Johnson Family 1: Unforgettable (5 page)

“I’m busy today, too.”

“I’m sure you are.” He either didn’t take the hint or didn’t care. He turned in a half circle, his eyes sweeping the room. “It’s strange seeing you in these surroundings, looking like an executive, so different from when I last saw you.”

“I was twenty-two years old then. I was different. We both were.”

“And I didn’t know who you were at first,” he said thoughtfully. “I never understood why you didn’t tell me right away.”

“For the same reason I kept it a secret from everyone. People behave differently when they find out you have money.”

“Did I act like I cared?”

“No, you didn’t.” Which had been a pleasant surprise, making her love him even more. She glanced at his hand. “You never married?”

“No. Marriage isn’t in the cards for me. You know that.”

She hadn’t forgotten. He’d broken her heart when he’d told her the truth about their relationship.
“This isn’t a forever thing. It’s just a for now thing. I have plans.”

“True.” Fatherhood hadn’t been in the cards for him, either, but that didn’t stop her from fantasizing, wishing she could have been the woman to make him change his ways. To extinguish the wanderlust that had driven him to seek adventure on the other side of the world. To make him want to settle down and start a family.

“I promised not to keep you, so I’m going cut to the chase.” He tucked a hand in the pocket of his trousers. “I know the way things ended between us years ago wasn’t the best, but I was wondering if we could keep in touch. The truth is, Ivy, I’ve never forgotten about you, and I thought maybe we could…be friends at least.”

Friends.

To hide the sudden pain from his suggestion at the inadequate substitute, she looked down at the pen in her hand. There were so many reasons why she couldn’t be friends with him, none of which she could share. She couldn’t tell him that even though the longing had subsided over the years, she’d never stopped thinking about him. She couldn’t tell him that he had a daughter—not after he’d told her he didn’t want to be a father. Not after she’d lied and told him she’d taken measures to make sure she didn’t get pregnant.

“Atlanta was a long time ago. I’ve moved on.” She filled her voice with a coolness she didn’t feel, hoping the same sentiment was reflected in her eyes and would fool him into walking out without a backward glance. “I was happily married for seven years before my husband passed away, and I think it’s best that we keep the past in the past.”

Her words swept the friendly expression from his face. “I know we’ve both changed a lot, and I’m not asking to revisit the past,” he said. “All I’m asking is—”

“You’re asking for something I can’t give. I’ve moved on,” she said in a firmer voice.

Her reaction confused him. She could see it in his eyes. “So you can’t see your way to be friends?” He laughed softly, as if the idea of not accepting his offer of friendship was preposterous.

“I have plenty of friends. I don’t need anymore.”

“You’re serious?”

“You sound surprised.”

He studied her. “Maybe we should try this again.”

He stalked toward her, his footfalls silent on the carpet. She stiffened at his closeness and fought to breathe normally. Surely she could handle being this close to him, even though she could smell his cologne, even though she could reach out and touch him if she wanted to.

He looked her right in the eye, and she held her gaze steady.

She was almost as tall as him in her heels. Five feet eight and a half inches, but she rounded up to five-nine, because what was a half-inch more? He used to tease her about that. He always teased her about one thing or another—her picky eating habits, her prissiness.

“Did I do something to upset you?” he asked.

“What makes you say that?”

“Because I have the distinct impression you don’t want me here.” He examined her face. “Am I right? You don’t want me here?”

She set the pen on the desk with a measured motion and lifted her gaze to his. “I don’t understand why you want to be here or what your expectations are.”

“I don’t expect anything. I don’t want anything,” he said.

“Except to be friends,” she clarified.

“Yes.”

“Good, we understand each other.” She exhaled a deep breath. “You want to be friends, but I don’t.”

He frowned. His dark, contemplative gaze searched her face. “Why?”

“I told you, I have plenty of friends already.”

“If this is about the way our relationship ended, you knew the deal when we got involved. I never lied to you. It doesn’t make sense that you’d still hold a grudge after nine years.”

He was right. He’d been up front from the beginning, making it clear that their relationship was a summer fling and nothing more because he had big plans that didn’t involve a silly socialite falling for him.

“I’m not holding a grudge. I don’t want to be friends with you.”

He turned away. “This was obviously a waste of time,” he muttered.

“Obviously.” She only had to maintain this arctic front a little longer so she could get him out of there, and then she could relax.

He swung around. “I came to talk, to see if we could build a bridge or something.” Her silence fueled his anger. “For the record, I wanted to be friends, nothing more. I have plenty of women in my life.”

The words had been thrust at her with dagger-like force, making it clear he didn’t want
her
, no matter what she thought. Somehow she managed not to flinch.

“Good for you. Then why are you here?” she shot back.

“I’m beginning to wonder the same thing.”

Right then, the door swung open and Katie bounded in, her long braids pulled back into a ponytail. Her mouth fell open and she looked up at them in surprise.

“Oops! Sorry. I didn’t know you were in a meeting. Cynthia wasn’t at her desk.”

Ivy’s kept her voice calm even though her pulse started to race. “Go back down the hall to the visitor’s office. I’ll be there as soon as I wrap this up.”

Quietly, Katie obeyed and left, shutting the door behind her.

“She looks just like you,” Lucas said. He paused. He looked at her strangely, studying her face again.

“I have a million things to do. I need you to leave,” Ivy said.

His head jerked back at her abrupt dismissal. “Damn, Ivy, I just—” He shook his head. “You know what, forget it. Lucas Baylor doesn’t stay where he’s not wanted. Take care of yourself.”

He stormed out, and after he left, Ivy closed her eyes and sagged against the desk. That was close.

