Читать книгу The Perfect Father - Elizabeth Bevarly - Страница 8

Nearly one week after Sylvie Venner had asked him to act as her stud, Chase sat in his office actually mulling over the possibilities. He’d been able to think about little else in the past six days, after all. In fact, so focused had his thoughts been on the blond bartender that he’d scarcely given a single serious consideration to his business obligations, something that was in no way like him. He had deliberately avoided Cosmo’s since that fateful conversation, uncertain how he would react the next time he saw Sylvie. And, to be honest, as surprised as he was to realize it, he sincerely didn’t know what his answer to her should be when he did encounter her again.

A substantial segment of his psyche recoiled at the thought of being little more to a woman than the means to an end. The knowledge that there was only one part of him that Sylvie wanted, and only temporarily—and quite an intimate part at that—was startling, to say the least. There were moral and ethical considerations to ponder, as well. What was the world coming to, after all, when a woman sat across from a man she didn’t know especially well and asked him to make love to her for the sole purpose of producing a child in whose life he would thereafter play no part? There was no question that he should decline her request, no question at all.

However...

Another part of Chase was more than a little intrigued by the idea. Hadn’t he been sitting at the bar at Cosmo’s that very night less than a week ago, wishing there was some way he could share a brief sexual encounter with a woman about whom he cared somewhat, then call the relationship quits with no harm done, no feelings hurt? And didn’t what Sylvie had requested of him provide just the perfect opportunity for exactly that?

And deep down inside, he had to admit that there was something...oh, arousing...about the prospect of producing a child with Sylvie. A son, he thought, never questioning for a moment his conviction that the child he helped produce would be of the masculine persuasion. A strapping young boy rushing headlong into the world, whom he had been partly responsible for creating, but was in no way responsible for raising. Despite his belief that children were more trouble than they were worth, the possibility of creating one was understandably alluring for any man.

Of course, the child he and Sylvie produced would be a child with whom he would have no other contact, he mused further. He wasn’t altogether certain he liked that idea. Then again, there were thousands of men out there who anonymously fathered children through donations to sperm banks without a second thought about it. On the other hand, Chase Buchanan wasn’t one of them.

He rose from his chair, paced to the windows on the other side of the room and stared down at the busy street below. Why had Sylvie chosen him? he wondered for perhaps the hundredth time since hearing her suggestion. And why couldn’t he just tell her he wanted no part of her plan, the way he knew he should, and be done with it once and for all?

Because deep down inside he couldn’t quite rid himself of a sudden, shuddering desire to make love to Sylvie Venner. And not just because she wanted a child, he realized. And, he admitted further reluctantly, maybe not just because he felt a little lonely sometimes, either.

His mind still addled by all the implications of the situation before him, Chase straightened his tie, reached for his jacket and coat and, for the first time in his entire life, left work early.

* * *

Sylvie was baby-sitting her nephew, as she did every Monday in her downtown Philadelphia apartment, and had just finished feeding and cleaning up Simon after his nap when she heard the quick series of raps at her front door. She lifted the baby into her arms, adjusting his bright red playsuit and tugging at the yellow socks that refused to stay on completely, then went to greet her unexpected visitor. It was still a couple of hours too early for Daniel to be picking up Simon, but every now and then her brother-in-law left a construction site before the end of the day to retrieve his son on his way home.

To say she was surprised to view Chase Buchanan’s face through the peephole would have been an understatement. She hadn’t even told him where she lived. She wished he had given her some kind of warning, hated the fact that she was dressed in her most ragged jeans and a faded Princeton sweatshirt, now spattered with Simon’s lunch, and wore neither makeup nor shoes. Dammit, she thought, why did men have to be so freaking difficult?

Just as she was tugging the front door open, Simon buried both fists in her hair and yanked hard in an effort to attempt what had become his latest quest—trying to pull himself up over her face toward the top of her head, presumably to sit atop her. Why a baby would want to sit on the top of her head, Sylvie had no idea. But as a result of his maneuvering, she was unable to greet Chase cordially, because her face was full of baby belly.

“Sylvie?” she heard his deep, resonant voice say.

Very gingerly she pushed Simon to the side and peeked around him. Sure enough, it was Chase Buchanan standing at her front door, dressed in all his power-suited glory and looking like a man who ruled the world. Immediately feeling self-conscious in her baby-sitting attire, not to mention the added accessory of said baby still fastened to her head, she stammered out something in greeting and tried to pull Simon away from her face.

