Читать книгу: «His Forever Family»

To Sasha Devlin, my Spring Fling buddy. We’ll always have Chicago!

And when we don’t, we’ll always have Twitter!

One

“Come on, Ms. Reese,” Marcus Warren called over his shoulder. “It’s not that hot.”

He paused in the middle of the jogging path to wait for his executive assistant, Liberty Reese, to catch up with him. He looked around, checking for any vans with dark windows that didn’t belong. It was an old habit, keeping an eye out for danger. But as usual, aside from some other runners, he and Ms. Reese had the shoreline to themselves. Thank God. The past was in the past, he repeated to himself until his anxiety faded.

Man, he loved Lake Michigan. The early-morning light made the rippling water a deep blue. The sky was clear and warmed by the sun, which seemed to hover just about a foot over the surface of the water. Later today, the heat would be oppressive, but right now, running along the lakefront with a cool breeze blowing in from the water?

This was as close to free as Marcus got to feel.

He checked his Fitbit. His heart rate was falling. “You’re not going to let the heat beat you, are you, Ms. Reese?” he teased, stretching out his quads.

Ms. Reese puffed up next to him. “May I take a moment to point out—again—that you’re not taking notes while you run?” she said, glaring at him.

But he wasn’t fooled. He saw the way the corner of her lips curved up as she said it. She was trying not to smile.

He kept stretching so she could catch her breath. “But I’m talking. That counts for something, right?”

She rolled her eyes and finished off the water. That made him grin. He was Marcus Warren, heir to his father’s Warren Investments financial empire and his mother’s Marquis Hotel empire. He was the sole owner of Warren Capital, a venture capital firm he’d started with his trust-fund money. He owned half of the Chicago Blackhawks and a quarter of the Chicago Bulls, in addition to 75 percent of the pro soccer team, the Chicago Fire. He was one of the richest bachelors in the country and possibly the richest one in Chicago.

People simply did not roll their eyes at him.

Except for Ms. Reese.

She tucked the bottle back into her belt. Then, her fingers hovering over the Bluetooth earpiece she wore at all times, she asked, “So how do you want to proceed with the watchmakers?”

Rock City Watches was a boutique firm that had set up shop in downtown Detroit and wanted a fresh round of investing to expand its operations. Marcus looked at his watch, made just for him. The 24-karat gold casing was warm against his skin. “What do you think?”

Ms. Reese sighed heavily and began to plod up the jogging path again. She was not a particularly graceful runner—plodding was the only word for it—but she kept up with him and took notes while they ran. It was the most productive time of day. He did his best thinking while they ran.

Which was why they ran every single day, in rain or heat. Ice was about the only thing that kept them indoors, but he had a treadmill in a room off his office. Ms. Reese could sit at a small desk and record everything and provide her opinion.

He let her get a few feet ahead of him. No, she was not terribly graceful. But that didn’t stop him from admiring the view. Ms. Reese had curves—more than enough curves to give a man pause.

He shook his head, pushing all thoughts of her backside from his mind. He was not the kind of billionaire who slept with his secretary. His father had done that enough for both of them. Marcus’s relationship with Ms. Reese was strictly business. Well, business and running.

He caught up to her easily. “Well?”

“No one wears watches anymore,” she panted. “Unless it’s a smart watch.”

“Excellent point. I’ll invest twenty-five million in Rock City Watches.”

Ms. Reese stumbled a bit in surprise. Marcus reached out and steadied her. He didn’t allow his hand to linger on her warm skin. “You okay? We’re almost to the fountain.” Buckingham Fountain was the point where they turned around and headed back.

She gave him a hell of a side eye. “I’m fine. How did you get from timepieces are a dead market to let’s invest another twenty-five million?”

“If no one wears watches anymore, then they become what they once were—a status symbol,” he explained. “Only the wealthiest consumers can afford a watch that costs several grand. The timepiece market isn’t dead, Ms. Reese. The mass-market timepiece market is. But the luxury timepiece market?” He held out his wrist. “It’s a hell of a nice watch, don’t you think?” This particular watch went for $4,500.

She nodded. “It’ll be great PR, as well. Made in America and all that.”

“But they need to accept the realities of the market.”

She nodded. “Such as?”

“Marketing and wearables. Let’s get back to the Rock City Watch people with requests to see their marketing mock-ups. I also want to set up a meeting to discuss a hybrid device—a luxury watch that can slot wearable tech into the band.”

They reached the fountain and she stopped, her head down and her hands on her knees as she took in great gulps of air.

