“Won’t someone follow up on that?”
“The hospital’s not accountable if a patient walks out without checking in at reception. The world will assume she was embarrassed and slunk off after we drove away.”
Riley smirked. “You should write fiction.”
“I do PR. It’s nearly the same thing.” She opened a notebook. “Did you get a chance to talk to her yet?”
“Not really. She’s at the hotel. I’m putting her up till we figure things out.”
Sam shook her head. “We can’t let her blab her story to the world. It could seriously affect your career momentum.”
“I hardly think that’s the issue here,” Winnie put in. “Not if there’s a ba—complication involved.” She made a face, obviously disliking the word.
Sam’s pointed face froze in that emotionless mask she wore when she was thinking, plotting, calculating. Riley figured she could probably solve global warming with that intensity if she put her mind to it. She blinked her dark eyes rapidly as she surfaced from her fugue. “All right. Tomorrow morning, before you head to the circuit, we’ll start some processes.”
“Processes?”
She lowered her voice. “Tests.”
Winnie started. “Can they do that while the ba—complica—” She huffed and said lowly, “No, it’s a baby, I’m not calling it anything else. Can they safely do tests while it’s still in the womb?”
“I’m pretty sure. I’ll find out. I know a doctor who’s discreet.” Riley swallowed thickly, wondering when and how often Sam had this discreet doctor come around for her clients. She shot Riley a serious look. “I don’t know what your past with this girl is, and right now I don’t care. But until we have confirmation on whether it’s yours, don’t make any promises. Do you understand?”
He nodded stiffly. He knew she meant well, but he resented that Sam was handling what should have been his private affair. She glided away on her deadly heels like a wraith on a mission. Riley felt bad that she had to deal with this new crisis on top of handling Juliette’s needs. Then again, Sam seemed to thrive when besieged. And she was well paid.
“You didn’t tell Sam that you and...” His mother left her inquiry dangling.
“Katherine,” he supplied.
“That you and Katherine have a history.”
“You heard her, Mom. No promises until we know for sure.”
“And then what?”
“Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it.”
“And if it’s not yours?”
He clenched his jaw. He wasn’t about to admit that he’d already accepted that the baby was his—not as an absolute truth, but as a precaution he could prepare for. He could plan around such a crisis. But if the baby wasn’t his... “Then, that’s something she’ll have to deal with.”
Winnie’s face puckered. “But what about the baby?”
“Not my problem.” Not if it wasn’t his.
Privately he hoped it was. A child didn’t deserve to be left struggling for survival. But he didn’t want to be roped into caring too much, either.
As for Kat... Well, he could only pray she wasn’t a gold-digging fame monster.
* * *
THE PHONE’S EAR-SHATTERING warble startled Kat out of a strange dream where she was being buried beneath a mountain of human fireflies. She groped for the handset and croaked, “Hello?”
“Are you awake?”
She turned over slowly, rubbing her eyes and focusing on the bedside clock. “It’s seven in the morning.”
“Yes, it is.” Riley’s voice sounded rough. She’d assumed he would stay out late and sleep in this morning, giving her a chance to catch up on some much-needed rest. No such luck. Apart from the usual pregnancy fatigue, the baby had tumbled and kicked all night, as if it was telling her to keep moving, keep looking for that new adventure, a new home.
No, she thought firmly. Home is where you can grow up and have a normal childhood. Home is where you’ll get to make friends for life and go to school.
“You still there?” Riley’s sharp tone prodded her to wakefulness.
“Yeah.”
“Good. I’ll be down in twenty minutes. We need to talk.” He hung up.
She groggily got up, brushed her teeth and fixed her hair as best as she could. There was nothing she could do about makeup, since she’d carried none of her toiletries with her to the premiere. She told herself it didn’t matter anyway, that looking good for Riley this morning would not help Sweetpea’s cause.
Then she remembered her clothes. The concierge informed her they wouldn’t be ready until eight this morning. Fantastic. At least she’d kept her bra and underwear.
She bundled the robe around her tightly. Despite how plush and voluminous it was, she still felt naked, especially when Riley knocked. She drew in a breath, gathered her dignity and opened the door.
The glacial shine in Riley’s eyes fractured briefly. His light brown hair—it’d been blond when she’d first met him—was mussed in that way only a Hollywood star like him seemed capable of pulling off. Beneath his fashionable scruff, faint lines of displeasure bracketed his firmly set lips. His black T-shirt and gray jeans reflected his mood.
“You’re not dressed.”
Good morning to you, too. She hoped Sweetpea inherited her manners. “And I won’t be until I get my clothes back from housekeeping.”
“I was going to take you to breakfast.”
“I thought you didn’t want me out in public.”
“I mean upstairs in my suite. With my mother.”
She spread her hands. “Well, unless you want me half naked...”
He forked his fingers through his hair, pulling his scalp back in that motion that among men seemed to mean “stay with me, hair, no use falling out over this.” Posed as he was, she admired his toned arms, the flatness of his abs and his deep chest stretching his T-shirt. Even with those shadows under his eyes, the man was a walking photo shoot.
She yanked her gaze away. “Nothing going your way lately, huh?” she asked wryly, heading back into the room. If she had to face him, she would have a cup of tea first, even if it was bad hotel room tea. “Must be so tough, having your entire life turned upside down. I wouldn’t know what that was like at all.”
“Hey, I never expected to see you again. And showing up at my biggest movie release and announcing you’re pregnant in front of the whole world—”
“I told you, I did everything I could to reach you—”
“I know, I know.” He rubbed the spot between his eyes. “Is there coffee? I haven’t had any yet.”
He was looking everywhere but at her. It shouldn’t have hurt, but it did. “Yeah. But it’s sh—sugar pie.”
“So it’s...good?”
“The opposite of that.” Man, her vocabulary was so limited when she couldn’t swear.
She brewed the pod system coffee, and soon he had a lukewarm cup of awful with the supposedly shelf-stable creamer she was certain hadn’t been anywhere near a cow.
He