Billionaire's Baby Promise

Except for the small detail that she was still at work. “There’s some guy out there waiting to talk to you.” Christine must have looked stricken because Sue quickly added, “He’s not mad or anything. He’s hot. Tall, dark—extremely handsome. I didn’t see a ring.”

It was all she could do to get her mouth closed. “You checked him out?” But even as she said that, she felt the weight on her shoulders lighten ever so slightly. After Brian White had ruined her life, she’d looked him up on the internet. He was not tall. He was not dark. No one would ever accuse him of being handsome. The man was short, pudgy and balding.

Which meant that whoever was waiting for her at her desk was not a campaign manager representing her father.

“Of course,” Sue said. “Wait until you see him. I bet he’s a male model. Maybe even a movie star—he’s that hot.”

Christine snorted. She didn’t need hot—she needed help. Real, tangible help. She needed someone who would get Brian White and her father to leave her alone. She needed someone who could help her protect Marie. She needed brains and brawn. And she needed enough money to pay for all of that.

She might as well ask for a unicorn for her birthday. “We don’t give out loans based on hotness.”

“We should. There,” Sue added. “You look human again.”

Christine hugged her friend and strengthened her mental resolve. “Thank you. I better get out there and meet Mr. Hot.”

If she couldn’t get through one day at a time, she’d take it one hour at a time. One minute at a time.

Sixty seconds. She could do this.

God, she hoped.

Two

Her courage fortified and her under-eye bags hidden, Christine headed to her desk. She rounded the corner and pulled up short—Sue had not been lying. The gentleman waiting for her was beyond hot. His dark hair was perfectly slicked back, giving him a smooth look. And was that suit custom-made?

Even though he was casually sitting in the chair in front of her desk, one leg crossed over the other, she got the impression of a knife—sharp and potentially dangerous. When he noticed her, he came to his feet like a cat uncoiling from a nap. She revised her earlier opinion. He was not potentially dangerous—he was dangerous.

“Ms. Murray.” There was a tone of the familiar in his voice and she felt herself gritting her teeth. Did he know who she was?

“Welcome to the First City Bank of Denver.” Because she was at work, she extended her hand in a polite businessperson’s handshake. “And you are?”

He stared down at her for a moment and she almost got lost in his light brown eyes. Up close, she realized that his hair wasn’t black—there was a hint of red that lightened the color to a deep mahogany. It was a striking look on the man.

Against her will, her pulse began to flutter in her neck. Men generally did not look at her with interest. She was short and chunky and she couldn’t be one hundred percent sure she didn’t have oatmeal stains from Marie’s breakfast on her shirt.

“Lee.” He slid his hand into hers but instead of the acceptable three-pump handshake, he just held her hand, palm to palm. “Daniel Lee.” As he said his name—slowly and carefully—he studied her.

What was this? Was he checking to see what her reaction would be?

She swallowed nervously. Was she supposed to know who he was? Something about him seemed familiar. Maybe he was a movie star? Or at least a cable TV star? But his name didn’t ring a bell. He was so incredibly gorgeous that it was making it hard for her to think.

She should have stayed in the ladies’ room. “How can I help you today, Mr. Lee?” she said, taking sanctuary behind her desk. She felt better with four feet of wood between them.

He stood for a moment too long, staring down at her. Nervously, she lifted her gaze back to him. The suit was most definitely custom-made—the shirt was, also. Those trappings did little to disguise the raw power of his body. Again, she thought of a dagger in a perfectly made sheath. He was the sort of man who always got his way.

The sort she avoided like the plague. Because men like him never cared for women like her and they certainly never cared for babies like Marie. Christine was tired of being collateral damage.

She motioned toward the chair. She couldn’t handle him looming over her.

He sat, somehow making her standard-issue office chair look as regal as a throne. “I don’t think the question is what you can do for me, Ms. Murray. The question is what I can do for you.”

She needed to start carrying pepper spray. “I’m not interested.”

