Billionaire’s Missing Baby Read online

  There was a reason he wasn’t married. Wives took time, and money. There was no telling how much a woman left unattended could spend, and Andrew didn’t want to have to babysit his bank account when he had more important goals to look after. His parents had separated quietly, without too much drama, but it had been money that had really driven the wedge over time. His mother hadn’t been careful enough with their finances, and it finally drove Andrew’s father out. Over time, Andrew had come to see both sides were valid, and both sides were flawed, and he’d come to figure that the best relationship is the one where the money stays separate, and so do the participants.

  Bitterly, Andrew sat at his desk and counted his options. At present, the plan seemed to be that he would simply go on and head the deal. It was true that there was no one better to wheedle Westcorp into this arrangement. Nick had written it himself, painstakingly, detailing the responsibilities and shares of each party. He’d polished his speech about the business advantages of investing in the community—in the kids of their city—so often that it shone. Having anyone else present would be akin to the star in a play falling down a well, and the producers having to suddenly come up with an understudy the week before opening night.

  Except Andrew didn’t even have a week. He had three days, and it was not possible to bring any of his team members up to his level by then. He rubbed his temples, frustrated.

  Or I could just go out and get hitched.

  He spun in his desk chair, darkly amused, and yet terrified by that option. Sure, he could find a wife in two days. There was a whole market of supermodels and minor actresses, famous daughters of rich men and women who were always on the hunt for a nice loaded husband to maintain their high lifestyles. Andrew felt his muscles tense, horrified at the thought.

  How could he even consider such a thing? At the moment, he was free, unfettered, and able to do what he liked. Usually, this included working and staying at home with his Netflix subscription. He had few friends, none outside work. What if he married, and his new wife tried to make him more social? He shuddered at the thought.

  Annoyed, he tried to focus on work, but his mind drifted always back to his dilemma. That afternoon, he met with his department head, Harold Brown, and fine-tuned the proposal, went over schedules, and talked strategy. Brown assured him that Niemens was off on a tangent, focusing on unimportant aspects of the issue. There was no reason to think that Westcorp would be any less interested in Bellwethers just because Andrew was unmarried.

  Though he nodded and agreed and even laughed about it with Brown, doubt had settled in. Niemens was a little eccentric (part of why Brown distrusted her judgement) but she’d been a reliable weather vane for the fancies and moods of their competition and friends. No one was right all the time, but Sue Niemens had remarkable instinct for the nuances of their market. And now that the doubt had taken root, it began to grow tenaciously.

  Maybe Westcorp had no right to demand marriage from him, but they would do it anyway. After all day trying to focus and prepare, Andrew had grown dreadfully sure that Niemens and Nick were right, and that just by virtue of living the way he wanted to, Andrew might lose their deal. His deal.

  He slammed his hands on his desk, then waited, listening, to see if anyone outside had noticed. No one seemed to have overheard, so Andrew took another deep breath and tried to tell himself that he was being ridiculous.

  Dana would have laughed at his outburst. He smiled a little. “Now, don’t act silly,” he said out loud, although he could hear her say it. She was a ray of sunshine, perfectly optimistic and always blind to the negative. She’d probably reassure him that Westcorp couldn’t be so foolish as to refuse such a good offer just because Andrew didn’t have a wife. In her voice, it made so much sense that Andrew found himself believing.

  He heard in his head what she’d said to him that morning as she got off the elevator. His day had been a little darker since she’d left it. Seeing her bright red coat and baffling clash of oranges and yellows and greens that she liked were something he always looked forward to.

  ‘Good luck saving the children, today, Andrew. Your work is so important. I wish I could make a difference like you do.’

  His face flushed a little, recalling the admiration in her face, in her tone.

  Like a snakebite, it hit him out of nowhere. Andrew sat up suddenly, mind racing. He might have a solution. Surely mad, with about a hundred things that could go wrong. But maybe, just maybe, he had an answer to his problem.