“Uh, come on in,” she said, stepping backward as she struggled to free the baby and lower him to her shoulder. “Long time, no see.”

She had begun to wonder if she had scared Chase off forever after their little tête-à-tête last week. Although she’d searched for him every night, he hadn’t returned to Cosmo’s, and she’d been surprised to discover how much she missed seeing him on a regular basis at the restaurant.

With one final yank she managed to pry the baby from her head and lower him into her arms, pushing at her disarrayed hair with her free hand and hoping she didn’t look too ridiculous. Then, unable to halt the question that formed so quickly in her brain, she added a little breathlessly, “What are you doing here?”

Chase strode past her and into the apartment, his eyes never leaving the baby who clung to her shoulders. Simon stared back, tucking his head warily into the curve of Sylvie’s neck and chin, studying the stranger with a combination of curiosity and suspicion.

“I went to Cosmo’s to see you, but then I remembered you have Mondays off,” Chase said.

His gaze finally lifted to lock with hers, and Sylvie was once again struck by how clear and beautiful his green eyes were. She couldn’t help but wonder why she’d never noticed them before.

“Mondays and Wednesdays,” she said softly, unsure why she was bothering to remind him. “I sit for Simon on those days. It gives him a day off from day care. Plus, I just love doing it. Um, how did you find out where I live?”

“Well, no one at the restaurant was willing to part with the information, that’s for sure,” he said stiffly, as if insulted that he was in no way trusted by the wait staff of an establishment into which he’d pumped a considerable portion of his income over the past two years. “So I looked in the phone book. There was only one S. Venner listed. I took a chance that it was you.”

She nodded. “Very resourceful.”

“Not really.”

Chase took a step toward her and studied the baby again. “So this is your nephew, the one who’s made you completely rethink the issue of motherhood.”

Sylvie smiled. “Chase, meet Simon McGuane. Simon, this is Chase Buchanan. He’s a friend of mine, so you can trust him.”

Chase glanced up when she introduced him as her friend, and she wished she could tell what he was thinking. He had a funny expression on his face, one she was in no way able to decipher. So she smiled experimentally, only to become more confused at the brief twitching of his own mouth in return.

The baby in her arms broke the tension of the moment by reaching a chubby hand out toward Chase. “Bob?” he said quietly.

Chase frowned, glaring at Sylvie. “Bob?” he repeated. “Who the he—” He stopped abruptly in deference to the little ears. “Who’s Bob?” he asked.

She laughed. “No one. ‘Bob’ is Simon’s favorite thing to say. He can make other sounds—dada, mama, gigga, babba, abba...all that important baby conversation—but ‘bob’ is by far his favorite.”

“Bob,” Simon said again as if to reinforce her explanation. He wiggled restlessly, and Sylvie bent to sit him on the floor. Immediately he maneuvered himself onto all fours. “Bob-bob-bob-bob-bob,” he sang out merrily as with quick, deft movements he crawled toward a quilt spread open on the other side of the living room that housed a variety of brightly colored plastic toys.

Chase watched the baby go, marveling at what a splash of colorful incongruence Simon’s play area was in the otherwise sleek, neutral, sophisticated furnishings of Sylvie’s high-rise apartment. Along with that, he took in the padded corner protectors on the coffee and end tables, and the complete absence of knickknacks from the bottom three shelves of her bookcases—items that had been mingled haphazardly elsewhere in the room on higher ground. More toys were scattered about the floor—on the sofa, under tables, poking out from beneath chairs—and a cardboard book with a puppy on the front, whose corners looked suspiciously gummed, lay neglected near his feet.

He was surprised that a woman who clearly preferred clean lines and minimal furnishings would allow such a clutter in her home. Then he turned to see Sylvie staring after the baby with such obvious love and devotion etched on her face that he ceased to wonder at all.

When Simon plopped himself down on the quilt and contented himself with a fistful of something that resembled a green plastic doughnut, Sylvie turned to Chase again, and he was chagrined that she caught him staring at her. A rush of pink stained her cheeks as she hastily looked away and jabbed a thumb over her shoulder toward the kitchen.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” she asked, sounding nervous for some reason. “It wouldn’t take but a minute. I have some of those International kinds if you like. You know, the kind you use to celebrate the moments of your life? Or is that Kodak film that does that?” she prattled on nervously. “Or AT&T? Gosh, all those advertisements run together sometimes, don’t they? Maybe it’s Hallmark or Coca-Co—”

“Sylvie,” Chase interrupted her quietly.

