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“What thing?” she demanded.
“That…awareness, that—” he flung a hand wide to encompass the full spectrum of sexual attraction “—edge. It’s here again, right now, even when you’re mad at me.”
Her face was blank. “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”
Tyler snorted. No way was this all on his side. There’d been a real and definite connection between them and it hadn’t abated. He was used to women finding him attractive and, less often, to experiencing a mutual chemistry. If the situation wasn’t appropriate, he could shrug it off and get on with the job. But he could see Bethany inhabited a less sophisticated planet than the women he dated. That big doctor brain of hers was probably a handicap when it came to something as simple as sexual attraction.
“You winked,” she said again, a note of revelation creeping into the words.
Being an egghead was no excuse for not understanding the basics. “I told you,” he said impatiently, “I did it because you—”
“While I was putting my heart into that pitch, you were flirting?”
CHAPTER THREE
“I WAS READING your signals,” Tyler corrected her. “And I acknowledged them. I was being polite.”
Just when Bethany had thought she’d reached the pinnacle of embarrassment, he’d thrown this at her. Why didn’t he just come out and say he thought she was an all-round loser, and sex-starved to boot?
“I was pitching for the most important thing in my life,” she said in a tight, strained voice. If she hadn’t been holding the baby, she would have yelled.
The baby whimpered. Through his hat, she nuzzled the top of his sweet little head with her chin, a caress intended to soothe herself as much as him.
No wonder Tyler hadn’t taken her pitch seriously, if his rampant ego had decided she was making a pass at him.
“If you weren’t giving me any signals—”
“I wasn’t,” she snapped.
“Then my…wink was out of order. I apologize.”
Bethany saw the opening and dived for it. “You need to let me pitch again, right away.”
He grinned. “Nice try.”
The baby wriggled against her, and automatically she noted his good neck control—he had to be at least a couple of months old. “You can’t have made an objective decision, if you thought I was flirting.”
“Women flirt with me all the time. I don’t take it seriously,” he said, half laughing, half irritated. “Look, Bethany, I promise the reason you only got fifty thousand dollars was because that’s the maximum the team thought your work deserved. I didn’t underpay you because I thought you were flirting.”
“And you’re certain you weren’t—” it sounded stupid, but she had to say it “—so distracted by your attraction to me that you failed to grasp all aspects of my presentation?” Because that happened to her all the time. Not.
“I swear I wasn’t.” His face was so grave she just knew he was laughing hysterically inside. “It wasn’t even an attraction. It was an awareness, a spark. Not that you’re not very attractive,” he added hastily, as if she was about to take offense on a whole new scale. “But…you must know your presentation didn’t do you any favors.”
The fire left Bethany, and suddenly she was cold. “No,” she agreed quietly. And now that she’d accused him of being in the thrall of an overwhelming attraction to her, how likely was it he’d give her more money when they met next week?
She’d blown it again.
“Can we start over?” he said, evidently deciding he’d neutralized her.
Start over. That’s what she’d have to do with her research funding. Nausea churned in her stomach.
“I asked you in here to examine the baby, to check if he’s healthy,” Tyler said.
“Of course.” She could at least do something for this child, get that right.
“There’s a meeting room that adjoins this office.” Tyler pointed to a door halfway along the far wall. “You can use the table in there.” He looked at the baby, now dozing against her shoulder. “I’ll carry your bag.”
She followed him into a room that, like his office, had expansive views over midtown. Instead of a desk, it held a long table flanked by leather-upholstered chairs.
“How about you hold this little fellow while I set up?” Bethany said.
Tyler took the infant from her, held him at arm’s length, like a puppy that had rolled in something nasty and needed a good hose-down.
“He won’t bite,” she said.
“It’s more the barfing I’m worried about.” He glanced down at the fine wool of his jacket, which fitted his shoulders snugly enough to reveal their breadth, while still allowing fluidity of movement.
“That’s why I don’t buy custom-made suits,” she sympathized. “I don’t mind dropping a thousand dollars on a new suit, it’s the twenty bucks for the dry cleaning that kills me.”
He gave her a hard look, but he took the hint, held the baby closer. The little boy’s head flopped against Tyler’s chest, a tiny thumb went into his mouth. Then a fist curled around Tyler’s lapel. Tyler looked less than thrilled.
Bethany tore open a plastic pack and pulled out a sterile mat. “I hope you’ve baby-proofed your house, because these critters get into everything.” The baby was several months away from that stage, but why not give Tyler a scare?
