Читать книгу Bought by a Millionaire - Heidi Betts - Страница 8

Shannon Moriarty glanced at the paper in her hand, then back up at the numbers on the building. This was the right place. And she had exactly three minutes to make it to the eighteenth floor for her appointment with the esteemed Burke Ellison Bishop, one of Chicago’s most eligible bachelors.

With a polite nod, the doorman let her into Bishop Heights and directed her to the bank of elevators that would take her to Mr. Bishop’s office. Refusing to be intimidated by the gold-and-marble lobby, she hiked her heavy, all-purpose satchel higher on her shoulder and stepped into the conveyance.

Relax, she told herself. It’s not as if you’ve never had a job interview before. Of course, she’d never interviewed for a position quite like this, either.

The doors slid open on the eighteenth floor to reveal a salmon-colored carpeted hallway, a mahogany reception desk, and huge, gold letters proclaiming Bishop Industries, Incorporated. Another deep breath and she stepped out of the elevator toward a secretary, who was smiling just a little too brightly for Shannon’s peace of mind.

“May I help you?” the woman asked cheerily.

“My name is Shannon Moriarty. I have a two o’clock appointment with Mr. Bishop.”

The attractive, middle-aged brunette was already nodding. “Mr. Bishop is expecting you, Miss Moriarty. I’ll show you right in.”

Not even a minute to prepare herself; two seconds to powder her nose or run a hand through her windblown hair. Suddenly, she was so nervous that she really had to go to the bathroom. But she followed the receptionist down the long, mahogany-paneled hall to Burke Bishop’s sprawling office.

Shannon strode through the open door, then froze in her tracks. She was almost afraid to take another step for fear something would shatter. The black marble floor shimmered like a deep canyon, visible only in moonlight, giving the illusion that anyone who tried to cross the room would be walking on air. A glass-topped credenza lined one wall, the warm autumn hues of various liquors filling decanters of every shape and size. Black leather armchairs sat on either side of a glass coffee table against another wall.

Chrome and black and enough glass to fill every window of the Sistine Chapel. Even the man’s desk was glass.

Her attention landed on the high-back leather chair, swaying gently from side to side as someone facing the opposite direction talked on the phone. He twisted the black cord around his index finger, let it fall, then twisted the cord again.

Oh, Lord. Burke Bishop sat in that chair. The wealthiest man in Illinois…possibly America. A man reported to be sought after by every available woman in Chicago high society—and a few who weren’t quite available, but didn’t seem to care.

Before Shannon had the chance to run—and she was seriously considering it—the telephone conversation ended and Burke Bishop turned. His slate-gray eyes landed on her, running the length of her body and back.

Shannon felt her cheeks heat, her heart pick up its pace at the directness of his gaze. The numerous pictures she’d seen of him in newspapers and magazines didn’t do the man justice. He was remarkably, stunningly attractive. His hair was black and cut short, with only a small stray lock curling across his forehead above one dark eye. His charcoal suit was likely Armani and fit him like a glove, his silk tie a splash of mottled colors running straight down his chest.

“Miss Moriarty. Please, have a seat.”

His voice nearly made her knees buckle. Deep and rich and confident, it slid through her veins like warm honey. Before her legs gave out on her, she moved to one of the black and chrome chairs in front of his desk, letting her bag slide to the floor by her feet.

“I appreciate your coming in,” he said, opening a large legal folder on his desk and perusing the contents. “Do you mind if I run through a few of the details of your previous meetings with my doctors and attorneys?”

She swallowed. There had been plenty of them, and she’d answered at least a million questions. But she’d expected much the same from her appointment with Burke Bishop, so she shook her head in acquiescence.

“You’re twenty-six years old.”

“Yes,” she answered, even though it was clearly a statement, not a question.

“A high school graduate, now attending the University of Northeastern Illinois. Majoring in early childhood education.”

“Yes.”

