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Authors: Donna Sterling

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BOOK: The Daddy Decision
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The man was lying through his teeth.
Cort allowed a few beats of doubt-heavy silence to pass. Then he smiled—a slow, truce-making smile that had served him well in the boardrooms of the world's wealthiest conglomerates. “Well, then. If that's true, let me be the first to wish you luck with your parenting plan.” He extended his hand to Fletcher.
Fletcher blinked, clearly surprised, as if he'd been expecting much more resistance. “Thanks.” A flush of relief seeped into his bearded face as he shook Cort's hand.
Cort noticed similar expressions of surprise in the glances the others cast his way, including Laura's. He leaned back in the armchair. “In fact, I'll go one better than just wishing you luck. I'd like to help you get off to the best possible start.”
Questions formulated in every pair of eyes.
“What do you mean by ‘help'?” asked Fletcher.
“Businesswise. I believe Steffie told me that you're in antiques, Fletcher, and that Laura's in interior design. You're thinking of merging your businesses and buying a commercial building together. Is that right?”
Fletcher nodded. Laura didn't respond, obviously reluctant to discuss her business with him. A refreshing change from the norm, Cort had to admit. Since he'd made his fortune, people had more or less stalked him for the chance to discuss their business ventures.
“I have a sizable chunk of capital that's recently been freed up,” Cort said, “and I'm looking to reinvest it.” There was no mistaking the flare of interest in Fletcher's gaze. “I wouldn't mind investing in an up-and-coming business like yours. And I wouldn't doubt that you'd be able to use my financial backing.”
They stared at him while absorbing the impact of his offer. Financial backing wasn't easy to come by for small retail shops and artistic-service businesses, as Cort well knew.
Laura finally gifted him with a smile—a small, grateful, but regretful smile. “That's very kind of you, Cort, but we really don't need—”
“How sizable an investment?” Fletcher shifted forward on the sofa, a new, aggressive edge to his voice.
Cort shrugged. “Five hundred thousand to start. More, if the circumstances warrant it.”
Fletcher drew in a slow, deep breath, then exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Laura, who looked equally shaken at the sum.
Slowly she turned to Cort, her beautiful brown eyes wide with bewilderment. “Why? Why would you offer us this?”
“Because, contrary to what you might believe...” he locked his gaze with hers, allowing her no escape “...I do care about your happiness, Laura.”
Her lips parted, her chest rose. Her eyes darkened with some troubled, chaotic emotion.
He wanted very much to kiss her.
“Oh, Cort, you're wonderful!” Steffie cried from where she sat on the arm of B.J.'s chair. “I knew you cared about these guys.” She turned a radiant face to the others. “He just gets so wrapped up in business that he forgets to show it.”
Laura caught her bottom lip between her teeth and looked away from Steffie.
Cort forced his attention away from Laura's bottom lip and spoke again to Fletcher. “As much as I love to please my sister,” he said with a small, self-deprecating smile, “I'm not going to pretend my motives are selfless. I happen to enjoy championing new businesses. Feeding them. Watering them. Watching them grow.” He allowed his shoulders to sink deeper into the chair and extended his legs more comfortably in front of him. “Plus, I expect to harvest some healthy financial returns.”
Fletcher looked almost faint with excitement, though he tried to maintain a facade of sophistication. “W-would you expect a controlling interest? I mean, Laura and I planned to merge our sole proprietorships into one corporation, but I don't believe we'd be interested in sharing the control with anyone else.” He didn't sound very firm on that point. He wouldn't make a very good poker player.
Or a good father for Laura's baby. Every minute that ticked by only strengthened that conviction in Cort.
“Before we finalize my investment,” he replied, “I'll need to approve your plans for spending the money. But as far as your business itself goes, I don't want an active
role in it. We'll spell out my expectations in the contract. A percentage of the profits. Stock options. Franchise rights. That sort of thing.”
Fletcher bestowed another glance on Laura. A speaking glance. An imploring glance. Tiny frown lines gathered between her golden eyebrows and she chewed the bottom corner of her lip, her uncertainty almost painful to behold.
Fletcher swung his attention back to Cort. “We were thinking of buying the building we're in, but there's a renovated mansion nearer to the river that would make the perfect antique shop...and a showcase where Laura could base her design business.”