“What else?” he asked.

“You have to make a decision about attending the Hanson wedding,” she said in between gasps.

Marcus groaned. “Do I have to?”

“You’re the one who decided you should go to this wedding,” she told him flatly. “You’re the one who decided you should take a date. And you’re the one who decided to kill two birds with one stone by scheduling the meeting with the producers of Feeding Frenzy the day after the wedding.”

Marcus allowed himself to scowl at his assistant. Her lack of sympathy was not comforting. Attending the Hanson-Spears wedding in Los Angeles had not, in fact, been his idea. Who the hell wanted to watch his former fiancée get married to the man she’d cheated on him with? Not him.

But his mother had decreed that Marcus would attend the wedding with a date and put on a happy face so they could “put this unfortunate event behind them.” Of course, if his mother had had her way, Marcus would have married Lillibeth Hanson anyway because what was a little affair in the grand scheme of things? Lillibeth came from old money. Marcus came from old money and made new money. Together, his parents had reasoned, they could apparently rule the world.

Marcus didn’t see the point. He’d refused to reconcile with Lillibeth and he’d thought his parents had accepted that decision. But then the wedding invitation came.

And the hell of it was, his parents were not entirely wrong about the effects the scandal had had on Marcus’s business. To some, his inability to see the truth about Lillibeth until it was too late might also indicate an inability to make good investment choices. So his parents had strongly suggested he attend the wedding to show that everyone was on good terms. And they strongly suggested he take a date because it would be an admission of defeat to show up at your ex’s wedding alone.

All Marcus had to do was pick a woman.

He looked at Liberty. “What are my options, again?”

“Rosetta Naylor.”

Marcus cringed at the celebutante’s name. “Too shallow.”

“Katerine Nabakov.”

“Too Russian Mafia.”

Liberty sighed heavily. “Emma Green?”

Marcus scowled harder. He had actually gone out with Emma several times. “Really?”

“She’s a known quantity,” Liberty explained. “No surprises.”

“Wrong. People would think that us dating again is a sure sign of wedding bells.” Specifically, his parents.

Marcus had done many things to keep the peace with his mother and father. Hell, he’d come damn close to getting married to Lillibeth Hanson, all because they thought that was best.

He wasn’t going to risk that kind of trap again.

“The options are limited and time is running short, Mr. Warren,” Liberty said in exasperation. She jammed her hands on her hips. “The wedding is in two weeks. If you insist on attending with a date, you need to actually ask someone to go with you.”

“Fine. I’ll just take you.”

The effect of this statement was immediate. Liberty’s eyes went wide and her mouth dropped open and, in a fraction of a second, her gaze dropped over his body. Something that looked a hell of a lot like want flashed over her face.

What? Did she actually want him?

Then it was gone. She straightened up and did her best to look imperial. “Mr. Warren, be serious.”

“I am serious. I trust you.” He took a step toward her. “Sometimes I think...you’re the only person who’s honest with me. You wouldn’t try to sell all the details of a date to the gossip rags.” Which had been a huge part of the scandal with Lillibeth. She had capitalized on her affair, painting Marcus as a lousy boyfriend both in and out of the bedroom.

Liberty bit at her lower lip. “Honestly? I don’t think you should go at all. Why would you give her the chance to hurt you again?” Her voice had dropped and she didn’t sound imperious at all. Instead, she sounded...as if she wanted to protect him.

It was a fair question. He didn’t want to go. He didn’t want to give Lillibeth the chance to cut him down again. But he’d promised his parents that he’d put a good face on it and make sure the Warren name still meant power and money.

“And for the record,” she went on, “I think doing that Feeding Frenzy reality show is also a bad idea. The whole problem with Lillibeth was that your private life suddenly became public fodder. Going on television to bid on investment ideas? You’re just inviting people to further make a commodity out of you.”

“It’s supposed to be a good way to build my brand.”

Liberty rolled her eyes again, as if that was the stupidest thing she’d ever heard. “Seriously? You’ve built a successful venture capital firm without being a celebrity. You have plenty of people dying to pitch to you. Heck, I’m surprised we haven’t been accosted by a ‘jogger’ lying in wait to pitch you his million-dollar idea yet.”

He tensed at the idea of being accosted by anyone. But no—no suspicious vehicles with armed men were around. The past was in the past.