“Your medical records are exemplary. Nothing more than the usual childhood diseases.”

“Yes,” she said again.

Apparently satisfied with her response, he closed the folder, tapped the edge against his desk twice, and then set it aside.

He turned his gray gaze on her and her stomach muscles tightened.

“I’d like to ask you a few personal questions, if that’s all right.”

“Of course.” She was interviewing for a job, after all, and he was to be her employer. She didn’t dare refuse him anything.

“What made you answer my ad for a surrogate mother, Miss Moriarty?”

It wasn’t what she’d expected, but she answered honestly. “I need the money.”

When he didn’t even blink at that, she continued. “I know that sounds shallow, Mr. Bishop, but I thought you would appreciate the truth rather than a noble lie.”

“And what do you need the money for?” he wanted to know.

She took a deep breath. “My mother had a stroke. Although she recovered, her mind and body aren’t what they used to be. She needs round-the-clock care. She lived with me for a while, but with school and work, I just can’t be there for her twenty-four hours a day. It was her decision to move into an adult care facility so that I could continue my education, but I don’t think she realizes how expensive it is.”

“Meadow Lark Assisted Living Center,” he murmured from memory. “Have you told her about your financial problems?”

“No,” Shannon said adamantly. “She thinks the bills are being paid out of her savings, which a lot of them were. Unfortunately, the money didn’t last long. She’s living now on the credit Meadow Lark has been willing to extend us, and I’m making the largest monthly payments I can afford, but I refuse to burden her with the details of how grave the situation really is.”

Her throat tightened and she blinked back a sudden wave of sentiment. “She took care of me all my life. Now it’s my turn to take care of her.”

He nodded his understanding. “You’re working two jobs, as well as going to school. A receptionist at the law firm of Benson and Tate during the day and a waitress at The Tavern restaurant at night. And you took off two years from school to care for your mother after her stroke.”

She inclined her head. “She insisted I go back. She doesn’t want me giving up my entire life for her.”

“And you’re willing to go through with this? To make this sort of sacrifice in order to keep her at Meadow Lark?”

Shannon straightened her spine and lifted her chin, saying simply, “She’s my mother. I would do anything for her.”

A hint of a smile tugged at his lips as he crossed his arms in front of him on the desktop. “You do realize this is going to take up a rather large chunk of your time.”

Shannon relaxed a bit, glad to be moving away from the topic of her ill mother and fighting the urge to stare at Burke Bishop’s full, sensuous mouth where it almost curved into a hint of feeling. “Yes. But other than regular medical checkups and such, I should still be able to keep up with my courses.”

She didn’t mention the emotional toll that might be a higher price to pay than the physical. But that was something she was willing to face, for the sake of her mother’s health and happiness.

She glanced down at her beige suede half boots for a second before lifting her gaze to his once again. “I’d hoped to cut back on my work hours, to give myself more study time, but no matter what, I won’t be quitting both jobs. Any money you pay me will go directly toward my mother’s medical care, since I’m perfectly capable of supporting myself.”

Silence filled the room while he seemed to digest that, and then he launched back into the personal interrogation.

“Forgive me for asking, since I know my people have already covered this topic, but you’re not currently involved with another man, correct? You’re not sexually active?”

“No,” she answered quickly. “You don’t have to worry about that.” It had been so long, he really didn’t have to worry about it.

Burke studied Shannon through narrowed eyes. She wasn’t a classic beauty, poised and painted like so many of the women he’d dated since making his first million. No, she was one of those natural, free-spirited women who let their hair fall loose around their faces and wore earth-toned clothing meant more for comfort than style.

But her riot of red, spiral curls reminded him of fireplace flames, and the light sprinkling of freckles across her nose gave him the incomprehensible urge to lean across his desk and touch them with the tip of one finger. Maybe kiss them to see if they tasted like cinnamon.