  Chapter 3

  “Dana, you done yet?”

  “I have a few touches left,” she replied, looking up from her work. Dana blinked. It was already six twenty. Most of her co-workers were gone, and the wing of cubicles was dark and quiet. Outside, night had fallen, and the glittering lights of the Big Apple sparkled through. Glancing at the door, she saw that Lacey and Doretta were packed up with their winter coats on and their purses in hand. They had asked a while ago if she was finished—Dana couldn’t remember how long ago, but she hadn’t been done then, either. She grinned, abashed.

  “Just go on without me,” she told them, and waved a manicured hand in their direction. “I don’t want you to have to wait any longer. I’ll be headed home soon, though. See you tomorrow.”

  Lacey and Doretta hesitated. New York wasn’t exactly a safe place to be alone at night.

  “Are you sure?”

  Lacey had two little babies waiting for her at home, and a husband to go with. Doretta’s kids were grown, but her husband was waiting, along with the fluffy little dog that she loved to show off video clips of. And Dana didn’t want to feel rushed in her work—haste makes waste, after all.

  “Go on—I’ll be fine. See you in the morning. Same time, same place.”

  They laughed and shrugged.

  “All right, Dana. See you tomorrow.”

  They left, leaving Dana and a few other stragglers toiling away. Dana was thankful that her work didn’t feel like toiling—her blurry eyes and tired hands told her she’d been working hard all these hours, but the time had fallen away easily. She made a living doing something she would have done for free. How many people could claim that?

  She yawned and surveyed her current project. She’d finished the Senator caricature hours ago. She’d decided to sketch out a design for the table of contents spread, and her sketching had turned into formulating, then coloring, then fine-tuning. This was often the way it went. Five hours later, the page was about done, and Dana decided to just finish it up to save her some work tomorrow.

  She pulled out her cell phone and tapped the screen open. Her eyes were really starting to burn. She’d have to go home soon, or else she’d need a seeing-eye dog to get there. Dana wrote up a short text to her sister, Maya, explaining that she’d be a little late. Usually she left right at six, with everyone else, so Dana wasn’t running terribly behind. But in New York, a few minutes late could result from anything between trouble with taxis to armed robbery, so it was better to let Maya know she was safe.

  Dana had already returned to the easel to clean up the last of the lines when Maya’s response of “ok” flashed across the screen. In just another ten minutes, the table of contents page was finished, and Dana let her hand rest while the ink dried. She fanned it absently. The sooner it dried, the sooner she could scan it, send it in, and get home.

  By the time Dana had an electronic copy stored on her laptop, a physical copy waiting in her boss’ drop-box, the original tucked away in her work station, and her things packed up, it was approaching seven o’clock. She’d never make the seven train, even if she ran. No need to hurry herself, then. On with her bright red coat, and her scarf. She straightened the wrap around her wild hair, and picked up her purse and portfolio. With a sigh, she headed out the office doors to the elevator.

  It was a shame she was leaving so late. On the way home, too, she and Andrew usually rode together. It was nice to have someone with you on the subway, for sure, but mostly it was a pleasant
way to unwind, just discussing their days, their plans for the evening. But it wasn’t uncommon for one or the other to stay over late, and there was no sense waiting around.

  Of course, if they exchanged phone numbers, they could tell each other when they were late…

  Dana grinned to herself and shook her head. That was silly. Andrew Poole was a virtual stranger. He could be a serial murderer, and she wouldn’t know. Alone in the elevator, she shivered. These days, it was possible to hide some pretty crazy things from the world. Especially in New York, where women were assaulted and abducted every day.

  As the elevator descended, Dana tried to imagine Andrew being a madman—unlikely, after all, she decided. Not impossible, but he didn’t give her the creeps, and Dana had learned to trust her instincts for people. Instinct was a valuable resource, one that an artist had to be familiar with, and it had served her well thus far.

