She eased the door almost shut as Jared picked up the envelope. He was dead tired. Flying through more than half a dozen time zones did that—especially after two weeks of hell. If he were a superstitious man, he’d be convinced the deal he was working on was jinxed.
The trip had started off wrong, with mechanical difficulties on the outbound airliner forcing an emergency stop on Wake Island. Then there had been the wildly bumpy flight into Bangkok, followed by a customs mixup. Bad weather plagued him from the moment he left the airport. The hotel where he had reservations had burned the night before his arrival, and he’d had to locate new lodgings before the predicted typhoon hit. He’d barely informed his office of the change in location before the high winds and torrential rains of Typhoon Initi let loose.
Severe storms did major damage in the United States, but recovery time was usually rapid. In Bangkok, it seemed interminable. He’d received word of MaryEllen’s death only hours before the full force of the typhoon hit Airplanes had been grounded, communications and electricity cut off. The streets flooded. Accidents abounded. It had been days before a semblance of normal activities could be resumed. Days before he could contact his office to notify them he would return on the first available flight.
Jared tapped the edge of the envelope on the desk, wishing he could quantify his feelings about MaryEllen’s death. He shook his head, feeling vaguely impatient. They had been married for more than six years. Even though their marriage had been primarily a business arrangement she’d been a friend and one-time lover. Maybe fatigue numbed his reactions, dulled his emotions. Shock had been replaced with disbelief. She had been twenty-nine—too young to die. Especially with all she had wanted to accomplish so close to being achieved.
He hadn’t seen her in over a year—and that had been when they’d met in Washington, D.C., with the congressmen from California for the discussion of Pacific Rim trade regulations. But they talked on the phone frequently, kept in touch by e-mail and fax.
Married six years, separated by a continent for the last three of those years, it had not been much of a relationship. Except in business—MaryEllen shone in that arena. It had been her idea to expand into the European market. She’d insisted she be the one to move to New York to set up that office. From the initial discussion to her transfer things had moved like a whirlwind. Once she left San Francisco, she never looked back—never came back, even for a flying visit. And he had not missed her. Now he would, if only in business.
Jared sighed and slit open the envelope. Slowly he began to read.
Stunned, he reread the letter. Unbelievable!
“Helen!” he roared.
He read the words a third time. Was this some kind of joke? How could—“Helen!”
The door opened slightly. Jared looked into the diffident gaze of Cassandra Bowles. His mind occupied with the contents of the letter, it took him a moment to register it wasn’t Helen warily watching him.
“Sorry, Jared, Helen stepped away from her desk. Can I help you?”
“Read this and tell me what it says.” Jared stood and thrust out the letter.
Cassandra entered the office, carrying a thin manila folder in one hand. She had been lurking outside his door on the off chance Jared would have a few minutes in which she could discuss the GlobalNet merger. When she’d heard him call Helen, she’d looked for the secretary. When he’d called again, she felt someone should answer him.
She crossed the expanse of his office and gingerly took the paper. Impatient, Jared ran his fingers through his hair as he studied her. Cassandra dropped her gaze to the typed letter. She had started with Hunter Associates two years ago, immediately after graduating from the MBA program at Berkeley. However, her interaction with the senior partner had been minimal. After all, he was the head of the firm, one of the two partners, and she a mere marketing analyst.
She looked at him, puzzled, unsure why he wanted her to read the letter.
“It seems the attorneys in New York are wondering when you will be coming to get your twin daughters.” Was she supposed to deduce something else from the letter?
“Damn.” Jared sat down, staring at Cassandra. “Twins.”
Uneasily, Cassandra perched on the edge of a chair and gravely studied him. She swallowing visibly, then said, “It, um, almost sounds as if you were unaware of their existence.”
“I had no idea.” How could MaryEllen give birth to his daughters and not tell him?
Cassandra said nothing.
Jared rifled through the pink telephone slips. Each one from the same people—MaryEllen’s attorneys in New York. Slowly he picked up one and punched in the number.
It rang endlessly.
“It’s after five in New York,” Cassandra said softly.
Slipping the receiver on the cradle, Jared nodded. The last thing he expected today was to discover he was a father. Or was he? Why hadn’t MaryEllen told him if he were the father?
“You needed me, boss?” Helen asked from the doorway.
“Are you sure none of these lawyers told you why they were calling?” Jared asked, flicking an impatient finger against the stack of phone messages.
She nodded.
“Read this.” He tossed the letter on the desk.
Helen glanced at Cassandra as she crossed to take the letter. Reading it, her eyes widened with surprise. “Wow, congratulations, Jared. You’re a daddy.”
“You think so?”
She looked puzzled. “It says so.”
“You know that MaryEllen moved east almost three years ago to open the New York office. Unless she was pregnant when she left, those children aren’t mine.”
Helen glanced again at Cassandra. “Maybe you better wait and talk about this later. After you call the attorneys.”
“I tried them, they didn’t answer. It’s late in New York. I’ll call in the morning.”
“Or try one of them at home,” Cassandra offered.
Jared looked at her. “Good idea. See if you can find home numbers for any of the partners,” Jared directed Helen.
When Helen left, Cassandra rose tentatively, holding out the manila folder to Jared. “You probably don’t want to be bothered with this right now, but these are the projections we did for the GlobalNet account. I’m confident they are solid, a bit ambitious but achievable. If anything, we erred on the conservative side.”
Jared took the folder and leaned back in his chair. Petite with glossy black hair, Cassandra represented the epitome of the young executive on the rise. She always wore her dark hair in a conservative French braid, tidy, neat, severe. Dark-framed glasses perched on her nose. Irreverently Jared thought they made her look like an owl, trying unsuccessfully to hide her eyes. Large and dark, fringed with long lashes, they were her best feature. Jared idly let his gaze drift down her neat suit, navy blue with a standard white blouse. The perfect business-woman—all work-oriented with femininity ruthlessly squashed. Just like MaryEllen. Was she as ambitious? As consumed with work?
He took the papers and skimmed the top sheet, but his mind wasn’t on the figures. Twins. He felt stunned. Could it be possible? Had MaryEllen been pregnant when she left San Francisco? If so, why had she kept the news from him? He couldn’t believe it. Yet the attorney’s letter seemed clear on the subject.
“We’re all sorry about Mrs. Hunter’s death,” Cassandra said.
Meeting her eyes, Jared stared at her for a long moment. How was he to answer the sentiment? The employees probably expected a grieving husband. No, Helen had said they understood his marriage. He mourned the loss of a close friend, a strong business associate.
Yet