The messages started out puzzled, “Where are you babe?” Then they turned to pleas for answers. “Shannon, call me and let me know what’s wrong. Whatever I screwed up, I’ll fix it. I swear.”
An insensitive choice of words
, she thought bitterly.
As if he didn’t know.
The messages had eventually turned angry and threatening. “When I find out where you are, you won’t sit for a week.” Finally, about a month ago, they had stopped altogether. Now she learned that Gideon had changed his number and she didn’t know how else to reach him except through Ray Reynolds.
Hitting the send button on her cell phone, she listened as it rang.
“Reynolds Agency, how may I help you?”
“Ray Reynolds, please. Tell him Shannon Hughes is calling and it’s important.”
“One moment, please.”
Several minutes passed as she listened to the intermittent beep that told her she was still on hold. The wait was excruciating.
“Shannon? It’s been what, four months? How can I help you?”
“I’m trying to get a hold of Gideon, Ray. Can you give him a message that I need to meet with him? It’s important.”
“I don’t know. He was pretty broken up about the way you left him.”
He was enjoying this. She could tell by the smug tone of his voice. She could picture the bastard sitting behind his pretentious desk, feet propped and crossed, leaning back and enjoying every minute of making her beg. Swallowing her pride, that’s exactly what she did. “It’s really important, Ray. Please. I have to speak with him.”
“Give me a message and I’ll see that he gets it.”
“I’d rather speak with him directly.”
“Obviously, he doesn’t want to speak to you. So either give me a message or don’t, but I’m a busy man and can’t play games all day.”
“Fine, I’m pregnant, Ray.”
There was a long pause on the other end, then the cruel words, “Are you sure it’s his?”
“Fuck you, Ray. Of course, it’s his.
I
was faithful to
him
.”
“Okay, don’t get your panties in a bunch. I had to ask.” Another long pause followed before he finally answered, “Give me your number and I’ll try to set up a meeting.”
“Don’t tell him, please. I want to be the one.”
“Okay, Shannon. I have to go now. I’ll call you.”
* * *
Two weeks later, Shannon walked into The Reynolds Agency, dread and unease twisting her insides into knots. Battling persistent morning sickness and fatigue, she had arrived on time for the prearranged appointment with Gideon. Ray had set up the meeting at his office. She wasn’t sure if that was Ray or Gideon’s idea and would have preferred somewhere more private, but having little choice, she had agreed.
She’d approached the overblown receptionist to announce herself. “I have an appointment with Gideon Eli at 10 o’clock.”
The woman had looked up at her, scanning her from head to toe, clearly assessing and finding her lacking, because she sniffed dismissively. “Mr. Eli will not be joining you. Mr. Reynolds would like to speak with you, however. I’ll let him know you’re here. Please take a seat.”
In a daze, Shannon took a seat in the plush lobby. She was numb. Gideon hadn’t come. She probably should have let Ray tell Gideon about the baby. Maybe then he would have deigned to show up.
Ray, the ass, left her sitting for almost an hour. Then the jerk then had one of his flunkies escort her to a small conference room where she waited again. That was plenty of time for Shannon—already on edge—to worry her nerves to a frazzle. What was going on? If Gideon wasn’t going to be here, what could Ray possibly have to say?
Looking around the well-appointed conference room as she cooled her heels, Shannon felt like she was the accused here, not the victim. Although she supposed Ray had to keep his loyalties clear, she was merely the “ex” of the stinking rich client that helped pay for his lavish suite of offices, the plush seat she sat in, and the pithy brunette at the front desk. The ex-girlfriend of rock star Gideon Eli wouldn’t rate a meeting in his office.
Her anxiety soared as she waited. Since Gideon couldn’t be bothered to come, she focused her irritation on Ray—deservedly so. Pacing the confines of the small room, she was surprised he’d let her into the inner sanctum at all. Telling her the bad news in the freakin’ lobby, for the receptionist and everyone waiting for the illustrious Ray Reynolds to hear, was more his style.
Finally, he entered, closing the door and sliding a white envelope onto the table. “Gideon isn’t coming. He wasn’t interested in seeing you again. Said he’d moved on and didn’t want to rehash a bad breakup, but he sent along a note.”
