Songbird (8 page)

“Wow!” Oliver whistles as I make my way to him. He’s standing at the entrance, leaning casually against the wall with his camera around his neck. “Definitely hot. Too bad you’re not my type.”

“Yeah, that’s a real shame.” I grin and adjust his gold bowtie. “You look great, too. Maybe we should have color coordinated.”

Oliver rolls his eyes. “It’s not the prom, Callie. Come on, let’s get a drink.”

We flash our press passes and step inside the ballroom.

“We’re not here to socialize, remember?”

He ignores me and steers me toward a waiter. Oliver winks at him before taking two glasses of champagne from the guy’s tray.

“You’re shameless,” I mutter as the server walks away. “Now, where’s the press room in this place?”

“I’m gonna look around,” Oliver says. “I’ll text you when I find it.”

“Thanks.”

I hold on tight to my glass and navigate my way through the crowd, hoping to find Lorie and Owen’s table. I spot them at the same time they find me, and the two of them wave me over. As soon as I approach the table, I don’t even get the chance to say hi before Lorie’s smile turns to a pissed-off frown.

“What is
that
?”

Suddenly nervous, I glance down at my dress.

Did something pop out? Did the seam split?

“I’m serious, Callie. What is that in your hand?”

My hand?

I lift my glass. “Umm . . . champagne?”

“I know what it is. Why are you holding it?”

I narrow my eyes in confusion before I realize what she means.

“Oh!” I quickly hand her the glass. For an entire half hour, I totally forgot I was an unwed mother. “I didn’t take a drink, I swear.”

Owen glances curiously between the two of us before saying hello.

“You scared the hell out of me,” Lorie murmurs before lifting the glass and downing my drink.

How unfair.

“Well, I can’t believe the two hottest girls in the room will be sitting at our table tonight,” Owen says with a lazy grin. “And I know someone who’s going to be
very
happy to see you, Callie.”

I glance anxiously at Lorie.

“Yeah, about that . . . Callie, would you come with me to the ladies’ room?”

It’s more of a demand than an actual question, because Lorie grabs me by the arm and all but drags me down a long hallway leading to the restrooms. The sinks are lined with women checking their hair and make-up.

Lorie pulls me into a corner. “Devin’s coming.”

No. No. No.

“I thought you said he was out of town!”

“He was. But this is a huge deal to his family. Owen says he never misses it. I’m so sorry, Callie.”

I take a deep breath. “It’s okay. This is work, and that ballroom is a big place. Maybe he won’t notice me.”

She eyes me from head to toe. “In that dress? Good luck with that.”

Doesn’t she realize I’m desperate here?

“Besides, it’s been six weeks. Maybe he doesn’t even remember me. Everybody says he’s a total playboy, right? I’m probably just one more notch on his bedpost.”

Lorie doesn’t look convinced as we head back. When we reach the table, we find Owen sitting next to a handsome, tuxedoed man with salt-and-pepper hair. By his side is a beautiful woman with hauntingly familiar eyes.

“Ready to meet the parents?” Lorie whispers.

My stomach flips as Owen makes the introductions.

“How nice to meet you both.” Valerie McAllister smiles at us. “And don’t you look beautiful tonight.”

“Thank you,” we reply in unison.

William McAllister grins. “You both look like you could use a drink.”

You have no idea.

“Callie works for the
Journal
,” Owen says as he leads Lorie to her seat. My friend’s barely in her chair before she’s nervously downing her glass of champagne.

I hate her.

Mrs. McAllister motions toward the table. “You should join us, Callie.”

“Oh, thank you, but I’m actually working tonight. I need to interview a few donors and then head back to the newsroom.”

“You should interview Dad,” Owen says. “He worked at the hospital for years. He’s retired now, but he and Mom are still major benefactors.”

Valerie places her hand on her husband’s shoulder. “The hospital is very near and dear to our hearts. You’d be happy to be interviewed, wouldn’t you, William?”

“Of course. Please, Callie, have a seat.”

I
do
need this interview, and it’d look suspicious if I turned it down. Besides, I’m a professional. I can forget that I’m interviewing my unborn child’s grandfather. Once it’s over, I’ll get Oliver to snap a few pictures, and then I’ll make my escape before Devin even knows I’m in the building.

Reaching into my bag, I fish for my phone and send a quick text to Oliver before opening the recorder app on my cell. I place it on the table between us.

“Are you ready, Mr. McAllister?”

He smiles. “Please call me William. And yes, I’m ready when you are.”

For the next fifteen minutes, William McAllister gives me a brief account of his work at the hospital. For years, he studied Hodgkin’s disease before shifting gears to childhood leukemia research.

“Why leukemia?” I ask.

With that question, I feel a distinct change in the mood of everyone at the table. I glance around. An unusually subdued Owen bows his head, while his mom dabs at her eyes with a tissue. Lorie—stone-faced and confused—stares wide-eyed at me. She’s probably thinking what I’m thinking.
There’s definitely a story here.

