In the Land of Milk and Honey Page 9

  But I hardly heard any of them. As soon as he finished those words, an honest to goodness smile broke out on Daniel’s face, all the way up to his eyes. It was slightly crooked and revealed perfect white teeth. The way the skin stretched, from his chin to his cheek, I knew that skin. The way the muscle moved underneath the skin, the perfectly symmetrical way it balanced in his face except that one corner marginally higher. The way his lips stretched, his eyes crinkling slightly, the way the eyebrows arched upward in the corners but lowered in the center of the brow bone, implying a menace that I’d previously thought didn’t exist, the distance between his brow and his forehead, the minute flex in the nostril, I knew it all.

  And yes, his hair was a rich beer bottle brown, but in the bright studio lights, not unlike the brown glass of the bottle when held against light, it glimmered and glinted. Amber, whiskey, brandy, and cognac. There was another word for hair like that.

  It was like bourbon.

  Although I’d never to my knowledge met Daniel Baird before this weekend in my life, I recognized that smile completely, wholly, and with every fiber of my being.

  It was the face of my son.

  And then everything went dark.

  Chapter 7 - The Inconceivable Conceiver

  “Bree? Bree! It’s not working….” A muffled voice was crying out for me.

  “Are you sure? I…I don’t know if….Alright, I’ll do it!”

  My eyes snapped open as icy cold water slapped my face. A foggy retro angel with cat-framed glasses and blunt black bangs kneeled beside where I was lying on what appeared to be cold, hard floor.

  “Claire?” I think that was my voice.

  Claire let out an exhale and rocked back on her heels to stand. “Yeah, that was her, she’s fine.” She paused, extending a hand to me, and I saw my phone cradled in her ear as she helped me to my feet behind the counter. The room spun.

  “I don’t know. We were just watching this guy on television and she passed out. Some hot business guy.”

  “Give me the phone,” I said quickly, remembering where I was and what just happened.

  “Ian?” I spoke into the receiver.

  “It’s August,” he replied, his calm voice tinged with concern.

  “August,” I breathed. “I’m fine. I got lightheaded,” I added as I twisted my hair over my shoulder into a thick rope to wring dry and then grabbed some tissues to blot my face.

  “Right. Well, I guess Ian told Claire to call me when you fainted.” He paused. “Bree, is there anything you want to tell me?”

  “Uh, no.” Change the subject, Bree. “How are you? Are you okay? I saw the firings on TV.” I clasped my hand over my mouth because I’d just confirmed who the ‘business guy’ on TV was.

  “I’m fine,” he said, sounding curious. “Mr. Baird rescinded his offer for me to head up the U.S., obviously.”

  I hoped he didn’t hear me gulp when he said the name. “But you still have a job?” I recovered.

  “Yes,” he responded, sounding contemplative. “Bree, when Mr. Baird came in my office this morning to discuss things, he paid special attention to the photo of you on my desk.”

  I was silent.

  “The one of you, Tristan and I at his first birthday party,” he added slowly. “So, I’ll ask again. Is there anything I need to know?” His tone was knowing, and concerned, not accusing.

  I thought quickly. “Don’t tell him a thing. Discuss nothing. Did he ask you anything?”

  “I won’t discuss a thing,” he answered just as urgently. “But he studied the picture for a while and then he complimented me on my handsome family.”

  “What did you say?” My eyes widened.

  “I thanked him.”

  “Good,” I said as I flopped down onto my chair.

  At the one year mark Tristan was a chubby, blond cherub in that generic cute baby way, and I myself wouldn’t have seen a definite resemblance between them at the time. In fact, as a lifelong brunette, he resembled fair August more than me. I had no proof that Daniel Baird was the man who’d fathered my child—other than a gut instinct and that smile—but it was probably best for the time being that he assumed August was the father. I was contemplating asking August to dig for a little more information to find out if he used to live in the city or attend school here when I was interrupted from my planning.

  “Speak of the devil,” Claire said slowly as she stared through the glass front onto the sidewalk. My head popped up to follow her line of vision.