Shannon stared down at the plain white envelope for several moments before reaching for it with a trembling hand. Fingers fumbling, she managed to tear into it and watched as two pieces of paper fell to the floor. Bending to pick up the nearest one, she noticed it was a folded piece of stationary. She opened to find a curt note, written in a strange hand but signed with Gideon’s familiar bold scrawl. She remembered how he’d told her about practicing it over and over for autographs. The memory made her chest tighten and the words blurred as she read with tear filled eyes.
You were right to end it when you did. It was fun while it lasted. I think it’s best if we have no further contact. Move on, Shannon. I did.
Her heart ached. She foolishly thought there might have been a chance—slim though it might be—to salvage at least a friendship out of this. With a child together, it would be easier if they could be amicable.
Folding up the letter, she was about to slide it back in the envelope when she noticed the second piece of paper on the floor. Picking it up, she gasped, shock waves rolling through her as her stomach clenched in pain. A wave of nausea hit, and at the same time tears rolled unimpeded down her cheeks. It was a check for $25,000. He was paying her off. There was only one reason he’d do that. He knew.
“Did you tell him about the baby?” Her voice was amazingly calm, even flat, which was odd considering how completely devastated she was.
“Yes. The check was his response.”
She felt his eyes on her but didn’t meet his gaze. She was barely holding it together. If she saw a mocking or denigrating look on his face, she’d break completely.
“I’ll need this room in about half an hour. You can use it until then to regain your composure.” She heard the door open behind her and his last dismissive words, “Tough break, kid, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Then he was gone, on to his next filthy rich client, she was sure, one who could afford to pay the fees and be given due consideration. If only a kind word or an iota of compassion for a pregnant woman who was being paid off by her baby’s father.
Oh, but it wouldn’t due for word to get back to his high profile client that he had paid her any measure of thoughtfulness. She snorted an odd noise, halfway between a derisive laugh and a mournful sob. Ray Reynolds knew where his loyalties lay, on which side his bread was buttered. The side of the illustrious Gideon Eli, lead guitarist for Northern Exposure—a.k.a. lying, cheating bastard and deadbeat dad. He and his slimeball lawyer deserved each other.
Somehow, Shannon managed to walk calmly and in a respectable manner out the door, down the hall, and into the ladies room. However, she barely made it inside a stall before her stomach rebelled. Retching into a public toilet, her indignity was complete. A man she had trusted and thought she loved had managed to bring about her utter disgrace and humiliation.
After her stomach had settled, she wet a paper towel and pressed it to her burning face. Looking in the mirror at her flushed and tearstained face, she exhaled a shuddering breath.
This was it. The chapter of her life starring Gideon Eli had finally ended. What had started as a beautiful romance had turned ugly and painful. She still grieved the loss because she had loved him so much. As she looked at the wadded up check in her hand, that love light extinguished completely. To hurt her was one thing, but to turn his back on her innocent baby was inexcusable. For whatever reason, he’d decided to pay her off rather than confront her or acknowledge his own child. There were no stipulations for the money, just her own words thrown back at her.
Move on.
Chapter Three
10 years later
…
Sitting on an upside down milk crate, Shannon sighed as she rubbed her aching feet. She had been running non-stop since her shift started at six. Another four hours and she could go home, crawl into her warm bed, and rest her aching bones. Some nights she felt 20 years older than her 33 years.
The door to the service hall popped open and Jody the bartender poked his head out. “Shannon, break’s over. Anton is seating some VIP’s in your section. Get a move on, girl, these are big tippers.”
“I’m coming,” she hollered, but the door was already closing behind him as he rushed away. Friday nights at the Bungalow stayed busy. Not the typical bar, it was located in the Miramar Hotel and featured oceanfront patios and sweeping Pacific views. There were cozy little couches and furniture groupings that made it seem homey instead of the usual meat-market bar scene. Customers were usually hotel guests, businessmen needing a quiet place to unwind, and an occasional movie producer wining, dining, and pitching a script to a celebrity.