  Dana could practically hear Mrs. Deshaun, her mother, reminding her about the dangers of trusting the wrong people, and how important it was to have a good head on your shoulders, and a good sense for a person’s real character. It’s important, these days, to have a sense for people. We meet people every day, here. Not like in Ghana—we didn’t have so many strangers in Ghana. Dana rolled her eyes. She’d been born on American soil, and so had Maya. But the way they talked, you would think her parents had moved overseas yesterday.

  On the ground floor, Dana stepped out and began to walk across the lobby.

  “Dana! Dana, hey!”

  At the sound, her heart skipped and Dana scanned the lobby with her eyes. There he was, waiting for her. Given her thoughts just a few moments before, Dana wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or uncomfortable as Andrew made his way across the floor towards her. His suit jacket and heavy coat were open in the front, giving him a bit of a disheveled look. He seemed nervous, which did not inspire confidence.

  “Hi, Andrew!” she greeted. “You’re waiting late.”

  “You’re out late,” he replied with a tired smile. “I’ve been waiting since five. I was worried you might have gone home already.”

  “Five?” He’d been waiting here for two hours? “Well, thank you. I appreciate you worrying.”

  “Actually, there was something I needed to ask you,” he said. His face and posture took on an embarrassed tint, and Dana tilted her head. She wasn’t suspicious just yet. People could be embarrassed about things without being up to anything bad.

  “What?”

  Andrew shoved his hands in his pockets and grimaced. “It’ll take a lot of explaining. Are you free at the moment? Could I take you out for coffee?”

  Nerves fluttered in her chest and Dana forgot that she was suspicious. “Um—yeah! Sure! Right now?”

  “If you can. I only need to borrow you for half an hour, I swear.”

  Heat rose up in Dana’s face. Polite, distracted Andrew definitely hadn’t meant anything devious by that, but his wording could have been more precise. He’d obviously had a long day himself, and seemed a little ragged around the edges. A shade of a beard was coming back in along his jaw and his neat hair was a little tousled.

  He seemed a little too earnest, almost desperate. Dana was pretty sure she was going to end up regretting this.

  “Yeah—That’ll be fine. Where did you want to go?”

  Chapter 4

  Andrew jumped up to fetch their coffee when their order number was called. He’d spent the two hours in the Seven Diamonds’ lobby planning how to approach this proposal. Even with two weeks to prepare, it was easily the most awkward request he had ever made of anyone, and between now and the time he’d accosted her outside the lobby elevator, Andrew was no closer to broaching the topic at hand.

  With her usual good-natured optimism, Dana had agreed to coffee and allowed herself to be escorted two blocks over to a café nearby. Her confusion at the sudden offer and strange timing was fully obvious and weighed heavily on Andrew’s mind. She was sitting across from him now, occasionally yawning and blinking her big, dark eyes. The calm atmosphere and gentle light in the shop seemed to be lulling her to sleep, although she was too polite to say it.

  The shop in question (Higher Grounds, a catchy pun that seemed worthy of vaudevillian theater) was a quiet little industrial-themed café, with raw brick walls and thick black pipes running along just below the ceiling. Edison lamps hung low over the tables, leaving the space above their heads in shadow, making it all seem either cavernous or intimate. Andrew really couldn’t say which, even as he returned with his cappuccino and her mocha and returned to his seat.

  “So,” he started. And then… nothing.

  The information was all there. He knew what he wanted to say, and the details. It all was piled up in his head like a burn-pile, heaped together out of order and ready to ignite. Community center. Westcorp. Marcel. Family values. Bellwethers. Brown. Niemens. The deal. The deal. The deal…

  Sipping her mocha, Dana seemed to come awake a little. As the moment stretched into a minute, and onward, she raised an eyebrow.

  “So?” She asked it kindly, encouragingly. Andrew reddened.

  “Um… so.” He took a sip of his cappuccino and pressed his lips together in an awkward smile. “So… You remember the project I’ve been telling you about the past couple weeks?”

