He stood for a moment too long, staring down at her. Nervously, she lifted her gaze back to him. The suit was most definitely custom-made—the shirt was, also. Those trappings did little to disguise the raw power of his body. Again, she thought of a dagger in a perfectly made sheath. He was the sort of man who always got his way.
The sort she avoided like the plague. Because men like him never cared for women like her and they certainly never cared for babies like Marie. Christine was tired of being collateral damage.
She motioned toward the chair. She couldn’t handle him looming over her.
He sat, somehow making her standard-issue office chair look as regal as a throne. “I don’t think the question is what you can do for me, Ms. Murray. The question is what I can do for you.”
She needed to start carrying pepper spray. “I’m not interested.”
One corner of his mouth—not that she was staring—curved into a deadly smile. Christine was both simultaneously thankful that Sue had fixed her face and upset that she had. If only Christine looked like she was having the worst day of her life, this man might not be staring at her quite so intently. “Are you sure? You don’t even know why I’m here.”
This was something that was different from two years ago. Then, when the reporters had first started showing up at her home and following her to work in Kansas City, she hadn’t been ready for it. Footage of her stammering and looking petrified was all over the internet. Even she had to admit that she looked guilty as sin in those videos.
But she learned how to brace herself for the attacks and how to keep her face relatively calm. She wasn’t the same clueless girl she’d been back then. And besides, she already had advance warning.
“Who sent you? My father?”
That dangerous smile fell away from his face. Ha, Christine thought. She’d caught him off guard and that counted for something.
“No. But I’m going to make an educated guess that you received a phone call today—probably from Brian White.” Although she didn’t want to react, she could feel the blood draining out of her face. This guy knew who Brian White was? “Yes,” he said in a voice that might have been gentle coming from anyone else. “I can see that you did. I was hoping to get to you before he did.”
“Who do you work for?” And as much as she wanted to sound strong and brave, her voice came out shaky. Because how much did one woman have to endure?
Something flashed over his eyes and if she didn’t know better, she would’ve said it was guilt. “I am the executive vice-president and chief marketing officer of the Beaumont Brewery. I do not work for your father, nor do I work for any potential opponents of his. I have no interest in forcing you to publicly...” He waved a hand, as if he could pull the right words out of thin air. “Repudiate your life choices, nor do I have any interest in using them against you.”
Well. At least he hadn’t called Marie a sin. Although “life choice” wasn’t a huge step up.
Wait. Was that why he looked familiar? He was one of those bastards—Beaumont’s bastards. His brother or half brother—she had no hope of ever keeping the Beaumonts straight—had taken over the brewery. She’d only been in Denver for a few months when that happened. And besides, she didn’t drink anymore.
Why was the executive vice-president of the Beaumont Brewery offering her help? It felt like a trap. A really obvious trap. “Who are you, really?”
He didn’t answer the question. “I know what’s coming—and so do you. Because here’s what happened. Mr. White offered to redeem your reputation and, when you refused his so-called help, he threatened to make an example of you.”
Her vision swam. She wanted to go someplace quiet and dark and lie down and close her eyes and open them again and find out this entire thing had been one never-ending nightmare.
But this Daniel Lee was right. “How do you know?”
He looked pained—truly pained. He stood and pulled out a business card. He extended it to her, but she didn’t take it from him and, after an awkward moment, he set it on the corner of her desk. “Because I was the one who found out you were pregnant. I’m the one who made it a news story. Everything that happened to you was a direct result of my actions, which means that—” he went on, ignoring Christine’s gasp of horror “—everything that happens to you from this point on is also my responsibility. You’re going to get dragged, Christine. I know what White is capable of and we both know what your father is capable of. You need my help. You can’t handle this by yourself.”
“Get out.” She wanted to stand to make her point, but she didn’t trust her legs. It was him. This slick, smooth, unfortunately hot man had helped Brian White ruin her life. She really was going to throw up, adulting be damned. “If I see you anywhere near me or my daughter, I’m calling the police.”
He inclined his head in her direction, something that was almost a bow. “As you wish. But the offer stands. I no longer work as a political consultant, but I know how to play the game. I can protect you. You and your daughter.” He touched the tip of his index finger to the top of the silver frame that held a small picture of Marie on her first birthday.
Christine’s mouth was dry and her throat wasn’t working. She desperately wanted to tell this man to go to hell but before she could form the words, he gave her another one of those half bows, turned on his heel, and walked away.
* * *
Christine began to search during her breaks. Although he had not officially declared his candidacy, “sources close to Clarence Murray” were leaking teasers about his upcoming campaign—the kind of leaks that were designed to inspire his political base and raise funds from the faithful.
She couldn’t find anything about Daniel Lee. She didn’t even bother looking for Brian White. White was the scum of the earth and she didn’t want him to pollute her brain any more than necessary.
But Lee confused her. He had taken full credit for dragging her into the last campaign. If—and it was a huge if—his offer of help had been sincere, it had almost been...an apology.
But she couldn’t even find a mention of him that existed before he suddenly appeared by Zeb Richards’s side at the Beaumont Brewery. His official brewery biography stated that he had a long history of working for political campaigns but the man was like a ghost. And with a last name like Lee, there was no way to track him down.
She found herself staring at his official company photo. It wasn’t fair how good-looking he was. If she had to guess, she would say he was at least part Asian—but that didn’t exactly narrow things down. Lee was a popular name in several Asian countries. Searching “Daniel Lee” led to an overwhelming number of results.
She didn’t want his help. Frankly, she didn’t want anyone’s help. If there was one thing she had learned, it was that relying on other people was asking to be disappointed. She had thought she could rely on Doyle. After all, they’d been engaged. They’d taken the first step in publicly declaring their love. They’d created a child together.
But when she’d really needed him, Doyle had run. Not that she could blame him—if she could have gotten away from the media attention, she would’ve. Still, it hurt. It hurt that he sent a monthly child support check and had nothing to do with his daughter.
It was foolish to keep hoping that no one would pay attention to Christine and her daughter. But short of calling Daniel Lee and asking what, exactly, he had in mind when he said he could protect her and Marie, she didn’t know what else to do.
So she did nothing. She did her job and she took care of her daughter and foolishly hoped for the best.
* * *
“Who’s the target?”
Daniel leveled a look at Porter