Читать книгу Accidentally Yours - Сьюзен Мэллери, Susan Mallery - Страница 6

“I HEARD ABOUT the cat rescue,” Kerri’s friend Linda said that evening after the dinner dishes were done and Kerri had tucked Cody into bed. “Half the town thinks you’re a saint and the other half thinks you should be institutionalized.”

“I’m not a saint,” Kerri said as she leaned back against the sofa. “I’m just trying to do the best I can.”

She’d already told Linda about her disastrous meeting with Nathan King.

“I don’t know what else to do,” Kerri admitted, which wasn’t her style. She never allowed herself to even think about failing. After all, she was Wonder Mom.

The idea for the crazy name and costume had popped into her brain four years ago, shortly after Cody had been diagnosed with Gilliar’s Disease. He’d been five and in a lot of pain. He’d gotten so down, he refused to go to school or hang out with his friends.

In a move that many would consider too bizarre for words, Kerri had come up with the idea of being Wonder Mom. If she had secret powers, they would also be passed on to her son. And if Cody had secret powers, then he could certainly conquer his disease.

With the help of some neighbors and a hydraulic jack, she’d arranged for her son to “see” her lift a car with one hand. He’d been so impressed he’d begged her to let him sign up for T-ball. Over the years she’d figured out a costume, a logo and had made regular appearances doing the seemingly impossible.

She didn’t know if it was the whole Wonder Mom persona or just good luck, but Cody’s disease had progressed more slowly than expected. If looking like an idiot was helping, she was happy to do it every day.

“What about what Tim mentioned?” Linda reached for her glass of wine. “Say it’s happened and maybe it will.”

“A little clarity would have been nice,” Kerri murmured. “All I can come up with is that he was suggesting I announce Nathan King agreed to give the money.”

“Why not?”

Linda was an attractive brunette in her late forties. She’d spent twenty years working with Abram Wallace in the research facility in town and Kerri had come to rely on her intelligence and practical sense. She had met her when Linda had come to her with a hair emergency.

“Would it work?” Kerri asked more to herself than Linda. “Can I do that? Lie?”

Linda smiled. “It won’t be the first time. It’s not like you actually had the references you claimed to have to get that restaurant job.”

“I know, but the reference thing would fall in the white-lie category. Is announcing a donation that hasn’t been made illegal? I’m all Cody has. If I were to go to jail…” She opened her mouth, then closed it. Somewhere deep inside her brain a light went on.

She straightened. “I’m having an Oprah ‘aha’ moment,” she said, hardly daring to think the whole thing through. Was it possible? Could she pull it off?

“I have letters,” she told her friend. “Form letters from King’s company. So I could scan in the letterhead and then write a different letter saying he’s giving us the money. I give that to the local paper. They get all excited, word goes out to the wire service and voilà, the whole world knows.”

Linda grinned. “It could work. And the jail threat?”

“That’s the great part. Do you really think a big-time developer is going to put the mother of a sick kid in jail? If he tried, there has to be some sleazy lawyer willing to take on my case. Think of the publicity. Worst-case scenario, Nathan King backs out of the donation, then someone else may step forward.”

Linda leaned forward and pulled a folder out of her purse. “I don’t think he’ll be backing out. I did a little research of my own. Nathan King is trying to build those luxury high-rise towers on Puget Sound.”

Kerri wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, yeah. Million-plus-dollar condos and upscale shopping and restaurants. In my next life I’ll buy one.”

“He’s getting a lot of resistance from city government. You’ve only been living here a few months, but I’ve been in the Seattle area all my life. Nathan King has made a lot of enemies. He’s not well liked. Really bad publicity could ruin his chances of getting his project through.”

Hope burned hot and bright in Kerri’s chest. “He couldn’t afford to put me in jail.”

“Probably not.”

“I would represent every little person he’s ever stepped on in his quest to amass his fortune.”

“Exactly.”

“I like it.”

The two women clinked wineglasses.

AFTER FINISHING his breakfast, Nathan King put down the Wall Street Journal and opened the folder of clippings that had been left with his paper. Every morning he reviewed what the newspapers had said about him the previous day.

In his current battle for zoning and funding, press reports were a necessary evil.

