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Guilt flooded Ruby. “I’m so sorry, I—”
“It doesn’t matter. You’re too late. I’m at the hospital.” Her little sister’s voice was flat. “Mom just died.”
CHAPTER FIVE
FOUR AND A half months later, dark clouds drizzled rain over Paris on a hot, humid August night as Ares left his luxury hotel on the Avenue George V. An umbrella instantly appeared over his head as he hurried to his waiting Bentley.
“Have a good trip, sir,” the hotel doorman said respectfully in French.
Ares nodded, distracted by the phone pressed to his ear, as his bodyguard Georgios followed, holding the umbrella. He was already thinking about the meeting that awaited him in Mumbai tomorrow, and only half listening to his executive assistant in New York as she listed the issues needing his decision.
“And we had another call from Poppy Spencer,” Dorothy added. “She wants to confirm you’ll be at her charity gala on Saturday.”
Ares rolled his eyes. He suspected his former mistress mostly wanted to rub her recent engagement in his face. Too bad for her he honestly didn’t care. “Will I be in New York?”
“Yes, Mr. Kourakis, and many of your business associates and clients are already on the guest list. You might find the gala useful. Or even, dare I say, fun. The charity is for children who—”
“Fine,” he cut her off. “Get a table.”
“A good table will be expensive at this late date.”
“Make it happen,” he said, already bored. “Is that all?”
Dorothy grew quiet. Her silence gained his attention as nothing else could. She was always scrupulous with his time; it was one of the things that had made her such a valuable asset over the past ten years. “Dorothy? Are you there?”
“I’m not sure how to say this, sir.”
“Oh, God, are you quitting?”
She snickered. “You wouldn’t survive.” Then she hesitated. “A woman called the company’s main number an hour ago. Eventually the call escalated to me. She claims… Well, I wouldn’t have believed her, except that you were in Star Valley at the time.”
Star Valley. Suddenly, Ares gripped his phone. “Who called?”
“A woman by the name of—” she seemed to consult her notes “—Ruby Prescott.”
Don’t bother calling me. Ever.
Ares stopped on the sidewalk. The bodyguard holding the umbrella nearly walked into him. “What did she say?”
“Miss Prescott wanted to speak with you directly. But since she didn’t already have your personal number, I explained you were unavailable, and suggested she leave her message with me.”
He stared fixedly at the brilliant city lights reflected in the dark puddles of the Parisian street. “And?”
Dorothy took a deep breath. He’d never heard her sound so unglued about anything, not even the time the company stock had dropped so precipitously after one of their ships had sunk off the coast of South Africa. “She said she was happy not to have to talk to you. Because…um…”
“Just say it.”
“She says she’s pregnant. With your baby.”
Ares’s jaw dropped.
“That’s the message,” Dorothy said unhappily. “Mr. Kourakis, I’m sorry to intrude in what certainly is a very personal matter…”
Georgios opened his car door. Ares barely felt the raindrops as he fell into the back seat of his Bentley. He was gripping the phone so hard his fingers hurt.
Pregnant.
Pregnant?
“Is there anything you want me to do, sir?”
Ares stared blankly through the window at the dark, wet streets of the 8th Arrondissement. The stately cream-and-gray belle epoque buildings shone with light. Even a nearby cathedral spire was illuminated, reaching up into the dark rainy night.
Ruby.
Pregnant.
Impossible. She couldn’t be. They’d used protection.
He could still remember how he’d felt when he’d kissed her. When he’d heard her soft sigh of surrender. How she’d shuddered, crying out with pleasure in his arms. How he’d done the same.
And she’d been a virgin. He’d never been anyone’s first lover. Ares had lost his virginity at eighteen, a relatively late age compared to his friends, but growing up as he had, he’d idealistically wanted to wait for love. And he had, until he’d fallen for a sexy French girl the summer after boarding school. It wasn’t until summer ended that his father had gleefully revealed that Melice had actually been a prostitute, bought and paid for all the time. I did it for your own good, boy. All that weak-minded yearning over love was getting on my nerves. Now you know what all women are after—money. You’re welcome.