  And there he was.

  Daniel Baird was walking swiftly, looking amazing in a navy suit, just like in the interview. Then my bell was dinging as he pulled the door, swinging it wide and striding in purposefully with two men in suits following on his heels.

  I ducked my head behind the counter. “I think I need to go,” I whispered to August who’d patiently been listening to my controlled breaths on the other end.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked concernedly.

  “I’ll call you later, August,” I murmured, ending the call, and found Daniel Baird standing on the other side of the marble counter, taking me in with a twinkle in his eye. Oddly, he seemed almost chipper.

  “Hi,” Claire breathed dreamily, flipping her raven hair over her shoulder.

  “Hello,” he replied to Claire, who looked hypnotized as her stare became vacant and her lips parted. He furrowed his brow as he took in her condition, then he turned his attention back to me. He was looking at my chest.

  “You are damp, Ms. Valentine,” he observed, raising one brow and I followed his gaze downwards.

  “Oh!” I gasped and clutched my arms around my chest. I’d worn a white tank top with black trousers today, and the water had seeped down the canal of my top, blooming in a transparent splotch. I held up one finger, requesting patience as I grabbed a dry hand towel from the drawer and began blotting myself with it.

  “Small accident,” I explained and found him observing my drying method studiously.

  “I had to throw water on her after she passed out,” Claire volunteered as her head lolled to the side, captivated.

  “I think we’re good on the details, Claire,” I interrupted, nervously shifting my eyes to him, noting a concerned look on his face.

  “She passed out when you were talking about your stick,” Claire giggled and smiled broadly.

  His mouth crooked into a mischievous smile and he turned to me. “Fascinating,” he said curiously.

  “Mm-hmm,” Claire agreed, leaning her elbows on the countertop, resting her chin in her hands with a giant gummy smile on her face.

  Daniel seemed a little disapproving of the action. He turned, addressing me. “I would think you are happier to see me then, Ms. Valentine.”

  I had no idea what expression I wore because I had a hundred things running through my mind—like with the daylight beaming through the room, I could finally see live and in person, all the glints of color in his hair. It was like a test swatch of all the wood stains from the finer pieces I made. Black walnut at the base, but in the light it shone molasses, mahogany, and tobacco. Then I wondered if my son’s hair would end up like that.

  My head began to feel light again.

  “Uh, just surprised. Is there anything I can help you with?” I asked politely, studying his features.

  “Perhaps,” he said smoothly. “Why don’t you show me around?” He didn’t wait for my reply as he strolled away.

  Claire gave me a confused look. I shook my head as I walked past her and joined him where he stood facing a display with his hands gathered behind his back. We both knew a man like him does not shop for his own furniture.

  “Are you looking for anything in particular?” I inquired, as I stood next to him and looked up at his face. That chin. I should have known that chin right away. The profile was similar, too. Tristan still had full rosy cheeks, not the chiseled, hollow cheeks and high cheekbones of Daniel. But when they smiled, the effect was the same.

  I couldn’t take
it. I turned and began to walk casually. Pretended, anyway.

  “There is one thing I have my eye on,” he said as he approached from behind, and his footsteps felt like drums in my pounding chest.

  “I, um. I can show you my best-sell—”

  “You really don’t remember me, do you?” Daniel whispered into my ear. I spun, mouth agape, and we practically touched noses. He seemed surprised by my reaction and stood straight, then narrowed his eyes and began studying my face intently. “Or do you?” he asked, tilting his head slightly as he stepped forward until his body was flush with mine. My fingers were receiving corrupt brain signals, like, I should reach out and smooth the lapels of his jacket.

  “We need to talk,” I said and advanced towards my back office. I heard him follow behind me with equal purpose in his steps.

  I held the door open and Daniel brushed against me as he passed, the fabric of his sleeve brushing the tip of my nose. I looked back at Claire and tried to signal no interruptions, but she looked stupefied and then started pumping her fist like a touchdown had occurred.