He flipped through copies of articles about his various businesses, an op-ed piece on the horrors of luxury high-rise construction, a short report on the wire about his plans to contribute fifteen million toward research on Gilliar’s Disease and an interview with a pro-environment reporter who had twisted his every response to make him sound both cruel and stupid. If they—

He carefully set his coffee on the table, then flipped back to the previous page.

There weren’t many details. Just a statement about the donation and a couple of sentences that research would resume at the facility in Songwood, Washington.

Nathan already had out his cell phone. He hit the speed dial for Jason Hardy.

“You’re getting an early start,” Jason said when he answered. “What’s up?”

“Someone is trying to blackmail me into giving her fifteen million dollars.”

“What? Who?”

“I don’t know her name. Some psychotic waitress who ambushed me at lunch last week. She wants me to donate to some cause.” There was no point in telling Jason what cause. Nathan never discussed his son’s illness and subsequent death with anyone. Not even his closest friend and attorney. “She even tried bribing my chauffeur to get to me. She’s crazy. I want her stopped.”

“And people think being incredibly rich is trouble free,” Jason said easily. “Was she working at The Grill?”

“As a server. A bad one.”

“I’ll start there. Give me until the end of the day and I’ll get you a full profile. So how’s she blackmailing you?”

“She issued a press release on our letterhead saying that I would personally be donating the money to some research facility in Songwood.”

“The money goes there rather than to her?” Jason asked.

“She’s got a sick kid. The head guy there is working on the kid’s disease. She wants a miracle.”

“Well, sure. Is it fatal?”

Nathan refused to think about the slow and painful death that claimed children with Gilliar’s Disease. “Is that compassion I hear in your voice?”

Jason chuckled. “Sorry. I forgot myself. You’d think law school would have beaten that out of me. I’ll call you later.”

THE HAIR BARN WAS like any one of a thousand small-town beauty salons. It was bright, cheerful, and the source of all the local gossip.

As Kerri wove the pointed end of her comb through Amber Whitney’s dark blond hair, she listened carefully to the talk all around.

“My Frank says they’ll have to hire at least fifty new scientists,” Millie of the dry cleaning store was saying. “That will take some time. But they’re going to be well paid, so if you want to sell, this is the time. All those research people will need housing. Sure, a few of them will live in Seattle or North Bend and drive up the mountain, but plenty will settle here.” She sighed. “It’ll be like it was, when the town was thriving. It’s good for business.”

“I wonder how many other people they’ll be hiring,” Millie’s friend said. “Secretaries, janitorial staff, office workers. Maybe some basic lab techs. My Denny would much rather work there than go back to logging.”

The town buzzed with news of the donation. It was all anyone had talked about ever since the press release had hit the wire. Kerri swallowed back the knot of guilt in her throat and kept weaving Amber’s hair.

Lying to the town was a repercussion she hadn’t thought through. Everyone was so excited by the prospect of the lab opening up again.

She didn’t want to hurt these people. She didn’t want to hurt anyone. She’d been so intent on simply getting the funding for Dr. Wallace that she hadn’t considered there were other lives on the line. If Nathan King didn’t come through…

He had to, she reminded herself. Just that morning there’d been an article in the Seattle paper about how Nathan’s charity work should be considered when it came to giving him the zoning he wanted. If he was exposed as a man who went back on his word, maybe he wouldn’t get his towers. Of course, if she were exposed as a liar and a fraud, he might get the sympathy vote.

“Hey, Mom.”

She turned and saw Cody at the front of the salon. Most days she tried to be done before he got out of school, but Thursdays she worked late.

“Hey, kiddo. How was your day?”

“Okay.”

Cody balanced on his crutches. Kerri was pleased to see that the new style, with the bracing around his forearm, seemed to be helping his balance. That and the fact that she’d finally cleaned out his backpack. It had gotten so heavy, she’d been afraid he would fall on his back like a turtle and be unable to get up.

“Be right back,” Kerri told Amber, then crossed to her son.

Cody was on the short side for his age group—not a surprise, considering his condition—but smart, with that emotionally mature edge sick kids seem to get. At nine, he’d reached the point where he was uncomfortable being kissed by his mom in public. Kerri had yet to reach the point where she didn’t care.

“Math test,” she said as she pulled him close and dropped a quick kiss on the top of his head. “Tell me you kicked fraction butt.”

“They’re all totally kicked,” he said as he squirmed away, then smiled at her. “I missed one.”

