Читать книгу His Forever Family - Sarah M. Anderson - Страница 10

Three

It took Marcus the better part of three hours to find the right bureaucrat to deal with. The CEO of Children’s Hospital, while sympathetic to Marcus’s plight, could not legally provide any information on the baby. He did, however, call Marcus back in twenty minutes with the number of a DCFS supervisor.

The supervisor was less than helpful, but Marcus got the name of the manager of DCFS Guardians, who was responsible for assigning workers to these cases. It took some time to get ahold of the manager, and when he did, Marcus discovered a caseworker hadn’t even been sent out.

“We’re doing the best we can, Mr. Warren,” the tired-sounding woman said. “But we have a limited amount of social workers and a limited amount of funds available to us. The baby will probably be in the hospital for several days. We’ll send someone out as soon as we’re able.”

“That’s not good enough,” Marcus snapped.

“Well, how do you propose we deal with it?” the woman shot back.

The same way he dealt with everything. He wasn’t about to let something like red tape get in his way. Marcus did a cursory web search and discovered that the current head of DCFS had gone to school with his father.

Well, hell. He should have started there. He knew how to play this game. He’d been raised playing an extended game of Who’s Who. Political favors and donations were the kind of grease that made the wheels in Chicago run.

It took another twenty minutes to get through to the director’s office and an additional twenty before Marcus had the man’s personal promise that a caseworker would be assigned within the hour. “Of course, we don’t normally keep nonfamily members updated...” the director said.

“I’d consider it a personal favor,” Marcus said and in that, at least, he was being truthful.

Because after watching Liberty fold herself around that infant and cuddle the baby until he calmed down? After seeing Liberty’s anguish as the baby was driven away in the ambulance? After impulsively pulling her into his arms because she was going to cry and feeling her body pressed against his?

After seeing that look of total gratitude when Marcus had said he’d take care of things?

Yeah, this was personal.

“Give your father my best,” the man said at the end of the call.

“Will do!” Marcus said with false enthusiasm. He’d rather his father not find out about this particular conversation or the reason behind it. If Laurence and Marisa Warren knew about this, they’d give Marcus that disappointed look that, despite the decades of plastic surgery, was still immediately recognizable. It was one thing to trade political favors—but to do so for this? For an abandoned baby? Because his assistant got a little teary?

“What do you hope to gain out of this?” That’s what his mother would say in her simpering voice, because that’s what life was to her. Everything, every single human interaction, had a tally associated with it. You either gained something or you lost.

Warrens were never losers.

And his father? The man famous for his affairs with his secretaries? “If you want her, just take her.” That’s what his father would say.

He didn’t want to be that man. He didn’t want to use Liberty because he had all the power in their relationship. He was not his father.

Still, his father cast a long shadow. Marcus had gone to the university his parents had picked. His girlfriends had been preapproved daughters of their friends. Hell, even his company, Warren Capital, had been his father’s idea. What better way to curry power and favor than to literally fund the businesses of tomorrow?

It had taken him years to loosen the ties that bound him to his parents, but he’d managed to separate his life from theirs. Liberty was a part of that, too. His mother had some friend of a friend she’d wanted him to hire—someone she could use to keep tabs on Marcus. Instead, he’d defied her by hiring a young woman from a family no one had ever heard of based on the strength of her recommendations and her insistence that she jogged regularly.

Marcus had paid for that act of defiance, just as he’d paid for refusing to marry Lillibeth Hanson. He may have lost favor with his parents, but he’d gained much more.

He’d gained his independence.

Still, he couldn’t have his parents finding out about this. It simply wouldn’t do for them to interest themselves in his life again.

“Mr. Warren?” Liberty stuck her head through his office door. He didn’t miss the way that he was “Mr. Warren” again, as if she hadn’t called him Marcus by the side of the jogging trail this morning.

“Yes?”

“Mr. Chabot is on the line.” Marcus must have looked at her blankly, for she went on, “The producer for Feeding Frenzy? He wants to confirm the meeting when you’re in Los Angeles after the wedding.”

Right. Marcus had spent his entire morning tracking down someone—anyone—who knew about the little baby. He did actually have work to do.

“What did you tell him?”

She notched an eyebrow at him. “I put him on hold.” The panic-stricken woman from the run this morning was gone and in her place was his competent, levelheaded assistant. Ms. Reese was impeccably dressed in a gray skirt suit with a rose-colored blouse underneath. Her hair was neatly pulled back into a slick bun and her makeup was understated, as always.

He’d wanted to kiss her this morning. The impulse had come out of nowhere. He’d watched her hold that child and felt her palpable grief when the ambulance had driven off. He’d wanted to hold her, to let her know it’d be okay. And then she’d looked up at him with her deep brown eyes and...

“Thank you, Ms. Reese,” he said because what he needed right now was not to think about that impulse or how he’d joked that he should take her to the wedding only to realize he hadn’t been joking. Which was a problem. She was an assistant—not part of his social circle. If he showed up with her, people would talk. Marcus Warren, slumming with his secretary. Or, worse, they’d assume that Liberty was manipulating him just as Lillibeth had.

