Magnus Read online

  “So what? That doesn’t negate the fact that I’m still married to his daughter.”

  “You throw that ‘M’ word around loosely for a man who doesn’t want to be friends.”

  The warmth of his eyes settles on the side of my face for the second time during the drive. I can feel it warming me like a bulb in a shadeless lamp.

  “Okay, fine,” he says. “You want to be friends, Shiloh? We’re friends.”

  The tone of his voice irritates me. “Being a friend is so much more than saying it.”

  “Right. It’s being there for each other, right? Ain’t that how it works? So if I had a friend whose father was about to have surgery, I’d be there for her. Right?”

  He has me in a corner and he knows it. But still, the fact that he took it upon himself to crash my papa’s kidney transplant surgery irritates me. I know Magnus is one of those people who’s in my life for a season. I don’t want to grow attached. Don’t want to get used to him being there for me.

  “I don’t need you at the surgery with me,” I tell him. “I’d planned on going alone.”

  “You’re not going alone. Friends don’t let friends go to their father’s surgery alone.”

  “And how am I supposed to explain your presence to my father, Magnus?”

  “What do you mean? You didn’t tell him you were mine?” he asks, his voice arrogant.

  “I’m not yours.”

  “You sure were Wednesday night.”

  I glance over at him. He’s smiling – just barely – like he’s having memories of Wednesday. Of being inside me. Owning me. Taking me. Trying to give me his baby. I’m a little irritated by it, yet I feel a tingle in my gut that travels down to the apex of my thighs.

  “When we get there, how about you stay quiet?” I ask him, but it’s more of a suggestion. One he laughs at.

  “You know I can’t do that. If he wants to know why I’m there, I’m telling him.”

  “Telling him what, exactly?”

  “That I’m here to support my wife.”

  I hit the brakes in the right lane on Wendover Road. We jerk forward. There’re hardly any cars on the street this early. We jerk forward. “No. You can’t. If my father knows what I’ve done, he won’t go through with the surgery.”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t mention anything about the money or the kidney. Now can you drive before the cops show up?”

  I release the brakes and press the gas again. “Why were you up so early, anyway? And why are you dressed in all black like a ninja? I had considered running you over.”

  “You’d do that to your baby’s father?”

  “I didn’t know it was you.”

  “Sure you didn’t.” He laughs. “I was up because I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Is that a recurring problem?”

  “No. It’s usually not a problem at all.”

  “Then that leads me back to my original question—why were you up?”

  “Because something happened to me Wednesday night that shook my world a little off balance.”

  I take a sip of coffee. We happened Wednesday night but I refuse to let his charm flatter me. “That’s funny. I thought billionaire Magnus St. Claire was immovable.”

  “I thought so, too,” he says. He rolls down the window, takes the top off of my thermos and pours my coffee out.

  “Why’d you do that?”

  “Caffeine isn’t good for the baby.”

  “I’m not pregnant.”

  “You don’t know that. Before Wednesday, it’d been two years since I touched a woman. My boys are ready to swim, and I’m not willing to take any chances.”

  I turn into the driveway at my father’s. I go inside after instructing Magnus to wait in the car. I can breathe finally. Being near Magnus again is highly overwhelming. It takes a lot of energy to pretend not to like someone. To pretend that no matter how screwy the circumstances are between us, he will forever be my first.

  “Hey, Papa. I’m here.”

  “I’m comin’ out in a minute, Lo.”

  “Do you need some help? I was supposed to help you with your bag.”

  “No,” he says emerging from the hallway holding a duffle bag. “I already got it.”

  I want to walk up to him and take it, but I don’t. I know he’s capable of carrying his own stuff. Don’t want him to feel less than a man even though I’m only trying to be helpful.

  Minutes later, we’re out the door, walking to the car. Magnus is in the driver’s seat. Now I understand why he wasn’t putting up a fuss about me telling him to wait in the car. He wanted to drive and figured the best way to do that was to jump in the driver’s seat while I was inside helping papa.

  “You got St. Claire wit’cha, I see,” Papa says as we’re walking to the car. He sounds tired after having to get up so early.

  “Yeah. He wanted to tag along.”

  He chuckles. “Not for my sake, I’m sure, but for yours. That’s good. I don’t know how long this surgery is gon’ take. At least you’ll have him there to keep you company.

  What my father doesn’t know is that’s not a good thing.

  I open the passenger door choosing to let papa ride shotgun with Magnus. That’ll give me a break. When he’s inside, I shut the door and open the back door to get in, putting his bag next to me.

  “Good morning, Mr. Winston,” Magnus says.

  “Good morning, St. Claire. It’s good to see you again, Sir.”

  “You as well. Today’s the big day, huh?”

  “Yes. I like to think of it as the first day of the rest of my life.”

  “I heard that. That’s a good outlook to have.”

  Magnus turns around. His eyes are on me like high beams when he asks, “Which hospital?”

  He doesn’t know where to go. It wouldn’t have been an issue if he hadn’t hopped in the driver’s seat to start with. Why? Because I know where to go!

  My father tells him where the hospital is and we head in that direction.

