Redemption (18 page)

She simply had to convince him of that. But first she had to get herself in control, stop this weak-kneed trembling.

She stiffened her shoulders, then went upstairs to her office, mentally crossing off her options along the way.

Matt blinked the sweat from his eyes and increased the speed on the treadmill. Through the wide windows, he could see another round of snow falling, but inside the gym it was hot as a jungle.

It suited his mood. Today he wasn’t running for fitness but to outrun the anger that had boiled in him ever since three hours before, when he had come face to face with Claire’s lie.

A lie in the form of a son. A living, breathing, flesh-and-blood replica of himself. A child who had been growing up, forming a personality, learning about the world, all without his input.

Damn it, the kid was probably as uptight as his mother. Had she raised him alone all these years? Then an unpleasant thought struck him: Had she marched a series of boyfriends through the poor kid’s life, in an effort to provide “male role models?” Or worse, had her bitterness toward the male gender been reflected on the kid? Or did she reserve that only for him?

It was no good wondering. He would find out for himself what kind of son she had raised. And if she didn’t like the idea, too bad.

His lawyers would eat her alive in court. He smiled. Claire may have managed to get the best of him while negotiating the location fee, but that had only been a minor skirmish. This time, he would call the shots.

After all, he was holding the trump card. A word from him could expose the executive charade she had been living all this time, a charade he knew was important to her.

But feeding her to the wolves wouldn’t solve anything. His muscles began to protest the pace he was setting. He slowed down, his anger reduced now to a simmer.

Maybe he should wait and hear what she had to say before he called his lawyer. Things would only get messier if this scene was played out in a courtroom. And now that the urge to strangle that pretty neck of hers had lessened somewhat, he was in a mood to listen.

But damned if she would outgun him this time.

Later that night, too keyed up to sleep, Claire got up, went downstairs, and fixed herself a cup of herbal tea. She curled up on the couch, determined to face the issue she had been avoiding ever since the morning’s encounter with Matt.

She wondered what he was thinking. How much he must hate her, despise her for keeping this secret from him all along. She tried to reconcile the Matt who had dwelt in her mind all along with the new version she had become acquainted with during the past few weeks. Though in the press he came across as a happy-go-lucky cowboy who had just wandered into Hollywood by mistake, in reality he possessed a streak of sobriety, a maturity that had grown over the years. All in all, even she had to admit he wasn’t bad father material.

But Tripper had come this far without Matt in his life, and as she well knew, there were worse things than growing up without a father.

But it was all a moot point. There was no way Matt would agree to just forget about his son, and she was sure he believed that Tripper was his son. Could she even try to convince him that he wasn’t the father? He could demand a blood test…

She sighed. Somehow, she would have to convince him to do what was best for Tripper. She set her cup down, picked up a pencil and notepad, and began to list her talking points. Meticulous preparation had won her more than one boardroom battle, and now, with her son’s future at stake, she wouldn’t overlook a single reason why Matt should stay the hell away from her child.

She had to wait until Monday morning for the opportunity. When she arrived at work, she had a message from Matt. She returned his call.

“Meet me in my trailer in half an hour.” He didn’t give her a chance to object. Then he gave her directions—they were filming nearby—and hung up. Obviously he had decided that this time, the battle would go down on his turf.

Fine. Her talking points would be just as potent, regardless of the setting.

When she arrived, an assistant led her to his trailer, rapped on the door, and left when Matt opened it. A phone to his ear, he tossed out instructions to whoever was on the other end. He glanced at Claire, then wrapped up his conversation.

He nodded toward the couch. “Have a seat. If you can find one.”

From the leather couch, Claire lifted an assortment of papers—dog-eared pages of the working script, a few coffee-stained call sheets, and a copy of the latest tabloid, she noted with disgust. She set them on a nearby table, where a half-eaten bagel had been abandoned, then took a seat on the couch, feeling vulnerable as she sank into the soft cushions.

Matt picked up a straight chair, turned it backward, and sat facing her. He looked tired, and she wondered if he too had spent a sleepless night. His brown hair had been trimmed into a neat conservative style, and gone was the stubble that had shaded his chin for the last week. His usual jeans had been replaced by a light brown suit and sport shirt.

She decided she much preferred her adversaries clad in denim.

He folded his arms and gave her a belligerent stare. “Are we going to start with the assumption he’s my kid? Or are you going to argue that point? Because I won’t hesitate to ask for a blood test, you know.”

“I’m sure you won’t. Although, for someone in your position…”

“What the hell does my position have to do with it?”

“I would think you would be happy to avoid a paternity suit.”

“You thought wrong. Don’t tell me that’s why you neglected to tell me this for ten years.”

She shrugged. “It’s true I didn’t think you would exactly welcome the news.”

“It’s still no reason to keep that boy from knowing his father. Was there any doubt in your mind who his father was?”

She looked at him sharply.

“Was there someone else, Claire? In the same time frame, who could have been—who you thought…”

“No. I never…I was always sure,” she said, aware the words indicted her.