But he wanted to take her. She was safe and trustworthy. And she was the one telling him to do what he wanted.

She gave him a little nod and turned to go.

“Liberty,” he said.

She paused for a beat before she turned back around. “Yes?”

“I’ve made some calls about the baby. I’ll let you know when I hear anything.”

Her face softened and he was struck by how lovely she was. Underneath that executive-assistant mask was a beautiful woman. He just hadn’t realized how beautiful until this morning. “Thank you.”

He had nothing to gain by tracking down that baby. The child wouldn’t bring him more power or money. The baby boy wouldn’t be able to return a favor when Marcus wanted.

But he’d made a promise to Liberty.

He was going to keep it.

* * *

The ad mock-up for Rock City Watch drifted out of focus as Liberty wondered about that little baby. It’d been four days since she’d held him to her chest. Was he still in the hospital? Was he okay?

She shouldn’t be this worried, she decided as she tried to refocus on the ad. Worrying wasn’t going to help anything. And besides, Marcus had promised he’d look into it and she had to have faith that he’d keep that promise to her.

Of course it’d also been four days since Marcus had wrapped his strong arms around her and told her he’d find the baby because the child was important to her and she was important to Marcus.

Since that time, there’d been no hugs, no long looks. There’d been no more mention of the wedding, although that would have to change soon. If he continued to insist on going, he needed to pick a date. A safe date, she mentally corrected herself. Someone who wouldn’t look at him and see nothing but a hot body and a huge...

Bank account.

The phone rang. “Warren Capital Investments. How may I assist you?”

“Ms. Reese.” The coquettish voice of Mrs. Marisa Warren floated from the other end of the line. Liberty gritted her teeth. So this was how today was going to go, huh? “How is my son today?”

“Fine, Mrs. Warren.” But Liberty offered no other information.

When she’d first been hired, Marcus had made it blisteringly clear that she worked for him, not for Laurence or Marisa Warren. If he ever caught her passing information to his parents about his business, his prospects or his personal life, well, she could pack her things and go. End of discussion.

Luckily, Liberty had gotten very good at telling people what they wanted to hear without giving anything away.

“I was wondering,” Marisa simpered, “if my son has settled on a date for the Hanson wedding? It’s a few weeks away and he knows how important it is.”

When she’d first started fielding these nosy calls, Liberty hadn’t entirely understood why Marcus was so determined that nothing of his life leak out to his parents. After all, she’d grown up dreaming of having a mother and a father who cared about her. And Marisa Warren seemed to care about her son quite a lot.

But appearances were deceiving. “Mrs. Warren,” she said in her most deferential tone because it also hadn’t taken her long to realize that while Marcus might treat her with respect and dignity, to his parents she was on approximately the same level as a maid. “I couldn’t speak to his plans for the wedding.”

“Surely you’ve heard something...”

Liberty focused on keeping her voice level. “As you know, Mr. Warren doesn’t share personal information with me.”

She wasn’t sure at what point this wedding had crossed from personal to business and back again. When Marcus’s relationship with Lillibeth had blown up in the media, she’d read what she could—but he’d never once broached the topic during office hours. It was only when they were running that he’d even touch on the subject—and even that was more about damage control than “feelings” and “sharing.”

He’d asked her to prepare a roster of acceptable women with whom to attend this wedding. And then he’d asked her—however jokingly—to be his date.

“Hmph,” Mrs. Warren said. It was the least dignified sound she was probably capable of making and, in her honeyed voice, it still sounded pretty. “Have him call me when he’s free.” She never asked to speak to Marcus when she called his office number. That was the thing that Liberty had realized about that first call. Mrs. Warren wasn’t calling to talk to Marcus. She was calling to talk to Liberty about Marcus.

Liberty knew where her loyalty lay, even if Mrs. Warren didn’t. “Of course, Mrs. Warren.”

She hung up and finished analyzing the Rock City Watch ads. If Marcus was going to push them as a high-end luxury good, then the ads needed to be slicker. There was too much text talking about Detroit’s revival, and the photography needed to give off a more exclusive vibe, she decided.

What rich people wanted was exclusivity. That’s what she’d learned in the three years she’d worked in this office on North LaSalle. Not only did they want the best, they wanted to be damned sure that it was better than what everyone else had. It wasn’t enough to own a great watch or a fancy car or live in an expensive building. Rich people wanted to make sure that theirs was the only one. She figured that was why they spent so much money on artworks. By definition, those were one of a kind.

This world was all still foreign to her, but after three years she felt as if at least she was becoming fluent in the language.

She was just finishing her notes when Marcus called out, “Ms. Reese?”

“Coming.” She grabbed her tablet and the ad materials and walked into his office. This place, for example, was a perfect example of how a rich person simply had to have the very best. Even though Warren Capital was a relatively small operation—Marcus employed fifteen people to handle the finances and contracts—the business was located on LaSalle Drive on the top floor of one of the most expensive office buildings in Chicago. Marcus’s office sat in the corner behind walls of glass that gave him expansive views of downtown and Lake Michigan. Warren Capital was the only company on this floor—no one else could claim this view. It was the best—and it was his.