  Meanwhile, I’m trying to determine why Magnus wants to be here with me and my father. Why be a part of this? It’s almost as if he wants to see his investment pay off for something. Getting me pregnant isn’t enough. Now he wants to infiltrate my life. To know where I am so he knows where to be. He’s already paid off my papa’s house. Now he’s driving him – us – to the hospital.

  * * *

  I get papa checked in while Magnus is outside parking the car. We’re sitting in the surgery waiting area. My father will be called back shortly.

  Magnus steps into the waiting room. The all-black attire still has me frazzled. Black jogging pants. Black long-sleeved, athletic shirt. Black sneakers that probably cost a fortune. He’s tall – tallest person in here. His hair is black. The dark colors make the green of his eyes pop.

  “I got you some hot chocolate, Shiloh,” he says. “Much better than coffee.”

  “Thanks,” I say grudgingly, nearly snatching the cup. I’m still heated about the coffee incident.

  “You’re welcome.” He sits next to me. “I would’ve gotten you something, Mr. Winston, but I know you can’t have any food or drink.”

  “No, I can’t,” Papa says. “That’s why I can’t wait ‘til it’s over so I can get me some collards and fatback.”

  “You know you can’t eat collards right after surgery, Papa.”

  He chuckles. “Maybe I can. All yo’ ol’ man gotta do is sweet-talk one of them nurses.”

  Magnus laughs along with papa.

  I take papa’s hand into mine, lean over near him and ask discreetly, “Are you nervous, Papa?”

  “A lil’ bit. A lil’ bit. I’m excited, too.”

  “Me too.”

  “Mr. Winston,” a nurse calls out. “We’re ready for you, Sir.”

  My dad stands. I stand with him and wrap my arms tight around my father and squeeze all the love I can off of him. My eyes swell with tears of worry and happiness. I kiss his prickly, salt and pepper cheek and say, “I
love you, Papa.”

  “I love you, too, Lo. Now stop all that teary-eyed stuff before you make me misty-eyed up in here.”

  I laugh and blink my tears away.

  Magnus stands up, shakes my father’s hand and pats him on the back. “Good luck, Mr. Winston.”

  “Thanks, St. Claire. Ay, do me a favor and watch after her, will ya? I don’t want her crying and worrying about me.”

  “I’m your daughter,” I tell him. “I’m supposed to worry about you, Papa.”

  “Yeah, but these doctors know what they’re doing, Lo. You sit out here and stay calm.”

  “No worries, Mr. Winston,” Magnus says. “I’ll make sure she’s on her best behavior.”

  Best behavior. He’s got some nerve…

  I sit down and cross my legs. I’m so nervous, I don’t think about why Magnus is here with me anymore. I just pray the surgery goes well.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Magnus

  “Stop fidgeting,” I say to her. She hasn’t been able to sit still since they called her father back. It’s been an hour and a half. For the majority of that time, I was out in the hallway taking calls from Hilda and Lucille. Then Bransen called. Said it was unlike me to miss work. He’s right. It’s not like me. That’s why he knows whatever I’m doing must be important.

  “I’ll fidget if I want to fidget,” she tells me. “If you don’t like it, there’s the door. Nobody told you to come here, anyway.”

  “I don’t need permission from anyone to do anything I do.”

  She rolls her eyes. Her leg is bouncing up and down.

  “We should go to the cafeteria and eat?”

  “I’m too nervous to eat.”

  “I’m sure you are, but it’s probably the best thing you can do right now so come on.” I stand up and reach for her hand.

  She opts to stand up on her own without my assistance. Doesn’t bother me none, as long as she’s doing what I need her to do.

  In the cafeteria, we both get the same thing – eggs, sausage links, a toast and some home fries. She gets another hot chocolate. The one I bought for her earlier is cold. I grab a container of skim milk then after paying for our meals, I follow her to a table.

  She chooses to sit near a TV where CNN is playing loudly, talking politics mostly. They talk politics so much, the network should be PNN – Political News Network – instead of CNN. I try my best to tune it out.

  “We never got the chance to talk after Wednesday night,” I say.

  “What’s there to talk about?” she asks, biting angrily into a piece of sausage. “You certainly didn’t want to talk then so no need in bringing up anything now is there?”

  “Stop assuming things. You don’t know what I wanted to do or what was going through my mind, Shiloh.”

  “You’re right, because as soon as you were done, you left.”

  “I wanted to—” I pause. I was going to tell her that everything inside me was telling me to stay. To hold her. To treat her like a woman – my woman – instead of a vessel, but my heart told me I couldn’t do it. My mind told me to stick with the plan. So that’s what I did.

  I eat more of my food then take a sip of milk. Right now, my mind is telling me the same things Bransen and my therapist told me. To let her in. To try with her. I know she’s worth it. But my heart is telling me no.

  Her eyes are telling me, yes.

  Her lips, yes.

  Her beautiful face, yes.

  Her body, oh yes.

  She’s wearing me thin and doesn’t have a clue.

  “I hope I didn’t hurt you Wednesday night. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

  “No. I’m fine. You could’ve warned me, though.”

