The Baby Promise Page 2

  “No, I’m not quite sure you do,” my father said. “Why haven’t you asked that lovely woman to marry you yet?”

  “Oh, god,” I said, burying my face in my hands and groaning. “Not you, too!”

  My father sighed in disgust. “Peter, she’s a perfectly suitable woman. She comes from a well-bred family, and she knows how to act in public.”

  “And she’s a selfish, demanding bitch,” I said, shaking my head. “She wouldn’t be a good mother to our children.”

  “Peter, that doesn’t matter – they’ll have nannies, and they’ll be in private schools, regardless,” my father said angrily. “Do you think I chose your mother because I thought she would be a good mother?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Evidently not,” I said. “I barely remember seeing her. Do you remember what my first word was?”

  My father didn’t reply.

  “It was Helen,” I said. “You know – my nanny?”

  My father shrugged. “And you turned out perfectly well,” he said. “Now, it is your turn to choose a bride.”

  “I’m not ready to get married,” I replied. “I would hope you could respect that decision.”

  “You’re going to have to grow up,” my father thundered, anger seeping into his voice for the first time. “You think it doesn’t matter? Have you forgotten our contract?”

  I sighed. “No,” I said. “And let me remind you – I’m only thirty-three.”

  My father threw his head back and laughed. “You’re a fool,” he said. “It takes ten months to make a baby, Peter. And that’s if your wife gets lucky on the first try! If you cannot produce an heir by the age of thirty-five, this company and everything that comes with it goes straight to Agnes!”

  I stared. My father had always threatened me with that, but until now, I’d never thought that he was serious. Agnes, my younger sister, was in no way equipped to deal with such a responsibility. At twenty-five, she was still a girl – she wasn’t even out of graduate school yet!

  “You wouldn’t do that,” I scoffed bitterly. “You wouldn’t take this company away from someone competent and reward Agnes for doing nothing but flunking out of every Ivy in the country!”

  My father narrowed his eyes. He looked every inch the angry Greek patriarch.

  “Try me,” he growled. “Because I’ve about had it, Peter. Now get out of my office.”

  I sighed. I knew the battle was over…and as usual, my father had won.

  --

  The rest of the day felt like torture. I looked at my phone once – the screen was full of missed calls and texts from Pamela – before tossing it into my briefcase and trying to shove all thoughts of my girlfriend out of my mind. By the end of the day, I was parched for a drink. After saying goodnight to Evangeline, I grabbed my bag and headed out.

  Ryan, my best friend, met me outside of a little Italian restaurant in the Village. He grinned when he saw me, and we did our secret fraternity handshake before heading inside and sitting at the bar.

  Before I even sat down, I flagged a waiter and asked for a beer. As soon as he’d run off, Ryan turned to me with a smirk on his face.

  “That bad, huh?”

  I rolled my eyes. “We aren’t talking about me today,” I said.

  Ryan snickered. “Poor little rich boy,” he said. “Had a bad day at the office.”

  I groaned. “Shut up.”

  Ryan laughed. “Man, I’m just giving you shit,” he said.

  “Yeah,” I said dryly. “I know.”

  The waiter returned with my beer, and I took a long drink before pulling my phone out of my pocket and looking at the screen. There were six more missed calls from Pamela, and twenty texts. Rolling my eyes, I turned my phone off and threw it in my bag.

  “Damn, man,” Ryan said. “You’re really in one bad mood.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Well, that’s what happens when your father decides to yank your company away from you for no good reason.”

  Ryan shrugged and gave me a guilty grin. “Must be a nice problem to have,” he said.

  “Yeah,” I said sarcastically. “My life is just amazing.”

  Chapter 2

  Honey

  “Honey?”

  I glanced up from my desk just in time to see Nate, my boss, striding out of his office. He crossed the room in long strides until he was standing just in front of my desk.

  “What?” I frowned. “Is everything okay?”

  Nate sighed. “I need that briefing on the Anderson case as soon as you have it,” he said. “They’re coming in today, and they want an update.”

  I nodded, feeling overwhelmed. “Yes,” I said. “I’ll have it for you in an hour.”

  Nate groaned. “Honey, really? You’re better than that,” he said, narrowing his eyes at me. “Was I wrong to brag that I had the best paralegal in New York?”

  I flushed and bit my lip, shoving my other work to the side and digging in my desk for the Anderson file. “No,” I said. “Give me fifteen minutes, and I’ll have it on your desk by the time you get back from lunch.”

  Nate grinned, managing to look almost handsome. “Thanks,” he said. “You really are the best. Want anything?”

  “No,” I said. Not like I’d have time to eat it, anyway, I added silently in my head. I’d been chained to my desk for four hours, and while I was starving, there was no time for lunch. Today was the busiest day I’d ever had at Baker & Sons, the firm where I worked as a paralegal. My boss, Nate Baker, was nice but demanding…and I was starting to feel like I was running out of steam.

