Seven Days Secret Baby_A Second Chance Romance Page 2

  She opened the envelope in her hand and placed a line of slightly blurred photos on the desk. All showed a young woman I knew all too well. “Who’s this?” I made the question sound innocent, no need to give away how much I was already obsessing about her.

  “Your plan, Sir.”

  “My plan?”

  “Yes, Sir. You wanted someone here while Mr Tomlinson is investigating you. Make it look like you’re a…”

  “You can say it. Make it look like I’m a decent reasonable human being rather than the cold hearted bastard I really am.”

  She ignored my comment. “We have tracked her down-”

  I interrupted her. “I told you to bring her here, not track her down.”

  “I talked to Richard and he had a few concerns. He was of the opinion it might be a tiny bit illegal to drag a woman here against her will.”

  “He’s a lawyer. He’s bound to balk at anything that’s even slightly illegal.”

  “Nonetheless, Sir. It was generally felt that it might be better to get her consent given that we want Mr Tomlinson to get only the best impression of you.”

  “I see. How much am I paying her again?”

  “You agreed a million was a suitable amount to ensure her silence.”

  “A million for her to act like I’m her personal benefactor. A million just to make me look good. Is it worth it?” I didn’t want Gwyneth to know I had my own reasons for wanting her in the house. Better to focus on the money.

  “You stand to make over three hundred million in overnight profit if this deal goes ahead, Sir. In the circumstances we thought-”

  “Who is she anyway? Did you get her name?”

  “Jodie Harris. Intelligent, educated, poor, in dire need of financial help from a wealthy noble benefactor.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “In prison, Sir.”

  “Then you better go get her out I don’t want to hear about this again.” My phone rang and I grabbed it. “What? Oh, it’s you Gates. Now you listen to me, you tell me how curing malaria makes me money and I’ll give you…Oh, it’s like that is it…I see…Why didn’t you say so? Get me two million shares in it and you’ve got a deal. I’ll get Gwyneth to wire it across this morning. And while you’re on the phone, when are you going to sort my computer out? I don’t care if you’re not in charge anymore, you’re still Mr Windows to me so tell me why when I delete a line in Word the whole document always changes to Times New Roman. You want the money, you get this fixed. Do we have a deal? Five seconds before I hang up. Pleasure doing business with you.”

  I hung up the phone before nodding to Gwyneth. “Now that’s how tech support should work. What’s next?”

  I spent the rest of the morning working through the file she brought me. How to come across as a philanthropic selfless heroic figure.

  If I was going to look like a decent human being for Tomlinson, it was going to take work. I couldn’t fool him like I could fool everyone else. We’d been friends a long time ago, back when I had friends, before they started slowing me down. It had been years since I’d last seen him but if anyone would see through the act it was him.

  The file was supposed to help. It contained hints on all the body language I needed to appear reasonable. I needed to smile, open arms, warm gestures. I could learn that.

  Jodie would turn up. The money would get her here. By the time Tomlinson arrived, she’d be settled in and doting on me. Then he’d think I was charitable and nice blah blah blah. He’d sell me the land, me pretending all the way that I was going to protect it from development.

  Once the paperwork was signed I’d get all the black gold out of the place and my bank account would look considerably healthier. By my estimates, I stood to make a lot more than three hundred million. That was just in land value alone. The oil underneath was worth closer to two billion and he was willing to just hand it over and trust that I would leave it alone.

  In the scheme of things, paying the woman one million to make me look good was peanuts. I was about to double my wealth in one deal. Two billion. I could add another wing to the house. If things went the way I planned, I’d get the bonus of seeing what the innocent little museum guide looked like naked and begging for my cock.

  At about twelve Gwyneth was off dealing with the garage, the new Lambourghini being the wrong shade of white again. I picked up the photos of the woman I'd told her to hire. Jodie Harris. Aged twenty. Lived alone. Parents long dead. She looked like she needed the money.

  I looked at the body language sheet again. Be friendly to her. Don’t shout and scream. I could do that. Maybe. It didn't say anything about tearing her clothes off.

  She looked so fuckable. Every now and then, when I had a rare free hour, I’d call in and look at her. My excuse was I was going to see the Flambert painting.

  I had two of his already in the east wing but the one in the museum was something else. Only his second painting, completed in 1820, a simple scene of a shoreline and a boat coming into harbour. It had a quiet beauty that became more appealing the longer you looked at it. She was like that. The longer I looked at her the more beautiful she became.

  She was often in the same room, sitting on the chair in the corner, half asleep, daydreaming. No doubt bored out of her mind.

  Jodie. I had put a name to the face at last. Lucky for me, she hadn’t noticed me staring at her, trying to picture her body under those clothes.

  The evening before she arrived I sat in my private cinema, watching It’s a Wonderful Life again. It was my secret pleasure. In the real world, sentimentality got you a one way ticket to Skid Row. With the door closed I could indulge in a secret world, one where I didn’t have to be a cold hearted bastard anymore. It was like being a child again.