  “Warned you about what?”

  “That you’re on the hefty side down there.”

  I grin. “I thought the jogging pants warned you that day in the yard when I was back from running. I saw you looking.”

  “I was not,” she says. Her cheeks redden.

  “You were.”

  “Whatever. Anyway, I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to that.”

  “You will. You have no choice but to.”

  “That’s what you paid me for, right?”

  I hate it when she talks so bluntly. I can imagine all the people I work with who say the same thing about me and the way I’m short and to-the-point with them.

  “Why do you give me attitude whenever I try to talk to you?”

  “Because you’re not supposed to be here. You made it clear that the only purpose I serve for you is to have a baby. Why are you here?”

  That’s the question of the day. I honestly don’t know why I’m here. Or why I was standing at the window at my house staring back at the guesthouse this morning. Or why I chose to stand in the driveway when I saw the Porsche coming my way. Or why I chose to ride with her to pick up her father. Or why I decided to drive. Why I’m here with her at this hospital instead of at work closing new deals and sparking new ones. But I’m here, and to have the kind of power to demand that kind of attention out of me should be a victory for her but she sees my presence as more of a nuisance.

  I’m cool with that.

  “I don’t know why I’m here,” I tell her.

  She frowns. “You don’t know why you’re here?”

  “No. I’m supposed to be at work right now but something in me feels it’s more important that I’m here. With you. And your—Papa. So, I’m here and I’m going to stay here. There’s no one else here with you.”

  She looks away from me and stirs eggs around on her plate.

  “Do you have relatives nearby?”

  “I have a sister in Charlotte.”

  “Does she know about the surgery?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “You haven’t been able to contact her?”

  “No. I have no way to contact her.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Why? So you can get your goons to track her down?”

  “I don’t have goons.”

  She drinks. Keeps her eyes on me. “Her name is Selah Winston.”

  “I take it you’re not close with her.”

  “No, not at all.”

  “Is she older or younger?”

  “Older. She’s one of those free-spirited types who feel like they can do anything without consequences. She gave dad a lot of grief especially in the months when my mom was the sickest. It was her way of handling the situation, but acting out didn’t do anything to help my father.”

  “I’m sure it didn’t.” I take a sip of milk.

  “I have another sister who lives in New York. Her name is Shelby. We have the same mother—different fathers. Her father is white and somehow in her mind that makes her better than me and Selah. She doesn’t come around much.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  “What about you? Are you an only child?”

  “As far as I know, yes.” I see the confusion on her face. To clear up what she may be thinking, I say, “I grew up in a foster home.”

  “Oh. Wow.”

  “That surprises you?”

  “Yes. I’m surprised you were a foster child and even more surprised you told me. You don’t usually tell me anything.”

  “Don’t take it personal. I don’t usually talk to people. I have people who I talk to about issues already.”

  “Like who? Your foster mother?”

  “No. My foster mother passed nine years ago before I lost my—” I pause again. Telling her about Nicoletta and MJ is still not something I plan on doing. “I talk to people I hire.”

  “So a therapist.”

  “I like to think of her as an advisor.”

  “What about other family?”

  “I have no other family, but who knows, maybe I do. I took your advice and called that guy at St. Claire Architects. He said he’d give his father my information and have him call me.”

  She smiles. It’s one of satisfaction. “That’s good. I’m glad you did t
hat.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if they’re your relatives, you won’t have to be alone anymore.”

  “What makes you think I’m alone?”

  She shrugs.

  “Don’t shrug it off. Tell me.”

  “You live in that big house all by yourself.”

  “Lucille’s there.”

  “Are you close with her?”

  “Eh—as close as a guy can be with his housekeeper. I will say this—she knows me well so when she’s bringing you soup and talking behind my back, take her word for it.”

  Her eyes brighten. “How’d you know she was bringing me soup?”

  “Because I know Lucille. She likes to talk.”

  She smiles. Agrees with me.

  “I told her a million times not to cook anything, but she insisted on making soup. Even in the summer, she’s in the kitchen with a pot going. The aroma permeates the entire house.”

  “Impossible,” she says smiling. “Not a house that large.”

  “That attests to her cooking skills. I always get some of whatever she cooks when I’m home from work.”

  “Oh, so that’s why you tolerate her insubordination.”

  “Guess you could say that.” I finish drinking milk. “You threw me off balance, Shiloh. It’s been a while since someone has been able to do that.”

  “What did I do?”

  “All the right things. Even when you’re mad. When you clap back at me—they’re all the right things.”

  And the face she’s making now proves she doesn’t know how much she has affected me in such a short time. She thinks I’m nuts. Lately, I’ve been feeling that way.

  “I should probably get back to the waiting room,” she says.

  “Yeah. Let’s do that.” I carry our plates to the garbage. She keeps her hot chocolate.

  * * *

  While we’re waiting, I step out in the hallway to call the office again.

  “Hilda, how’s everything there?” I ask. I still have my eyes on Shiloh. She’s been sitting with her eyes closed, fighting sleep in front of strangers. The waiting area is packed. A lot of people are going under the knife this morning, apparently.