  As soon as Nate left the office, I spread the Anderson file out on my desk. As I began to comb through the documents, my eyes glazed over, and I yawned until my jaw cracked. I’d been working for Nate for five years, ever since I graduated from a community college in the city, but on days like today, it felt like my first foray into the legal world.

  Growing up, I’d never expected to have this kind of life. I’d grown up on Long Island, in a house so big that tourists often took pictures of it and called it a castle. It had been a life of luxury, of wealth, of constant pampering and indulgence. When I was a teenager, I’d gone to a prestigious girls’ boarding school in Connecticut, and my father had promised me a ticket into any private liberal arts school that I wanted.

  But when I was seventeen, it all came crashing down. I was just about to graduate from Miss Farmer’s – heck, I’d even bought the white graduation gown and a fancy pair of white heels.

  That was when I’d gotten the call. My mother, Andrea, was dead of breast cancer.

  And we were broke.

  The news had practically killed me. I’d had to drop out of school and go back home…but my father no longer lived in a castle. Now he was renting a small apartment on the outskirts of the city, trying to make ends meet by selling water bottles outside on a hot day.

  I’d never understood why my parents had always lied to me. I’d always assumed that we were fine – we spent money like it was water slipping through our fingers, didn’t that mean we were rich?

  It had been a hard lesson to learn that my whole life had been a lie. I wasn’t a princess – I was a piece of trash, fit for the garbage incinerator. It had taken nearly all my strength to put myself through city college – I worked as a waitress and a go-go dancer in seedy clubs – but I’d done it. I finally had a job and an apartment…but somehow, life wasn’t nearly as satisfying as it had been when I’d been wealthy.

  Just as I was about to dig into the last documents of the Anderson file, my cell phone buzzed across my desk. I picked it up immediately and swiped to open the call – somehow, I just knew it was Nate, calling to tell me about some other emergency case.

  “Hey, Nate,” I said quickly. “Don’t worry – I’ll still have the file for you before you get back from lunch.”

  “Hello, Miss Honey,” a soft female voice said. “I am so sorry to disturb you – it is Magda, remember me?”

  I put my hand to my chest and g
asped. “Oh my gosh,” I said quickly. “Magda! Is everything okay?”

  “Yes, yes, things are fine,” Magda replied. “But Miss Honey, we need you at home. Your father, well, he is not well.”

  I frowned and bit my lip. I hadn’t spoken much with my father since he’d revealed that we were truly broke, which had been almost ten years ago.

  “What happened?”

  Magda sighed. “I would really rather talk to you in person, Miss Honey,” Magda said respectfully.

  I sighed. “I really can’t leave work right now,” I said. “You might have to wait until the end of the day.”

  “Miss Honey, it very important,” Magda said, a trace of her Romanian accent slipping into her voice.

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. While I knew Nate wouldn’t be thrilled with me for leaving, there wasn’t much I could do – after speaking with Magda, I knew I wouldn’t be able to focus for the rest of the day.

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll just finish up this thing, and I’ll be there in an hour or so.”

  “Yes, Miss Honey,” Magda said. “I see you soon.”

  We hung up, and I sighed deeply before sliding my phone into my purse. I couldn’t imagine what was wrong. My father and I weren’t on good terms…why did Magda care so much about whether or not I went out to see him?

  Then again, Magda had always been a cipher to me. Growing up, my parents had employed dozens of servants – I had two nannies alone – and Magda had been just one of the bunch. But after the news broke about my father being truly impoverished, all the servants had left in disgust. Magda had stayed, out of loyalty to my father, even after my mother died. My father hadn’t paid her in years, but Magda still did everything for him. She cooked, she cleaned, she did the grocery shopping. The last time I’d spoken to my father, he’d revealed that Magda even paid the household bills.

  “I can’t believe this,” I muttered under my breath. Straightening the bow on the collar of my blouse, I stood up from my desk and swept the Anderson paperwork into my arms before carrying it into Nate’s office and placing it on the desk. Just as I was about to leave, Nate strolled in with two foil-wrapped sandwiches.

  “Honey, I thought you might want this,” Nate said. He wrinkled his nose and winked at me. “They had chicken salad downstairs…your favorite!”

  “Thanks,” I said, feeling a slight touch of guilt as I accepted the sandwich. “Um, Nate, the thing is-“

  Nate frowned. “What?”

  I sighed. “I’m so sorry, but I got a call from my father’s housekeeper, and she says he’s really sick. She asked if I could come out to New Jersey and visit with him.”

  Nate pressed his lips into a firm line. “Honey,” he said. “This is a very important week for us.”

  “I know,” I said quickly. “And I’m really, really sorry about that. But if he’s dying, or something…I don’t know, I don’t think Magda would have called unless it was something really important.”

  Nate sighed. “Okay,” he said. “That’s fine with me, Honey. Could you come in early tomorrow?”

  I nodded. “Oh, yes,” I replied. “Sure. I can stay late, too.”

  Nate smiled a little. “Thank you, but I don’t think that will be necessary.” He licked his lips, and suddenly, I got the impression he was feeling nervous. “You still owe me that dinner, you know.”

