Millionaire's Instant Baby. Allison Leigh
hadn’t changed, but she was grateful he hadn’t shown up in person this time. It was difficult enough reiterating her “no” over an impersonal telephone line.
He didn’t sound unduly disturbed by their brief exchange, which made Emma think even more strongly that he probably had several other women waiting as backups. Kyle Montgomery was the kind of man who had best-case scenarios and worst-case scenarios planned to the nth detail.
While Chandler slept, Emma wrote thank-you notes for the various gifts and cards she’d received, then set about looking through the pile of mail she’d been receiving and ignoring for the past week.
There was a long chatty letter from her mother. All about Emma’s sisters—married sisters, that was—Emma’s nieces and nephews, and Hattie’s job at the grocery store in Dooley. There were cards from two of her regular customers at Millie’s and a letter from Benderhoff. Emma slit it open, expecting a note about the baby or about the upcoming session.
What she wasn’t expecting was the polite missive saying that her services wouldn’t be required, after all. She didn’t even rate a thank-you for the past two years.
She read it through twice, sure she’d misunderstood. She’d been teaching at Benderhoff steadily. Her work had always been more than satisfactory, or so she’d been told at each review period. Telling herself not to panic, she went into the kitchen and yanked out her telephone directory. She found the home number of Emil Craddock, the headmaster of Benderhoff and dialed it with a shaking finger. They wouldn’t do this to her. They couldn’t.
But five minutes later she hung up again, knowing that they had. She paced. She added numbers in her head. She thought of ways she could get by without the money—the rather good money—she’d earned at Benderhoff.
She finally pulled out her sofa bed, lay down with Chandler beside her and tried to make herself sleep while he slept. But sleep didn’t come. All she could remember was growing up in Dooley, getting her clothing secondhand from the rummage sales at church, doing the grocery shopping with her two older sisters, following their mama’s list to the letter because they had to pay with food stamps and only certain things were eligible.
At four o’clock in the morning Emma finally climbed out of bed and retrieved the business card from the table. She turned on the light in the kitchen and, heedless of the hour, reached for the phone, dialing hurriedly, before she lost her nerve. It rang only twice. Then Kyle’s voice, husky and deep, answered.
She swallowed, but the enormous knot in her throat didn’t go away. “Is your offer still on the table?”
“You know it is, Emma.”
She drew in a short breath. “Then I accept. I’ll pretend to be your wife until your business deal goes through.”
“I’ll be at your place in a couple of hours.”
A tear leaked from the corner of her tightly closed eyes. She was grateful that he didn’t express any undue pleasure or satisfaction. That his voice was as steady and sure as ever. “We’ll be ready,” she said.
Then she hung up and went to pack her clothes and Chandler’s stretchy little sleepers and diapers. They were the easy things.
She couldn’t help thinking, though, that she was also packing away her honesty. And that wasn’t easy at all.
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