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“Fine, Mrs. Warren.” But Liberty offered no other information.
When she’d first been hired, Marcus had made it blisteringly clear that she worked for him, not for Laurence or Marisa Warren. If he ever caught her passing information to his parents about his business, his prospects or his personal life, well, she could pack her things and go. End of discussion.
Luckily, Liberty had gotten very good at telling people what they wanted to hear without giving anything away.
“I was wondering,” Marisa simpered, “if my son has settled on a date for the Hanson wedding? It’s a few weeks away and he knows how important it is.”
When she’d first started fielding these nosy calls, Liberty hadn’t entirely understood why Marcus was so determined that nothing of his life leak out to his parents. After all, she’d grown up dreaming of having a mother and a father who cared about her. And Marisa Warren seemed to care about her son quite a lot.
But appearances were deceiving. “Mrs. Warren,” she said in her most deferential tone because it also hadn’t taken her long to realize that while Marcus might treat her with respect and dignity, to his parents she was on approximately the same level as a maid. “I couldn’t speak to his plans for the wedding.”
“Surely you’ve heard something...”
Liberty focused on keeping her voice level. “As you know, Mr. Warren doesn’t share personal information with me.”
She wasn’t sure at what point this wedding had crossed from personal to business and back again. When Marcus’s relationship with Lillibeth had blown up in the media, she’d read what she could—but he’d never once broached the topic during office hours. It was only when they were running that he’d even touch on the subject—and even that was more about damage control than “feelings” and “sharing.”
He’d asked her to prepare a roster of acceptable women with whom to attend this wedding. And then he’d asked her—however jokingly—to be his date.
“Hmph,” Mrs. Warren said. It was the least dignified sound she was probably capable of making and, in her honeyed voice, it still sounded pretty. “Have him call me when he’s free.” She never asked to speak to Marcus when she called his office number. That was the thing that Liberty had realized about that first call. Mrs. Warren wasn’t calling to talk to Marcus. She was calling to talk to Liberty about Marcus.
Liberty knew where her loyalty lay, even if Mrs. Warren didn’t. “Of course, Mrs. Warren.”
She hung up and finished analyzing the Rock City Watch ads. If Marcus was going to push them as a high-end luxury good, then the ads needed to be slicker. There was too much text talking about Detroit’s revival, and the photography needed to give off a more exclusive vibe, she decided.
What rich people wanted was exclusivity. That’s what she’d learned in the three years she’d worked in this office on North LaSalle. Not only did they want the best, they wanted to be damned sure that it was better than what everyone else had. It wasn’t enough to own a great watch or a fancy car or live in an expensive building. Rich people wanted to make sure that theirs was the only one. She figured that was why they spent so much money on artworks. By definition, those were one of a kind.
This world was all still foreign to her, but after three years she felt as if at least she was becoming fluent in the language.
She was just finishing her notes when Marcus called out, “Ms. Reese?”
“Coming.” She grabbed her tablet and the ad materials and walked into his office. This place, for example, was a perfect example of how a rich person simply had to have the very best. Even though Warren Capital was a relatively small operation—Marcus employed fifteen people to handle the finances and contracts—the business was located on LaSalle Drive on the top floor of one of the most expensive office buildings in Chicago. Marcus’s office sat in the corner behind walls of glass that gave him expansive views of downtown and Lake Michigan. Warren Capital was the only company on this floor—no one else could claim this view. It was the best—and it was his.
And through sheer dint of will, Liberty managed to carve out a place where she could fit in this world. Sure, it was as an assistant and yes, she had to buy new running shoes every six months. It didn’t matter. She loved this office, this view. Everything clean and bright. There were no holes in the wall, no critters scurrying about. If something broke, maintenance had it fixed within hours, if not minutes. The lights were always on and the heat always worked. This office was as far away from the apartment in the Cabrini-Green projects as she could get.
“Your mother called,” she said, taking her usual seat in front of Marcus’s desk. His office furniture reflected a modern sensibility—black leather seating, glass-topped desks of ebony wood and chrome. Even the art along the wall was modern. Among others, he had an Edward Hopper and a Mark Rothko—names she’d had to look up online because she certainly hadn’t heard of them before. Marcus had bought the Rothko for $35 million.
Yes, he had one hell of an impressive...bank account.
“I assume to pump you for information about my wedding plans?” he asked without looking up.
“Correct. She’s concerned about your date. Or lack thereof.”
Marcus sighed heavily. “I’ve had an update on the baby, if you’re still interested.”
“What?” Her heart began to pound as he glanced at her in surprise. She tried again. “I mean, of course I’m still interested. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You hadn’t asked.”
She blinked at him. “You promised you’d make some calls. I didn’t want to bother you.”
He gave her a look that was partly amused. But she also thought she saw some of the tenderness beyond why he’d made that promise to her in the first place.
“Liberty,” he said in a gentle voice. A creeping flush started at the base of her neck and worked its way down her back. Was it wrong to like how he said her name? Was it wrong to want him to say it some more? “You are not a bother to me.”
