Her Little Secret, His Hidden Heir(31)
But things had changed now. Not necessarily for the better, but in ways she couldn’t avoid. Marc knew about Danny, was determined to be a part of his son’s life, and that meant he was going to be a part of hers. For better or worse, she had to find a way to make peace with her ex-husband, if only to keep the next eighteen years of her life from being a living hell.
In order to do that, and also keep the peace with her aunt, she had to avoid bad-mouthing Marc. She probably shouldn’t have done so in the first place, but she’d been so hurt, so miserable, that she’d had to talk to someone, and Aunt Helen’s had been the perfect shoulder to cry on.
Marc came up behind her, laying a hand gently on her elbow. As soon as she was sure Helen was settled behind the counter, she let him lead her across the bakery and through the shared entrance that led to the empty space next door.
She thought they were simply going to use the area to talk privately, and her stomach was nearly in knots wondering what sort of shoe or bomb or anvil he would drop on her this time. But rather than stopping in the center of the empty space, he kept walking, pulling her with him to the front of the building and the glass door that opened out onto the sidewalk.
“Do you have a key for this?” he asked, pointing to the door’s lock.
“Yes. The landlord knows I’m interested in renting the space and occasionally lets me use it for small bits of storage. Plus, I can let other potential renters in if he isn’t available.”
“Good,” he replied, his warm hand still cupping her elbow more intimately than she would have liked. “I’m going to need it.”
She blinked. “Why?”
“To let those guys in,” he answered, cocking his head in the direction of the glass and the street beyond. “Unless you want them traipsing through your bakery and dragging all their dirty, heavy equipment with them.”
Following his gaze, she blinked again, only then noticing that the sidewalk outside the empty storefront was littered with men in jeans and work shirts unloading toolboxes, sawhorses, lumber and various cutting implements from the row of pickup trucks parked at the curb.
“Who are they?” she asked in dismay.
“Your construction crew.”
She met Marc’s gaze and must have looked as confused as she felt because he quickly elaborated.
“They’re here to clean the place up and start putting in your shelving and countertops.”
“What? Why?”
Her ex-husband’s expression went from being amused at her utter shock to exasperated at her apparent denseness. “It’s all part of the expansion plan, remember? We’ve got to get this section of the building renovated for The Sugar Shack’s mail-order distribution and that Cookie of the Month thing you have in mind.”
Her gaze swung from Marc to the workers outside, to Marc, to the workers… She now knew exactly how wild animals felt when caught in the middle of the highway by bright, oncoming headlights.
“I don’t understand,” she said with a slow shake of her head. “I didn’t hire them. They can’t start working here because I haven’t rented the space yet. I don’t have the money.”
Marc gave a perturbed sigh. “Why do you think I’m here, Vanessa? Aside from wanting to spend time with Danny. Don’t you remember what we discussed last night?”
She remembered last night. Vividly. And she remembered his parting shot that he hadn’t used a condom, she hadn’t been on the pill and she might very well be pregnant with his child. Again. The rest was a bit more of a blur, especially at this particular moment.
One of the workers came to the door. Marc made a motion with his hand, indicating that he needed a minute or two more, and the man nodded, returning to his truck.
“Look, it’s taken care of, okay?” Marc told her. “I talked to the building’s owner about the modifications we want to make. The space will be rented in your name, and part of the agreement will include permission to make any changes we see fit to better our business. Brian is putting together the paperwork and will deliver the contracts today. I’ll have him get me a copy of the key from the landlord, but for now I need the one you have.”
“But…” She was starting to sound like a broken record. “If Brian hasn’t talked to Mr. Parsons yet, how do you know he’ll agree to let us—me—rent this space?”
His mossy green eyes sparkled with self-assurance. “Vanessa,” he said slowly, as though speaking to a small child or particularly slow adult. “It’s taken care of. The building is for rent, I told Brian to rent it. What more do you need to know?”
She was finally catching on. Or rather, finally fully absorbing the situation and Marc’s deep-rooted resolve to stay in town.
“Let me guess. ‘Money is no object,’” she mimicked, adopting a low, masculine voice that was clearly supposed to be his. “You told Brian what you wanted—with no limit on how much you were willing to spend—and are leaving him to do whatever he has to for you to get your own way.”
Releasing her elbow, he propped his hands on his hips, letting out a frustrated breath. “What’s wrong with that?” he wanted to know.
She wished she could say nothing. She wished she didn’t mind that he was using his wealth and prestige to assist her in her business and help to make the bakery an even bigger success.