Cort nodded. “I'll have my staff study its commercial potential before you buy it. If you choose the right property, the value should skyrocket in the next few years.”
Fletcher turned again to Laura, his excitement palpable. “What do you think, Laur?” He dropped a casual hand on her knee.
Cort tensed at the sight of Fletcher's hand on Laura. The gesture was a casual one, he knew, but also possessive. Husbandly. Who the hell did he think he was?
An obnoxious voice inside his head answered:
The future father of her baby
. A heaviness settled in Cort's gut.
“We'll...we'll talk about it, Fletcher,” Laura hedged. “We don't want to jump into anything without a lot of thought.”
“Which also makes sense,” Cort agreed. “Unfortunately, I can't afford to give you much time. I've got the capital free right now, but I do need to put it back to work. I've had my eye on a few different investment vehicles, and if you decide against my offer, I'll go with one of those. Either way, I'll have to make the move soon.”
“How soon?” Sweat beaded on Fletcher's forehead.
“Within the week.”
Fletcher blinked behind his wire-rimmed glasses. Laura let out a soft cry. “We have to decide within a week?”
“I'd prefer sooner.”
“You two must be out of your minds,” Hoss interjected, “not to snap up the offer right now. Money like that don't grow on trees.”
“This is the break you've been waiting for, Laura,” Tamika urged. “A chance to hire more designers and get your work known. What about that computer system you were talking about?”
“And the advertisements you want to put in magazines? ” Steffie added. B.J. and Rory voiced their encouragement, until the noise level rose to a dull roar.
“Stop, stop!” Laura raised her hands in a rather desperate call for silence. It took a moment or two, but the chatter died.
She aimed her gaze at Cort. The resolution in her squared jaw provided an oddly moving contrast with the plea in her eyes. “You're much more experienced when it comes to financial dealings than either Fletcher or I, so I'm asking you as a...a friend, not as a potential business associate.”
“A friend?” he repeated softly.
“Yes, a friend,” she whispered. She swallowed and he watched the muscles move in her delicate throat. He wanted to press his mouth there, to feel her pulse race beneath his lips. “Does your offer involve
anything
that you haven't made clear?”
He crossed his arms, inclined his head and studied her. “Not that I can think of. You'll want to have your attorneys look over the contract, of course—something I'd insist on, even if you
did
trust me.”
Her lips tightened, her chin lifted. “I didn't mean to imply
that I don't trust you. I only meant that there might be some aspect of the deal that you haven't fully explained.”
“You mean, like...strings attached?”
She didn't reply, and he understood why. She did indeed suspect that he had some “strings” attached to the offer, but Steffie would undoubtedly take offense if she admitted it.
He let her off the hook with an amiable smile and shrug. “I don't know if you'll consider these to be strings, but I will need your cooperation in a few areas that I haven't mentioned. For example, you'll have to incorporate. And you′ll have to draw up your business plans in a proposal as part of our contract.”
“Sounds reasonable,” she allowed. Wariness still blazed in her magnificent eyes. “Anything else?”
“That's it.”
She gazed at him in some surprise. Her pent-up breath then eased out and the stiffness left her shoulders. The glance she gave Fletcher contained only a portion of her earlier reserve.
“I do have a favor to ask, though,” Cort casually imparted. “Independent of my investment offer, of course.”
She slanted him a guarded look. “What kind of favor?”
“I just bought a house in Atlanta. One of those rambling Georgian monstrosities. I believe it's on the historic register.” He paused, allowing the image to sink in. “Problem is, I don't have much furniture in it, yet, or carpets, art-work... anything. Other than a couple bedrooms, it's as bare as a barn. I could use some help with the decorating. Since I intend to furnish the place with antiques, I can't think of a better firm to hire than yours.”
Dollar signs, he noticed, flashed in Fletcher's eyes.
Cort continued to address Laura. “I'd pay your going rate, whatever it is. I'm planning to entertain my business
associates there. Your work would get a lot of exposure to potential clients.”
“Georgian architecture?” Laura reflected, her interest undeniably caught. “In Atlanta?”
“Buckhead.”
“Buckhead,” she breathed. He almost smiled. She obviously approved of the community he'd chosen. “The house wouldn't be designed by Reid, or Shutze, or Crook, would it?” She said the names with a reverence usually reserved for prayer.