She wore a long paisley skirt and an olive sweater that fell to mid-thigh and covered everything of interest. Which didn’t keep Burke’s mind from wandering the least little bit. He thought he knew exactly what she would look like beneath that oversize outfit.

And therein lay the problem.

So far this morning, he’d met with six other possible surrogates. Two more were scheduled for later in the afternoon. But Shannon was the only woman who had sent a shock of pure sexual attraction rocketing through his system the minute she walked in the door.

He’d glanced up from his phone conversation as soon as he heard the knob on his office door turning, but his reaction to Shannon Moriarty was so uncharacteristic—and so strong—he’d quickly spun back around in his chair and taken a few much-needed moments to finish his call and get his breathing—as well as his libido—under control.

Unless his afternoon candidates turned out to be Julia Roberts or Meg Ryan, he couldn’t imagine having a stronger response to either of them.

He could definitely picture Shannon Moriarty as the mother of his child. Or children. The problem was, with Shannon, he thought he might just want to conceive them the old-fashioned way.

And that wasn’t good. He didn’t have room in his life for a woman right now. Another business proposition, yes, which is exactly what this mommy hunt was until it produced an actual living, breathing baby made up of half his DNA. Then he intended to take some time off. To cut back his hours indefinitely and be the father he’d always wanted but never had.

But a woman? A wife? No, thank you.

And Shannon had already admitted she was in this entirely for the money, as so many other women of his acquaintance. They all wanted to be Mrs. Most Eligible Bachelor, with access to his multimillion-dollar portfolio.

Shannon didn’t want to be Mrs. Most Eligible Bachelor, but she was willing to have the most eligible bachelor’s baby in order to care for her ailing mother.

Her motives were slightly more noble than most, but Burke thought he’d be smart to keep his mind on business…and his eyes away from the slight dip of Shannon’s V-neck top.

Pushing back his chair, Burke rose to his feet. Shannon followed, returning her purse to her shoulder.

Against his better judgment, he smiled and opened his mouth to ask something of Shannon that he hadn’t of any of the other surrogate applicants.

“Will you have dinner with me tonight?”

He’d met with the other two women after lunch, but it had been nothing more than a technicality. The appointments had already been scheduled, so he’d gone through with them, but his mind was made up. Shannon was the one—the future mother of his child.

Except that here he stood, pacing the length of his sleek black limousine outside Shannon’s apartment building. She’d said not to bother coming up, that she would be down at seven. But it was 6:59 p.m., and Burke was about ready to storm upstairs after her.

So much for staying professional. He’d never once been nervous about a business venture. Never paced the hallway before walking into a room for a hostile takeover. He was known as a calm, emotionless negotiator. Nothing shook him.

He froze in midstep, a frown marring his brow. Why, then, was he so anxious now? And why was he letting it show?

Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his navy dress slacks, Burke leaned against the side of the car and adopted a careless pose. Maybe because, now that he’d chosen a mother for his child, this baby business was becoming all too real.

The fact that he found himself attracted to Shannon didn’t help, either.

She appeared in the double glass doorway just then, her nose buried in that same large, baggy purse she seemed to carry everywhere. Tonight it was thrown over the shoulder of an ivory blouse with wide, unassuming ruffles at the neck and wrists. The blouse was tucked into a narrow-waisted brown skirt that flared out at midcalf. Her auburn ringlets were pulled back and held in place by a gold clip at her nape.

When she lifted her head and saw him, she smiled. Not a wide, inviting smile, but a smile all the same, and the sight sent a lightning bolt of awareness skittering through Burke’s bloodstream.

He offered a small grin of his own and pushed himself away from the side of the limo, holding the door open for her.

“Thank you,” she said breathlessly, stepping inside and scooting across the plush leather seat.

He slid in beside her and pulled the door shut. Almost immediately the car drifted into motion.

“You’re welcome. How are you feeling this evening?”

She turned to look at him awkwardly. “Fine. And you?”