Chapter Six

Lucas marched down the hall, fury and the stirring of blood in his loins making his stride heavy.

What a waste of time and how embarrassing. So what they couldn’t be friends?

He had plenty of friends, just like she did. So what if his eyes had dropped to the sway of her hips when she walked ahead of him? He barely even noticed that her body was rounder, fuller, more womanly.

He wanted to wrench the mask of stoicism from her lovely face. The woman he remembered had been passionate, not cool and detached. Was the old Ivy completely gone? The wild child—more child than wild—with her contradictory innocence and adventurous spirit, determined to live life to the fullest while shunning the spotlight that had dogged her for years.

He frowned.

And what had that look been about at the end? It wasn’t just surprise. It was worry. No. Concern? No.
Alarm
. Why would Ivy be alarmed in his presence?

It was around lunchtime and the offices on either side of the hallway were empty. A movement in one of them caught his eye. Ivy’s daughter was in there, seated in a guest chair and writing in a composition notebook on her lap.

Before he had time to contemplate his actions, he entered the office. She was part of Ivy, and that drew him out of curiosity, if nothing else.

“Hey there.”

She quickly covered the pages of the book protectively with her arm.

“What do you have there?” he asked.

“Nothing.” Her glasses gave her a studious, serious appearance.

“Looked like you might be working on a story,” he said.

She shrugged and kept her arm over the book.

He almost smiled. He knew what it was like to want to protect your words before allowing anyone to see them and criticize. “You don’t want me to see?”

She shrugged again. “I don’t know if I’m any good,” she mumbled.

“Any good at what?”

“Writing.” Behind the black-framed glasses, she had pretty eyes, with long, curled lashes. “Writing is my hobby, and I love it. My mom says I’m like my dad in that way.”

Ivy’s husband had been fond of writing. That was a surprise. “So your dad liked to write too, huh?”

The little girl nodded. “Mommy said his words were like magic.”

A stab of jealousy passed through him. She used to say the same about his writing. He crouched in front of her daughter. “Guess what? I’m a writer, too.”

Impressed, her eyes widened. “You are?”

“Yes. Do you know what a blog is?”

She nodded.

“Well, I write a successful blog and I just had my first book published. That’s why I’m in Seattle. I’m on a tour to promote it.”

“Congratulations on your book. That’s quite an accomplishment.” She sounded intelligent and way too mature for her age. He stifled a smile.

“So what are you working on?” Lucas asked.

“Well…it’s not a story or anything. It’s my feelings. Just things I’m thinking about.” Her voice and eyes lowered at the end and she suddenly became bashful. “But I write stories, too.”

“What kind of stories?”

“Fairy tales, about a princess and a handsome prince.”

“And how do those stories end?” he asked.

Her eyes lit up. “They get married and have lots of babies.”

Lucas hid his amusement at her animated expression. “After they finish school, right?”

“Of course,” she said solemnly.

He rose from the crouched position and looked down at her upturned face. She was a cute little replica of her mother, with the same complexion and a pair of sparkling brown eyes. She’d only been briefly mentioned in an article he’d read online about Ivy about how she managed her career as an executive while being a mother. There hadn’t been a single photo of her daughter anywhere, though. Ivy had done a good job of keeping her out of the media spotlight.

“It was nice talking to you,” Lucas said. He suddenly realized he didn’t know her name. “What’s your name, darlin’?”

“Katie. Well, it’s actually Katherine, but everybody calls me Katie.”

“That’s a pretty name. My mother’s name is Katherine, too.”

“It is?”

“Sure is. Well, it was nice to meet you, Katie.” He paused, struck by a random thought. Katherine? Why would Ivy give her daughter his mother’s name?

Probably just a coincidence. After all, his mother and Ivy had been close during the time she and he were involved, and he could tell his mother had been disappointed when their relationship had ended. Maybe Ivy just liked the name Katherine.

His brow furrowed. Surely it was also a coincidence that Katie happened to enjoy writing, like he did.

Writing is my hobby, and I love it. My mom said I’m like my dad in that way.

Mommy said his words were like magic.

Holy shit.

“Mister, are you okay?”

Sweat broke out on his forehead and he swiped it away. He looked more closely at Katie and noticed things he hadn’t before. He couldn’t honestly say he saw a resemblance to him in her face. She resembled her mother, but where Ivy had a rounded tip to her nose, Katie’s was flatter and broader, similar to his. And her eyelashes reminded him of his own.

No big deal. Lots of people had broad noses and long lashes, right?

He swallowed. He couldn’t shake his crazy idea. It took root and germinated.

Could she be his daughter? Was that why he felt inexplicably drawn to her?

No, none of his musings made sense. He shook his head. Katie was too young, clearly only about six or seven years old. He and Ivy would have been broken up long before her conception. She would have been happily married to Winston Whats-His-Face during the time Katie was conceived.

“Yes, I’m fine,” he said, his voice thick, his mind still racing. “How old are you, Katie?” he asked.

“I turned eight in April, but I can’t wait until I turn nine, because my Uncle Cyrus said he’s going to buy me a gold-plated cell phone. Mommy says I’m too young, but Uncle Cyrus says all the kids have cell phones, so why shouldn’t I. My mom worries a lot.”

He barely heard the last part of what she said. His brain quickly did the math. If her birthday was in April, that meant Ivy had probably gotten pregnant the summer they’d spent together.

The direction of his thoughts sent his mind reeling. His heartbeat tripled, the pounding echoing in his head. He recalled a broken condom, his panic, and her promise to take the morning after pill. They’d had an agreement. Surely she would have told him if she was pregnant.