“But you know what?” Liberty took a step toward him, jabbing at him with her index finger. She could be a formidable woman in her own right. “You do this reality show, that’s exactly what’s going to happen. You won’t be able to run along the lake without plowing through idiots in running shoes who want a piece of your time and your fortune. Don’t feed the machine, Marcus. Don’t do what ‘they’ think you should do. For the love of God, do what you want.”

Marcus. Had she ever called him by his first name before? He didn’t think so. The way her lips moved over his name—that was the sort of thing he’d remember. “Maybe I want to take you to the wedding.”

It was hard to say if she blushed, as she was already red faced from the run and the heat. But something in her expression changed. “No,” she said flatly. Before he could take the rejection personally, she added, “I—it—would be bad for you.”

He could hear the pain in her voice. He took a step toward her and put a hand on her shoulder. She looked up, her eyes wide and—hopeful? His hand drifted from her shoulder to her cheek and damned if she didn’t lean into his touch. “How could you be bad for me?”

The moment the words left his mouth, he realized he’d pushed this too far. Yes, Liberty Reese was an exceptional assistant and yes, she was beautiful—when she wasn’t struggling through a summer run.

But what had started as an offhand comment about a date to a wedding now meant something else. Something more.

She shut down on him. She stepped out of his touch and turned to face the lake. “It’s getting warmer,” she said in a monotone voice. “We need to finish our run.”

“Do you have any water left?”

She looked sheepish. “No.”

He held out his hand. “Give me your bottle. There’s a water fountain a couple hundred yards away. I’ll fill it up.”

She unhooked her bottle and handed it over. “Thanks,” she said, sounding perfectly normal, as if he hadn’t just asked her out and touched her face. As if she hadn’t turned him down flat. Somehow, it made him admire her even more. “I’ll wait here. Try not to get any brilliant ideas, okay?”

Marcus took off at top speed. He heard Liberty shout, “Show-off!”

He laughed.

The water in the drinking fountain was too warm. He let it run for a few seconds, hoping it’d cool off. As he waited, he looked around. There was a trash can only a few feet away, boxes and bags piled around it on the ground. Marcus scowled at the garbage. Why couldn’t people take care of the park, dammit? The trash can was right there.

As he filled the water bottle and debated calling the mayor about the garbage pickup schedule, he heard a noise. It was a small noise, but it didn’t belong. It wasn’t a gull crying or a squirrel scampering—it was closer to a...a cat mewing?

Marcus looked around, trying to find the source of the noise. A shoe box on the ground next to the trash can moved.

Marcus’s stomach fell in. Oh, no—who would throw a kitten away? He hurried over to the box and pulled the lid off and—

Sweet Jesus. Not a cat. Not a kitten.

A baby.

Two

Breathing hard, Liberty admired the view as Marcus sprinted away from her. When he reached the water fountain, she turned her attention back to the lake. It wouldn’t do to be caught staring at her boss’s ass. Even if it was a fine ass. And even if the owner had just made one of himself.

Instead, she took the time to appreciate the gift that was this morning. She hadn’t set foot in a church in a good fifteen years. But every morning she stood here and looked out on Lake Michigan and gave thanks to God or the higher power or whoever the hell was listening.

She was alive. She was healthy. She had a good job that paid for food and a safe apartment. There was even some money left over for things like running shoes and haircuts.

“Liberty?” Marcus yelled from the water fountain. “Liberty!”

Even though Marcus couldn’t see her, she glared at him. What the hell had gotten into him this morning? One of the reasons she worked for him—aside from the insane salary he paid her—was the fact that he treated her as an equal. It was a bit of delusion on her part to pretend that she was on par with the likes of Marcus Warren, but it was her delusion, dammit.

And that delusion worked only because it was just her and Marcus on these runs, both in running clothes. The delusion didn’t work when he was wearing a four-thousand-dollar suit and she had on the finest suit she could find on 80 percent clearance at Macy’s. And the delusion sure as hell wouldn’t work if she accompanied him to a three-day destination wedding extravaganza that no doubt cost more than she’d ever earn in her lifetime.

Someone would see through her facade. It’d get ugly, fast.

“Liberty!” He was even louder this time.

Was he not used to women saying no to him? Oh, whom was she kidding? Women didn’t say no to him. Why would they? He was gorgeous, single, richer than sin and eminently respectable. “What?”

“I need you!” he yelled over his shoulder. “Hurry!”

She realized he wasn’t standing at the water fountain anymore. He was on his knees by a trash can in the gravel that surrounded the fountain. His shoulders were hunched over and he looked as if—oh, God, he wasn’t having a heart attack, was he?