“Reid.”
A dazzling new luminosity radiated from her face and eyes.
So...she'd responded far more to the artistic challenge than to the lure of big money. He'd have to remember that. He raised an eyebrow. “Are you interested?”
She edged forward on the sofa. “You realize that the process could take quite some time. Weeks, or months, maybe longer, depending what you want to have done. I'll have to send a couple of my designers to study the place, and of course, consult with you. If you won't be available the entire time, you'll have to give them a key and let them—”
“Your designers?” he repeated. He hadn't realized she had other designers working for her.
“Yes. They're very good. Once we have measurements and sketches and photos of the rooms, and you've selected colors, fabrics and styles, we'll work as a team to—”
“Absolutely not.” He glared at her, unreasonably put out that she'd even consider sending someone else to decorate his home.
“Pardon me?”
He leaned forward to bridge some of the distance between
them, his voice soft, but his gaze unyielding. “I want
you
, Laura. You. No one else.”
Her mouth opened, but no words came out.
“If I'm investing in your business, I have a right to see the finished product, and over time, that product will depend on you—not an employee who can leave on a day's notice. I′ll give you a key, but I'd like you to stay at the house...with me...for as long as it takes to get the job done.”
She still hadn't found her voice.
“I don't think that's asking too much,” he said softly, “of a friend.” The air between them suddenly felt thick, warm and close. “Besides, Steffie raves about your artistic talent. I'd like to see it for myself. I'm curious to see what you can do. So please...” his gaze played over her face, and his body hardened at the thought of her in his home, alone with him, for days or even weeks “... indulge me. Satisfy my...curiosity.”
4
C
ORT KNEW THE BUZZ had started the moment the group dispersed for the night. Carrying his luggage to the bedroom Steffie had assigned him, he imagined he could hear whispers behind every closed door.
He wouldn't escape the buzz for long. They'd find him and discuss their views ad nauseam. Hoping to delay the hashing over of his impulsive propositions until morning, he shut and locked his bedroom door.
He needed quiet time alone. He felt as if a bomb had dropped on him and he needed to piece himself back together. The aftershocks of Laura's plans were still jolting him. Astonishment. Opposition. Self-blame. And a strong, irrational sense of impending loss.
Cursing himself for allowing the feelings at all, he turned to undress for bed, and a quiet knock stopped him. “Cort!” Steffie whispered. “Let me in. I have to talk to you.”
He closed his eyes, considered pretending he hadn't heard her, then resigned himself to the inevitable. He opened the door, and his sister sailed in.
“You are so sweet to invest in Laura and Fletcher's business. Any business you touch turns to gold, and they really deserve the boost.” She smiled, but anxiety clouded her eyes. “I hope Laura agrees to decorate your house. If she does, can you insist that she start right away? She and Fletcher have an appointment at that clinic next week. We
have to find a way to delay them, so we can talk some sense into them. If she has to travel to Atlanta to work at your house, she couldn't possibly—”
Another knock at the door interrupted Steffie.
“Cort, it's me, Tamika.” Steffie opened the door, and Tamika rushed in. “Look, Cort, you may say that this is none of my business, but I don't believe Laura will go to your house, and I'm not sure that she should. We'd better come up with a backup plan to slow her down until we can make her see how ridiculous her idea about parenthood really is. They're skipping the love and marriage and going straight for the broken home!”
He stared at the women, perversely amused. They'd both ignored the fact that he'd wished Laura and Fletcher luck with their parenting plan and assumed he disapproved. They were right, of course. He would foil that plan in any way he could. But he hadn't realized that the effort would be part of a widespread conspiracy.
“Why don't you think she'll go, Tam?” Steffie asked.
Tamika plied her with an incredulous stare. “You know as well as I do that she avoids men who show too much interest in her. She's got some internal fire alarm. As soon as she detects serious heat...” she clicked her fingers and pointed at the door “...off she goes. In the opposite direction. ” Tamika slanted Cort a glance. “Take that as a warning, brother.”
He frowned. He'd thought he'd been pretty damn subtle regarding his interest in Laura. “Did it occur to either one of you,” he said irritably, “that when I asked her to decorate my house, I had absolutely nothing in mind other than getting my house decorated?”