She swallowed, willing her cheeks not to blush. They were getting off track. “What did you hear? About the baby?”
“Ah, yes.” He looked down at his computer. The moment he looked away, Liberty exhaled.
“The baby has been discharged from the hospital.”
She gasped. “How is he? Is he okay? Did they find his mother yet?”
“Apparently he’s surprisingly healthy, given the circumstances—but no, they haven’t located his parents yet.” He gave her an apologetic look. “They don’t seem to be looking too hard, despite my encouragement. I don’t think they’ll find the mother.”
Liberty didn’t know what to think because on one hand, that poor child—being abandoned and never knowing his parents?
But on the other hand, he’d already been abandoned once. What if they found his mother—then what? There were other ways to abandon a child than just leaving him in a park. That she knew personally.
Marcus said, “I’ve been assured that the foster mother is one of their best and that the baby’s needs will be met.”
She gaped at him for a moment before she realized her mouth was still open. She got it shut and tried to remember to look professional. This was probably as good as the news would get. One of their best foster mothers? Personal assurances that the baby would be well cared for? Those were all things she’d never gotten when she was in the system. “That’s wonderful. Can I visit him?”
Marcus looked at her in surprise, as if she’d asked for a space pony. “I didn’t get the address.”
“Oh.” She stared down at her tablet. “I just thought...” She cleared her throat and tried to get back on track. “Here’s the analysis of the Rock City Watch ad. I don’t think it’s hitting the target market you were looking for yet. And you still need to find a date for the wedding.”
She stood and handed the ad material over to Marcus. Then she turned and headed for the door.
It was better this way. She’d done her part. Marcus had upheld his end of things. The baby was going to be fine.
Besides, what was she going to do? Adopt a child? Please. She worked from 7:00 a.m. until 6:00 p.m., five days a week, and she came in on Saturday to prepare for the next week’s meetings. She had to. There was so much about his world that she didn’t know and she couldn’t afford to be exposed as an outsider, so she did her homework day in and day out.
She was at the threshold when Marcus spoke. “Liberty.”
She paused. He wasn’t going to ask her to the wedding again, was he? “Yes?”
She turned to face him. The way he was looking at her—it wasn’t right. It wasn’t normal anyway. What she would give for that look to be right because there was something to it, something that was possessive and intense. It scared her, how much she wanted him to look at her like that.
So she went on the defensive. “You can’t want me to go to this wedding with you.”
His lips curved into a seductive smile. “First off, aren’t you the one telling me to do what I want?”
He couldn’t mean that he really wanted to take her—could he? “Yes, but—”
He held up his hand like a king. “Do you want to see him again? The little boy.”
She gave him a long, hard look. Was this a game? If so, she wasn’t playing. “Mr. Warren, you’re not going to make this awkward, are you? You’ll get me the foster mother’s address if I agree to attend this ridiculous wedding as your—what, your personal human shield?”
A muscle in his jaw twitched and he looked quite dangerous. Very few people said no to Marcus Warren. But she was one of them. “Just answer the question—do you want to see the baby again?”
She gritted her teeth. “Yes,” she said, bracing for his counteroffer.
“That will be all,” Marcus said, turning his attention back to his computer.
The dismissal was so sudden and unexpected that she just stood there for a moment. Marcus didn’t look back up at her. He didn’t acknowledge her continued presence at all. He merely ignored her.
It was not a good feeling.
Four (#ulink_9e3093d9-9a81-5de4-b721-ccf564b7a3fd)
This time, the DCFS supervisor didn’t hesitate to give Marcus the name and address of the foster home. All he had to do was say who he was and the woman practically fell over herself to give him what he wanted.
Well. It was nice that someone was acting appropriately. Because his executive assistant sure as hell wasn’t.
Marcus stared at the information he’d written down on a piece of company letterhead. Hazel Jones. He googled the address and saw that it was way up in West Rogers Park.
This was ridiculous. He should be game-planning how to survive this wedding, not diverting his time, energy and accumulated favors for an abandoned baby and his assistant. And yet, here he was, doing just that.
There was nothing to be gained here. He did not need Liberty as a personal human shield and the implication—that he couldn’t attend this stupid wedding without one—was an insult to his pride. He was a Warren, dammit all. He didn’t hide from anyone or anything and woe unto the person who tried to stand between him and his goal.
Who, at this exact moment, was Liberty Reese.
He strode out of his office to find Liberty on the phone. She glanced up at him, and the fact that he saw a hint of worry in her eyes only made him madder. What had he ever done to make her afraid of him? Not a damned thing. His father would have had her pinned to her desk by the end of her first month here and if she’d so much as sneezed wrong afterward, he would have done everything in his power to bury her.
And what had Marcus done? He’d treated her with respect. He’d never once laid a hand on her, never implied that her job was in some way connected to her sexuality.