  The cinema had been condemned and about to be demolished when I bought it. I couldn’t let the movie theater of my childhood vanish into a pile of rubble. I’d brought it home brick by brick and had it rebuilt in the garden. Fifty seats and all for me.

  I thought about Jodie as the film came to an end. To Tomlinson I needed to appear like George Bailey, a noble man doing things for other people. How good was I? Taking an impoverished woman into my home, mentoring her, nurturing her, pulling her out of poverty. I was better than George Bailey.

  The deal would go through. She’d go home with her million and a nondisclosure contract so no one knew what I’d done to her and I’d double my wealth almost overnight. Simple. Or so I thought.

  THREE - JODIE

  I did not sleep well. Something about a hard prison bench and three other people all shouting loudly interfered with my best efforts.

  I came up before the judge at two in the afternoon and I was exhausted by then.

  The inside of a courtroom was something I’d only seen on TV before. Actually standing inside one was surreal, like I was on the set of some new TV show. I felt a hysterical giggle rising up inside me as the judge gave me my options. I was so nervous I almost fainted.

  “There is far too much drunken brawling taking place in this city,” he said, looking at me over the top of his glasses. “And a young woman too.” He shook his head. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  He managed a smile but his eyes stayed cold. “Unfortunately all the evidence points in a different direction. I will grant bail conditional upon a bond payment of one thousand pounds.”

  “But I haven’t got a thousand pounds.”

  “Then you will be remanded in custody until a trial date is set. You could afford to go drinking, I note for the record. You should be able to afford your bail.”

  “Your Honor,” a voice said behind me. “Could I have a moment with the defendant.”

  “Who are you?” the judge asked as I turned to see the who’d offered to pay my rent arrears for me last night.

  “A lawyer?” It sounded more like a question than a statement.

  “Very well. One minute only. I do not have all day
while you converse with your client.”

  The man squeezed through the seats from the back of the courtroom and leaned over the wooden bar that separated me from freedom. “Can't believe that worked. Listen, I’ll pay your bail if you agree to meet my employer.”

  “I told you, I don’t want your help.”

  He shrugged. “What's the alternative, lady? You want to go to prison?”

  “No but-”

  “Then take the money and come and see him. All he’s asking for is five minutes of your time. That’s not too much, is it?”

  I looked from him to the judge and did a quick mental calculation of my options before whispering back, “All right, fine.”

  The judge coughed loudly. “May we continue?”

  The man turned to the judge. “Of course, your Majesty. I am authorised to pay any costs or fines to be levied by the court today, your Worship.”

  “It’s a bail hearing, counsellor.”

  “Then bail it is. And perhaps I could give you something for your trouble?”

  “Are you attempting to bribe a magistrate of the bench in open session?”

  “Would you prefer I did it over the phone? I’m just kidding, your Parsnip.”

  Despite the man’s best efforts, I was set free, the bail paid. I walked out of the building and found him running after me. “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “Home.”

  He shook his head. Five minutes of your time. You agreed. Taxi!” He waved a hand and a passing black cab swerved and pulled up next to us.

  “I’m not sure about this, ” I said as he climbed in.

  “Look, you’re going to go in his office. Listen to what he has to say. Five minutes. That’s all. What harm can it do?”

  The taxi driver shouted. “Are you getting in or what?”

  The man beckoned me. “I’m so going to regret this,” I said as I climbed in next to him.

  A quarter of an hour later we stopped in front of one of the anonymous office blocks that riddled the middle of the city. I followed the man inside and into the elevator. He hit the button for the fifteenth floor and we stepped out a short time later into a plain corridor that led to a number of closed doors, none of them labelled. “Here we are,” he said, stopping at the second one from the end, rapping on the dark wood.

  “Come in,” a voice called out.

  The man pushed open the door and stepped aside to let me enter. I walked in to find myself facing another elderly figure with thinning white hair. Maybe they were brothers. This one was sitting behind a huge desk, papers fanned out in front of him.

  “Ah, you must be Miss Harris,” he said. “Won’t you take a seat.”

  “Who are you? What is this?”

  “This is an office and I’m Richard Senior.”

  “And why am I here?”

  “Because I’m a lawyer.”

  “I can’t afford a lawyer.”

  “Oh, it’s not about what you’ve done. This is about the wishes of my client.”

  “And who is your client?”

  “For the moment he prefers to remain anonymous.”

  “Of course he does.”

  “Miss Harris. I will make this short. My client wishes for you to spend seven days living in his home to assist him in a task he needs performed. In return you will be paid one million pounds.”

  I looked at him, waiting to see the laughter start. He just looked at me, fingertips pressed together under his chin.

  “This is a joke, right?”

  He shook his head. “No joke. One week for one million pounds.”

  “What’s the catch?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The catch. People don’t just hand out that kind of money to house guests. Am I babysitting Satan? Clearing up a crime scene? Cannibal dinner party, is that it?”

  “I see. There is a catch, of sorts. Once you are in, there is no leaving. You are to obey my client’s every instruction. At the end of the week, you leave with the money. You are never to contact my client or myself again. You will be subject to a nondisclosure contract. If you mention to anyone where you’re going or what happens there, the money will be forfeit.”