He nodded. “No second thoughts?” he asked, getting right to the point.

His boldness caught Shannon off guard. Though she didn’t know why it should. It took a straightforward man to decide he wanted a child—with or without a wife—and then advertise for a surrogate mother for that child. She’d understood as much from the team of doctors and lawyers he’d set up to interview her and look into her background, and from some of the pointed questions he’d asked her earlier this afternoon.

It took her a moment to register exactly what he was asking, but when she did, she shook her head. She hadn’t changed her mind about being willing to carry this man’s child.

She’d done a bit of research into his background, as well, before applying for the “job.” Burke Ellison Bishop was a decent man. From what she could tell, he hadn’t had an ideal childhood, which was possibly the reason he wanted a baby of his own. And though she found it odd that he wouldn’t want to marry first and have a child with his legal wife, she felt confident he would be a good father. He gave large amounts of money to children’s charities, and she’d seen news coverage of him at similar events where he played and joked with the kids, and obviously enjoyed himself while doing it.

Still, she had to admit she was overcome by nerves at the thought that he was seriously considering her for the job. Which she assumed was the case, since he’d invited her to dinner. If she hadn’t passed muster in his office, he never would have wanted to see her again. Would he?

Those thoughts only made the butterflies in her stomach flap their wings even faster, so she turned her head away and stared out the window at the passing scenery. She’d never been in a limousine before, but the soft, deep seat cushions and perfectly regulated interior temperature made her think it was something she could definitely get used to.

Within minutes, they pulled up to the restaurant, a swanky place called Le Cirque, with tiny, star-like lights in the windows, valet parking, and a row of fancy cars lined up out front. Shannon had heard of it, of course, but never dreamed of eating here, considering the upscale clientele and soaring menu prices.

Burke, it seemed, had no such qualms.

The driver came around to her door, opened it, and offered his hand to help her out. She stood staring at the other patrons who were entering the restaurant until she felt a warm hand at the base of her spine.

Lifting her head, she saw Burke standing at her side and forced a smile. “I think I’m underdressed.”

Men in tailored suits and women in satin and sequins passed before them. Shannon suddenly felt horribly out of place.

“Not at all,” Burke said as he guided her past the waiting doorman. “Besides, I’ve reserved a private table so we won’t be disturbed.”

Without calling attention to Burke’s presence, an effusively pleasant maitre d’ with a suspicious French accent guided them around the outskirts of the crowded dining room and into a shadowed alcove with only one small round table and two chairs. Shannon still felt out of place, but less so in this darker corner where no one could see them.

She sat with her back to the wall, with a row of fake ferns and flowers—or maybe real ones, considering the rest of their luxuriant surroundings—running behind her head.

The oversize menus, bearing black leather jackets and tassels, offered more choices than a multicultural food festival. Shannon could barely pronounce even half of the entrées listed.

When Burke offered to order for her, she nodded, trusting that no snails or other disgusting cuisine would end up on her dinner plate.

After the waiter had taken their orders to the kitchen, he poured them each a glass of deep red claret and left them alone.

“Did you have more questions for me?” Shannon asked, taking a small sip of the rich, flavorful wine. After all, what other reason would he have for bringing her here?

With a shake of his head, he said, “I think I know everything I need to about your general health and well-being.”

“Then why did you ask me to dinner?”

The hint of a smile twisted his lips as he ran one long, tan finger slowly up and down the stem of his wine glass. “Because I wanted to. Why, aren’t you enjoying yourself?”

“It’s not that,” she responded quickly, though it was partially true. It was hard for her to enjoy herself when she was so nervous about doing or saying the wrong thing. “I’m just not sure why you felt the need to bring me here if you didn’t intend to continue our interview.”

“Forget about the interview,” he told her. “For tonight, I want you to relax. I thought we could talk, get to know each other a little better.”

