Rachel Bailey - Return of the Secret Heir

He picked up his cutlery. “Pia, there’s something I need to tell you.”

“Sounds ominous,” she said, then took a sip of juice.

He speared a mushroom with his fork, then paused to meet her eyes as he delivered the news. “My attorney is lodging my claim on the Bramson estate today. I wanted to wait till you were back at work.”

She drew in a breath and nodded. “Thanks for telling me. And for waiting. You’re counting on there being no evidence Warner knew about you?”

“Yes.” He was sure now that none existed. The arrogant man must have assumed that when he frightened his poor secretary, she’d gone ahead and obtained an abortion. Gut burning, he stabbed another mushroom.

But the good news was if Warner hadn’t known about his existence, then it gave JT the standing to challenge the will. His attorney couldn’t foresee any problems, and once there were court-ordered DNA tests on Warner’s other two sons, the judge would have no choice but to split the inheritance three ways. His mother would finally get the public acknowledgment and compensation she’d been denied for thirty-one years.

And it all started today.

As did his new life back at his own apartment. He looked around Pia’s sweet dining and living rooms with their curtains and pink window seat. It surprised him, but he’d miss this apartment. Not the couch-it’d given him far too many kinks and sleepless nights before he moved into Pia’s bed. But still, he’d started to almost feel at home here…?.

He stabbed a tomato with his fork, annoyed that he’d let himself start to relax into something that was temporary.

“Before I leave this morning,” he said, “I’ll throw my things in the car, but I want you to promise me you’ll call if you have the slightest need.”

“More rules between us, JT?” she asked with a curve of her voluptuous lips. “Though, I think you’ll be the one needing help.”

He thought of his large, cold bed and decided she was probably right. But he also knew that wasn’t what she was referring to. “Help with what?”

“The media were always interested in the Bramson family, but since Warner’s death, they’ve been frenzied around Ryder and Seth. Even when Ryder was in Australia, the paparazzi found him.”

He remembered seeing that photo of Ryder kissing his future wife-it had been grainy and slightly blurred, but it’d been splashed over the internet and papers within hours of when it was taken. And she was right, everyone in the country knew the members of Warner Bramson’s family-from the business pages the gossip pages, and the front pages.

“And,” she said, scooping some eggs onto her fork, “with Seth’s engagement to a world-famous singer, the media value of the Bramson family has grown even more. They won’t let you rest in peace once this story hits their radars.”

Something soft touched his calf. He looked down and saw Winston curling around his legs and under the chair. Absently, he leaned down to rub the cat’s head. “I’m sure they’ll run stories about it, but no one knows me-I’m not a media magnet like those two.”

“Even if you’re not as famous now as Ryder and Seth, you’re also not used to the media attention. They grew up with it.”

The few small brushes he’d had with the media had made his skin crawl. There had been ribbon cuttings and announcements of his company’s new developments, but he left them to his PR department. Having his image, his words, beamed into houses all over the country was beyond an invasion of his privacy.

He’d heard of cultures where they believed taking a photo of someone would steal part of their soul and he’d sympathized with the theory. The public’s appetite for gossip and celebrity pictures was insatiable. That had to strip away at a person, and it was something he would have no part of.

He swallowed a mouthful of black coffee. “The lifelong media attention is one thing I don’t envy Bramson’s other sons.”

Pia’s fork dangled from her fingers as she regarded him. “Tell me something honestly. If you could go back and choose now, would you want the childhoods they had, even with all the money?”

Not regularly changing schools? Enticing. Having enough money for everything he needed? Damn attractive. But he wouldn’t have learned how to rebuild a bike, wouldn’t have become as self-sufficient. Wouldn’t have met Pia; for all the heartache of their teenage romance, it’d given him some of his happiest memories.

“No, I wouldn’t trade my childhood for theirs. For better or for worse, it made me who I am.” He finished the last swig of his coffee and put the mug on the table. “But I do wish my mother had their mothers’ life instead of working menial jobs, never having anything for herself so I had enough, always looking over her shoulder.”

“Have you told her yet?” she asked, her violet eyes both nervous and curious at the same time. “About the baby?”

They’d discussed this only last night. It was only the second trimester-far too early to get carried away with announcements. “If we make it to term.”

“I’m sorry. I forgot you don’t believe this baby will make it.” She said the words without judgment, perhaps even with a touch of compassion, but there was a hurt behind them.

“I wouldn’t say I don’t believe,” he said carefully.

Her head tilted to the side. “What would you say, then?”

“How about, I don’t want increased pressure on you. No unnecessary scrutiny.” Dr. Crosby had told them to watch Pia’s stress, and his mother’s well-meaning excitement and eagerness to be involved was an extra pressure Pia didn’t need right now. They needed to keep it simple. “That’s why you still haven’t told your parents yet, isn’t it?”

“How do you know I haven’t told them?” she asked, gaze on her plate.