  Once I closed the door, I noticed Daniel taking the office in with scrutiny and I suddenly became self-conscious of the room. It was cream except for one wall that was old exposed red brick and mortar. It was fairly simple with a maple desk and coordinated file cabinets and a wall of shelving. There were kids’ toys everywhere on the train track rug, and framed art done by Tristan covered the walls. Tristan, my son. Maybe our son…my head got light again.

  Daniel turned, removing his jacket and laying it over a chair. I couldn’t help but notice how nicely his shirt hugged his physique, and then I wanted him to put the jacket back on. This conversation was not supposed to include clothing removal. Apparently, that’s what got us here.

  I gestured towards Tristan’s art table, but he waited for me to move first so I sat. He lifted the chair beside me by the back, repositioning it to face me, directly. The chairs were economy adult sized, but he seemed to dwarf it to a ridiculous degree. He sat wide legged, both feet firmly on the ground, and leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees with his hands joined in the center. We were almost touching knees so I prudently locked mine together, clasping my hands in my lap.

  It was way too close for my liking. I was suspicious of his selected proximity, but he looked as serious as an attendant at a G8 Summit instead of an impromptu back office meeting in the West Village with his might-be baby mama. He raised his brow indicating he wanted me to start, and I took a breath.

  “So…we’ve met before this weekend?” I asked hesitantly and watched like a hawk for his reaction. He was doing the same—watching—but at my question he seemed to stiffen as he sat up and laid his palms on his knees.

  “Yes,” he replied, coolly.

  “And how did we meet?” I asked, eyes narrowed. Where on Earth would I meet Daniel Baird?

  His jaw tightened as he peered at me, finally blinking. Then he relaxed, leaning forward on his elbows again, waving his hand in dismissal.

  “Next question,” he said, his eyes hard.

  I mashed my lips together and peered into the deep green of his eyes, looking for an answer but found nothing.

  “We only…met once?” I continued.

  “Essentially,” he conceded, but that didn’t seem like a clear answer.

  “You’ll have to refresh my memory,” I began as casually as I could. “How long ago was this?”

  His face relaxed marginally. “Five years,” he answered surely.

  “Oh,” I said disappointedly and leaned back in my chair.

  “Seven months,” he added in a smooth voice, and my eyes widened.

  “Oh.”

  “And fifteen days ago,” Daniel finished softly.

  “Oooh,” I replied, dumbfounded, and furrowed my brow. I wasn’t expecting that much detail. “You have a good memory.”

  A smile began to spread on his lips and his eyes traveled my chest and my face, pausing on my lips.

  “For some things,” he replied serenely, his gaze finally meeting my eyes.

  That felt like as good an opening as anything I could have hoped for, so I went for it. I decided to move on to the six million dollar question.

  “Did we…um…you know…” I sputtered out uncomfortably, hoping he would jump in, but he looked like he wanted me to say it. “Um…hook up?” I finished awkwardly, motioning my hands between what little space was between us.

  He watched me with distaste and narrowed his eyes again. “Yes.” His perfect face was still, but his eyes were not happy.

  And that answer pretty much sealed the deal in my mind. I sighed heavily and flopped back in my chair and turned gazing at the wall. This was surreal. I had sex with Daniel Baird. How on Earth that happened, I have no idea. The concept of this cold, calculating, ruthless man being the father of my loving, thoughtful, sweet little boy was mind-boggling.

  Preposterous. Unimaginable. Inconceivable.

  Suddenly, he grabbed either side of my chair and dragged it closer, scraping along the floor until my knees touched the front of his chair and his knees hovered immediately around mine. My eyes were wide, and I froze completely still as he leaned in and slowly ran the tip of his nose along my arc of my neck, inhaling his way up until he nudged my ear, causing goose bumps to prick on my skin.

  “Did you think I wouldn’t know you anywhere?” he whispered in a velvety voice, his breath fanning my skin. Then he moved his face directly in front of mine and his focus darted to my lips.