She chuckled at that, dropping her gaze to the cloth-covered tabletop. “If you’ve read the reports from your legion of doctors and lawyers, I don’t think there’s much more I can tell you about myself. They investigated me back to the womb.”

“My people are very thorough,” he agreed without a hint of chagrin. “But that doesn’t mean they—or I—really know you. I know your blood type, your birth date and your grades from kindergarten to the present. Tonight, I’d like to hear about some of the things you weren’t asked on the surrogacy forms.”

“Such as?”

“Your favorite color, your favorite ice cream, your first broken heart.”

“All right,” she agreed softly, an idea creeping into her head. She was feeling more herself now, more secure in the situation since he’d made it clear this wasn’t part of her job interview. “But if I answer your questions, I think it’s only fair that you answer some of mine in return.”

He considered that for a moment, but she could tell by the glint in his eye that the thought amused him.

“Deal.”

The appetizers arrived, and as they picked at their food, she answered the first three questions he’d posed.

“My favorite color is green,” she told him. “Any shade, from mint to khaki. My favorite ice cream is mint chocolate chip, but rocky road comes in a very close second. And my first crush was Tommy Scottoline, in the second grade. He broke my heart when he started spending recess with Lucinda Merriweather.” She shot him a teasing grin. “Lucy climbed the monkey bars every day in a dress and let Tommy follow along on the ground in case she fell.”

“Ah.” One corner of Burke’s mouth quirked upward with humor.

“Your turn,” she prompted.

“Should I answer the same questions, or do you want to ask me something else?”

“Same questions.”

“Okay. I guess my favorite color would be black. I don’t really like ice cream, but if I had to choose, I’d probably say vanilla. And I’ve never had a broken heart.”

Surprised, Shannon paused with her fork halfway to her mouth. She lowered it slowly before saying, “Never?”

“Nope.” Burke continued eating, unmoved by their topic of conversation.

“Why not?” She knew she should mind her own business rather than pry into his personal life, but she was genuinely curious.

His color and ice-cream preferences didn’t surprise her; she’d seen his office, all black and glass, and he seemed much too button-down to like a dessert as pedestrian as tutti-frutti. How, though, could anyone get through life without having his heart and soul, if not broken, at least battered a bit? Even if it was only a case of puppy love in early childhood, most people had experienced some form of romantic disillusionment.

His shoulder lifted in a shrug. “It’s hard to get your heart broken when you’ve never been in love. I don’t have time for such trivial pursuits.”

Shannon’s muted laughter was a mix of both amusement and disbelief. “How can you say love is trivial? Isn’t that what makes the world go ’round?”

“The almighty dollar is what makes the world go ’round,” he answered shortly. “And love is highly overrated.”

Eyes wide, Shannon said, “That’s a rather cynical view of life. Money can’t buy everything, you know.”

His lips twitched. “When you’ve got as much of it as I do, it can. And I prefer to think of myself as realistic.”

She supposed he was right. He was already planning to use a portion of his millions to buy a mother for his child, and if he had the means to accomplish that, he likely had the means to accomplish almost anything.

But it saddened Shannon to think his life had been so barren that he didn’t even believe in love, when she knew just how powerful a sentiment it could be. There were all kinds of love—romantic, familial, the love between close friends… She wasn’t sure Burke had ever experienced any of them, but suspected his feelings on the subject would change dramatically the minute he held his very own child in his arms—regardless of who the baby’s mother was. On that day, if not sooner, he would discover the meaning of true, unconditional love.

“I’d think you would be glad I tend to put sound financial judgment above anything as mercurial as human emotion. It’s about to make you a very wealthy woman.”

Shannon’s dinner sank like a lead ball to the bottom of her stomach. She swallowed hard and set her silverware aside before attempting to speak. “Does that mean you’ve made your decision?” she asked, twisting the linen napkin on her lap nervously between her fingers.

“I made my decision before you even left my office this morning. You’re the woman I want to be a surrogate for my child. Congratulations, Mommy.”