She shoved a hand anxiously through her bangs as she looked at some point over his shoulder. “What?”

All at once Chase was at a complete loss. He had no idea what he’d intended to tell her, why he’d come over to her apartment or why he suddenly never wanted to leave. “I...is it all right if I stay for a little while? I think we need to talk some more about this...this...this proposal you offered me.”

He could see that she was surprised to discover he was still considering it. Surprised and clearly delighted.

“Of course you can stay for a while. Stay for dinner if you’d like. I think I have a couple of steaks in the freezer that I could thaw in the microwave. And there’s stuff for a salad. A couple of potatoes. I’m not a gourmet chef by any stretch of the imagination—I usually eat at Cosmo’s before I start work—but I can whip up the basics when hard-pressed.”

Chase knew he should decline, knew he should discourage any further contact with Sylvie Venner that was anything other than casual, especially since he’d come to tell her that he couldn’t possibly be the man who would father her child. Instead, he found himself shrugging out of his coat and suit jacket, tossing them with much familiarity over a nearby chair and loosening his tie to unbutton his collar.

“Only if you let me help you with dinner,” he also heard himself say agreeably. “I, on the other hand, am a more than fair cook.”

“You got it,” she told him with a smile.

“And coffee sounds good for a start. But just the regular stuff is fine.”

As Sylvie busied herself in the kitchen, Chase made himself comfortable on the end of the sofa nearest Simon. The baby seemed oblivious to his presence, however, so intent was he on the workings of a round toy filled with clear liquid and a variety of multicolored floating animals. Chase couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this close to a baby. Perhaps he never had. And he was frankly surprised to find himself so captivated by the little guy after such a short exposure to him.

“How old is Simon?” he called out to Sylvie.

“Almost ten months,” she replied. “He’ll be one in May. He’s pretty cute, huh?”

Chase nodded absently. “Yes,” he said softly. “Yes, he is.”

As if he knew he was the subject of the conversation, Simon glanced up and made a noise with his lips that sounded like a minuscule boat, then squealed with laughter at his own success. He waved his toy heartily at Chase before sticking it into his mouth, then sat perfectly still as he considered the bigger man. There was something about the baby’s expression, something about his clear, guileless, uninhibited gaze, that thoroughly unsettled Chase. But not in a way that made him anxious or uncomfortable, he realized. Instead, the baby’s obvious acceptance of him made Chase feel inexplicably good. Just...good. Good in a way he’d never felt before. It was an odd sensation.

“Coffee should be ready soon,” Sylvie said as she seated herself in a chair opposite Chase on the other side of Simon. With a resolute sigh she leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees, propping her chin in one hand as she dangled the other between her legs. “Now,” she continued, “back to what we discussed last week.”

Her plunge right to the point made Chase squirm involuntarily in his seat, and he tried to settle himself back against the overstuffed cushions in feigned comfort. Had he actually been the one to suggest they discuss this matter? he wondered. But before he could say a word, Sylvie began to talk again.

“I know you probably still have a lot of questions,” she said, “not the least of which is making certain you’ll be protected in this matter.”

“Protected?” he asked, confused. He sat forward again, his attention wandering once more to the baby playing on the floor.

“From legal liabilities,” she said in a matter-of-fact way that didn’t sit well with Chase. “I realize you don’t know me that well, and you’re probably scared I’m going to hunt you down in fifteen or twenty years and demand thousands of dollars from you to pay for college or a wedding or some such thing.”

She scooted forward to the edge of her chair, as if trying to emphasize what she had to say next. “I just want to reassure you right now that I have no intention of ever tapping into your financial resources for this baby. I make great money at Cosmo’s, and he has a wonderful insurance plan. My finances are in order, and I’m fully prepared and capable of raising a child on my own. Once I’m pregnant, that will be the end of any obligation you have to me or the baby. I’ll never bother you again for any reason. And I’m perfectly willing to sign any kind of document that would free you from all responsibility, financial or otherwise.”

Chase stared at her in amazement. He honestly hadn’t given that aspect of their arrangement a single thought. It made sense, of course. Naturally a man would want to be sure he didn’t get taken for a ride in a case like this, especially when it was the woman who wanted the child and not him. But as surprised as he was to realize it, something in him balked at the idea of relinquishing all responsibility for the baby he would help Sylvie create. It didn’t seem proper somehow, in spite of the way things had come about. It just didn’t seem right.

“But—” he began to object.