“Luckily I had that done last year, on the off chance someone abandoned a baby on me.”
She frowned so she wouldn’t smile.
“But even if I hadn’t,” he continued, “this guy looks too young for me to worry about him digging out the magazines from under my bed.”
Her head jerked up.
“Car magazines,” he said blandly. “I only buy them for the pictures.”
From her bag, Bethany took out the items she’d need for her examination. She rescued the baby from Tyler, laid him on the mat. Instantly wide-awake, he gurgled up at her. “Can you imagine how desperate his mom must have been,” she mused aloud, “to abandon a cutie like this?”
“Why do you think she did it?” Tyler perked up.
“It’s more common to abandon babies at birth if the pregnancy was a secret or if the mom had no support. At this age…possibly if he had a birth defect or a serious illness she couldn’t handle…” She unsnapped the yellow sleeper and began to remove the garment. “But there’s nothing obviously wrong with this guy.” She appreciated the healthy pink tone of the baby’s skin. Too often the youngsters she saw in the E.R. were either pale or flushed from illness. “I’m wondering if there’ll be some clue to his name, maybe a wristband or ankle band under these clothes.”
“Uh-huh.” Tyler was looking at the baby, but the tapping of one black loafer on the carpet told her his thoughts were elsewhere.
A thought struck Bethany. “You don’t know his name, do you?”
That brought his gaze back to her. “It wasn’t in the note, so how could I?”
She waited before she replied, listening through her stethoscope to the baby’s heart. He’d flinched when the cold metal touched his chest, but he didn’t cry. Heart rate of one-fifty, perfectly normal.
“It occurs to me,” she said carefully as she coiled her stethoscope, “that this might be your son.”
He jerked backward. “Mine?”
“I mean—” she put a thermometer to the baby’s ear, relieved she didn’t have to meet Tyler’s gaze as she elaborated “—your…love child.”
She didn’t expect the silence. It was unnerving, so much so that even after the thermometer beeped a normal reading, she kept looking at the display.
“Tell me that’s a joke,” he said.
She swallowed. “I have to ask. I’m a doctor, I have my patient’s best interests in mind.”
“You’re not just a gossip with a juicy story to spread?” he asked silkily.
“Certainly not.” She put the thermometer away.
“Because if a rumor like that got around, it could do me a lot of damage.”
Bewildered, she said, “Tyler, according to the newspapers, you’ve dated half the women in Atlanta and the other half are eagerly awaiting their turn. Miss Georgia must know she’s the latest in a long line.”
“Professional damage,” he elaborated. “And for your information, dating a lot of women doesn’t mean I’m siring love children—” he embellished her euphemism with sarcasm “—all over town, then neglecting them until their mothers abandon them.”
“Only one love child,” she corrected reasonably. Then, when his face darkened, “If you say he’s not yours, I believe you. But like you said, you’re Atlanta’s favorite son, you could get away with—”
“Forget it,” he said with flat finality.
Bethany pressed her lips together and conducted the rest of her checks on the baby in silence. She put a finger in his mouth, ran it over his gums. Next, she pulled a brightly colored rattle from her bag, held it above and in front of the baby. His eyes focused on the toy, and when she moved it to her left and then her right, his gaze followed. When she put the rattle down on the table, the little boy turned his head to see it. His hand reached out, found only air, and he gave a squirm of frustration.
Bethany picked up the toy, held it to the tips of his fingers. He curled his fingers around it, held it for a moment, then dropped it. “Hmm, I’d say he’s hit three months.”
“How do you know that?”
She’d forgotten momentarily that she wasn’t talking to Tyler after he’d accused her of being a gossip. Nonetheless, she magnanimously decided to share her conclusions with him. “He’s able to follow an object with his eyes and grasp it, but he’s not rolling over, though he’s in good health, with plenty of fat, plus good muscle development. And there’s no sign of teething.”
There was a knock, then Olivia stuck her head around the door. “I have diapers. And something called baby wipes.”
“Perfect timing.” Bethany pulled the tapes on the diaper the baby wore. “Bring them in.”
She tugged the wet diaper out from under the baby. She gave his private parts a quick check, then Olivia handed her a fresh diaper and a wipe. The secretary left the room double quick.
“On all the obvious measures he’s fine, a healthy little guy,” Bethany said as she fastened the clean diaper. She glanced at Tyler. “I still think it’s best if I call social services and have them pick him up.” She began to dress the baby again.
