The Package Deal. Marion Lennox

* *

      The office was chaos. One day out and the sky had fallen. Still, it had been worth it, he decided, making one apologetic phone call after another, trying to draw together the threads of the deal he’d abandoned the day before.

      Mary was worth it.

      She was with him all day, her image, the memory of her body against his, the warmth of her smile, the taste of her tears.

      He was getting soft in his old age. He’d vowed never to feel this way about a woman.

      About anyone.

      He didn’t want to feel responsible for anyone but somehow it had happened. Ready or not, he was responsible for Mary. The mother of his child.

      His woman?

      He wanted to phone Jake.

      Why? To tell him he’d met someone? Jake’s attitude to women was the same as his. His brother had made one foray into marriage and it’d turned into a disaster. The woman had needed far more than Jake would—or could—give.

      The Logan boys weren’t the marrying kind.

      But Mary...

      No. He would not get emotionally involved.

      Who was he kidding? He already was.

      Which meant he had to help her, he thought as the long day wore on, as the deal finally reached its drawn-out conclusion, which meant the financial markets could relax for another week.

      He thought of what the lawyer back in New Zealand had told him. ‘She really is alone.’

      If she was alone and in trouble...with his baby... There had to be a solution.

      Finally at nine o’clock he signed the last document, left it on his secretary’s desk and prepared to leave. But first one phone call.

      Mathew Arden. Literary agent for some of the biggest names in the world.

      ‘Well,’ he said, as Mathew answered the phone. ‘Am I right?’

      * * *

      She walked her legs off. She strolled down Fifth Avenue, she checked out Tiffany & Co., was awed by the jewellery and chuckled as the salespeople were lovely to her, even though they must know she could hardly afford to look at their wares.

      She took the subway to Soho, just so she could say she’d been there, and spent time in its jumble of eclectic shops. She bought a pair of porcelain parrots for her next-door neighbour who was looking after Heinz.

      She bought a truly awesome diamanté collar for Heinz. He’d show up every dog in the North Island.

      She took the Staten Island ferry and checked out the Statue of Liberty from close quarters.

      ‘You’re just as beautiful as the pictures,’ she told her ladyship, and felt immeasurably pleased.

      She ended up on Broadway and got a cheap ticket to see the last half of a musical she’d only ever seen on film.

      She bought herself a hamburger, headed back on the subway to Ben’s apartment—and was weirdly disappointed when he wasn’t home.

      She’d sort of wanted him to be impressed that she hadn’t hung around all day waiting for him, but maybe she’d done too much trying to prove it. Her feet hurt.

      She ran a bath and soaked, all the time waiting for his key in the lock.

      ‘Just like I’m the little woman,’ she told herself. ‘Waiting for my man to come home.’

      She let herself imagine it, just for a moment. If she and Ben were to take this further...

      This’d be her life.

      ‘Um, no,’ she said, reaching out for a gorgeous-looking bottle of bath salts. Sprinkling it in. Lying back to soak some more. ‘You know you never want to commit to some guy who’ll turn out to be just like Dad. This is fantasy and nothing more.’

      * * *

      It was after ten when Ben reached home and he was feeling guilty.

      This was what it’d be like if he ever tried marriage, he told himself. This was why Jake’s marriage had foundered. The Logan boys’ lives didn’t centre round women. But still, the thoughts of the night before were with him. The memory of Mary in his bed was enough to make him turn the key with eagerness.

      ‘Mary?’

      No answer.

      Her purse was on the counter. Her jacket was hanging on the chair. It felt good to see them. He liked it that Mary was in his apartment.

      He checked his bedroom, half-hopeful that she’d be lying there as she’d lain last night.

      ‘In your dreams,’ he muttered. ‘To have a woman wait for you...’

      He checked her bedroom. She was curled in the centre of her bed, cocooned in pillows. She looked exhausted. She looked small and vulnerable and alone.

      She looked...like Mary.

      This woman was planning on returning to New Zealand to bear his child. With no support.

      He didn’t wake her. He headed to his study to think, and think he did. The idea that had been idling in the back of his mind all day was starting to coalesce into a plan.

      It made sense—and Mary was a sensible woman.

      He wasn’t entirely sure how Heinz would fit in with the pedigree pooches who strutted round Central Park but he was pretty sure Heinz could hold his own.

      Could Mary hold her own?

      He was sure she could. In her own way she was as independent as he was.

      He flicked open his laptop. There was work to be done, though not business. The financial world could manage without him tonight. Tonight Ben Logan was plotting a future for his child.

      And his woman?

      Be sensible, he told himself. There are levels of responsibility. You can take the practical route; just don’t let the emotional side interfere.