“One? One? Oh, man. I have to disown you now.”

“Leave me on the curb for some stranger to take me away?” he asked with a grin.

“Absolutely. Someone who doesn’t care about kids who aren’t perfect. You missed one. I may never recover from the disappointment.”

“Spaghetti with garlic bread.”

She opened her eyes wide. “Excuse me? Young men who miss one question on their math tests do not get to demand things like spaghetti with garlic bread for dinner.”

“It was an A, Mom. You know missing one is still an A.”

“Are you kidding? An A? What is this world coming to? I’m appalled. And you know how I get when I’m appalled.”

She reached for him. He ducked away, but the crutches hindered him. Kerri dove in and began tickling him. She was careful to stay away from his ribs. Like all his bones, they were fragile.

He giggled and squirmed, then relaxed in her arms.

“I’ll make spaghetti,” she murmured into his hair. “Then we’ll tackle the spelling words. You’ll wait for me at Brandon’s?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Good. Try to keep Tiger out of that tree, okay? I’m on a Wonder Mom break for the next couple of days.”

Cody looked up at her. “I will, Mom. See you later.”

She was supposed to let him go and she would…in a second. But staring into his eyes like that, she was reminded of Cody’s father. Cody was so much like her late husband. It was a unique combination of pleasure and heartbreaking pain.

“Be good,” she said.

He nodded and left the salon.

“DON’T BE STUPID,” Jason Hardy said. “I’m telling you this based on my personal experience as your lawyer. You pay me three hundred dollars an hour for that experience, Nathan. So listen.”

“I’m listening.”

“No, you’re not. If you were still listening, you’d be back in the city. Instead you’re driving up I90 by yourself. I don’t want you confronting that woman alone.”

“That woman” was one Kerri Sullivan. A single mom and hairdresser. Nearly every detail of her insignificant life was listed in the folder next to him on the passenger seat of his Mercedes.

She’d been an average student in high school, a cheerleader. Her parents had been killed when she’d been fairly young and she’d been raised by her maternal grandmother. She’d gone to community college, but had dropped out after less than a year to go to beauty school. She’d met and married Brian Sullivan. Brian had been in the army and died when his truck had overturned. Eight and a half months later, she’d given birth to her only child.

Cody Sullivan, age nine. His Gilliar’s Disease had been diagnosed when he’d been five. He’d lived longer than most and was only now entering the truly degenerative stage.

In the past four years Kerri had lived in Texas and Minnesota. She supported them by working in beauty salons. Her location choices weren’t random. She moved to where the research was being done. She’d run out of options, until she discovered Dr. Abram Wallace’s work in Songwood. She’d moved there three months ago.

“I won’t let her blackmail me,” he told Jason. The built-in speakerphone in his car picked up his low voice.

“So what are you going to do? Threaten her? That’s my job, and let me say, for the record, I resent you trying to take the fun out of it.” Jason sighed. “I mean it, Nathan. You’re going to get angry and say some things you shouldn’t.”

“She thinks she’s trapped me. She thinks I can’t back out because I’ll look bad. Who the hell does she think she is?”

“A desperate mom?” Jason asked. “You have nothing to say to her.”

“I’m going to make her stop. No one holds me hostage.”

“You’re going to make the situation worse. You have a very competent staff. We want to do our job. Let us deal with her. You don’t need any more negative publicity.”

“I want her ass in jail,” Nathan muttered.

“Not going to happen. Let’s imagine that headline. She’s got the sympathy factor. I don’t like what she’s doing, either, but let’s be logical.”

Logic? Nathan wasn’t interested. Whether it was a well thought-out plan or just dumb luck, Kerri Sullivan had gotten plenty of play from her bogus statement. He’d actually been contacted by someone at the research facility in Songwood, asking about the particulars for the donation. They were, she’d informed him, ready to begin hiring. Two other parents of kids with Gilliar’s Disease had also tried to get through to him. Just to thank him, their messages had said.

“How the hell does one hairdresser get all this done?” he demanded.

“She’s got balls,” Jason said, a hint of admiration in his voice.

“Remember whose side you’re on,” Nathan told him.

“You don’t have to remind me. Being on your side is the reason I’m telling you to turn around and come home. Let me handle her.”

