His Sugar Baby(67)

John put his arm around his wife, and she leaned into him. “Hush, baby. It’s going to be okay. We’re here now. We’ll take care of Cathy and Chloe.”

Pam nodded. “I know. She’ll have to give up that awful apartment now.” She turned to Michael. “We’ve leased a house. John was able to apply for leave, and we’re going to stay in town for awhile until Chloe is stronger. Later, if Cathy decides it is what she wants, I hope that both of them will come back to Singapore with us.”

“Singapore?” Until then, Michael had just stood there, trying to take everything in. He had kept his gaze trained on Winter. She was still waiting at the elevator doors, and he watched her pull on her long black coat. He was impatient to get away from her relatives. But now, his attention swung back to Pam Thompson. There must have been something telling in his expression or in his voice because she looked startled.

Sudden compassion flashed over her face. “I’m sorry, Michael. I didn’t mean to—Nothing is really settled.” She looked up in mute appeal at her husband.

John cleared his throat. “Why don’t you go talk to Cathy, Michael?”

“I’ll do that.” Michael saw that the elevator had arrived at last. The door slid open, and Winter bolted forward into it, her coat flaring back. He strode down the hall, but the elevator had closed. He didn’t stop to wait for it. Instead, he pushed open the exit door to the stairwell and began running down the flights of concrete stairs. Winter had a start on him, but he hoped to catch up with her.

When Michael emerged from the hospital and walked outside to the parking lot, the winter wind whipped him. He turned up the collar of his coat and shoved his hands deep into the pockets. The fingers of one hand crinkled paper. He vaguely recalled stuffing a leftover napkin into his pocket at a fast food place earlier in the week.

Winter was waiting for him beside the Porsche. Her auburn head was bowed. Her arms were folded over her breast. She looked cold and miserable.

Michael’s heart began to beat thickly in his chest. He clenched his hands inside the coat pockets. He passed between the parked cars and crossed the graveled pavement.

Winter must have heard his approaching footsteps because she lifted her head suddenly. He was shocked by her pallor, by the ravaged look on her face.

Michael stopped and waited, painfully pulling cold air into his lungs.

Her voice was very low when she addressed him. “I don’t want them to know about you, about us. It’s over. I don’t need you anymore.” She bent her head again and started walking rapidly away.

Fear, anger, searing pain, all twisted through him. He ripped one hand free of a pocket and caught her elbow before she was out reach. “Wait.”

She raised her head. Her eyes were huge, deep pools of anguish. Her face was parchment-white except for the hectic flush on her cheekbones. “Michael, please. Don’t make this harder.”

“You should have told me about Chloe,” he said quietly. It wasn’t the only thing he could have said, but it was one of the most important.

She gave a quick shake of her head. Her reply was sharp. “She was my business.”

Despite himself, his voice rose. “It wasn’t fair to me. To us.”

“Fair! You are nothing in my life, Michael! Don’t you understand?” She wrenched loose of his hold.

He felt like he had been kicked in the gut. His own turbulent emotions coalesced into what he felt for her. He moved, stepped in front of her, and reached out to touch her. “Winter—”

Her eyes blazed, incandescent with rage and contempt. “My name is Catherine!” she spat. She stepped around him, quickening her pace. She stumbled on an uneven patch of icy ground, righted herself and kept going. She never looked back.

Michael stared after her, his heart pounding. His gut was clenched so hard that he felt like he was going to be sick. He watched, helplessly, as she walked away from him, out of his life. She made directly for the Lexus and climbed inside. Within moments, the engine was started to life, and the vehicle cruised smoothly away, leaving a white trail of smoke in the frigid air.

“You look like you could use a drink.”





Chapter Twenty-Two



Michael turned. He hadn’t heard anyone approach. An attractive dark-haired woman looked up at him, sympathy in her gaze. She touched his coat sleeve briefly with gloved fingers. “Come on. I have a thermos in my car.”

Without a word, without knowing why he did it, he followed her to a parked sedan. She opened the front passenger door and bent inside to retrieve a large thermos from the floorboard. Unscrewing the top, she poured steaming liquid into the cup and handed it to him.

Michael took an experimental swallow and looked at her. “Cocoa?”

“You were hoping for a shot of something stronger?”

“Something like that.” He took another swallow. It was sweet and cloying and loosened the twist in his gut. Michael wrapped both hands around the plastic cup, welcoming the warmth against his stiff fingers.

“For a minute there, you looked white as a sheet.” The woman held out her hand. “I’m Vicky Sotero, by the way, one of Cathy’s friends. Her sister called me a few minutes ago to tell me that Chloe was doing better. I, uh, happened to overhear you and Cathy, but she took off before I could say anything. Cathy probably mentioned me.”