One corner of his mouth—not that she was staring—curved into a deadly smile. Christine was both simultaneously thankful that Sue had fixed her face and upset that she had. If only Christine looked like she was having the worst day of her life, this man might not be staring at her quite so intently. “Are you sure? You don’t even know why I’m here.”

This was something that was different from two years ago. Then, when the reporters had first started showing up at her home and following her to work in Kansas City, she hadn’t been ready for it. Footage of her stammering and looking petrified was all over the internet. Even she had to admit that she looked guilty as sin in those videos.

But she learned how to brace herself for the attacks and how to keep her face relatively calm. She wasn’t the same clueless girl she’d been back then. And besides, she already had advance warning.

“Who sent you? My father?”

That dangerous smile fell away from his face. Ha, Christine thought. She’d caught him off guard and that counted for something.

“No. But I’m going to make an educated guess that you received a phone call today—probably from Brian White.” Although she didn’t want to react, she could feel the blood draining out of her face. This guy knew who Brian White was? “Yes,” he said in a voice that might have been gentle coming from anyone else. “I can see that you did. I was hoping to get to you before he did.”

“Who do you work for?” And as much as she wanted to sound strong and brave, her voice came out shaky. Because how much did one woman have to endure?

Something flashed over his eyes and if she didn’t know better, she would’ve said it was guilt. “I am the executive vice-president and chief marketing officer of the Beaumont Brewery. I do not work for your father, nor do I work for any potential opponents of his. I have no interest in forcing you to publicly...” He waved a hand, as if he could pull the right words out of thin air. “Repudiate your life choices, nor do I have any interest in using them against you.”

Well. At least he hadn’t called Marie a sin. Although “life choice” wasn’t a huge step up.

Wait. Was that why he looked familiar? He was one of those bastards—Beaumont’s bastards. His brother or half brother—she had no hope of ever keeping the Beaumonts straight—had taken over the brewery. She’d only been in Denver for a few months when that happened. And besides, she didn’t drink anymore.

Why was the executive vice-president of the Beaumont Brewery offering her help? It felt like a trap. A really obvious trap. “Who are you, really?”

He didn’t answer the question. “I know what’s coming—and so do you. Because here’s what happened. Mr. White offered to redeem your reputation and, when you refused his so-called help, he threatened to make an example of you.”

Her vision swam. She wanted to go someplace quiet and dark and lie down and close her eyes and open them again and find out this entire thing had been one never-ending nightmare.

But this Daniel Lee was right. “How do you know?”

He looked pained—truly pained. He stood and pulled out a business card. He extended it to her, but she didn’t take it from him and, after an awkward moment, he set it on the corner of her desk. “Because I was the one who found out you were pregnant. I’m the one who made it a news story. Everything that happened to you was a direct result of my actions, which means that—” he went on, ignoring Christine’s gasp of horror “—everything that happens to you from this point on is also my responsibility. You’re going to get dragged, Christine. I know what White is capable of and we both know what your father is capable of. You need my help. You can’t handle this by yourself.”

“Get out.” She wanted to stand to make her point, but she didn’t trust her legs. It was him. This slick, smooth, unfortunately hot man had helped Brian White ruin her life. She really was going to throw up, adulting be damned. “If I see you anywhere near me or my daughter, I’m calling the police.”

He inclined his head in her direction, something that was almost a bow. “As you wish. But the offer stands. I no longer work as a political consultant, but I know how to play the game. I can protect you. You and your daughter.” He touched the tip of his index finger to the top of the silver frame that held a small picture of Marie on her first birthday.

Christine’s mouth was dry and her throat wasn’t working. She desperately wanted to tell this man to go to hell but before she could form the words, he gave her another one of those half bows, turned on his heel, and walked away.

* * *

Christine began to search during her breaks. Although he had not officially declared his candidacy, “sources close to Clarence Murray” were leaking teasers about his upcoming campaign—the kind of leaks that were designed to inspire his political base and raise funds from the faithful.

