"It's better if we talk without an audience," he said, closing the door behind us.
I sighed, the logic cutting through my panic. I'd been so flustered I hadn't considered how this was affecting the girls. The rich girls, apparently, who were Logan Turner's daughters. Even if it made no sense.
"Are they really yours?" I asked.
He handed me the papers. It was a letter from a woman named Eleanor. Therealmother.
I was just finishing the last lines when he spoke. "Someone left them at my door last night. With a suitcase and that letter."
"You have no way to contact her? No family or friends?"
"Nothing. We lost touch after she dropped out of college."
"You were involved and you didn't think it was strange when she left? You didn't even try to find her?"
"We weren'tinvolved. We had… an arrangement. We were friends."
"'Just' friends?" I couldn't help the sarcasm. "Is that what you call it?"
"I was in college to study."
"And to make babies, apparently."
"Miss García," he said, his voice tight. "Could you please stop judging me for five seconds and just listen to my proposal?"
So, there was aproposal. The word sounded far more significant than "help." A proposal implied an offer, and if he was offering something, the request was anything but simple.
He took a deep breath. "I need you to confirm you're the girls' mother."
"But I'mnottheir mother."
"The people at this conference don't know that."
"There were journalists out there! They took my picture. This is going to be on the internet. This goes way beyond the conference. I've never been pregnant—everyone who knows me knows that!"
"You're not a public figure, are you? So 'everyone' isn't that many people. It'll blow over in a few days.The only thing that matters is that the people at this conference believe it."
"And why is that so important? You have two daughters; apparently everyone knows. Why not just tell the truth?"
"Nobody will believe the truth based on a letter. They'll say I abandoned a pregnant woman."
"And did you?"
"No. You read the letter."
"Then show them the letter! Why does it matter what they think?"
"It matters because it's the difference between me getting a directorship at a New York hospital or not. A letter can be forged."
"You're going to take care of them now, right? They should hire you based on your credentials, not your personal life."
"That's not how the world works. The board needs to see a man with an impeccable personal life. And you will be very well compensated, I promise."
I sighed, my resolve crumbling at his final argument. I hated seeming mercenary, but… my current situation didn't allow me to be choosy.
Losing my teaching job was just the tip of the iceberg. I'd just gotten out of a toxic relationship and, as a result, was also homeless—it had been my ex's apartment.
Moving back with my parents wasn't an option. Thankfully, my best friend's grandmother, Jenna, had taken me in and given me a job at her bookstore. The salary was enough for a modest apartment, in theory. But I was drowning in debt.