  My heart was pounding, and not entirely from concern, as I watched his tongue slide out, wetting his lips.

  “You’re different now,” he paused, pulling back—letting his eyes search mine—then laying his hands on my knees and whispering seductively, “but I think I like you this way.” His hands were getting higher, and my breathing hitched.

  I shook myself and pressed my hands firmly into his chest, which did nothing so I pushed harder. He got the picture and leaned back in his chair, somewhat annoyed and his eyes narrowed again. Since I’d clearly had some sort of one-night stand with him, he was probably thinking that’s why I’d called him in to a back office.

  “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, but I really just wanted to talk.”

  “We can do that, too, if you like,” he replied, leaning forward again.

  My mouth fell open and I got butterflies, but I shook myself again. He was as persistent as he was immoral.

  “Don’t you have a fiancée?” I reminded him of his impropriety. “Kate—the girl with the giant ring—aren’t you engaged to her?”

  “Engagements are impermanent.” He clearly had a love of semantics.

  “She intends to be married to you, though,” I explained.

  “Probably,” he said dryly, looking as though he hadn’t given it much thought.

  “And you intend to marry her,” I finished.

  “That is the perception,” he nodded once, and I knit my brows together. There was that word again….

  “Do you ever give straight answers?” I asked, curious and exasperated.

  “I’m usually the one doing the asking,” he replied honestly but looked preoccupied as he took my hands between his large warm ones. He seemed to be inspecting them.

  “Right,” I said dumbly as I watched him release one hand and flip the other. He began to trace the creases in my palm. My heart began beating too fast again.

  “And I get the answers I want,” he added. My head snapped up to see his green eyes were intense and serious. They were telling me he meant it, and he fully anticipated a repeat performance.

  “As tempting as that is, I’ll have to pass.” His directness was making me nervous again, and I slowly withdrew my hands back to my lap.

  “You are not so tied to August,” he said, heavy with implication. “I saw your personal messages,” he remarked, as though it gave him a free pass to Bree-land.

  “And those were just that. Personal,” I punctuated, rememb
ering who I was dealing with.

  He narrowed his eyes at me, and his nostrils flared a little but then he reverted to the charming man I’d seen on TV.

  “I thought we were friends, Ms. Valentine,” he said, and there it was. The dazzling smile accompanied by eyes that were like vast glittering mossy green lakes you just wanted to go skinny dipping in.

  “Yeah, friends,” I muttered despondently.

  He looked at me quizzically.

  Yeah. Friends, one-night stand, mother of your child….

  Up until that moment, I couldn’t have listed one logical reason why I would have ever had sex with him, but that smile must have a played a big role. He was incredibly handsome with a body made for sin, but I never went for that type, or any type for that matter. Back then I was shy, awkward, and insecure. I would have never had the confidence to talk to a man like this, and for the life of me I can’t imagine why he would have wanted me. But that smile must have been my downfall. It was totally disarming. Disarming enough to make a baby with.

  “I need to get back to work, but thank you for stopping by,” I said quickly, suddenly feeling claustrophobic in the little back room without windows and witnesses.

  “You may see me out,” he said, taking back the reigns. He stood, sliding his blazer back on, and followed me out to the showroom. I was surprised when he stopped and seemed to be looking around at the displays.

  “This is all yours.”

  “Yes,” I answered, but I had already become transfixed by the pair of glasses tucked in his breast pocket at my eye level.

  “You’ve done well,” he stated, and when my gaze flicked up to his there was pride there. Then he looked confused when he finally noticed my sneaking hand that was reaching out to see what his prescription was.

  “Thanks,” I said and darted my eyes to the eyeglasses. “May I?”

  His lip twitched and he seemed amused as he nodded. I gingerly pulled the wire frames put of his pocket and slowly unfolded them.

  “Franz Lists.” He observed the music playing in the background. I was busy telescoping the backwards frames in front of my eyes. I couldn’t tell the prescription. They looked almost clear. I should make an appointment for Tristan, anyway.