She couldn’t find anything about Daniel Lee. She didn’t even bother looking for Brian White. White was the scum of the earth and she didn’t want him to pollute her brain any more than necessary.

But Lee confused her. He had taken full credit for dragging her into the last campaign. If—and it was a huge if—his offer of help had been sincere, it had almost been...an apology.

But she couldn’t even find a mention of him that existed before he suddenly appeared by Zeb Richards’s side at the Beaumont Brewery. His official brewery biography stated that he had a long history of working for political campaigns but the man was like a ghost. And with a last name like Lee, there was no way to track him down.

She found herself staring at his official company photo. It wasn’t fair how good-looking he was. If she had to guess, she would say he was at least part Asian—but that didn’t exactly narrow things down. Lee was a popular name in several Asian countries. Searching “Daniel Lee” led to an overwhelming number of results.

She didn’t want his help. Frankly, she didn’t want anyone’s help. If there was one thing she had learned, it was that relying on other people was asking to be disappointed. She had thought she could rely on Doyle. After all, they’d been engaged. They’d taken the first step in publicly declaring their love. They’d created a child together.

But when she’d really needed him, Doyle had run. Not that she could blame him—if she could have gotten away from the media attention, she would’ve. Still, it hurt. It hurt that he sent a monthly child support check and had nothing to do with his daughter.

It was foolish to keep hoping that no one would pay attention to Christine and her daughter. But short of calling Daniel Lee and asking what, exactly, he had in mind when he said he could protect her and Marie, she didn’t know what else to do.

So she did nothing. She did her job and she took care of her daughter and foolishly hoped for the best.

* * *

“Who’s the target?”

Daniel leveled a look at Porter Cole, the private investigator who’d done work for him in Denver on numerous occasions. Referring to Christine as a “target” grated on Daniel’s nerves. “Christine Murray.”

Porter made it his job to know things. “What are we looking for?”

Porter had done more than enough work for Daniel to trust him with sensitive directives. But Daniel wasn’t about to let the man know he had suddenly developed a conscience. “You’re not looking for anything about her.”

Porter stared at him in confusion. “Then what are we doing?”

“I have reason to believe she’s about to get a tail. I want to know who’s watching her and her daughter, when and for how long. And I want the means to get them off her tail. Outstanding warrants, whatever it takes.”

Seeing Christine Murray in person had made everything a thousand times worse. Had he thought she was beautiful before? In person, she was so much more than that. Delicate and vulnerable—scared and mad—but underneath was a core of strength that took everything lovely about her and made her that much more attractive.

Porter notched an eyebrow as he scanned the file on Christine. “Any particular reason?”

“None that you need to know.” Which was a bit of posturing and Daniel knew it. Porter was a smart man, more than capable of connecting the dots. “As usual, do not engage unless there’s a threat.”

“Contact for defense only. Got it. Anything else?” He handed the file back to Daniel.

“No.” Daniel took the file and put it in his desk drawer, which he then locked. “Absolute secrecy, as always.”

“As always.” Porter gave him a long look before standing and straightening his blazer, which concealed his gun. “If you don’t mind me saying, I thought you got out of politics.”

“I did. This isn’t politics.”

Porter smirked as he walked out of Daniel’s office and said, “You’ll be hearing from me,” as if he didn’t believe Daniel.

For once, it was the unvarnished truth.

What he was doing for Christine Murray—it wasn’t politics.

It was personal.

* * *

Daniel waited impatiently. Normally, waiting was something he did well. He played a long game—always had. It was one of the things he’d learned at his grandfather’s knee back in Seoul, South Korea. Most people looked at the trees. A few people could stand in front of the trees and know they were looking at the forest. But they wouldn’t have any idea of how big that forest was. Daniel prided himself on knowing every tree in every acre in the never-ending forest.

He had Christine Murray figured for one of two things. One, she would either call him in a state of blind panic the moment her face appeared on the internet again. Or two, she would disappear.

Okay, maybe that was overstating. Because even though she had clearly been upset when he had approached her at work, she hadn’t panicked. She’d maintained her composure and even gotten in a couple of good digs at him.