They glanced at him with barely disguised smirks.
So much for subtlety.
“The way you've been looking at her is enough to send the house up in flames,” Tamika retorted.
“I was hoping Laura hadn't noticed,” put in Steffie.
“Even if she hasn't and she goes to your house,” Tamika went on, “the plan could backfire. Time alone with you could send her rushing to that clinic and her date with a petri dish.”
“Thanks.” He dropped onto the bed and leaned his back against the headboard. How had he ever come to this? Competing with a damn petri dish!
“Am I correct in assuming that you don't want to see her pregnant by Fletcher any more than we do?” Tamika asked.
The very possibility was making him sick. “I think it would be a mistake,” he cautiously admitted.
“It would be a disaster!” Steffie pronounced. “This is her way of slamming the door on romantic relationships. She's made up her mind she doesn't need a lover or a husband, but I believe she does.”
“Of course she does,” Tamika agreed. “She hides it well, but deep down inside, she's lonely. She needs a man, whether she realizes it or not.”
“But once she has that baby, she won't date,” Steffie predicted. “She'll use the baby as an excuse. Besides, I'm sure it's harder for a woman with a child to find a man.”
“And it won't be beneficial for her child to be the center of her world,” Tamika added. “The situation won't do Fletcher any good, either. He never had a mother of his own, and I believe he sees Laura as a mother figure. That can't be healthy.”
Cort almost scoffed at that. They might know something about Laura's motivations, but they sure as hell weren't reading Fletcher right. Fletcher wanted Laura tied to him
so he could lure her into his bed during a vulnerable moment.
And Cort wasn't about to let that happen. Although her parents' chronic animosity toward each other had probably generated her mistrust of marriage,
he
may have caused, or at least contributed to, her gun-shy view of intimate relationships.
He'd been cruel when he'd left her. Deliberately so. For her own good. She would have sustained much more damage if he hadn't cut their ties. His crime had not been in ending his relationship with her, but in starting it.
He now had to do whatever he could to repair the damage. He had to make her see that physical intimacy didn't necessarily end in emotional pain for either party. If both entered into it with honesty and open minds, an intimate relationship could satisfy profound adult needs. Needs that she really shouldn't ignore....
“So what do we do?” Tamika asked, lifting her palms. As Cort was about to suggest that they butt out and mind their own business, she turned to him. “How about if you make it clear that you won't be home while she's decorating your house? I'm sure she'd go, then. I can stay with her. I′ll bring my sweet little Toby and let Laura see how much work a baby can be, and how much emotional support a husband gives, and—”
“Forget it,” Cort interjected. “I'm going to be there, at my house. With Laura. Alone.” He'd spoken more harshly than he'd intended. Both women looked at him in mild surprise. Tamika tucked her tongue against her cheek.
“I think Laura might accept the decorating job even if he is home,” said Steffie. “She's very dedicated to her work. And I don't see how a week or so with Cort could backfire. We both agree that she needs to get involved with a man,
at least long enough to remind her of what she's missing. Why not Cort?”
Cort wryly shook his head at their assumptions. But he couldn't deny to himself the heat that surged through his blood at the very thought of “reminding her of what she was missing.”
“Think, Stef,” urged Tamika. “Why has she broken up with every man she's been involved with over the past fifteen years? Why has her longest relationship lasted only a few months?”
“Well, she says she doesn't want to hurt anyone. If she thinks a guy is getting too serious, she breaks off with him for his own good.”
“And what made her so sensitive to that kind of hurt?”
“Her parents despise each other. They′ve made an art form out of keeping each other miserable. And then, of course, she was hurt herself.”
“By whom?”
“By—” Steffie stopped and glanced at Cort. Remorse lanced through him. “But that was a long time ago. A silly infatuation, she calls it. She's been over Cort for years! Their past might actually work in our favor. She knows he isn't interested in anything serious, so she won't worry about hurting him. Maybe she'll relax and let things happen. ”
“I'm so glad you're planning all this out,” Cort muttered, trying not to focus on the news that Laura considered their past relationship a “silly infatuation,” and that she'd been over him for years. She'd told him as much, of course.
Time proved you right. There was nothing between us except sex
.
The sense of loss bore down on him with renewed force.
