Scandal on the Sand (The Billionaires of Barefoot Bay #3)(7)
Author: Roxanne St. Claire

“That account of our relationship in that notebook is a story, a fabrication, a complete work of fiction,” he said carefully. “Yes, I think I know this woman and, yes, we had sex. With a condom,” he added. “What did she tell you?”

“She never…” She cleared her throat, having a feeling this wasn’t going to get her the signature she needed and wanted. “She never actually told me your name.”

It was his turn to stare in disbelief. “So you’re basing this entire thing on some teenager’s attempt at a bad romance novel?  A woman who has, as far as we know, at least two names.”

“She wasn’t a teenager.” But she wasn’t much more than that. “I saw her legal document, and I know her name was Careen Cassidy.  And Dylan looks like you.”

He lifted a shoulder and nodded. “I’ll give you that. But it could be a coincidence.”

“And you did have sex with her.”

“I had sex with a girl who had a different name and looks a little like that one in the picture.” He leaned forward. “How well do you know this Carrie person?”

Ire shot through her. This Carrie person had been dear to her. “Well. Very well. We lived together, and I was in the hospital room when Dylan was born, and I’ve helped raise him.”

“How did you meet her?”

“She applied for a job at the County Clerk’s office when I worked in personnel, and we hit it off in the interview.” Carrie’s sob story had ripped Liza’s heart out, and she’d invited the poor girl to stay with her until she found an apartment…and she’d never left. “We became really good friends and, well, she needed help and—”

“But not such good friends that she’d tell you who fathered the baby?”

The truth jabbed at her. “She told me you—he—had made it clear you didn’t want anything to do with the baby, and she’d rather forget about you.”

His eyes flashed. “I never told anyone anything like that, because we never had another conversation after I dropped her off at an apartment complex that night,” he insisted, his voice rising with impatience. “She made it all up.”

Was that possible? Inside, way down low in her belly, Liza grew cold and afraid. Had she been such a pushover that Carrie lied from day one? She’d always had a soft spot for strays, and she had the four cats to prove it. But everyone who met Carrie loved her, even Liza’s mother, who didn’t usually love anyone if they didn’t have access to the right country club.

“What about the notebook?” he asked. “Where did it come from?”

“I found it hidden in her belongings after she died. When I read it, I realized just how rich and powerful a family she’d meant when I saw the name Ivory.”

“And it didn’t occur to you that this whole story was a product of her imagination?”

She shook her head, feeling incredibly vulnerable and foolish. “What occurred to me was that, if I could find you, I could get you to sign a TPR, er, a Termination of Parental Rights waiver, which is what I had urged her to do all along. I work with legal documents every day. I know they carry tremendous weight in court, and if you don’t have them in order, it could come back to haunt you.”

He didn’t answer for a moment, his gaze on the picture that faced up. “Was she drunk?”

Liza blinked at him, the question throwing her. “Excuse me?”

“When she died. You said it was an accident on the highway. Was she drunk?”

She almost laughed. “I never saw Carrie drink anything stronger than iced tea. She was insanely healthy and, for your information, she never even went on a date in the time we were roommates. I tried to fix her up with a friend once, and she refused. She said Dylan was her only man.”

That indiscernible flicker of emotion passed over his face again. He looked down, bracing his elbows on his knees to rest his chin on tight fists. “And what about Dylan?”

Her heart rate rose at the question. The tenderness in the tone scared her. “What about him?”

“How is he? His mom is dead and, well, he’s an orphan.”

“Not technically, since I—”

“No, I guess if he has a father, he’s not an orphan.”

She tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry and tasted metallic. Fear. She was tasting real, live terror that she could lose Dylan. Why in the hell hadn’t she left well enough alone? This was exactly what Carrie feared. He’d have never come after Dylan, and now…

“How is he?” he asked again.

“What do you mean? He’s…” Perfect. Adorable. Sweet as candy and as good as gold. But something in her kept her from sharing. What if Nate fell in love with Dylan, too? And how could he not? Everyone fell in love with Dylan at first sight. “He’s fine.”

“Is he well-adjusted? Healthy? Normal? Smart? Going to school? Reading yet?”

She would have laughed at how much like a dad he sounded except…nothing about that was funny. He was Dylan’s dad and, as such, had some rights. Not legal guardianship. She did have that. But, still, he had a right to know about his son.

She nodded. “Very healthy, very well-adjusted, crazy smart, and slightly temperamental. He’s only four, so he doesn’t read very many words yet, but he can spell.” She laughed softly. “Oh, boy, he likes to spell.” She smiled, thinking of the light in his eyes when she handed him a new pack of Matchbox cars last night. “He loves cars. Anything with wheels, actually.”

“I was that way, too.”

“Well, he’s nothing like you.” The words popped out, unfiltered, earning her a dark look. “I mean, well—”

“You don’t know me.”

Shrugging, she chose her words carefully. “In trying to find you and decide what to do about this situation, I read a lot about you, so—”

“Like I said, you don’t know me.”

“I know what your lifestyle is. I know you live on boats and have a dozen houses and go to parties in Monte Carlo and don’t have a real job.”

“I wouldn’t call sitting on four Fortune 500 corporate boards, managing two charitable foundations, and handling a few billion dollars’ worth of investments ‘unemployed.’”

“I wouldn’t call your lifestyle stable.”

He made a guttural sound of disgust, pushing himself to a stand so he loomed over her. “A lifestyle is not a person. A lifestyle is a word the media made up. A lifestyle—” He turned and paced across the room, stopping to put his hands on the bar as if he actually needed support. “I am so sick of this conversation.”