Baby for the Billionaire - By Maxine Sullivan Page 0,117
just thinking.” The baby had just fallen asleep with the suddenness that still took Victoria by surprise. “Once the estate’s been wound up I can invest the proceeds for Dylan.”
There was a deafening silence.
Then Connor said, “I’ve always looked after Michael’s business affairs.”
And she’d always helped Suzy. Except when she’d become too busy. Discomfort filled Victoria.
This was not a time for a power struggle. She had to do her best to accommodate Connor; already he’d done a better job of looking after Suzy—and Dylan—when she’d been remiss.
But it will never happen again, she silently promised the baby in her arms. She was nothing like her parents. She would never neglect Dylan.
“Connor, as executor of the estate, of course you’d need to approve the investments. I’m sure we’ll be able to work together in Dylan’s best interests.” She might not like him but they were both grown adults.
“I’m sure we will.” Connor didn’t sound nearly as convinced. “As Dylan’s—” he broke off “—guardian you can bet your bottom dollar I will be very interested.”
Her heart stopped. “Guardian?” she croaked. Her mind raced. Had Michael decided to appoint Connor North the baby’s guardian? “You are Dylan’s guardian?” Oh, Suzy, how could you let this happen?
Connor’s voice, terse and cool, came over the line. “That’s what I want to talk to you about. I’ll be there in half an hour.”
By the time Connor arrived, Victoria had laid Dylan down in his traveling cot, showered and changed into a simple long-sleeved dress, and had just poured herself a cup of tea.
Rushing across the living room to open the front door before Connor could ring the doorbell, she pressed her finger to her lips and motioned him into the kitchen. “I just got him to sleep.”
In the kitchen, Victoria honed in on the subject that had been eating at her since their telephone conversation. “I’d like to see the will.” She did her best to keep the hostility out of her voice, to keep it level and professional.
Connor drew a leather document holder from under his arm and eyed the counter, which was covered with dirty dishes.
Embarrassment spread through Victoria. But then he hadn’t been looking after a baby all day.
A surreptitious glance revealed lines of tiredness etched deep into his face, though they failed to mute the impact of his hard, handsome features.
Only the loosened tie and undone top button of his white shirt hinted at the turmoil he must be going through.
The will could wait—whatever it held would not change now. And Connor looked like a train wreck.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“God, I don’t know if I need more stimulants,” Connor muttered, leaning against the counter.
She gestured to the crowded countertop. “I’ve just made tea for myself. Would you like a cup?”
She took his grunt as assent, poured him a cup of tea from the little white teapot and topped the brew up with boiling water.
He glared into the cup she passed him. “What the hell is this?”
“Chamomile tea,” she said sweetly. “Lots of antioxidants. Good for you in times of stress.”
“I doubt it will help.” His startlingly pale eyes clashed with hers but the opacity in them caused Victoria’s heart to bump and her throat to contract with painful emotion. She wanted to offer him the same comfort she craved—an embrace that went beyond words—but she knew he wouldn’t accept it. Not from her.
And to be truthful she didn’t care much for him, either. But she felt empathy for him—in the same way she felt pity for herself. She’d lost the person she’d been most deeply bonded to in the world. And, hard as it was to imagine Rock-Man bonded to anyone, Michael had been fond of him. Judging by the emptiness in Connor’s eyes, somewhere in that cold heart he’d been fond of Michael, too.
The sadness—the futility of it all—made her want to weep.
But she couldn’t let herself forget that he was Dylan’s guardian now. Please God, he hadn’t been granted custody, too.
Connor wasn’t the right person to bring up Dylan—he was too hard. Yet, given the animosity between them, it would be no easy task convincing him she was the right person. But failure to do so was not an option.
Because even though she hadn’t carried him in her womb, Dylan had been conceived from her egg—he was her baby.
“Come and sit out here.” Picking up the two cups and saucers she led him to the small deck that opened off the living room, edged with planter boxes