Liberty began to hurry. The three years of daily morning runs with Marcus had given her enough stamina that she broke into a flat-out run.

“Are you okay?” she demanded as she came up to him. “Marcus—what’s wrong?”

He looked up at her, his eyes wide with fear and one hand over his mouth. Just then, something in front of him made a pitiful little noise.

She looked down. What she saw didn’t make sense at first. There was a box and inside was something small and dark and moving.

“Baby?” Marcus said in a strangled voice.

“Baby!” Liberty cried with a start. She didn’t know much about babies, but this child couldn’t be more than a week old. The baby was wrapped in a filthy rag, and dark smudges that might have been dirt but were more the color of dried blood covered its dark skin. Wisps of black hair were plastered to its tiny little head. Liberty stared in total shock, trying to make sense of it: an African American newborn in a shoe box by the trash can.

“It was—the box—it was closed,” Marcus began to babble. “And I heard a noise and—baby. Baby!”

The baby opened its little mouth and let out another cry, louder this time. The sound broke Liberty out of her shock. Jesus Christ, someone had tried to throw this baby away! In a box in this heat? “Move,” she commanded and Marcus dutifully scooted out of her way.

Her hands shaking, Liberty lifted the baby out of the box. The rag fell away from the impossibly tiny body—no diaper. A boy, and he was caked in filth.

“Oh, my God,” she whispered as the baby’s back arched and it let out a squeal. His little body was like a furnace in her hands.

“What do we do?” Marcus asked. He was clearly panicking.

And Liberty couldn’t blame him. “Water,” she realized. “He’s too hot.”

Marcus held out her water bottle, the one he’d been filling. She grabbed the rag and said, “Soak that in the fountain,” and took her bottle.

The baby squirmed mightily in her arms and she had this moment that was almost an out-of-body thing, where instead of looking down at a little baby boy she’d just plucked from a shoe box, she was looking down at William, the baby brother she’d never gotten the chance to see, much less hold. Was this what he’d been like, after their mother gave birth in prison and the baby was taken away to a foster home? Had William died like this?

No. This baby, whoever he was, was not going to die. Not if she had anything to do with it.

“This is disgusting,” Marcus said, but she didn’t pay any attention to him.

She folded herself into a cross-legged position on the gravel, ignoring the way the rocks dug into her skin. “It’s okay,” she soothed as she tried to dribble some water into the baby’s mouth. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you? Oh, you’re such a sweetheart.” The baby turned his head from side to side and wailed piteously. Panic gripped her. What if he wasn’t going to make it? What if she couldn’t save him? “You’re loved,” she told him, tears coming to her eyes. “And you’re so strong. You can do this, okay?”

“Here,” Marcus said, thrusting the rag at her. Except it wasn’t the rag—it was his shirt.

She looked up and found herself staring right at Marcus Warren’s bare chest. In any other circumstances she would have taken her time admiring the view because damn. He was muscled and cut—but still lean. He had a true runner’s body.

The baby whimpered. Right. She had much more important things to deal with than her boss suddenly half-naked. She held the baby away from her body. “Drape it over him.”

Marcus did as he was told, laying the sopping-wet cloth over the baby’s body. The sudden temperature change made the poor thing howl. “It’s okay,” she murmured to him, trying to get a little water into his mouth. “You’ll feel better soon.”

“Should I go for help? What should we do?”

Help. That would be a good thing. “My phone is in my pack,” she said. He didn’t run with his phone—that was her job. “Call 911.” She was amazed at how calm she sounded, as if finding a baby on the verge of heatstroke in the trash was just another Tuesday in her life.

Marcus crouched behind her and dug through the fanny pack that held her water, keys and phone. “Got it.” She told him her password without a second thought and he dialed. “We’re at Buckingham Fountain and we found a baby in the trash,” Marcus said way too loudly into the phone.

“Shh, shh,” Liberty soothed as Marcus talked to the 911 dispatcher. “Here, let’s try this.” She dipped her finger into the water and held it against the baby’s mouth. He sucked at it eagerly and made a little protest when she pulled her finger away to dip it into the water again.

He latched on to her finger a second time—which had the side benefit of cutting off the crying. Liberty took a deep breath and tried to think. There’d been a baby at her second foster home. How had the foster mother calmed that baby down?

Oh, yes. She remembered now. She began to rock back and forth, the gravel cutting into her legs. “That’s a good boy,” she said, her ears straining for the sounds of sirens. “You’re loved. You can do it.”

