“She said Ron found evidence Carter was marrying her for her money,” the older man stated.
“Yes,” Griffin said, not knowing how much Eva had revealed.
“How did he draw that conclusion?”
Griffin forced himself to shrug nonchalantly. “The usual stuff. A financial profile that showed Carter’s living on a borrowed dime. Some interesting conversations caught on tape.”
Since Marcus hadn’t yet said anything about Carter two-timing Eva, Griffin kept his mouth shut on the topic.
Marcus nodded, looking, in fact, as if he didn’t want Griffin to go into further detail.
Griffin didn’t blame him. He wished he didn’t know the particulars. He could only assume the situation was even more uncomfortable for Marcus, given that Eva was his daughter and only child.
“I went to Eva first,” Griffin explained, skirting the issue of when exactly he’d gotten news from Ron, “because I thought she was entitled to hear the information before anyone else. I figured she’d want to tell you herself.”
“I appreciate your sticking your neck out here, Griffin.” The older man gave him a wry smile. “Eva probably wants to have us both fried, so I’m glad she got the news first, at least. There’s no sense jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire, eh?”
“Hang on to the thought.”
“That’s not the only thought I’m hanging on to,” the older man continued. “She told her mother she threw wine in Newell’s face when she confronted him.”
Griffin took grim satisfaction in the knowledge Eva had rallied and shown the grit he knew her capable of instead of moping over Newell.
He worried about her, even though she sometimes made him nuts. His concern for her was ultimately what had made him comfortable with Marcus’s request to have Newell investigated.
And that was also why he’d kissed her in her apartment—or so he’d told himself.
Let her think he was despicable, grabbing her for an inexplicable kiss at her vulnerable moment. At least it had kept her from spilling more unnecessary tears and engaging in misspent heartache.
When Marcus left his office moments later, Griffin’s phone rang.
He picked up, and the voice at the other end said, “Just where I thought I’d find you—tied to your desk. Working too hard still?”
Griffin rubbed his neck. It was always good to hear from his brother.
“Just moving pieces around the Monopoly board,” he quipped. “How are things going in the OR, kid?”
His brother laughed. “Seen one appendix, seen them all. But that’s not why I’m calling.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Tessa is pregnant.”
“Good Lord.” He faked a groan. “You a father.”
“From you, I’ll take that as a compliment,” his brother shot back.
Griffin found himself smiling. “Seriously, congratulations. Fantastic news.”
“Thanks. We’re thrilled.”
“First Monica, now you. Well, at least you and Monica will have something in common for once in your lives.”
Josh laughed. “You’re making me shudder.”
As he and his brother chatted about his sister-in-law’s pregnancy, and the excitement about the upcoming arrival, Griffin’s mind traveled back to Eva’s declaration yesterday.
I’ll never have a baby now.
He’d brooded over her words all last night.
He’d intended to save her from a two-timing fortune hunter. He hadn’t realized he’d also be throwing a wrecking ball into her plans to beat her biological clock.
What the hell. Eva was only thirty-two. Plenty of women had children in their thirties, especially these days.
He’d looked up premature menopause on the Internet last night and had discovered it referred to women going into menopause in their thirties or even twenties. Some women were apparently genetically disposed to having their periods stop early, and from what Eva had said about her mother, Griffin concluded she was one of them.
“Hey, Griffin, you still there?” his brother asked, his voice exasperated but tinged with amusement.
Griffin realized he’d let his mind drift off.
“Yeah, sorry,” he responded. “Listen, you and Tessa should come up to San Fran again soon. We’ll celebrate. In fact, I’ve been thinking of throwing a little cocktail party for some business associates in a couple of weeks. It’d be great if I could coax you and Monica up here along with the spouses.”
“I’ve got to check our schedule,” Josh replied, “but I’m sure Tessa would love to travel as much as she can before the doctor grounds her for the last months of her pregnancy.”
“Excellent.”
“Putting that big house of yours to good use, huh?” his brother teased. “I’ve been wondering what you’ve been doing besides rattling around in it.”
“Saving it for all the nephews and nieces that you and Monica are going to give me,” he responded smoothly.
His brother snorted in disbelief. “Yeah, right. One day your wild harem parties are going to come to light.”
His brother’s teasing was a running joke between them. The truth was he’d lived life with a single-minded ambition since their parents had died.
When he signed off on his call with Josh, Griffin swiveled his chair to stare out his office windows.
He was happy for his brother, but it hammered home to him Eva’s problem. The problem he’d helped create for her.
I’ll never have a baby now.
For years, his attraction to Eva had been like a mild irritation—an itch he could avoid scratching if he put his mind to it.
And he had put his mind to it. He’d been focused on building his company and on parenting his younger siblings.
The last thing he’d needed was to get involved with his mentor’s daughter and the ensuing complications.
But now that he’d scaled the mountain he’d set himself to climbing, he was able to stop and look around—and realize that maybe he’d fought his attraction to Eva for too long.
That he’d almost lost her to a worthless cad like Newell brought that last thought home to him.
Obviously Eva couldn’t be trusted to make a sane decision about men, and by God, if she’d settle for Newell, she’d settle for him.
Griffin scanned the glittering crowd clustered on the terrace and lawn, and recognized most of the guests as regulars on San Francisco’s society circuit. He supposed Eva knew many of them—some of them doubtlessly since her private school or Junior League days.
Weeks ago, he’d received an invitation to tonight’s 1930s-themed party at the Palo Alto estate of socialite Beth Harding and her husband, Silicon Valley mogul Oliver Harding.
He’d initially decided not to attend, even though he and Oliver were acquainted from sitting on a couple of corporate boards together.
Right before the RSVP deadline, however, he’d changed his mind. He knew Beth was a good friend of Eva’s, and Marcus had mentioned weeks ago that Eva was the party planner for tonight’s event.
He