His Forever Family

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

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.”

* * *

Somehow, Liberty found herself sitting in the passenger seat of Marcus’s Aston Martin, zipping up Lake Shore Drive. One minute, she’d been crestfallen that she couldn’t immediately go see the baby. The next, Marcus had been hustling her into his car—his very nice car—and personally driving her to the foster home.

She’d never been in his car before. Oh, sure, she’d attended a few business functions with him, but those were either after-hours events when she’d take the El as she always did or business lunches with potential clients when he’d have her order a car big enough for the entire group.

The Aston Martin was his personal car. And he drove it like a bat out of hell. Of course he did, she thought as she surreptitiously tried to grab on to the door handle when Marcus took the curve without braking. He drove as he ran.

“We don’t have to go this fast,” she said, trying to sound calm. “I’m not in that big of a hurry.”

“This isn’t fast,” he replied and then, the moment they hit the straightaway, he gunned it. Liberty was pushed back into the seat as Marcus accelerated, weaving in and out of traffic. Lake Shore Drive was still mostly clear—it wouldn’t fill up for another half hour with commuters. Marcus took full command of the road.

If she wasn’t so concerned with dying in a fiery heap by the side of the road, she’d be forced to admit that it was kind of sexy. How often did a billionaire act as her personal chauffeur? Never.

They zipped up the drive in record time and then cut over on Peterson. There, at least, Marcus slowed down.

She was nervous. What if this foster home was one of the best—and it still wasn’t very good? She tried to think back to the three homes she’d been in. The first home was fuzzy. It was just after she’d started kindergarten. Less than two weeks into the school year, her mom wasn’t there when she got off the bus one day. Liberty had done okay on her own for a few days, going to see Grandma Devlin for food, but before long, she’d been in a foster home.

She didn’t remember much, just that it got cold in her room and that the other girls were mean to her. But she hadn’t been hungry and there hadn’t been the same kind of screaming and fights as at home.

“Why do you need to see him so badly?” Marcus asked when they got stuck at a light.

Liberty tensed. Were they still in the tug-of-war they’d been in earlier? Or were they back to normal? Since they were out of the office, was this the kind of conversation they might have while they were running?

Marcus glanced at her. “I’m just asking, Liberty,” he said, sounding tired. “And it has nothing to do with the wedding.”

Oh, if only she could just answer honestly. But how would that be possible? Because the truth hurt. And what would Marcus think if he knew the truth about addict moms and foster homes and being an unwanted, unloved little girl? Would he still want to take her to this stupid wedding—or would he look at her and see an imposter who was not to be trusted?

Still, she understood what he wanted to know. It wasn’t her deepest, darkest secrets. It was a simple question that was only one step removed from polite conversation. She had to hope he’d be satisfied with her answer. “I had a little brother,” she said and she was horrified to hear her voice quaver.

She’d never said those words out loud. Who would she have said them to when she was a kid? Her foster parents? They had enough kids to worry about. Her teachers? That would have only made them pity her more, and she had enough of that. Her friends? Ha.

“I didn’t realize,” Marcus replied. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s no big deal,” she lied because that lie came as naturally to her as breathing air. None of it had been a big deal because she’d survived. She’d thrived. She could afford to ignore her past now.

Or she had been able to. Right until she’d seen the little baby in the trash. Then everything had come back.

She swallowed and tried to get her voice to work right again. “He was born with a lot of birth defects and didn’t make it long.” Which was a version of the truth that was palatable for Marcus’s refined taste.

An uncomfortable silence boxed her in. She could see Marcus thinking and she couldn’t have that because if he kept asking questions and she kept having to come up with better versions of the truth, sooner or later she’d either let the truth slip or be forced to tell a real lie. So she barged into the silence and said, “I appreciate you coming with me for this, but it wasn’t necessary. You should be focusing on the list I gave you.”

“You mean the list I threw away?” There—they were back to their early-morning teasing and banter.

“I have other copies,” she announced and was rewarded with Marcus rolling his eyes and grinning at her. “You need to be focused on the wedding and the meeting with the producers, not on taking me to see an abandoned baby.”

“Maybe this is what I want to do.”

“Be serious, Marcus.”

They hit another stoplight. “I am serious. You think you’re the only one worried about that baby?”

She stared at him. “You are?”

“I can’t explain it,” he said in a quiet voice. “But watching you hold him...”

Oh. That was bad. The way his voice trailed off there at the end? The way he sounded all wistful and concerned?

Very, very bad. Damned bad, even.

She was not good for him. She could never be anything more than a valuable employee who got up too early every morning to jog with him. “I can’t do anything for your reputation except drag it down.”

Marcus didn’t even look at her. He kept his attention on the road, but she saw him clench his jaw again, just as he had in his office earlier. “My reputation isn’t everything.”

She desperately wanted to believe that, but she knew that in his world, her mere existence would be a scandal. “I’m not good for you,” she said in a whisper.

He pulled onto a side street and parked. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

That was exactly what she was afraid of.

Five

Marcus got out of the car and looked around. He’d only ever lived in the Gold Coast, with luxury high-rises and doormen and valets. He rarely left the downtown area and when he did, it was to see the White Sox play or catch a Bulls or Blackhawks game at the United Center—from his owner’s box, of course.

He looked up and down the street at the two-story buildings that stood side by side with older bungalows. Most yards were mowed. Was this a good neighborhood?

“This is nice,” Liberty said, sounding shocked.

“What did you expect—slums?”

There was something about the way she avoided looking at him as she laughed that bothered him. She stared down at the address on the letterhead. He saw her hands were shaking.

“This one,” she said, indicating a trim little bungalow. It was white with a wall of windows framed in dark wood. The paint around the windows was a little chipped and the white was grubby, but it didn’t look bad. He hoped.

“Ready?” he asked.

She took a deep breath and gave him an apologetic look. “You don’t think this is ridiculous, do you?”

He had that urge to once again pull her into his arms and tell her it was all going to be fine. But he didn’t. Instead, he told her, “Coming to see the baby? No. I want to do this with you.”

Her eyes got huge again, but she didn’t say anything. They walked up to the front door of the house and knocked. And waited. Marcus knocked again.

“She knows we’re coming, right?” Liberty said. The panic in her voice was obvious. “Should we have—”

The door opened. “Mr. Warren?” Marcus almost grinned at the appearance of the little old lady standing before him. Maybe she wasn’t that old, but she was petite, with a crown of white hair cut into a bob and a huge pair of vintage-looking glasses on her nose.

“Mrs. Jones, hello. We spoke on the phone.” He offered his hand but she just nodded and smiled. “This is Liberty Reese. We found the child together and we just wanted to see how he’s doing.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Jones,” Liberty said. She sounded stiff.

“How sweet of you to come. Please, call me Hazel. All my friends do. Come in, come in. Shut the door behind you, if you don’t mind.” She turned and began to climb up a short flight of stairs.

Marcus made sure to shut the front door behind him, which took a little shove. The entryway contained another set of doors that led both upstairs and downstairs, and he had to wonder if this was a single-family home or if someone else lived in the basement.

Hazel and Liberty finally went through the upstairs door and Marcus followed, shutting it behind him. Then he looked around.

Wow. Once, when he’d been really little, he’d had a nanny who loved The Brady Bunch. His parents didn’t believe in television, so getting to watch any show was a big deal to him. The nanny—Miss Judy—let him catch a show if he got all his lessons done. She’d make a bowl of popcorn and they’d snuggle on the couch and for a half hour at a time, he’d gotten a glimpse at what normal might look like.