And through sheer dint of will, Liberty managed to carve out a place where she could fit in this world. Sure, it was as an assistant and yes, she had to buy new running shoes every six months. It didn’t matter. She loved this office, this view. Everything clean and bright. There were no holes in the wall, no critters scurrying about. If something broke, maintenance had it fixed within hours, if not minutes. The lights were always on and the heat always worked. This office was as far away from the apartment in the Cabrini-Green projects as she could get.

“Your mother called,” she said, taking her usual seat in front of Marcus’s desk. His office furniture reflected a modern sensibility—black leather seating, glass-topped desks of ebony wood and chrome. Even the art along the wall was modern. Among others, he had an Edward Hopper and a Mark Rothko—names she’d had to look up online because she certainly hadn’t heard of them before. Marcus had bought the Rothko for $35 million.

Yes, he had one hell of an impressive...bank account.

“I assume to pump you for information about my wedding plans?” he asked without looking up.

“Correct. She’s concerned about your date. Or lack thereof.”

Marcus sighed heavily. “I’ve had an update on the baby, if you’re still interested.”

“What?” Her heart began to pound as he glanced at her in surprise. She tried again. “I mean, of course I’m still interested. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You hadn’t asked.”

She blinked at him. “You promised you’d make some calls. I didn’t want to bother you.”

He gave her a look that was partly amused. But she also thought she saw some of the tenderness beyond why he’d made that promise to her in the first place.

“Liberty,” he said in a gentle voice. A creeping flush started at the base of her neck and worked its way down her back. Was it wrong to like how he said her name? Was it wrong to want him to say it some more? “You are not a bother to me.”

She swallowed, willing her cheeks not to blush. They were getting off track. “What did you hear? About the baby?”

“Ah, yes.” He looked down at his computer. The moment he looked away, Liberty exhaled.

“The baby has been discharged from the hospital.”

She gasped. “How is he? Is he okay? Did they find his mother yet?”

“Apparently he’s surprisingly healthy, given the circumstances—but no, they haven’t located his parents yet.” He gave her an apologetic look. “They don’t seem to be looking too hard, despite my encouragement. I don’t think they’ll find the mother.”

Liberty didn’t know what to think because on one hand, that poor child—being abandoned and never knowing his parents?

But on the other hand, he’d already been abandoned once. What if they found his mother—then what? There were other ways to abandon a child than just leaving him in a park. That she knew personally.

Marcus said, “I’ve been assured that the foster mother is one of their best and that the baby’s needs will be met.”

She gaped at him for a moment before she realized her mouth was still open. She got it shut and tried to remember to look professional. This was probably as good as the news would get. One of their best foster mothers? Personal assurances that the baby would be well cared for? Those were all things she’d never gotten when she was in the system. “That’s wonderful. Can I visit him?”

Marcus looked at her in surprise, as if she’d asked for a space pony. “I didn’t get the address.”

“Oh.” She stared down at her tablet. “I just thought...” She cleared her throat and tried to get back on track. “Here’s the analysis of the Rock City Watch ad. I don’t think it’s hitting the target market you were looking for yet. And you still need to find a date for the wedding.”

She stood and handed the ad material over to Marcus. Then she turned and headed for the door.

It was better this way. She’d done her part. Marcus had upheld his end of things. The baby was going to be fine.

Besides, what was she going to do? Adopt a child? Please. She worked from 7:00 a.m. until 6:00 p.m., five days a week, and she came in on Saturday to prepare for the next week’s meetings. She had to. There was so much about his world that she didn’t know and she couldn’t afford to be exposed as an outsider, so she did her homework day in and day out.

She was at the threshold when Marcus spoke. “Liberty.”

She paused. He wasn’t going to ask her to the wedding again, was he? “Yes?”

She turned to face him. The way he was looking at her—it wasn’t right. It wasn’t normal anyway. What she would give for that look to be right because there was something to it, something that was possessive and intense. It scared her, how much she wanted him to look at her like that.

So she went on the defensive. “You can’t want me to go to this wedding with you.”

His lips curved into a seductive smile. “First off, aren’t you the one telling me to do what I want?”

He couldn’t mean that he really wanted to take her—could he? “Yes, but—”

He held up his hand like a king. “Do you want to see him again? The little boy.”

She gave him a long, hard look. Was this a game? If so, she wasn’t playing. “Mr. Warren, you’re not going to make this awkward, are you? You’ll get me the foster mother’s address if I agree to attend this ridiculous wedding as your—what, your personal human shield?”

A muscle in his jaw twitched and he looked quite dangerous. Very few people said no to Marcus Warren. But she was one of them. “Just answer the question—do you want to see the baby again?”

She gritted her teeth. “Yes,” she said, bracing for his counteroffer.

“That will be all,” Marcus said, turning his attention back to his computer.

The dismissal was so sudden and unexpected that she just stood there for a moment. Marcus didn’t look back up at her. He didn’t acknowledge her continued presence at all. He merely ignored her.

It was not a good feeling.