  “What if I’ve already spent it?”

  “So you agree to do it?”

  “I didn’t say that. How do you get the money back if I blab after I spend it?”

  “We sue you into financial oblivion.”

  “You wouldn’t have to work too hard. Who is your client anyway? Why do they want me?”

  “You will find that out when you arrive at his address.”

  “So it’s a he. I don't talk to strangers, it's a rule I have.”

  “I sense some reluctance on your part. There is an alternative option if you prefer.”

  “Which is?”

  “I am authorised to pay you ten thousand pounds today. In return you walk away from this office and forget this meeting evey took place.” He lifted a briefcase onto the desk and turned it to face me, pulling it open at the same time. Neat rows of notes were lined up inside. He took out five bundles, placing them in front of me. “Ten thousand in cash if you choose to walk away now.”

  I ran my hand over the top of the money. It felt real. “You’re a lawyer,” I said. “What would you choose?”

  “That’s not for me to say. It’s entirely your decision.”

  “You must have an opinion.”

  “I do know that ten thousand pounds is an awful lot of money for someone in your situation. This is my personal opinion, not my professional one you understand? I would take the money and walk away, clear the arrears, pay the court fine that will be levied for the unfortunate incident last night, move on with your life.”

  I looked at him, weighing one of the bundles of notes in my hand. “Two thousand pounds feels surprisingly light,” I said out loud.

  I was holding enough to get Ryan off my back. Another of the bundles would clear all my debts and I’d have enough left over to set up my own educational trust, work for myself, run all the guided tours I want, maybe even get some of the inner city schools involved, subsidize the trips for them. But for how long? It would soon run out.

  The million though. Think what I could do with that. I could do so much good with it. “Will I have to do anything illegal if I say yes?”

  “No. Everything will be above board. But what does it matter. Just take the ten grand.”

  I put the bundle on the table, sliding it back across towards the briefcase. “I’ll go for the week.”

  There was a flicker of something in the lawyer’s face but I couldn’t work out what it was. “Sign here,” he said, passing me a thick wad of paper. “And here. And here.”

  I did as he asked.

  "And here. And here. And here. Initial here. Sign here." At last he turned the final page.

  “Now what?”

  “Now you have tonight to prepare yourself. Promptly at nine tomorrow morning be at this address with nothing in your pockets.” He passed me a business card. “As per the contract, do not tell anyone where you are going or why. You may tell them you will be away for a week but no more detail than that. Now, good day Miss Harris.” He held a hand out towards me. We shook and then it was over.

  It felt like a dream as I walked back out along the corridor. The only proof that the meeting had really happened was the business card in my hand. It wasn’t an address I recognised. Had I just turned down ten thousand pounds? It had been right in front of me and I’d walked away from it. Was I making a huge mistake?

  I got home to find my key no longer worked. I was able to get into the building but not through my door.

  “He changed the lock,” Annie said behind me, leaning out from her place. “Did it while you were jailbound. Tried to do it to my door but I just shook my fist again and he backed down. How come you’re out so soon?”

  I told her briefly about the man paying my bail.

  “Why did he agree to do that?” she asked when I was done.

>   “I can’t say. Listen, Annie, I’ve got to go away for a while.”

  “Aren’t you at work this evening?”

  “Got fired while I was in jail.”

  “What?”

  I nodded. “I might be gone for a week or so. Can you try and make sure he doesn’t throw any of my stuff out.”

  “He’ll have to step over my dead body to do it. But what about the rent? How are you going to catch up if you’re out of a job?”

  “I should have something soon but I need to chase it up.”

  “Are you all right, Jodie? You’re acting kind of funny.”

  “I’m fine. Any chance I can spend tonight at yours? I’ll be gone first thing tomorrow.”

  “Of course. Stay as long as you need.”

  “One night is good.”

  “So where are you going tomorrow?”

  “I’ve got a plan to get some money.”

  “If it’s a bank robbery, I got to tell you, I’m in. We’ll be like Thelma and Louise.”

  “Didn’t they die at the end?”

  “Okay, we won’t do that bit but the rest, outlaws on the lam. I’m well up for that.”

  “It’s not a bank robbery.”

  “Come on, tell me, I’m your best friend.”

  “My only friend.”

  “That too. What’s going on?”

  “I can’t say. Just wait to hear from me and when I’m back I might have some good news about our little educational tour company.”

  “Getting poor kids into history.” She smiled. “The dream.”

  “I think the slogan needs work. It sounds like we’re going to kill them.”

  “No it doesn’t. That would be make kids history. Now shall we go inside or talk in the corridor for the rest of the day?”

  She tried her best to get more information out of me but I stonewalled her so long she gave up in the end. We spent the rest of the day finding out which of her clothes best fit me so I had something clean to wear in the morning.

  That turned into a fashion show that morphed into a contest to see which of us could wear the most outfits at once. She won with eleven dresses over the top of each other, looking like a sumo wrestler as she shook her fists in the sky in victory.