Her Bad Boy Billionaire Lover (Billionai - By Bretton, Barbara Page 0,37
She eyed him with obvious interest. "Girl must've lost her mind. Most women would consider a guy like you the romantic equivalent of winning the lottery."
"Did she tell you where she was going?"
"Moi?" The travel agent dimpled. "Not hardly."
He returned her smile with a scowl. She didn't take the hint. "What happened? Was there some kind of emergency?"
"Let's just say I made a teensy-tiny mistake." She looked up at him through tangled false lashes. "You're a naughty boy, Jake Lockwood. A girl likes to know when she's sleeping with the boss."
#
Ingrid's house was situated at the far end of a cul de sac in a solid, upper-middle class Miami neighborhood. Sprawling stucco ranch houses stood side by side with two-story English tudors. The lawns were lush and green, the perfect background for enormous beds of multicolored flowers of every variety. As beautiful as it was, it was the kind of neighborhood Megan would have sneered at when she lived in Palm Beach. Today she would consider herself blessed.
"You can pull in the driveway," Megan instructed the cabbie. "Right behind the Volvo." And next to the battered Ford Fiesta she called her own.
"Need help with your bags?" he asked after he unloaded them from the trunk.
She shook her head. "I can manage." She paid the bill, added a tip that made the driver frown, then started up the walk toward the front door. Thank God it was a weekday. Jenny would be in kindergarten until one o'clock. Megan doubted it, but maybe by then she'd have a grip on her emotions.
"What on earth--?" Ingrid, clad in white shorts and a bright red maternity top, stood on the top step and stared at her in disbelief. "You're supposed to be in St. Thomas."
"Are you going to invite me in," Megan asked, stifling a yawn, "or do I have to get pushy about it?"
Ingrid stepped aside and ushered Megan into the cool, dim foyer. A basket of wildflowers rested on a plant stand near the staircase, a note of beauty and grace that described Ingrid perfectly.
"Look at you," said Megan, patting her friend's enormous belly. "You're even bigger than you were on Friday."
"And with good reason." Ingrid absently massaged the small of her back. "The doctor said any day now."
"I thought you had another three weeks."
"So did I but the baby has other ideas."
"So much for modern medicine. Babies still play by their own rules."
Ingrid nodded her agreement. "So what are you doing here, Megan? You're not supposed to be home for two more days."
"Nothing happened." Megan followed her into the sun-splashed kitchen. "I came home early. It's not against the law." Her voice caught on the last word. She prayed her friend didn't notice.
No such luck. Ingrid stopped dead in her tracks, blocking Megan's way. "Your ex?"
She nodded.
"Are you going to tell me about it or do I have to drag it out of you?"
"He owns Tropicale."
Ingrid looked at her, hesitated, then burst out laughing. "That's a good one, Megan. Now let's try the truth."
Megan stepped around her partner's considerable bulk then claimed a chair at the kitchen table. "He owns Tropicale," she repeated. "Lock, stock, and profits."
"I thought you said he was the piano player."
Megan rested her chin in her hands. "Apparently that charade was for my benefit."
"I can't believe this," said Ingrid, settling herself down onto a chair opposite Megan. "Do you suppose that's why The Moveable Feast got the invitation?"
"Bingo, Sherlock. It wasn't our remoulade."
"When did he tell you?"
"He didn't."
"Who did?"
"A travel agent with the hots for him." Megan's laugh was bitter. "Can you believe she accused me of sleeping my way to the top?"
"So what did he say when you confronted him?"
Megan felt her cheeks redden. "I didn't confront him."
"You've got to be kidding."
"Do I look like I'm kidding?"
"You look like you want me to shut up."
"But you're not going to, are you, Ingrid?"
"Not until I get some answers."
"I'm afraid I'm all out of answers."
Ingrid waited a moment then said, "Did you tell him about Jenny?"
"No." Megan met her partner's eyes. "And I'm glad I didn't."
"It seems to me you don't have the right to complain about Jake when you're as guilty as he is."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Ingrid didn't flinch under Megan's flinty stare. "I think you know exactly what it means. Concealing the existence of a child is a lot more serious than hiding your bank balance."
"He's the one who set this whole thing in motion. Not me."