He almost smiled. She needed to ask? The first clue was her father hadn’t knocked on the door to warn him off. Her parents weren’t the live-and-let-live kind. “Have you?”

“No,” she admitted.

He was glad. Keep it simple. Low pressure. For Pia’s health. “I understand why you needed to tell your boss.” She had her ethics and that was a good thing. “But I want an agreement between us not to tell anyone else.”

He looked into her clear, violet eyes and had to be brutally honest, if only with himself. Telling people, having conversations about their baby with someone other than their doctor, would make it too real. Might allow a flicker of hope to grow in his chest, leaving him open to a crushing fall if things didn’t work out for the best. After all his work to keep any glimmer of hope at bay, creating channels for it to enter his system would be foolish.

She laid her cutlery on her empty plate and pushed it to the center of the table, her features neutral. “There will be a baby bump that will show through my clothes soon. How long are you thinking we keep everyone in the dark?”

He wanted to say, Until we know for sure one way or the other, but that would be an insensitive thing to say to an expectant mother. Instead he settled on a compromise and hoped she’d allow the sleight of hand. “We’ll talk about it in the third trimester.”

“Okay,” she said and he could have sworn her eyes held a flash of relief. Was Pia as wary of announcing their news as he was? She stood and picked up her dishes, then paused. “If it’s okay with you, I’ll let Ryder and Seth know that you’re lodging the claim today. To keep everything as fair and open as possible in this situation.”

It grated to give any advantage, however slim, to the men who were blocking him from justice. Regardless that they’d probably find out during the day from their attorneys, for one unreasonable moment, he wanted Pia to stand by him. To choose him instead of choosing to be fair. But he brushed the feeling aside before it could take hold.

“Sure, why not,” he said and picked up his empty plate.

The first thing Pia did when she got in to work that morning was conference call Ryder and Seth. Linda Adams was in court and this couldn’t wait, although she made sure to leave Linda a message on her cell explaining the situation.

“Good morning, Ms. Baxter,” Seth said. “I thought we were dealing with Ms. Adams now.”

“In general you are, but I’ve had some advance warning that the claim to Warner Bramson’s estate will be lodged today. Given the amount of media coverage that other developments in this case have generated, I thought you’d like to be prepared.”

“Thanks,” Ryder’s voice rumbled. “I take it you garnered this information via your relationship with Hartley?”

“I did. And again, I assure you-”

“No need,” Ryder interrupted.

“Thank you,” she said, touched. “I appreciate it.”

“And we appreciate that you shared this information,” Seth said. “It’s one advantage of having you close to the enemy. I’ll alert my security and switchboard about the potential media interest.”

After the call, she spent the morning in meetings, being briefed on anything she’d missed by not being in the office when she’d worked from home.

By the end of the day, the media had picked up on the development. Arthur came into her office and switched on the television. A news program had a reporter on the steps of the court, holding a large microphone in front of her face.

“No one’s heard of JT Hartley before and his lawyer, a Philip Hendricks, tells us he won’t be making any public comments. Our sources tell us Hartley’s in property development and that his mother, Theresa Hartley, once worked for Bramson Holdings in the secretarial pool.”

“Any word from Ryder Bramson or Seth Kentrell?” the news anchor asked.

“No, Jimmy. Despite repeated attempts to contact Warner Bramson’s sons for comment, neither has been available. We’ll continue trying and keep you up to date.”

“Thanks, Angela.” The screen switched to the news anchor. “Now we cross to one of JT Hartley’s ex-employees who says-”

Pia clicked the television off. “So it’s started,” she said, almost to herself. Then she looked over at Arthur. “Thanks for letting me know.”

Arthur nodded and headed for the door to his office. “The reception desk has had calls, too. I think the media are desperate for information.”

As her assistant disappeared, Pia thought of JT at his office, probably with media swarming out front wanting a piece of him. The phone on her desk lured her to call and check on him, but she’d been the one to establish the new, stricter boundaries to their interactions. And for good reason.

Calling the man every time she thought about him would mean she’d be ringing regularly. He could handle himself with the media, and he had a staff who she was sure would be well equipped to deal with anything that arose. JT was the father of her unborn child. That was all. And the sooner she accepted that, the better.

She noticed her hand was lightly caressing her stomach. Pulling it away, she picked up the files for a case that had nothing to do with Warner Bramson’s offspring and determinedly put JT out of her mind.

The next day, Pia sat at her desk, attempting to blot out the world so she could simply get her work done. The night had been achingly lonely with only Winston to warm the bed. She’d lain for hours, staring at the wall, missing JT’s presence as if she were missing a limb. The sheets still held his scent; her skin still held memories of his touch. Her body was hollowed out, empty, without him.

She paused in reading the second contract of the morning and slipped the pen between her teeth. She’d been right to insist JT leave yesterday-if she was this badly unsettled after only a few weeks with him in her bed, how would she have coped after a longer time? Developing a dependency on him had been one of her fears from the start and it seemed she’d just caught this one in time.