Nathan grimaced. “You’re breaking up,” he said into the perfectly clear connection. “I’ll call back when I’m on my way down the mountain.”

“Dammit, Nathan. Don’t you hang up. And don’t do anything either of us will regret.”

Nathan disconnected the call.

Thirty minutes later he was in downtown Songwood, letting his GPS system direct him to the Hair Barn. When he found it, he parked and walked directly inside.

The place was filled with women. Conversation stopped the second the glass door closed behind him. A dozen or so pairs of eyes settled on him, but he ignored everyone except the blonde he remembered from the restaurant.

Last week he’d been too pissed off to notice anything about her. Now he compared the real, live Kerri Sullivan to the picture in her folder.

She was fairly average. Blond hair, blue eyes, medium height. Pretty enough, in a corn-fed kind of way. There were a million women just like her in the Midwest, which wasn’t a good thing. If he had her arrested and she got the kind of press coverage he knew she was more than capable of generating, every one of those million women would relate to her. She’d come off as pure as Snow White and he’d be the damned evil stepmother.

He ignored everyone else in the place and walked directly to her.

“We have to talk.”

She paused in the act of sweeping up hair from the floor and glanced at him. “I don’t think so.”

“Maybe I’m here to tell you what you want to hear.”

“You look way too angry for that to be true. I’m guessing you want to threaten me. I don’t accept threats during work hours and I’m on the clock for another hour.”

He swore silently. Jason was right—she had balls. Giant ones.

“Ms. Sullivan,” he began, aware of every other person in the place listening to their conversation.

“I said no,” she told him, squaring her shoulders and trying to stare him down. “I make minimum wage plus tips. The fact that you know who I am and where I work tells me that you’ve done your research. That probably included a copy of my last couple of tax returns. You know what I make. I’m a single mom. I can’t afford to miss time off work because you’re in the mood to talk.”

He wanted to crush her like the insignificant insect she was. But he also respected her ability to negotiate like a pro. Under other circumstances, he might find himself respecting her.

“Fine,” he said, pulling out his wallet. “How much do you want?”

“About fifteen million. I thought that was pretty clear.”

“I meant for our conversation.”

“I’m not taking your money for that.”

He glanced around, then returned his attention to her and lowered his voice. “What if I just tell them the truth? That you made it all up.”

Her blue gaze never wavered. “I’ll burst into tears and demand to know how you could be so cruel as to crush the hopes of an entire town.”

He swore. “We’re going to talk.”

She nodded slowly. “Fine. Have a seat. I’ll cut your hair.”

“You mean scalp me. No thanks.”

She leaned the broom against the wall and put her hands on her hips. She was trying to look tough, he thought, and failing miserably.

“Look,” she said. “I’m good at what I do. I’m relatively new in town and I’m still building my clientele. I’m also interested in convincing you to donate fifteen million dollars to save my son’s life. Why on earth would I want to risk all of that by scalping you?”

“You know I don’t want to give you the money and I’m willing to do just about anything to stop you. That doesn’t make us friends.”

“Maybe not, but whoever’s been doing your hair isn’t doing a very good job.” She patted her chair. “Come on. I’ll turn you into a chick magnet.”

“I’m already a chick magnet.” But he reluctantly lowered himself into the seat.

Behind him, conversation resumed in the salon. Several women pulled out cell phones. Great. Soon he’d have an audience.

She covered him in a black plastic cape, then reached for a spray bottle and wet down his hair.

“How’d you do your research?” he asked.

“Internet. I can only type about twenty words a minute, but I’m tenacious.”

“And talented. The letter from my company looks authentic.”

She smiled at him in the mirror and reached for scissors. He held in a wince when she made her first cut.

“It is authentic. You agreed to pay the money.”

“And if I hadn’t?”

“Someone who had nothing to lose might have a form letter from your office. Form letters, although rude and thoughtless, do come with letterhead. A good scanner, a little creativity, the right software and there we are.”

“You contacted me before?” he asked, knowing he shouldn’t be surprised.

“Of course. I sent in a grant proposal. Your committee didn’t even consider it. Evil bastards.”

“We get a lot of requests,” he said absently, wondering why she’d been turned down. The report in his car also contained some information on Wallace’s lab. According to all accounts, he’d been close to a cure before the explosion.

“How old was your son when he died?” she asked.