Agonizingly long minutes passed. She couldn’t get the baby to take much more water, but he sucked on the tip of her finger fiercely. As she rocked and soothed him, his body relaxed and he curled up against her side. Liberty held him even tighter.

“Is he okay?” Marcus demanded.

She looked up at him, trying not to stare at his body. Never in the three years she’d worked for Marcus had she seen him even half this panicked. “I think he fell asleep. The poor thing. He can’t be more than a few days old.”

“How could anyone just leave him?” Now, that was more like the Marcus she knew—frustrated when the world did not conform to his standards.

“You’d be surprised,” she mumbled, dropping her gaze back to the baby, who was still ferociously tugging on her finger in his sleep. Aside from being hot and filthy, he looked healthy. Of course, she’d never seen William before he died in foster care, so she didn’t know what a drug-addicted newborn looked like. This child’s head was round and his eyes were still swollen; she’d seen pictures of newborns who looked like him. She just couldn’t tell.

“You’re just about perfect, you know?” she told the infant. Then she said to Marcus, “Here, wet your shirt again. I think he’s cooling down.”

Marcus did as he was told. “You’re doing an amazing job,” he said as she wrapped the wet cloth around the baby’s body. The baby started at the temperature change, but didn’t let go of her finger. Marcus went on, “I didn’t know you knew so much about babies,” and she didn’t miss the awe in his voice.

There’s a lot you don’t know about me. But she didn’t say it because it’d been less than—what, twenty minutes? If that. It’d been less than twenty minutes since Marcus Warren had said he trusted her because she was the one person who was honest with him.

She wasn’t—honest with him, that was. But that didn’t mean she wanted to lie outright to him. She hated lying at all but she did what she had to do to survive.

So, instead, she said, “Must be the mothering instinct.” What else could it be? Here was a baby who needed her in a truly primal way and Liberty had responded.

The baby sighed in what she hoped was contentment and she felt her heart clinch. “Such a good boy,” she said, leaning down to kiss his little forehead.

Sirens came screaming toward them. Then the paramedics were upon them and everything happened fast. The baby was plucked from her arms and carried into the ambulance, where he wailed even louder. It tore her up to hear him cry like that.

At the same time, a police officer arrived and took statements from her and Marcus. Liberty found herself half listening to the questions as she stood at the back of the open ambulance while the medics dug out a pacifier and wrapped the baby in a clean blanket.

“Is he going to be okay?” she asked when one of the paramedics hopped out of the back and started to close the door.

“Hard to say,” the man said.

“Where are you taking him?”

“Northwestern is closest.”

Marcus broke off talking with the cop to say, “Take him to Children’s.” At some point, he’d put his shirt back on. It looked far worse for wear.

The paramedic shrugged and closed the doors, cutting Liberty off from the baby. The ambulance drove off—lights flashing but no sirens blaring.

The cop finished taking their statements. Liberty asked, “Will you be able to find the mother?”

Much like the paramedic, the cop shrugged. She supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, she’d barely survived childhood because, aside from Grandma Devlin, people couldn’t be bothered to check on little Liberty Reese. “It’s a crime to abandon a baby,” he said. “If the mother had left the baby at a police station, that’s one thing. But...” He shrugged again. “Don’t know if we’ll find her, though. Usually babies are dumped close to where they’re born, and someone in the neighborhood knows something. But the middle of the park?” He turned, as if the conversation was over.

“What’ll happen to the baby?” Marcus asked, but Liberty could have told him.

If they couldn’t find the mother or the father, the baby would go into the foster system. He’d be put up for adoption, eventually, but that might take a while until his case was closed. And by then, he might not be the tiny little baby he was right now. He might be bigger. And he was African American. That made it that much harder to get adopted.

She looked in the direction the ambulance had gone.

The cop gave Marcus a sad smile. “DCFS will take care of it,” he said.

Liberty cringed. She did not have warm and fuzzy memories of the Department of Child and Family Services. All she had were grainy memories of frazzled caseworkers who couldn’t be bothered. Grown-up Liberty knew that was because the caseworkers were overwhelmed by the sheer number of kids in the system. But little-kid Liberty only remembered trying to ask questions about why her mom or even Grandma Devlin wasn’t going to come get her and being told, “Don’t worry about it,” as if that would make up for her mother’s sudden disappearances.

What would happen to the baby? She looked at her arms, wondering at how empty they felt. “Marcus,” she said in a hoarse voice as the cop climbed into his cruiser. “We can’t lose that baby.”