Adjusting her short black skirt and tucking in her sleeveless white blouse, she slipped back into her torturous black heels. Why management required heels was beyond her, but 3 inches was the minimum. Although her skirt was revealing at mid-thigh length, at least her blouse covered everything. She’d seen worse uniforms for cocktail waitresses, by far. Smoothing her long brown hair away from her face, she re-tied her ponytail and was ready to get back to work.
As she returned to the bar, Anton met her with a serious frown on his face, which was not uncommon for the grouchy manager. The only time Shannon had seen him crack a smile in her three years at the Miramar was when he’d tallied up a $1,500 bar tab.
“It’s about damn time. I took table six’s order already. Jody should have it ready by now.”
“I was on break, Anton. I haven’t stopped in the four hours I’ve been here. Don’t take Julie quitting out on me.” Adjusting her short apron, Shannon stepped up to the bar and studied the tray of drinks Jody was filling.
“Just don’t mess up. He is a very important music producer. I’d like for him to come back.”
Nodding, she dismissed her annoying manager. He was constantly yammering on about one big celebrity or another. Studying the ticket, she made sure she had what she needed and hurried over to the music god’s table.
As she approached, the sound of a familiar baritone voice caused her skin to erupt in goose flesh. The low tone thrummed across her sensitive nerve endings, playing havoc with her wits and taunting her senses. Although it had been almost ten years, she still recognized those deep, sultry tones. When they’d been together, just the sound of his voice speaking softly in her ear got her off faster than a horny prom date.
Her eyes flew around the table, freezing on the man who spoke. Wavy brown hair brushed against broad shoulders, his muscles flexing and bulging as his fingers threaded through his already tousled hair. It was a habit of his when he was concentrating. She stared at those large hands with the long tapered fingers—musician’s hands. Although his back was to her, she’d recognize Gideon Elijah McCord’s voice and those talented hands anywhere.
As she stood there, gaping like a fool, one of the other men nodded at her and commented, “Looks like our waitress is a fan, Gid. Why don’t you charm her with those pearly whites before our ice melts and our drinks are watered down to shit?”
He twisted then and a pair of unforgettable green eyes looked up at her. “Shannon?” His voice was full of surprise. He stared for a moment, eyes moving over her face, before a small smiled tipped up his full, sensual lips. Lips she had kissed at length and that had pressed and glided along every square inch of her skin.
Crap!
She didn’t have any clue how to handle this situation. Flustered, she decided to think of him only as a customer.
Focus on the job,
she told herself with little confidence. Her nerves were like the fragile bubbles in the mug of beer she held—ready to burst at any second. “I’m sorry for the delay. Who had the bourbon?”
As she passed out the drinks, she felt his stunned gaze upon her.
“Corona?” She didn’t need to ask. It was his drink of choice ten years ago, and as he reached for it, she knew that hadn’t changed. Drinks delivered, she was ready to leave. Maybe she could fake being sick and go home without having to talk to him.
“How have you been, Shannon?”
“I’ve been fine,” she answered tersely, then addressed the table, “Can I get you gentlemen anything else?”
When no one answered, she started to excuse herself, but he wasn’t ready to let her leave.
“You look great. You haven’t aged a bit in ten years.”
“I have other tables.” But as she turned to leave, he grabbed her wrist. Frozen, she looked at his long fingers wrapped around her. Her mind flashed back to the many times he had done that in bed. He liked to be in control, often holding her down and frequently tying her up. He was an adventurous lover and had introduced her to quite a few naughty delights that she never would have dreamed pleasurable. The thought of their lovemaking and the easy playfulness that they’d shared had moisture gathering between her legs and her pussy clenching, seeking to be filled. Moreover, she knew it craved only to be filled by Gideon.
Oh my God!
“Really, Gideon, I have to get back to work.”
“I want to talk to you, Shannon. Can you meet me after work? What time do you get off?”
“That’s not possible. Please, let me go. I’ve got other customers.” Looking over, she saw Anton scowling at her. “Gid,” she pleaded softly, “don’t do this. I really need this job.” She felt his grip loosen fractionally, giving her an opportunity to pull away. “I’ll check back in a few minutes.”