  I flushed hotly. “I haven’t forgotten,” I said. “But we’ve both been so busy, I don’t know.”

  “It’s going to happen one day, Honey,” Nate said with a smirk.

  I bit my lip. “I know,” I said softly. I forced a smile. Ever since I’d started working for Baker & Sons, Nate had been asking me out to dinner on like, a regular basis. He was cute, rich, and most of the time, very charming…so I didn’t know why I didn’t feel attracted to him.

  “Well, go on, I’ve taken up enough of your time,” Nate said, glancing down at his watch. I got the impression that he was saying that more for his benefit than my own, but I smiled anyway.

  “Thanks, Nate,” I said softly. “I really appreciate this.”

  As soon as I was back at my desk, I stuck my laptop into my bag and grabbed my sunglasses. Even though I wasn’t leaving to do anything fun, going out of the office in the middle of the day had a reckless, almost holidayish feel and I couldn’t help but smile as I sauntered out into the bright New York sunlight.

  As soon as I was on the train, though, I started to feel nervous. Why hadn’t Magda been able to tell me what was wrong on the phone? Normally she didn’t beat around the bush like that. I knew she was very loyal to my father, but she’d practically raised me. If anything, I’d been closer to her than Mom and Dad growing up.

  Thinking about my childhood filled me with a mix of bitterness and nostalgia. If I closed my eyes, I could still see our mansion on Long Island. We’d had a Grecian-style pool, with columns and statues and waterfalls and lots of natural shade. In the summer, my friends had come over, and we’d swam all day. Butlers and maids had brought a constant rotation of snacks, sweetened iced tea, and fluffy, warm towels.

  I’d never realized how privileged I’d been. All my friends had been the same way. We’d all had silly, impractical names, too – the kinds of names you’d never expect a grown, working woman to have. Honey, Muffy, Skippy.

  It was enough to make you roll your eyes, once you were far away from it all.

  The train from New York City to the suburb in Jersey where my dad lived took about an hour and a half. I was nervous the whole time. I’d brought along my work, as well as a new magazine from the train station…but I couldn’t stop thinking about my dad.

  When my mom died, it had been a complete shock. She’d waited until the cancer was stage four before going to the doctor. I could still see her now – reclining on a deck chair by the pool, puffing on a Turkish cigarette and reading the same novels over and over again. My mother had been a true lady. I’d never seen her slouch, burp, or cry. She’d always smiled, and she’d kept the same weight since giving birth to me.

  I’d always thought that when I grew up, I’d be just like her. But now that I was twenty-six, an adult woman, I realized that wasn’t who I was at all.

  I was like a blend of both my parents, with some Magda added in. Sure, I was spoiled and selfish. But putting myself through city college while working full time hadn’t been easy. Like Magda, I was a hard worker.

  But like my mother and father, I hated the idea of confronting anything unpleasant in my life.

  When the train pulled into the Jersey station, I climbed out and called a cab. It was hot and humid outside – soon, there were sweat stains in the armpits of my polyester blouse. The cab wasn’t air-conditioned, and I rolled down the window and stuck my face into the breeze, closing my eyes and trying to enjoy the constant rush of warm air against my face.

  The cab slowed to a stop, and I pulled out my wallet, handing the driver the exact change plus a small tip. He gave me a dirty look, but I shrugged. It was obvious from my father’s building and my cheap clothing that I was no longer a wealthy woman.

  I knocked on the door, wincing as I did so. The paint was chipped and peeling, making the house look even smaller and grubbier than it really was.

  The door swung open, and Magda stood there. She pulled me into a tight hug, and I was surprised to feel the sharp blades of her shoulders under her cotton top. She was even smaller and thinner than I remembered.

  “Miss Honey, you came,” Magda said, sounding both relieved and pleased. “This way, Miss Honey.”

  “You really don’t have to call me miss anymore,” I said self-consciously. “We’re not rich, Magda.”

  Magda took my hand and narrowed her eyes at me. “You are rich with life,” she said sternly. “Do not forget that, Miss Honey.”

  I sighed. I wasn’t sure what Magda thought – maybe that I had some fairytale life in the city – but the reality was grim and depressing. I had an apartment in Brooklyn that I shared with my best friend
, a cat named Lily, and a job at a decent firm.

  But I was just like a million other girls from New York. There was nothing even remotely unique about me, not even my bourgeoisie background.

  “Miss Honey, in here,” Magda said. She was still holding my hand, and she led me into the kitchen.

  When I saw my father, I gasped out loud.

  “Honey,” Dad said, sounding weak and tired.

  “Dad,” I said, tears filling my eyes. “What happened to you?”

  My dad sighed. He was sitting in a tacky, furred green armchair that I couldn’t remember having seen before. His skin was pale and papery – almost translucent – and his green eyes were tinged with yellow. Dad and I had always had the same eyes, green as emeralds, but now he looked sickly…barely alive, even.