He nodded, then eyed her with something like chagrin. “I recall we didn’t use birth control. And back then I still believed I could outrun Mother Nature.” His mouth twisted in a rueful grimace. “Someone ought to inform the locker room there’s been a research breakthrough.”

Claire vaguely remembered his promises long ago to “pull out.” At the time, it had only been some foreign phrase she knew instinctively was meant to protect her. Unfortunately, she had trusted her instincts and trusted Matt.

But now she was much more worried about saving her skin—and Tripper’s—than in censuring Matt for failing to use protection. “We could both plead ignorance,” she told him, willing to absolve him of blame if he would do the same.

“All right, we got that much out of the way. Then tell me why—why you never felt you could come to me? After the publicity died down, why didn’t you come then?”

She swallowed carefully. This was the question she had dreaded for years, rehearsing it occasionally in the silence of the night.

“I…” She hesitated. “When I found out, I was afraid. Afraid of the publicity. What had been done to me was still…fresh. I couldn’t face it again, and I knew it would just add to the scandal. So I thought I would wait, get through the pregnancy.”

She paused, remembering. “And then, after he was born, while I was still in the hospital, in fact, I was offered a job. A pretty good job, working in the accounting division of a department-store chain in Arizona. And my grandmother was able to take care of him during the day, at least until I found a good daycare.” It had been a struggle, but Gram had been supportive.

“I knew I could make it financially,” she told him, “without your help.”

“And you never thought he just might need a father? Never mind what I needed to know; he deserved to know the truth.”

“At what risk? The risk that his very existence would be questioned, by you, by the public? I couldn’t bear to have his picture splashed in the tabloids, the ‘love child’ of Matt Grayson and the tramp he took to bed. I would have spared him from that, regardless of the cost. And he hasn’t suffered, I’ll swear to that. He grew up knowing he was loved, and wanted, and—and a valuable human being, regardless of his birth.” So unlike her own upbringing, when love had been a mere abstract.

Matt spoke patiently. “I can see that, Claire. I’m not saying you didn’t do everything you could for him. But the press could have been handled—”

“How can you say that? Even now, you can’t handle your own press! By last count, you’ve had dozens of affairs in just the last month! You’ve had countless encounters with aliens; your diet consists of raw eggs that supposedly give you superhuman strength…” She picked up the paper near her and shoved it toward him.

He glanced at the headline and made a face. “And here I figured you preferred
The Wall Street Journal
.” Then he shook his head. “Come on, Claire, you know better than anyone those rags are full of lies.”

“How could I subject an innocent child to that—that scrutiny?” She spit the word out, horrified.

“Celebrities have children every day. Some of us even manage to live normal lives. How can you use that as an excuse for what you did?”

“I know you can’t possibly understand. And I’ll admit, if I had come to you in the beginning, it may have been easier. But…” She paused, searching for words and knowing she was in an impossible situation. “I was frightened. Not just for me, but for him. I could only imagine what would be done to him. And I was…feeling so guilty myself, I thought I probably deserved everything that had been done to me. But he was just an innocent child.”

He sighed. “All right. I’ll accept that you were scared, alone. You weren’t sure how I would react, much less how it would play in the press. But now it’s a different matter. We need to tell him the truth, get things worked out between us.”

“No! Absolutely not. Don’t you see? Nothing has changed. Just because you know he exists—”

“Of course the situation has changed!” he exploded, rising from the chair and pacing across the room that felt too small to contain his anger. “I’m not about to walk away from the knowledge that I’ve got a son who’s growing up without me.”

That was exactly what she had feared. In the middle of the night, it had seemed reasonable, logical, that he would agree to walk away and leave her and Tripper to live their lives in peace. But now, from the set expression on his face, she could see convincing him of that was hopeless.

“Aren’t you concerned about what this will do to him? He’s just a little boy; he’s got enough to deal with right now,” she pleaded. “We just moved here. He misses his friends in San Francisco, and fourth graders can be…well, his teacher refers to it as the ‘fourth-grade proving grounds.’”

“All the more reason to have his father around,” he said, a stubborn look on his face—a look she had seen often on her son.

“You can’t possibly think to just spring a father on him after all these years.”

“Why the hell not? And just who exactly did you tell him was his father? Or does he think he’s the product of an immaculate conception?”

“Of course not! I explained to him that things didn’t work out between his biological father and myself. That we were incompatible. He knows plenty of other kids whose parents are divorced.”

“Only difference is, his parents never got a chance to know each other, much less split up.”

“Well, at least I’ve spared him the heartache of a broken home,” she pointed out.

He settled on the chair again, too near, too perceptive. “You think it was inevitable, that you and I wouldn’t have made it?”

She stared at him, incredulous. “Of course. There was never anything between us.” She glanced away. “Except sex.”

“That’s not such a bad start.” A wry grin spread on his face. He seemed to have tamped down his fury at her deception, though she could see it still simmered just below the surface.

“I want to get to know him, Claire. You owe me that much.”

She looked at him doubtfully. “I don’t think that would be a very good idea.”

“It’s a great idea,” he argued. “I’m here for another six weeks or so, and I intend to see him every chance I can. Which won’t be that often, with the schedule we’re on, but I can make some time.”