He couldn’t help it. He admired her. It felt risky, this admiration. Combined with the attraction he couldn’t quite rein in, it made Christine Murray feel dangerous. She made him want to do things that weren’t logical.

Things like pay for private investigators to shadow her. He’d already gotten a report from Porter Cole. Porter had caught a guy trying to break into Christine’s apartment while she was at work. According to his report, Porter had acted like he was a resident of the apartment complex and scared the guy off. But both Daniel and Porter knew that wouldn’t be the end of it. Someone wanted inside Christine’s apartment, no doubt to gather evidence that could be used against her in the court of public opinion.

Porter said there was also a woman who lingered near the child’s day care. At pick up and drop off, and when the children went out to the playground, the woman was within line of sight. Probably taking pictures of the little girl Daniel had seen in the small frame on Christine’s desk.

The little girl had wispy light brown hair, but her eyes were almost exactly like her mother’s brilliant blue ones. Except innocent and hopeful, instead of trapped and scared.

Christine didn’t want his help but she desperately needed it. It would be so much easier if she were willing to talk to him. They could coordinate and come up with a plan that would minimize this disruption to her and her daughter’s lives.

But that wasn’t going to happen. At least not immediately. Daniel revised his original opinion. She would not call him in a panic the moment she became an internet story. She’d already told Brian off and then told him off. She wouldn’t be spooked by a little media coverage. She’d try to brazen it out just like she had at the bank. It was a brave choice. Stupid, but brave.

No, Daniel wouldn’t hear from Christine when she became news. But when her daughter became news?

That was when she would either call him or disappear.

He figured he had a week before Clarence Murray announced his candidacy for the open US Senate seat in Missouri.

If only his grandfather could see him now. Lee Dae-Won wouldn’t contain his disappointment at Daniel’s choices—yet again. Daniel had never been smart enough or ambitious enough or legitimate enough—and certainly never Korean enough—for his grandfather. All might have been forgiven if Daniel had married any of the dozens of acceptable Korean women his grandfather had paraded in front of him over the years and started a family to carry on the family business.

Daniel had steadfastly refused to marry anyone, much less father any children. And he had refused to move to South Korea permanently and live under his grandfather’s thumb. It had driven the old man insane that his only heir had rejected the family business, Lee Enterprises.

Daniel liked to think that, at least as a political consultant, he had made the old man proud. Lee Dae-Won hadn’t become one of the richest men in South Korea by investing wisely in real estate and electronic manufacturing. Daniel’s grandfather had gained power through manipulation, lies and outright bribery. He had trafficked in secrets and that, more than family honor or loyalty, was what Daniel had learned at his knee during summer vacations spent at the family compound in Seoul.

He who controlled the information controlled the world.

Daniel hated not being in control.

He shouldn’t care about what happened to Christine or her daughter. At the very least, the basic security measures he was enacting on her behalf should relieve him of his guilt.

It didn’t.

Because he had to admit that he did care. He’d catch himself staring at her photo again. And that? That had nothing to do with guilt.

He hoped she’d call him. That was all he could do. The next contact had to be hers.

That didn’t mean there wasn’t anything else he could be doing right now, though. He scrolled through his contacts list until he found the number he was looking for.

“Hello, Daniel,” Natalie Wesley said, answering on the second ring. “Is this a business call or not?”

“What’s to say it’s not both?” he asked, trying to sound like he was teasing her and knowing he was failing miserably. “How are you and CJ?”

CJ Wesley was another one of Daniel’s half brothers—another one of Hardwick Beaumont’s bastards. CJ was the one who hadn’t wanted anything to do with the Beaumont Brewery. He was a rancher up on the northeast side of Denver and he preferred his privacy. Which made it all the funnier that he had married the former television personality Natalie Baker—the same woman who had tried to expose his parentage to the world.