″Meanwhile,” Steffie continued, unfazed by his sarcasm, “while she's staying with Cort, he can try to talk her
out of her parenting plan. And we'll call her and add our two cents' worth, too. We can also work on Fletcher. Make him see how hard it is to raise children. He's the one you should visit with the baby for a week or so.”
“Oh, right,” Tamika retorted. “Hoss would love that.”
“I'd suggest you ladies admit that this entire matter is beyond your control—if you're capable of understanding that concept,” said Cort, “and go to bed.”
“You
are
going to try to help us talk them out of their parenting plan, aren't you, Cort?” Steffie asked.
Another knock sounded at the door. “Stef? Tamika? Are you in there?”
Cort shut his eyes in weary annoyance.
B.J. stuck her head into the room. “Hoss told me I'd probably find you both here.” She strolled in, nudged Cort's outstretched legs aside and plopped down onto the bed. “So, what's the plan? How do we make Fletcher realize that he has to go out and get a life before he fathers a baby?”
An earnest discussion ensued.
Cort, meanwhile, crossed his arms and rested his head against a pillow with his eyes tightly closed. He'd be sure to spend next Thanksgiving in London. Or Rome. Or, hell...Timbuktu.
 
THE NIGHT PASSED slowly for Laura, yet morning arrived too soon. She wasn't ready to face the day. She'd thought about Cort's offers from every conceivable angle, only to find herself more confused, suspicious and, worst of all,
tempted
.
The chance to make her mark in Atlanta—to design the interior of a Georgian Reid villa—didn't come along every day. Not to mention the half-million-dollar investment in her business, plus profit from decorating the house.
If they made the best of the investment and their businesses flourished, their child would be raised with every advantage that economic freedom could give. How could she walk away from
that?
Why had Cort offered the money, the job, the exposure? Did he have an ulterior motive, or was she wronging him by suspecting it? She wished she knew!
A discreet knock interrupted her anxious brooding at the early hour of 6:30 a.m. She threw her robe on over her nightshirt and opened the door to admit Fletcher.
He dropped into an armchair while she sat on the edge of the bed. He wore neat blue pajamas, a navy robe, leather slippers and glasses. His well-trimmed beard and tidy morning attire reminded Laura of her father, yet the large, earnest blue eyes behind his glasses brought to mind a little boy. “Do you think Cort is serious about investing that money?”
“I believe so.”
“
Half a million dollars!
” A slight tremor sounded in his voice. “Do you realize what we could do with that kind of cash?”
“Quite a bit.” An understatement. They could expand their businesses in the way they'd always dreamed. Take their products nationwide; attract a wealthier clientele.
“So—” he shrugged in bewilderment “—what's the catch? If you didn't think there was one, you wouldn't be hesitating.”
She let out a weary breath. “I don't know, Fletcher. Businesswise, I don't believe there is a catch. Cort is a legitimate businessman. He made his fortune by opening and selling small businesses—sports bars, retail shops, coffeehouses. Then he graduated to corporate investments. When you consider all that, his offer doesn't seem unreasonable.
And I've never known him to be dishonest. He is Steffie's brother. He wouldn't cheat us.”
“Then what's the problem?” When she didn't immediately answer, suspicion crept into Fletcher's eyes. “Do you think he′ll demand some kind of personal repayment from you?”
“No, he'd never demand that I sleep with him, or anything like that.” As she struggled to explain her anxiety, she realized that it stemmed from the fact that Cort would have a role in her life. She would have to deal with him. And she sensed that he wanted her. And he had a way of making
her
want
him
.
Anxiety roiled in her stomach. She couldn't forget the heated determination in his gaze when he insisted he wanted her, and only her, to decorate his home.
Indulge me
, he'd said.
Satisfy my...curiosity.
Curiosity! She'd claimed earlier that she had kissed him out of curiosity. But they'd both known it had been passion—the wild, sexual need that blazed within her the moment his mouth had moved on hers. Had he deliberately referred to their kiss? Had he meant to imply that he expected her to satisfy his passion?
“Maybe
demand
is too harsh a word,” Fletcher said, watching her closely. “Would he expect you to sleep with him?”
“Not for the money.” How could she explain her vulnerability with Cort? “But he might believe that he was capable of persuading me into it”
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