Tyler shook his head. “I can’t throw him into the welfare system when his mom asked me to take him. Who knows what might happen to him.”
“I know.” She gathered the baby in her arms. “Social services will send someone to get him. They might be satisfied with my medical assessment, or they might take him to another doctor. While they try to find his mom, they’ll place him with a foster parent who knows how to look after a baby,” she said with heavy emphasis. “Someone who’ll care about him.”
He looked at her for a long moment, then his gaze flicked down to the baby in her arms. “Thanks very much for your professional advice, Dr. Hart. Be sure and send Olivia your bill.”
Just like that he was dismissing her. He even had the nerve to offer her that meaningless smile, the one he’d given when he’d dismissed her pitch.
He would do the same at their meeting next week. It wouldn’t make any difference if she was coherent, babbling or speaking Swahili.
Bethany’s future flashed before her eyes, and it wasn’t a pretty sight. She’d have to pull out of the research team at Emory; she’d been a late addition to the team, accepted on the basis of her funding from the foundation. Every cent was allocated, they couldn’t carry freeloaders. She would have to start traipsing around the charitable foundations, submitting applications, presenting her case. And every time, she’d be up against dozens of other worthy projects.
This could mean the end of the goal she’d worked toward since she was thirteen years old.
She could find a way to deal with the recriminations from her parents—she just wouldn’t answer her phone for a year—but knowing she’d failed to do the one thing that would make any sense of Melanie’s death…that would haunt her.
Now Tyler stood before her, frowning with faint confusion, as if he couldn’t understand why she was still in his office, still holding “his” baby. He didn’t give a damn about the children she hoped to save. Did he care about anyone, other than himself?
Bethany’s mouth set in a determined line. “I’m not leaving until I’m certain you’ve made acceptable arrangements for this baby.”
“For Pete’s sake.” His hands came together in a throttling motion that she hoped was involuntary. “I told you, I’ll find a sitter. I’ll have Olivia call you later and let you know how I get on.”
“Does that work the same as, ‘Call Olivia and have her slot you into my diary’?”
A smile tugged at Tyler’s mouth. Surprise, surprise, he wasn’t taking her seriously again.
“Do you know how to choose a sitter?” she demanded. He probably planned to ask one of his girlfriends. Goodness knew what sights the poor baby might be subjected to. “You need someone qualified. And I mean capable of more than sashaying down a catwalk.”
He laughed out loud. “Modeling is a very demanding profession,” he chided. “I’ve been told many times.”
“I’m trying to say—”
“I am saying, this is none of your business,” he interrupted. “I assure you, though I don’t have to, and I really don’t know why I’m bothering, that I’ll hire a qualified, professional sitter, the best that money can buy.”
Everything came back to money.
He had it, she needed it.
Which seemed so monumentally unfair, Bethany wanted to cry.
“We’re done here.” Tyler took a step toward the door. “I’ll be happy to update you about the baby at our meeting next week. If you’ll hand him over to me…”
“No,” Bethany said. Because an idea was glimmering in the recesses of her mind, and she just needed a minute to tease it into the open.
“You don’t want an update?” He added hopefully, “Or you don’t want to meet next week?” It obviously didn’t occur to him she wasn’t about to hand over the baby.
It was coming closer, her idea, coalescing into a plan. A plan to get money out of him, without her having to beg, or rob him at gunpoint, both of which had occurred to her in the course of this encounter.
“I want,” she said casually, confidently and—best of all—coherently, “you to hire me as your babysitter.”
The allure of Bethany’s feisty brand of cute was wearing off fast, Tyler decided. And the way she was holding on to the baby as if he was a bargaining chip was decidedly alarming. “No way.”
“I’ve worked with social services in the emergency room,” she said. “They know me, they trust me. When I tell them you’re not a fit guardian for this baby, they’ll be around here faster than you can proposition a supermodel.”
“I doubt that’s possible,” Tyler said coolly. “But, humor me here, why exactly would you want to tell social services that?”
“Because it’s true.” Her tone said, Duh, and he could see she believed it. “I’m not going to let you risk this child’s well-being because you want, for whatever reason, to keep him—” She stopped. “I bet you see this baby as some kind of chick magnet.”
“I’m a chick magnet. And I don’t need you telling lies to social services.” Just the thought of her carrying out that threat made Tyler go cold. He imagined the resulting furor when the news hit the headlines. He might as well go out and have Don’t choose me to run a family think tank tattooed on his forehead right now.
