‘How did that go?’ She pats her immaculate bun. ‘Was she what you hoped?’
I shake my head and exhale heavily. ‘She was so much more.’
I stride toward my office door, then spin on my heels, clicking my fingers. ‘Oh, and Belle, find the most expensive florist in the city and have every white phalaenopsis orchid they have in stock sent to Zara Beckett’s office—preferably hundreds of them.’
‘I’m not sure we’ll be able to source hundreds, Mr Hartmann.’
‘Well, get extra flown in from Holland, then.’
Belle’s poker face is good, but there’s no missing the twitch of her lips. ‘Right away, Sir.’
‘And find the best heart shaped candy in Dublin and haveit delivered by the truckload.’ The flowers were Zara’s favourite at the resort. The candy, well, that’s for our baby.
I push into my office and shut the door behind me, the soft click deafening in the sudden quiet.
My pulse is still jacked. My blood is still molten lava. My mind is nowhere near catching up with what—who—just transformed my life.
I sink into the custom-made leather chair and drag a hand through my hair. My palm comes away damp. I don’t sweat. I’m always cooler than fucking ice, but this?
This turn of events knocked the breath from my lungs.
I reach for the bottle of Macallan on the corner of my desk. Belle wisely cleared the tea and left the whiskey. She knows me better than I know myself sometimes. I pour a generous measure into the crystal tumbler and take a long, burning swallow. It scorches all the way down, lighting a fuse inside my chest.
I’m going to be a father.
The thought hits me again—harder this time. Raw. Visceral. It’s been repeating like a drumbeat ever since I saw the curve of her bump. My baby. Growing in Zara Beckett’s body.
Jesus.
I slept with the enemy.
And so help me God, given half the chance, I’d do it again. And again. And again.
I lean back in my chair, processing the emotions eating me up from the inside out. Awe. Hunger. Possession so fierce it borders on insanity.
Of all the women in the world…
Of all the ways my life could have gone…
Fate threwherback into my path.
There’s only one person alive I can say this to without sounding unhinged.
I grab my phone and hit Marcus’s name.
He answers on the third ring, groggy but alert. ‘If this is about Barcelona, I told you the paperwork is airtight. Go back to sleep or go back to being an asshole—whichever you were doing.’
‘It’s five p.m. in Dublin, genius,’ I mutter.
He pauses. ‘Oh. Then what’s wrong with you? You sound like you saw a ghost.’
‘Not a ghost,’ I whistle lowly. ‘I found her.’
‘Who?’ he asks sleepily.
‘Irish, who else?’ I take another sip of whiskey and let my words sink in. ‘Well, technically she found me. She strutted into my office an hour ago, and I’m still fucking recovering from the shock.’
There’s a beat of silence, then Marcus practically chokes. ‘No fucking way. The mystery woman you were in a heap about?’
