His Sugar Baby(77)

In Michael’s mind, the contrast to his own life could not have been more brutal.

Michael bent and gently laid the delicate white bouquet at the base of the clean white bedding.

“Hello. Who are you?”

He quickly straightened and stepped back. He found that he was being scrutinized by a pair of sleep-hazed, intelligent brown eyes. He felt awkward to have been caught by the little girl. “I’m Michael.”

The little girl pushed herself into a sitting position. Her interested gaze never left his face. “Oh, you’re Mommy’s boyfriend.”

Michael felt heat slash across his cheekbones. She had talked to her daughter about him? That was a distinct surprise. A nice one. He cleared his throat. “I guess I am. And you’re Chloe.”

She nodded and smiled. “The flowers are be-u-ti-ful. Thank you very much, Michael.”

“You’re welcome. They’re snowdrops.” He winced at how stilted he sounded. But the little girl didn’t seem to notice his discomfiture.

“Snowdrops. That’s a pretty name. My birthday was yesterday. I’m eight now.” She held up five fingers plus three to illustrate. “Paul had a singing clown come for my birthday.”

That explained all of the balloons, but it was not what captured his attention. “Paul?”

“My mommy’s boss. He’s nice. I can tell he likes my mommy.” Chloe smiled. Her brown eyes twinkled up at him. “But I think Mommy likes you best.”

Michael couldn’t help the grin that tugged at his lips. “Thank you. I’m glad. I’m not her favorite person right now, though.”

Chloe’s eyes widened. She leaned toward him and whispered, “Did you do something to make her mad?”

Michael nodded. He leaned over and whispered back. “I had a secret. It was bad that I didn’t tell her about it until now.”

“Oh.” Chloe settled back against her pillows, a thoughtful expression on her face. She glanced up at him again. “Maybe she won’t stay mad very long.”

“I hope not. I’m glad I met you, Chloe. I have to go now, okay?”

She nodded, flashing a gap-toothed smile. “Okay. I’ll tell Mommy not to be mad at you anymore.”

Michael laughed. “Thanks. But maybe you should let me try to apologize first.”

Chloe nodded. She wriggled back down on the pillow, adjusting the teddy bear. She waved its furry arm at him. “Bye.”

Michael waved back. Then he turned and walked away, feeling more buoyant than he had in a while.





Chapter Twenty-Five



Two days after his visit to the hospital, Michael managed to get an online booking to Denver and flew out. A few hours after arriving at his destination, and after concluding a lengthy meeting with his long-time attorney, Michael let himself into the lovely house that had once been a source of considerable pride to him. He closed the wide front door behind him. He cast a quick glance around at the wide front entry and the adjacent living room. He didn’t recognize several pieces of furniture and the wall colors were different. But then, what did he expect? Morgan had always liked to decorate, he thought.

“Michael?” Considerable surprise emphasized the syllables of his name.

Michael looked up. His wife stood poised at the top of the curved rise of stairs, one hand resting gracefully on the gleaming mahogany banister. Her eyes were wide, her expression stunned by his unexpected and unheralded appearance.

“Morgan. We need to talk.” Michael gestured in the direction of the study, which was opposite the living room. Without another word, he walked across the entry to open the polished wood-paneled door. He didn’t wait to see whether she would come down the stairs and follow him. He knew that she would.

Michael entered, leaving the door open behind him. He crossed the spacious room. Beneath the custom-draped windows there was a credenza, and on top of it, as there had always been, was a silver tray, holding a liquor decanter and high-ball glasses. He unstopped the cut-glass decanter and poured himself a generous drink.

He heard the quick, angry steps that crossed the entry. There was a stir of air, and then the door to the study slammed shut. Setting down the decanter, he turned.

“I don’t know who the hell you think you are, barging in here and barking at me like that!”

His gaze traveled slowly from his wife’s belligerent expression, down over her trim athletic form, and back again to her face. Indifferently, he noted that she was still beautiful, except that her lush mouth was set in an angry line. She had folded her arms across her generous chest and her toe tapped soundlessly on the wool Gulistan carpet.

“Well, Michael?” she snapped.

“I have filed for divorce,” he said baldly. It had been a hell of a morning. Actually, it had been a hell of a week. He swirled the aged scotch before lifting the glass to his lips. The aroma of the liquor hit his nostrils, triggering a kaleidoscope of unpleasant memories. He set down the glass, untouched, with a clink.

His abrupt announcement had caught his wife off guard. She stared speechlessly, but the sound of the glass hitting the silver tray roused her. “Divorce! Don’t make me laugh!” She tossed her platinum hair over her shoulder with a derisive snort.

Michael paid no attention to his estranged wife’s hostility. It was no more than what he had expected. “Bennett will be contacting you. You’ll probably want to retain your own attorney.”