All he had done was ask her to go to a wedding with him. And now she was treating him as if he was some lecherous old man to be feared.
“Yes,” she said into the phone. “That’s correct. No—no,” she said in a more severe voice. “That is not the timetable. That information needs to be on my desk by the twelfth.” She notched an eyebrow at him and mouthed “Yes?”
He crossed his arms and mouthed back, “I’ll wait.”
There it was again, that hint of worry. Okay, so maybe he shouldn’t have asked her to the damned wedding. Hell, if he had his way, he wouldn’t even be going to the thing.
“No, the twelfth. What part of that isn’t clear? The. Twelfth,” Liberty snapped at the caller. Marcus grinned. He’d hired her because she was outside his parents’ sphere of influence and she ran. But she’d turned into an exceedingly good assistant who was not afraid to push when she needed to.
She rolled her eyes at the phone and then dug through a small stack of papers on her desk, pulled one out and handed it to him.
“Available for the Hanson-Spears wedding” was the label of a column. Below was a list of names and phone numbers.
Marcus gave her a dull look, which she ignored. “Yes. Excellent. We look forward to seeing what you put together.” She hung up the phone and took a deep breath. “I have to say that, at this point, the baby-wearables people are not winning any points in terms of organization or professionalism. They may not be ready to move to the next level.”
Ah, yes. The company that wanted funding for a line of baby clothes and blankets with smart technology built into the fabric so anxious parents could monitor sleeping and eating habits from the comfort of their phones. The idea was intriguing, but he didn’t like to see his money squandered by poor planning. “So noted.”
She turned a bright smile to him. It was not real. “Was there something I could help you with?”
He held out the name and address he’d copied down. “Here. It’s in West Rogers Park, up on the north side.”
Liberty made a small noise, like a gasp she was trying her best to hold in. “I...” She looked up at him and at least for right now, any hint of worry or fake smiles was gone and he found himself looking down at the same woman whom he’d held in his arms beside the jogging path.
She would do anything for that baby, he realized. Anything. Even attend a wedding.
He knew it. And given the way her cheeks colored a pretty pink and she dropped her gaze, she knew it, too.
It’d make his life a hell of a lot easier. A plus-one for this wedding in exchange for a little information, and he wouldn’t have to worry about finding a media-ready, parent-approved date who wouldn’t view the event as a stepping-stone to bigger and better things. He could go with Liberty and might even enjoy himself. At the very least, they could run on the beach along the Pacific Ocean in the mornings instead of Lake Michigan.
She wouldn’t be able to say no.
And he wouldn’t be any better than his father was.
“As promised,” he said and turned to walk back to his office.
He heard her chair squeak as she got up to follow him. “That’s it?”
“That’s it,” he said, sitting down. He felt strange and he wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t a bad feeling. He stared at the list she’d given him. He’d gone out with a half dozen of these women and he knew the other half. Any one of these women would make a great date to this wedding and appease his mother.
He crumpled the paper up and threw it in the trash.
“You’re not going to...” She let the sentence trail off but he could hear the words anyway. You’re not going to force the issue?
“Insist you do something you obviously don’t want to that falls outside of your job parameters? No,” he replied, trying to sound casual. He was seriously just going to let this go? If he didn’t get a date and he didn’t take Liberty, he’d just go alone. Sure, his parents might disown him for it. “Why would I?”
He glanced at her then and wasn’t surprised to see her looking as if she’d stepped into a room full of snapping alligators. “That’s...thank you.”
Even stranger, that made him feel better, as if her appreciation was all that he needed. “You’re welcome.”
But she didn’t leave. Instead, she took another step into the office. “Marcus...”
It wasn’t as if she hadn’t said his name before. She had. But there was something about the way she said it this time that held him captive.
“I know I shouldn’t ask this—but...” She looked down at the paper again as if he’d given her a sheet of solid gold. “Can I leave early today? Just today,” she hurried to add. “This won’t be a regular thing. I just...”
And he remembered how she’d soothed the baby, how she hadn’t just hummed a lullaby but had told that little child that he was loved and he was strong and he could make it. And Marcus remembered how watching her holding that baby had rocked him to his core.
“I’ll come in on Saturday and finish up whatever I don’t get done this week,” she offered, mistaking his silence for disapproval.
He stared at her. Did she think he didn’t know she came in on Saturdays anyway?
Liberty went on. “This won’t affect my job performance at all.”
And he was reminded that he held all the power here and that meant he could gain something from this interaction.
He looked at his watch. It was three forty-five—early by their standards. “Here,” he said, holding out his hand for the paper. “Give it to me.”
“Oh.” The disappointment on her face was a painful thing to see. “Yes, of course.” She trudged forward—there was no other word for it—and handed over the paper. Then, without looking him in the eyes, she turned and headed back to her desk.
“Get your things packed up,” he said, picking up his phone. He had nothing to gain from this but he was going to do it anyway. Because he wanted to. “We’ll go together.”
