Hopewell ended up with the relic, I decided to hire you on the spot.”
“I always wondered why Anterdec hired me.”
“In spite of your shaky past, you mean?”
McCormick hit the bullseye.
“Yes.”
“I’ll admit, hiring an ex-Navy SEAL who’d spent nearly two months on an inpatient psych ward was not my vision of the ideal candidate as security detail for my company,” McCormick said. Understatement of the year. McCormick was a judgmental bastard. Gerald knew it.
So did the old man.
“And if that were all we dug up, you never would have made it to the first interview. Fortunately, our team knows that I have a nuanced view on people.”
Gerald struggled not to snort, smirk, snicker or guffaw.
“And when I learned you violated federal and international law for the sake of a higher good, I knew you needed to be on Anterdec’s team.”
“Good to know.” He frowned. “If you already knew I was the one with the relic, why did you call Suzanne and ask?”
The old man’s eyes clouded with confusion. “That’s funny. I asked Suzanne to come to my house because Declan recommended it.”
“Declan?”
“He never mentioned you were the heir.”
“I never told him.”
“Then why would he suggest I call Suzanne and...”
Their eyes met in the rearview mirror.
James McCormick chuckled. “Declan as matchmaker. I never would have thought it.”
Good thing Declan wasn’t Gerald’s boss anymore.
Because he was a dead man.
“You have to give Declan McCormick credit. It worked, right? He got me to show up and run into you at his father’s house.” It was morning, and she was at his place, her friend Kari promising to walk Suzanne’s dog while she spent the night here. His place wasn’t much compared to hers, but it was home.
His home.
Soon they’d have their home.
But no one was in a rush.
“James was in on it, too, in his own way. He’d known about the relic all those years.” Naked and sleepy, they took their time under the covers, talking and playing, the casual way she let the sheet slip off her breasts a simple pleasure. He hadn’t been this intimate with her ever. They were in new territory now, and so far, both had taken to it with such natural grace that it seemed too good to be true.
Gerald loved the access he had to her body. Couldn’t wait to make her his muse.
Again.
The long, pale torso had always fascinated him, her ribs stretching out in a line of gridded perfection, as if she’d been given more bones than usual. Strong, lean legs that felt perfect around his waist at just the right moments. Arms with the right tone and slim surgeon’s hands. Her hair was honey and her eyes were ocean. She’d always hated her freckles but for him they were a map, points on a canvas, a speckled layering of character.
