Chapter 2 - The Heir Nobody Wanted
Nathaniel arrived at Mount Sinai in nineteen minutes.
His security detail arrived four minutes after him.
Clare was sitting on an examination bed wearing a hospital gown and holding a plastic cup of water when he entered.
“You look terrifying,” she said.
Nathaniel stopped beside her.
“That’s your first sentence?”
“You came to a hospital at one-thirty in the morning wearing a black suit with two men who look like they bury people professionally.”
“They do other things.”
“That was not reassuring.”
Nathaniel looked at the ultrasound image resting beside her.
The joke disappeared from his face.
Clare watched him pick it up.
“That’s it.”
He stared at the gray image.
“That little thing?”
“The doctor assures me humans traditionally start small.”
Nathaniel sat.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he reached for Clare’s hand.
“My father will try to make this difficult.”
Clare’s expression changed.
“That’s a strange thing to say after looking at your first ultrasound.”
“I don't want to lie to you.”
“So don't.”
Nathaniel looked at her.
“My family expected a marriage that would combine Ashcroft and Bowmont assets. A child changes inheritance.”
“Your inheritance?”
“Our child’s.”
Clare pulled her hand away slightly.
“Our child is the size of a blueberry.”
“In my family, blueberries can apparently destabilize holding companies.”
Despite herself, she laughed.
Nathaniel leaned closer.
“I will protect you.”
“That sentence sounds romantic when normal men say it.”
“And when I say it?”
“Like somebody is about to disappear.”
Nathaniel gave no answer.
That worried her more.
Two days later, Clare met Eleanor Ashcroft.
The invitation arrived on heavy cream stationery despite the fact that Eleanor’s assistant had already called.
Lunch was held at an Upper East Side private club where waiters knew which members preferred not to see prices.
Eleanor arrived precisely at noon.
She was sixty-eight, silver-haired, immaculate, and beautiful in the way old portraits of aristocratic women were beautiful.
Clare immediately understood Nathaniel better.
His restraint had been inherited.
Eleanor smiled.
“Miss Whitmore.”
“Clare is fine.”
“I suspect informality is something you value.”
“I suspect formality is something you use.”
Eleanor paused.
Then smiled again.
“I see why Nathaniel finds you stimulating.”
“He usually says exhausting.”
“I imagine he does.”
Lunch began politely.
It remained polite for eleven minutes.
Then Eleanor placed her napkin beside her plate.
“How much?”
Clare blinked.
“For the salad?”
“For leaving.”
Clare stared at her.
Eleanor continued.
“You’re twenty-nine. Your apartment is rented. Your student loans remain substantial. Your current salary, while respectable, will not materially alter your life.”
“You investigated me.”
“Of course.”
“And now you want to buy me.”
“I want to solve a problem before emotion makes it expensive.”
Clare slowly leaned back.
“How much were you planning to offer?”
Eleanor studied her.
“Five million.”
Clare almost smiled.
“That's insulting.”
For the first time, Eleanor looked surprised.
“I beg your pardon?”
“If you're going to behave like a villain in a bad movie, at least understand market value. You think I’m carrying the first child of a multibillion-dollar heir and five million is enough?”
Eleanor’s face hardened.
Clare stood.
“I don't want your money.”
“Everyone has a number.”
“Maybe. But you don't know mine.”
“And what is it?”
Clare picked up her coat.
“A family that doesn't treat my child like a line item.”
She walked out.
That evening, Nathaniel listened without interrupting.
When she finished, he called Eleanor.
Clare tried to stop him.
“Don't start a war because your mother was rude to me.”
“She offered you money to abort my child.”
“She offered me money to leave.”
Nathaniel's eyes went cold.
“Same objective.”
He called anyway.
Eleanor answered.
Nathaniel spoke six words.
“Stay away from Clare and my child.”
“Nathaniel—”
“I mean it.”
“You're allowing a temporary relationship to compromise—”
He disconnected.
Clare stared at him.
“That was mature.”
“I had more words available.”
“I'm grateful you showed restraint.”
Nathaniel sat beside her.
For a moment, the feared man who controlled hundreds of employees, executives, drivers, lawyers, and men whose names never appeared on payroll looked simply tired.
“They won’t stop.”
“Then we don’t either.”
He looked at her.
“You still want this?”
Clare rested a hand over her stomach.
“I haven't figured out how to be somebody’s mother yet.”
“Neither have I.”
“That would be concerning for several reasons.”
Nathaniel smiled.
Then she took his hand and placed it against her stomach.
“But yes.”
His expression changed.
“Yes?”
“Yes.”
Nathaniel bent forward and kissed her forehead.
Neither noticed the black sedan parked across the street.
Victoria Bowmont sat in the rear seat.
She had watched Nathaniel enter Clare’s building forty minutes earlier.
Beside her, Harrison Bowmont closed a folder containing Clare’s employment history.
“You need to understand something,” he told his daughter.
Victoria continued staring at the apartment window.
“I understand.”
“No. You’re still thinking about Nathaniel emotionally.”
“He was supposed to marry me.”
“Nothing is supposed to happen in our world. Things happen because someone makes them happen.”
Victoria looked down at the folder.
“And the child?”
Harrison’s answer was quiet.
“That child cannot become the Ashcroft heir.”
Victoria looked toward Clare’s lit apartment again.
May you like
For the first time, jealousy gave way to something colder.
Calculation.