  Dana nodded, clearly relieved. “Of course! The community center you want to build. I remember.”

  Of course she did. Oddly, it warmed Andrew a little to know that she remembered. A part of him had been afraid that she had been just listening absently, tuning out the actual content of their daily commute. “I wanted to tell you a little more about it. It’s a huge project—we’d like to have an actual Y-sized building, with more than one gym, pools, activity rooms, event rooms, you name it. There’s a similar set-up over in Pennsylvania that we’ve been modeling after, and if we can make it happen, it’s going to completely change the dynamics of the borough.

  “At present, New York is one of the most economically dynamic urban centers in the nation. We have boutiques and celebrities in Manhattan, while across the river a huge chunk of our population lives in poverty or near-poverty. Hundreds of thousands of people in this city, alone, have no further ambitions than to get rent paid, or keep food on the table, and too many are pushed to criminal activity to meet these needs. This is a reality; many of our young New Yorkers don’t have the tools they need to break out of the poverty-crime-poverty cycle. Right now, 23% of adolescent males have committed some form of small-time law-breaking in this city, by the time they’re twelve. Twelve! That isn’t taking into account socioeconomic groups or parental income or race. It’s just base statistics. And that number is shocking.

  “Worse, the ones that get caught are three times more likely to be repeat offenders. That means the way our society is set up, we’re setting these kids off to an early start of being on the wrong side of the law, because that’s all they have available. The other kids in the neighborhood are doing it, their older sibling are doing it. Parents are busy trying to scrabble together the mortgage money , in most cases. There’s just no one else to turn to, and it’s a social tragedy.”

  Dana sighed. “That is. If those numbers are accurate, that’s really heartbreaking.”

  Andrew paused. If those numbers are accurate. He hadn’t expected Dana to see through his marketing pitch.

  And then he realized… he was approaching this like a marketing pitch.

  Mentally, Andrew forced himself to back off a little, trying to think of how normal people made these sorts of requests. Normal people—people who weren’t vying for billion-dollar business deals and trying to sweet-talk stubborn Fortune 500 companies to sign on. Of course, normal people, even other business men and women, didn’t usually find themselves in such an absurd situation.

  “All right… Dana, there’s something that I need your help with.”

  She took another sip of her mocha. She didn’t seem too worried or concerned. Andrew hadn’t caught her eyein
g the door yet. “I’ll help if I can. Did you need me to draw something up? I’d be happy to donate some artwork for your project.”

  His heart twisted. Dana was a spectacular artist. She’d shown him some of her work before, and she had real skill. More than that, he understood how much it meant to have a professional artist offer to give some of their time and talent for free. Dana had complained before about people that tried to under-compensate for her work, or wanted her to paint for nothing.

  But it wasn’t her drawing talent he needed at the moment.

  “Thank you, but that wasn’t exactly what I had in mind,” Andrew replied. “Actually, I needed your help with the issue of funding.”

  At this, Dana looked at him oddly. “Funding? I’m afraid I don’t have very much money to donate—”

  “Not like that,” Andrew said quickly. He was really screwing this up. He took a deep breath, aware that if he didn’t explain himself soon, she was probably going to walk right out of here. He was making an ass of himself.

  “I didn’t mean help with individual donations,” he clarified. “The initial cost of constructing the building, procuring services, marketing, and basically getting the ball rolling, that’s an immense sum, but it isn’t the start-up costs we’re really concerned with. What my company is looking for is support from other Fortune 500 companies. Other big names to put their support—especially their financial support—so that this center will always be secure, even if Bellwethers has a bad quarter. We’re really looking to encourage investment in the community. We want to get other companies on board with the idea that giving back to the community is worth their time.”

  Dana was watching him, clearly not comprehending. And why would she? This idea of his made no practical sense to Andrew, either. It had made much more sense when he’d been alone in his office.