Marrying the Boss. Megan Kelly
never occurred to them to have me call them anything else. I tried calling them ‘Mother’ and ‘Father,’ but they seemed more comfortable being ‘Gloria’ and ‘Warren.’” He shrugged, as if it were no big deal.
Leanne nodded and stirred her tea before realizing she hadn’t added anything to stir. She set the spoon aside, hoping Mark hadn’t noticed. It’s okay that I find him attractive, she thought with relief. She glanced at him again. Attractive didn’t begin to express her opinion of his appearance.
His face hardened. “Don’t be thrown by this. I’m a Collins. Not by blood, maybe, but I’ve earned my way into this family.”
Perplexed and still reeling with the implications of his adoption on their possible future relationship, she said, “You don’t earn your way into a family.”
“You do if you’re not born into one.”
“That’s not how it works, Mark.”
He crossed his arms on the table and glowered at her. “How would you know anything about it? You’re not adopted.”
She stared at him, a disbelieving laugh caught on that knot in her throat. “You think being born with Lionel’s blood in me made me a Collins?”
He flushed.
“Go talk to your mother,” she said.
“What do you mean by that?”
“You know perfectly well. It’s no secret how she feels. How any of you feel about me. I’m thirty years old, Mark, and in that thirty years, not one member of the Collins family has ever contacted me.”
“I didn’t know about you.”
“But Gloria did. I’m betting your father—my half-brother—” she emphasized “—did. Lionel certainly knew about me. But other than sending checks, he couldn’t be bothered. I’m sure he had his secretary write them.”
“What checks?”
Leanne slumped back in her chair. She hadn’t meant to mention the money. “Lionel sent monthly checks. My mom sees them as a testament to his love for us.”
“Sees them? Are they still coming?”
She nodded. “Up till his death. I’ve banked them for my children. An inheritance. I thought about returning them, but why should I? Lionel was rich. My kids, at least, should benefit from that.”
She watched the fish swim futilely in their tank. Around they went, through the plastic grass, past the fake rock formations.
“How do you see them?”
Trapped.
“Leanne?”
She blinked and focused on Mark. “What?”
“How do you view the checks the Lion sent?”
“Oh.” Picking up her fork, she stirred through the Hunan chicken. “It’s conscience money, although alleging Lionel had scruples is a stretch for me. It’s payoff, but don’t tell my mother that.”
“Why not?” He speared a piece of beef.
Leanne tore her gaze from his lips as they closed around the fork. Not my nephew kept beating against her temples like tribal drums. Should she dance or circle the wagons? She ate something off her plate trying to appear in control. Unfortunately, she couldn’t fool herself. “Mom wouldn’t listen. She thinks he loved her.”
“Can I ask a question without you biting my head off?”
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