“Leukemia is the most common form of cancer diagnosed in children and teens,” he explains softly. “If my past research or our donations can keep one family from feeling the pain we’ve felt . . . well, that’s time and money well spent.”

The pain we’ve felt.
A good reporter would ask what he means by that, but something stops me. Maybe it’s the emotion in his voice. Maybe it’s the tears in his wife’s eyes. I’m glad I don’t, because when he starts telling me about the recent developments in leukemia treatments and research, everyone’s mood brightens.

“Thank you so much for your time, Mr. McAll—”

“William.”

I smile. “William. Would you mind if my photographer snaps a few pictures?”

“Not at all. Although, we should probably wait for Devin. Heaven knows his face isn’t in the news enough.”

Everyone laughs, but I can tell their amusement isn’t mean-spirited. The McAllisters seem like a tight-knit family, and they’ve been so nice to me.

Will they still be nice when they find out I’m carrying their grandchild?

Anxious to get out of here, I rise from my chair and quickly send another text to Oliver.

Where are you?

“Now that work is out of the way, you really should join us for dinner,” Mrs. McAllister says. “We’d love for you to meet Devin.”

“We’ve met,” a smooth, familiar voice echoes from behind me.

Great.
I close my eyes in defeat when Devin appears at my side.

“Oh?” Mrs. McAllister’s eyes twinkle as she looks between the two of us. “Son, you didn’t tell us that you’d met such a lovely young woman.”

“Lovely is the perfect word to describe her.”

His burning brown gaze sweeps over me, causing butterflies to erupt in my already queasy stomach.

“It’s nice to see you again, Devin.”

Thankfully, Oliver finally arrives and I introduce him to everyone. Lorie joins me while Devin takes a seat next to his father. The McAllisters lean close together as Oliver snaps a hundred photos.

“He can’t keep his eyes off you,” Lorie murmurs.

“I think I’m gonna puke on my four hundred dollar shoes.”

She glances down at my silver Manolos. “Oooh, pretty. Do you get to keep them?”

I roll my eyes.

“I think we’re good,” Oliver says.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I thank them once again before dragging my photographer away from their table.

“What’s going on between you and Devin McAllister?”

My eyes dart around, looking for the nearest exit. “There’s nothing going on.”

“Please . . .” Oliver smirked. “That man’s eyes didn’t leave your body for a second, and you’re all fidgety and nervous.”

“Shut up and please tell me you found me someone else to interview.”

He steers me toward the press room. “The hospital’s CEO is taking questions for the next twenty minutes. You’ll probably find some benefactors in there, too. But this discussion isn’t over, Callie Franklin.”

We spend the next hour talking to the hospital administrators and a few more supporters. When I’m sure I have enough information, Oliver takes some pictures of the partygoers before the two of us head to the exit. I’ve nearly made it out the door when I feel someone wrap their arms around my waist.

“Don’t leave,” Devin murmurs against my ear.

I stop abruptly.

“What—?” Oliver looks behind me and smirks. “Oh, I see.”

“I’ll meet you back at the office.”

Oliver looks between the two of us. “You sure?”

I nod.

He says goodnight, and I take a deep breath before turning around to face the music. I’d have to deal with Devin eventually. I know this. I was just hoping it wouldn’t have to be tonight.

But we don’t always get what we want.

“Devin, I—”

“You’re stunning.”

“Thanks. Listen, I really have to get back to the office. I have a deadline.”

“Just one dance, Songbird.”

He looks so hopeful it makes me laugh despite my anxiety.

“Right. Just one dance. I’ve heard that before.”

Devin chuckles and runs his fingers down my bare arm. “That was some dance. Some night, too.”

I ghost my hand along my stomach.

“Devin, about that night . . .”

He looks around, and suddenly, I’m being pulled toward a darkened hallway just outside the ballroom.

“That weekend was amazing,” he whispers, his face just inches from mine.

“Yeah. We really need to talk about that.”

“I’d love to talk about it. I’d love to recreate it.”

“Don’t you have a date?” I glance over his shoulder. All I need is some crazy supermodel bimbo trying to kick my pregnant ass.

His lips softly brush my cheek. “No. I haven’t really dated much lately.”

I tremble when his hands wrap around my waist.

“Why not?”

“I don’t know, Songbird. Maybe you’ve ruined me for other women. Is that possible?”

“I . . . don’t know.”

“Come dance with me.”

“I have a midnight deadline. If I miss it, I’m fired. Please, Devin . . .”

With a sigh, he closes his eyes and presses his forehead against mine.

“What about later? Can I see you?”

“I have no idea how long I’ll be at the paper.”

“Doesn’t matter. Text me when you get home and I’ll come right over. Where’s your phone?”

Like an idiot, I offer him my cell. Devin enters his number, and I promise to call as soon as I get home. The poor guy smiles as if he’s won the lottery. I almost feel guilty, because I know what he’s expecting when he gets to my apartment.

I don’t have the heart to tell him he’s going to be deeply disappointed.