Part 75 (1/2)

Peter Redcliff was the worst presenter in the lot. But what could one expect from a technologist. Those guys should remain chained in a server room, never to emerge in front of the business leaders. That's what Cain thought. However, everyone got his or her turn. Today was the dog and pony show. Each department jockeyed for funding. Technology would be no different. So Peter Redcliff went on and on. Cain's phone buzzed. He unclipped it, checked for the caller and froze.

Simone? Simone was calling?

”Have somewhere else to be?” Andrew asked. His clipped tone silenced Peter, and drew every eye in the room Cain's way. Andrew was in a foul mood. Whenever the crooked b.a.s.t.a.r.d didn't get his way, this was the result. And placing Maryanne in a mental facility had set daddy dearest on edge. Cain put his phone down. He returned his attention to the presenter, refusing the bait. Peter nervously pushed his gla.s.ses up his pimply nose and cleared his throat, continuing with his PowerPoint presentation.

Andrew sat at the head of the conference table. His fingers made a tent before him, his eyes never wavering from his son in law. ”I've heard enough. It's time for Keith Livingston's division, Sales and Marketing. Cain?”

Cain nodded. ”Gentlemen, I'd like to direct your attention to the folders before you. Keith will not be joining this meeting, but I'm prepared to present in his place.”

Everyone clapped. Cain's eyes slipped over to Andrew who remained expressionless. The facilitator and the Director of Finance, adjourned the meeting, advising all that they'd hear something by the end of the day. It was the longest forty-five minutes of Cain's life. He burned inside to call Simone.

”Cain, you stay,” Andrew ordered.

He sat back and watched the others leave. When the very last employee left and the door closed, his father in-law let loose. ”My daughter! Where is she?”

”You know where she is,” he answered dryly.

”Her mother is crying in her booze. I want Maryanne brought home. Do you hear me? Do as I order or-”

”Or what?” Cain shot him a glare. ”Or what? What will you do, Andrew? I've done everything you've wanted without question. Even buried your secrets so deep I can't find them. But this? This!” Cain leaned forward, his lips drawn back in a menacing smirk. ”This I do for her. You knew that sick b.a.s.t.a.r.d was sleeping with her, using her.”

”I did not.”

”Nothing escapes the great Andrew Hollingsworth! You knew, d.a.m.n it! You knew and you let it go on. So don't sit there like the concerned parent. I don't give a s.h.i.+t what you threaten me with. I will protect her. Do you hear me?”

Andrew recoiled.

Cain waited.

Waited.

Waited.

”Fine. You love her. But she is my daughter. I want her brought home. Soon.”

Andrew's defenses were low enough for him to strike. He decided to strike now. ”Sign the last page of the proposal. I'll take it straight to Finance. Let's finalize this.”

”Is she okay? At least tell me that much,” Andrew stammered, eyes dropping to the contract he believed to be like all the others. Cain's eyes went to it too, nervously. He feared, even in his distracted state, Andrew would see and understand the fine print.

”She's okay. Sign, Andrew. It's time this business is done, before Livingston returns. You and I both need to be more focused on Maryanne and her healing. Don't you agree?”

Andrew nodded. To Cain's relief, he signed sheet after sheet, then slid the stapled stack of papers toward him. When Cain finally accepted it, he felt a renewed surge of hope. Maybe, just maybe he'd pull it off. He rose. Andrew's misty eyes were now glued to the wall of windows surrounding the conference room. Beyond, the sky was clear and cloudless.

”I'll get this handled right away.”

”Cain.”

He stopped at the door. He was so nervous until the contract burned the palm of his hand. If Andrew asked to see it again, he was cooked. It was game over.

”Tell her I'm thinking about her,” Andrew mumbled.

Cain nodded and then left. He walked stiffly to the elevator. It wasn't until the doors closed that he could breathe. He had their signatures, both of their signatures. It was done. Cain fished out his phone, stepped out the elevator and dialed his voicemail. He was barely to his office door as he heard Simone's message.

”s.h.i.+t. What's happened now?”

Simone heard the soft bells of her cell phone shoved down in her purse. She figured it was her mother again. She didn't care. She pounded on the door once more. Waited. Then pounded on the door again. Finally she heard movement. Finally, it opened. Stacy glared at her from the inside of her home. ”What do you want?”

Stacy wore a pair of jeans and a patterned silk s.h.i.+rt with matching scarf in her head to tie back her wild curls. Simone's zeroed in on her deflated belly, and then rolled her eyes.

”To talk. And you will talk to me.” She pushed past her.

”Wait a d.a.m.n minute,” Stacy shouted. Simone walked through the penthouse apartment. Even after the affair, Simone never questioned how an executive a.s.sistant could afford a place on Park Avenue. She never questioned many things, except now, when her eyes landed on a small brown baby sleeping peacefully in an automatic swing. Could it be Keith's baby? Could hers?

”I want you to go.” Stacy walked around her, arms crossed. ”I want you to go now, or I will call the police.”

”He paid you off. Didn't he? Didn't he?” Simone asked.

Stacy smirked. Her eyes glistened with triumph. For what, Simone didn't know. Since when did being a man's wh.o.r.e become a badge of honor? Even with the undeniable love she shared with Cain, there came shame. The woman before her showed not a sliver of remorse.

”You came into my marriage, into my life, and you let him abuse us both. Now this? Is your child Keith's? That's all I want to know.”

Stacy clapped. ”Well it looks like Sleeping Beauty has finally woken up and seen Prince Charming for the toad he is.” She turned and walked away, returning to the sofa where she evidently had taken to folding laundry. Simone took it as an invitation to do the same. She sat in a sofa chair that was probably paid for by her own money and wondered, again, how much of her earnings had lined this woman's pockets. It made her sick with rage to dwell on it.

”The baby?” she asked, her voice hoa.r.s.e from imposed restraint.

”A boy. His name is Michael. And no, Mrs. Livingston, he isn't Keith's son. Happy?”

Simone was. She nearly smiled. Keith was lying. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d had done something to the hide his medical records. ”So you had a test done? A paternity test?”

Stacy picked up a tiny sleep s.h.i.+rt and folded it neatly. ”You know Keith never thought you'd put it together did he? The affair.” Stacy shook her head smiling. ”He was so sure you were too in love with him to know the difference. He was right.” Stacy's eyes lifted. ”What was it? I'm curious. What finally did it? Push you to want out? My visit? Or did he just get tired of pretending and helped you along?”

”You came to my house and said the baby you were carrying was his. You knew what that would mean.”

”Yes, But even Keith didn't believe it would matter. Something else made you run. What?”

”Cut the c.r.a.p. When you came to the house you, thought your child was yours. What changed your mind? What did you do? Have a paternity test?” Simone pressed.

Stacy said nothing.

”I'm divorcing him. Do you hear me? It's over between us. I'm willing to offer you-”

”You can't offer me anything. Good luck with your annulment.”

Simone sighed. She almost made to stand, but paused. She hadn't said she was getting an annulment. Her eyes swept the place once more. Two gla.s.ses, one of them a whiskey gla.s.s, sat on the end table. The same amber colored liquor to the bottom of the gla.s.s glistened. Just like it did in her home. How many times had she complained to Keith about how he often left them on her coffee table without a coaster? Stacy followed her sight. Their eyes met.

”He's been here? He told you about the annulment?”

Stacy didn't respond.