“And of course, I’ll expect the same courtesy of you,” Sylvie went on. “I’d like you to grant me the same assurance that you won’t come looking for me ten or fifteen years from now because you’re going through some midlife crisis and feeling your mortality and wanting to share in my child’s life. I think that’s only fair, don’t you?”

“I suppose. But—”

“We really do have to think of the child’s best interests in this case, don’t we? It wouldn’t be fair to her, or him, to disrupt her, or his, routine so late in life, would it?”

“No, I guess not. But...”

She inhaled deeply and met his gaze levelly, looking to Chase as if she were terribly uncertain and more than a little scared. Somehow, he got the feeling that she wasn’t nearly as confident of the things she was telling him as she was letting on.

“Then...then you’ll do it?” she asked quietly.

The tone of her voice when she uttered the question gave Chase the feeling that Sylvie still wasn’t sure she wanted to go through with it. He knew what he should do. He knew what he should tell her. He knew it would be a colossal mistake, not to mention a violation of ethical human behavior, to do what she was asking him to do.

But instead of looking at Sylvie when he responded, Chase’s gaze fell to the baby boy sitting on the floor, who was busily stuffing a red cloth building block into his mouth. When he saw that Chase was looking at him, Simon pulled the toy away and curled his lips into a huge smile. For the first time, Chase noted the four tiny teeth jutting from the baby’s gums, two on the top and two on the bottom. Then Simon laughed, a rough, cooing, joyous sound, his pale brown eyes and tiny nose crinkling with the action. That expression transformed the baby’s face, turning it into one of the most delightful sights Chase had ever seen, and he couldn’t help himself when he smiled in return.

Then, much to his amazement, he heard himself tell Sylvie, “All right. I’ll do it.”

* * *

“Okay, I think that takes care of most of the particulars,” Sylvie said some time later as Chase topped off their glasses with the last of the cabernet.

They sat at her kitchen table, all remnants of dinner either stowed in the fridge or ready for a spin in the dishwasher. Daniel McGuane had come for his son and gone hours ago, and now the couple was alone. A legal pad and two pencils lay between them on the table, several of the yellow pages filled with two vastly different types of penmanship where either Sylvie or Chase had remembered something that should go into the legal document they intended to have drawn up. A legal document they would both sign, and which would formally seal the deal they had made only hours before.

Sylvie felt strange as she skimmed over the finer points of the contract. She had wanted for so long to find the perfect father for her child, had spent so many weeks searching for just the right candidate. Now that she had him, she was suddenly uncertain what to do next.

“Can you think of anything else?” she asked, indicating the legal pad as she reached for her glass.

Chase shook his head. “No, I think this about covers everything. I’ll have my attorney draw up the contract, and you can have your attorney look it over before you sign.”

Sylvie was reluctant to tell him that she didn’t have an attorney, so matter-of-fact was Chase in his announcement—as if everybody in the world kept a lawyer on retainer all the time. It occurred to her again what vastly differing life-styles they led. He was a man who was wildly successful in the cutthroat world of business, a man who seemed to have limitless funds and opportunities, a man who was completely in command of his destiny. His was a definite A-type personality, displaying all the characteristics of someone who took charge of a situation without being asked, who never questioned his own judgment, who worked from sunup to sundown to make sure the job was done right.

She, on the other hand, acted compulsively and spontaneously much of the time—her reasoning often based on nothing more than whimsy or intuition at that—and until deciding she wanted a baby, had seldom given much thought to where the future might take her. Certainly she was responsible enough—she was actively cultivating a decent savings account, lived within a monthly budget and had modest needs—but she didn’t want to be the kind of person whose responsibilities extended beyond her own immediate experience. And having untold, very heavy responsibilities was something upon which Chase clearly thrived.

They simply came from and existed in two entirely different worlds. It was something that should comfort her, she tried to tell herself, something that should reinforce the fact that Chase would want no part of her life once he had completed the task she’d asked him to perform. Unfortunately, faced with their obvious differences and incompatibility, Sylvie found herself suddenly wondering if her maternity plan was such a good one after all.

“Sylvie?” she heard him ask, the mention of her name bringing her out of her reverie.

“What?” she replied, realizing he had been speaking at length and she had heard not a word of what he’d said. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t listening. I was thinking about something else.”

She wasn’t sure, but she thought he paused for just the tiniest moment before asking, “What were you thinking about?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. Nothing important. What was it you were saying?”

He seemed to want to hedge. “I was talking about... What I was leading up to was... We haven’t really...”