Family Merger. Leigh Greenwood
a relationship that’s broken down.”
“I don’t attempt to restore relationships. I leave that to the girls.”
“How can you possibly say you’re doing your best for these girls when you leave out the most important part of all, helping them restore a family relationship that has broken down so badly they’ve turned to you for help?”
“My purpose is to provide a place for them to stay, a way to continue their education, a way to have their baby safely. I’ve taken classes in psychology and counseling, but I don’t consider myself a professional psychologist or counselor.”
“Then you’re not qualified for your job.”
She pushed back the anger. She had attacked him, and he was attacking back. It wasn’t much fun, but she guessed she could understand it. “I don’t think you understand my role here. I’m the administrator. I hire qualified people to do the teaching, counseling, career planning, the training in how to take care of their babies.”
“Then your understanding of what they want and need from their families is all you have to offer. So tell me what you wanted from your father. You wanted it very badly, or you’d never have done what you’re doing now.”
No other parent had asked this of her, but she’d never been this interested in a parent of one of her girls. There was something about this man that forced her to respond to him. She warned herself to be careful. He’d made a fortune persuading people to do things against their wills. Naturally he would use the same skills on her. He already had in persuading her to come with him today, in making her like him even though she disapproved of almost everything about him.
But maybe his question wasn’t as unreasonable as it sounded at first. He had taken a great chance when he left his meeting to come home. This was a second day and he hadn’t said anything about returning to Geneva. He clearly wanted to help his daughter. She had asked him to jeopardize something he loved, and he had done it without hesitation. Would she have jeopardized the shelter under similar circumstances?
She returned his gaze, searching his face for even the tiniest evidence of insincerity, of game playing, of one-upmanship, of anything that would indicate he wasn’t being entirely truthful.
What she found was a tremendously attractive man focusing his attention on her. He was asking about his daughter, but she felt he really did want to know about her, that his interest was sincere, not a vehicle to another objective. And she found she cared more than she wanted about his success. Or was it simply that this man was so attractive, so charismatic, she couldn’t help herself?
She hoped the answer wasn’t the affirmative. She didn’t want to feel even the slightest twinge of interest in a man who had put his career before his family. She didn’t want to be attracted to a man who would be more interested in pleasing others than in pleasing her. She had very strict guidelines for any man she considered dating. Not that Ron had asked her for a date, but she refused to be interested, even on a casual basis, in a man who didn’t satisfy her list of requirements. Ron Egan would bottom out before she got halfway through.
“Every girl wants something different,” she stated.
“I’m asking you to speak for yourself.”
“Why?”
“Because you interest me. I want to know what makes you tick.”
“A well-balanced diet, sufficient rest and regular exercise.”
He laughed. She hadn’t expected that. It was a deep, thoroughly masculine sound that reached a receptive place inside the core of her. The tug of attraction grew even stronger, her will to resist weaker. Warning bells went off in her head. This man is dangerous.
“Do you always keep men at such a safe distance?” he asked.
“You’re not a man. I mean, you’re the father of one of my girls. I don’t look at you the same as I would other men.”
“Why can’t you think of me as a man as well as Cynthia’s father?”
“Because it’s my job to see you as Cynthia’s father.”
“Does that preclude any other relationship?”
“I don’t have relationships with the fathers of my girls. It would be highly unprofessional.”
“Why? Would it cloud your judgment?”
“No, but—”
“Why not?”
She didn’t understand how the ground had shifted so unexpectedly, how she was now on the defensive.
“Are you always professional at any price?” he asked. “Don’t your emotions ever overpower your intellect?”
“No.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“I don’t require that you believe me.”
“But I want to.”
“Why?”
“I might be a father, but I like attractive women.”
“Mr. Egan, this is not an appropriate conversation.”
“Call me Ron. And what’s inappropriate about a man telling a woman he finds her attractive?”
“It’s the circumstances.”
“Tell me what circumstances you find proper, and I’ll set them up.”
Just like her father. He thought money and power could solve any problem. But her irritation at his assumption didn’t smother a desire to answer his question. Nor did it stop her from wondering what it would have been like to have met him under different circumstances.
“I’m sure you’ve met hundreds of attractive women in the course of your career,” Kathryn said, trying hard to sound businesslike, “yet you were able to set that aside and concentrate on your business.”
“Sure.”
“That’s what you have to do now.”
“Why?”
He was a very stubborn man, but she guessed he hadn’t made it to the top by taking no for an answer. “Why wouldn’t you?”
“Because I don’t see a conflict. I can find you attractive and still work with you to understand my daughter.”
“Yes, but finding me attractive isn’t the same as trying to establish a personal relationship between us.”
“I didn’t say anything about a personal relationship. Did you say that because you find me attractive?”
She was trapped. The only way out was to be completely candid. “You know you’re an attractive man. I’m sure you’ve studied your personal appearance in minute detail, put it together like a well-orchestrated game plan, and use it to every possible advantage.”
He grinned. She wished he wouldn’t.
“Of course I do. Everybody prefers to be around attractive people. If they didn’t, half the people in movies and TV would disappear tomorrow. But we’re not talking business. We’re talking personal.”
“I’m not.”
“I am.”
“Mr. Egan—”
“Ron.”
“Mr. Egan—”
“I won’t let you finish that sentence unless you call me Ron.”
He had moved closer to her. She wasn’t easily intimidated, but she had to consciously stop herself from pulling back. She refused to give ground to this man even if her pulse had started pounding in a very unnerving sort of way, even if her normally logical mind was having difficulty maintaining the thread of her argument. Ron Egan was an absentee father who