Natalie was one of the very few people who had been able to locate CJ and ascertain his identity. Plus, she’d had her own morning news show, A Good Morning With Natalie Baker, for almost a decade. She was an investigative journalist who knew how to talk to the cameras. “We’re fine. You should come up and see us. CJ is determined to get you on a horse, you know.”

“I’ll do that sometime,” Daniel said. While of course he cared for CJ—he was fond of nearly all of his half siblings—CJ was the hardest to be around. His mother had married a good man and he’d had a good life. CJ was at ease with himself in a way that Daniel could never pull off. “I have a situation that I’m going to need your help with.”

Natalie sighed. “The offer stands, Daniel. But what is it?”

“What do you know about Christine Murray?”

“Who?”

So, over the next twenty minutes, Daniel filled her in. “Thus far, she hasn’t accepted my help. But when she does, we’ll need to do damage control.”

“Manipulate the search rankings, plant positive news articles, maybe an interview?”

“Yes.”

“Got it.” There was a pause and Daniel braced for the sisterly concern. “We worry about you, you know.”

“Why?” His health was great. He was helping to run the third-largest brewery in America and he owned a substantial share of Lee Enterprises. He owned homes in Seoul, Denver and Chicago. What was there to worry about?

Okay, so he was a little troubled about Christine Murray and her daughter. But that wasn’t cause for alarm.

“Daniel...” Her voice trailed off. “Never mind. I’ll look into this and get back to you if I find out anything.”

It was strange that he felt disappointed she hadn’t said something else. Even though he had no idea what he wanted her to say. “Thanks.” He ended the call and refreshed the tab he kept open with his searches on Christine Murray. There was nothing new. Not yet, anyway.

But there would be. Soon.

Three

Everything, it seemed, happened at once. One moment, Christine was just doing her job at the bank and trying not to think about the worst-case scenarios or Daniel Lee and his seemingly sincere offer of help. Or the way he filled out a suit.

Suddenly, the alerts she had set up on web searches started piling up in her inbox. Clarence Murray had declared his candidacy for the open US Senate seat. Her phone started to ring, as if people had just been waiting for the official announcement. She was trying to read the article about her father and trying to answer the phone in her business-professional voice and saying no comment over and over again when it happened.

Will Murray’s Granddaughter Cost Him This Election, Too?

And there it was—the photo of her with Marie on her hip, alongside her Honda Civic. It wasn’t a good photo—clearly, it had been taken from some distance. The image was so grainy it could have been almost anyone.

But it was her daughter. They knew where she was and they knew how to take pictures of her daughter and suddenly, Christine couldn’t bear it.

With hands shaking, she pulled the nondescript business card out from underneath her office phone. She had wanted to throw Daniel Lee’s card away—but she’d been unable to do it. Because what he’d said had felt true, somehow.

Would he actually help her? Or was he working an angle that she hadn’t found yet?

Her phone rang again and this time, she recognized the voice on the other end. Brian White—the devil she didn’t want to know. “Ms. Murray,” he said, as if they were the oldest of friends. “I’m checking back in with you. As you may have heard, your father has officially declared his candidacy and I—”

She hung up the phone. She didn’t want to hear his fake offers of help and she especially did not want to hear his thinly veiled threats.

She did the only thing she could—she grabbed her cell phone and hurried to the ladies’ room. Daniel Lee’s card was a plain white rectangle of paper with two lines of text set directly in the middle—his name and a telephone number. She was shaking so violently that she misdialed the number twice before she finally got it right and even then, she sat for a moment on the stool in the farthest stall and wondered if she wasn’t about to make the biggest mistake of her life.

But then she thought about the headline, the one implying that a fourteen-month-old baby had the power to decide elections. The photos would only get better and the headlines would only get worse.

She hit the button and held the phone to her ear. “This is Daniel.”

“Um, hello. You gave me your card—”

“Christine? Are you all right?”

She forced herself to take a deep breath and tried to swallow around the lump in her throat. No, she was not all right. Not even close. “Hi. Um, I need to know if what you said when you talked to me last week still applies. The offer about, um, helping me and my daughter?”