Nervous, she brewed herself a cup of cinnamon apple tea and took the delicate china cup upstairs to the window seat in the master bedroom.
The cold December air seeped in through the windowpanes. From her perch on the third floor, she could see across Commonwealth Avenue, over the tops of the stately trees that lined the street where she lived, straight into Public Garden. The garden and adjacent Boston Common were an oasis in the heart of densely populated downtown Boston. A sanctuary laced with gorgeous statues, it was a haven even in the dead of winter.
Olivia pressed her hand to the glass and the cold bit her palm, as if it were taunting her. When she and Jamison had purchased the house, proximity to the lovely park was one of the things that completed their dream house. Since the day they’d moved in, Olivia had fantasized about arranging long playdates at the park for their children, and spending leisurely Sunday afternoons on a picnic blanket while Jamison tossed the football with their kids.
The ringing phone startled her from her reverie and she spilled hot tea on herself as she stumbled for the phone.
Finally, she thought as she grabbed up the receiver.
“Jamison?”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line before a male voice—not Jamison’s—said, “Good morning, Mrs. Mallory. This is Cameron McInerney. I hope I’m not calling too early, but I see on my call log that you called a few moments ago.”
“Yes, I did. Is Jamison okay?”
Another pause. “Yes, ma’am, he’s fine. In fact, he asked me to call you and let you know that his flight gets in at six this afternoon. He will be home shortly thereafter.”
Confused as to why Cameron was calling her rather than her husband taking the time to do so, Olivia paced as she listened.
“Cameron, I appreciate your call, but why isn’t Jamison calling me himself? I have been leaving messages for days.”
Again, Cameron paused a few beats too long. Finally, he said, “I don’t know, ma’am. I’m simply relaying the message he asked me to deliver.”
When they hung up, a chill seemed to permeate the air. Something wasn’t right. Despite how she tried to blame her uneasiness on nerves over her appointment with Dr. Demetrios, Olivia knew she was justified being upset with Jamison.
Couldn’t he even spare five minutes to call her himself?
At least he still planned to be home this evening, and she had a doctor’s appointment to get ready for. Right now she needed to use every ounce of energy to prepare herself for the news Chance Demetrios had waiting for her.
News that was going to change her life … one way or another.
Olivia paused in the threshold of Paul’s office and knocked lightly on the door frame. Her brother scowled up at her from the open magazine on his desk, Northeastern Journal of Medicine. When he saw her, he closed the magazine and changed his expression in a flash.
“Well, hello! Look who it is.” His voice rang with cheer, and if she hadn’t seen the annoyance on his face a moment ago, she might have believed nothing was wrong.
“I’m a little early for my follow-up with Chance, and I thought I’d stop by and say hi,” she said. “I don’t mean to disturb you.”
He drummed his fingers on his desk.
“Of course you’re not disturbing me. Come in. Please.” He gestured toward the chair in front of his desk.
“What are you reading?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
“It sure looked like something judging by the way you were scowling. Is everything okay?”
He breathed an exasperated sigh and raked a hand through his curly, dark hair. In that moment of letdown, she could see the dark circles under his brown eyes. He looked exhausted.
Olivia reached out across the desk and touched his arm. “What is it, Paul?”
He shook his head. “I might as well tell you now, because it’s likely to come out in the near future.”
Paul hesitated and held up the issue of the medical journal he’d been reading when she walked in.
“The institute is teetering on the brink of a public relations disaster. It’s a nightmare, Liv. A ticking time bomb that could explode in our faces if we don’t act fast and smart.”
She’d never seen her brother look so distressed, not in all the years since he’d picked up the Armstrong reins and started running the fertility institute that his father had dedicated his life to building.
“What’s going on?”
Paul cleared his throat. “This periodical ran a story saying that the institute used donor eggs and sperm to impregnate many wealthy couples.”
“Right, there’s nothing wrong with that. That’s what you do here.”
Paul frowned. “They alleged that some of the couples were unaware of the substitutions. That they thought they were impregnated with their own sperm and eggs.”
A cold wave of shock slapped her, and Olivia’s blood turned to ice. That sounded exactly like what Derek had suggested she do. Except he’d told her. He hadn’t tried to do the substitution behind her back. Though he’d urged her to lie to her husband in exactly that same way.
Oh, my God. “Paul, forgive me, but I have to ask. Is the allegation true?”
Her brother pulled a face. “Of course it’s not true. I can’t believe you’d think for even one second that it would be.”
She felt queasy watching her brother in such distress. His identity was so closely tied to the institute that if one questioned the business practices, they were essentially questioning his personal integrity.
Paul took pride in his scrupulously clean record. Derek, however, was altogether another animal. It was amazing how twin brothers could be such polar opposites.
Slow simmering anger roiled in the pit of her stomach as Derek’s suggestion rang her ears. There was no way she could tell Paul that Derek had essentially offered her the same arrangement.
No, if she told him, World War Three would erupt.
Even so, the longer she thought about it, the more she wondered if there was, perhaps, some truth to the allegation … brought on by Derek’s doings.
Somehow, she managed to ask, “What are you going to do about it?”
Paul sighed. “It’s tricky. Right now, only two minor medical journals have run the story. None of the mainstream news outlets have picked up on it—yet. Our attorneys have threatened to slap the publishers with libel suits, because they presented no hard proof.”
But she had proof. Right from Derek’s mouth.
“The problem is,” he continued, “if we file, it’s likely to let the cat out of the bag. Reporters are always trolling the court dockets. They could easily get wind of the case that way.”
Olivia scooted forward in her seat. “They’re going to print a retraction, aren’t they? They have to, since they have no proof.”
Uncertainty clouded his expression. “That’s another dangerous catch twenty-two. On one hand, it would be vindicating to have them admit in the pages of their own journals they were wrong. However, they’d probably bury the retractions in a places where they would go unnoticed. Besides, rehashing only gives new life to the story. Every day that the story goes unnoticed by the mass media means there’s less of a possibility that it’ll be discovered and broadcast to the world. So, a retraction could do more harm than