The unexpected question cut through him like a laser. He stiffened, then consciously forced himself to relax.

She wanted them to connect over shared pain, he reminded himself. To convince him to give her the money.

He said nothing.

She combed several strands together, then trimmed the ends.

“Cody’s nine. In the fourth grade. He’s bright, which helps, because sometimes he has to miss school. You remember what that was like. He likes all sports, but baseball is his favorite. I swear, we’ve seen every televised baseball game since he was three. Now that we’re in Washington, he’s a Mariners fan.”

Daniel had liked football, Nathan thought, then pushed the memory away. Damn Kerri Sullivan.

“I have a very expensive team of lawyers,” he said, his voice as conversational as hers had been. “They’re going to take care of you. You can go away quietly or with a lot of noise, but you will go away.”

She stepped back to study the cut, then moved in close again and picked up her scissors. “What are you going to do? Throw me in jail?”

“If necessary.”

She leaned closer. “Coldhearted billionaire throws mother of dying child in jail. Zoning commission refuses zoning petition. They kind of go together, huh?”

“Blackmail is illegal.”

She stepped back and smiled. “Blackmail. Oh, right. Because I have the power. I couldn’t even sleep with your chauffeur when I tried.”

“Tim is gay.”

“I found that out. But he was very nice about it, which I appreciated. The man has style. You could learn a lot from him.” She trimmed more hair. “Face it, Mr. King. I’ve already won. You can’t go back on your word. You’ll look like the villain most people think you are. Write the check and walk away. Consider it your good deed for the month.”

“I will not be manipulated by some hairdresser.”

“Of course you will. You got to the top by doing what has to be done. Think of me as an unexpected expense.”

He narrowed his gaze. “You don’t care what you do, as long as you get your money.”

The chair spun so fast he started to slip. He grabbed the arms and found himself facing Kerri directly. Her blue eyes were the color of the ocean during a storm.

“You want to build your fancy-assed condos, have at it. I don’t care. But let me be completely clear. I am fighting for my son’s life. So you’re right. I will stop at nothing. I will march into that zoning commission, place my hand on a Bible and lie. I will tell everyone who asked that you promised the research facility the money and now you’re trying to get out of it. I don’t care if I go to hell, Mr. King. I care if my son lives.”

He recognized her desperation. He’d felt it once. He’d been just as determined and it had all been for nothing. He’d lost and the morning he’d buried his seven-year-old son, he’d vowed he would never care about anyone ever again.

The door of the Hair Barn opened and a teenager with a camera walked in. He marched over to Kerri’s station, aimed and took a picture.

“The local paper?” Nathan asked when the kid left.

“Uh-huh. I’m guessing one of the other customers called the paper to say you were here. I’m doing this for Cody, but there are other lives on the line. This town is dying, and opening the research facility again will bring it back to life.”

He swore under his breath. He didn’t give a damn about the town or her or her kid. He just wanted his permit to build his towers. The ones with his name on them so he could show the world what he’d done and who he was.

Kerri turned him back to the mirror, rubbed something sticky into her hands, then through his hair. She smoothed and squished and then whipped off the cape and stepped back.

“I’m done.”

He studied himself. The cut was good. Damn good. Unless the crap she’d put on his head gave him a rash, she’d been totally professional.

He stood and reached for his wallet. “How much do I owe you?”

“Seventy dollars, plus tip.” She smiled as she spoke.

His gaze strayed to the sign hanging over the mirrors. The one that said a man’s haircut was seventeen-fifty.

He handed her a hundred-dollar bill. “Keep the change.”

She took the money without blinking. “I will.”

“I can sue you,” he said. “Drag you into court.”

“Interesting. There is the problem of perception,” she told him. “And oral agreements. I’m not a lawyer, of course, but for all intents and purposes, you’re here to firm up the final details. We have a picture to prove it. Do you think after all the promises you made, if you back out and the town takes you to court, we can get punitive damages?”

Shit. Who was this woman?

He sucked in a breath. “You use me, I use you.”

It was as if someone had turned a light on inside of her. Her eyes brightened, her skin flushed and he half expected her to glow.

“Use away,” she said. “Pictures, interviews. I’ll tell the world you’re a god. I’ll even sleep with you if you want.”

He looked her up and down, then smiled slowly. “I just might take you up on that.”