Cinderella and the Playboy (8 page)

Not that he’d need help with this, he thought with
a dismissive frown. Georgina Appleby was a young woman with emotional problems. Even if he’d wanted to compromise his professional principles to sleep with her, her emotional vulnerability would have stopped him.

He’d been concerned about her stability when she’d originally come to him for help with fertility issues. His doubts had deepened when her actions became erratic. He’d referred her to a fellow physician who specialized in patients with her particular combination of conception problems and emotional issues.

Though he’d known she was emotionally unstable, it hadn’t occurred to him to consider whether she was mentally unbalanced.

Which is what she must be to file a paternity suit when a blood test will easily prove I’m not the father of her child,
he thought grimly. He could only imagine the kind of lawyer who would agree to take such a frivolous case.

He dialed his attorney’s office while walking to his car and having confirmed a meeting within a half hour, drove away from the institute. The route to his attorney’s office took him down the street, past the Coach House Diner.

Damn it,
he thought with frustration. He didn’t want to spend the day fighting another unfounded al
legation against his good name. He’d been scheduled to run a test analysis in the research lab today. Then he’d planned to order a dozen roses and knock on Jennifer’s door to deliver them in person. The night she’d spent in his bed had rocked his world and he was uncharacteristically unsure of her. He felt driven to cement their connection as soon as possible.

He smacked the heel of his hand against the leather-covered steering wheel in frustration. He had to get rid of the paternity suit and return to his normal life—and Jennifer.

The meeting with his attorney went well. He advised Chance to go home and search through his patient files to identify all contact with Georgina Appleby. The attorney wanted details of each time she’d had an appointment with Chance.

He had also been adamant that Chance maintain a low profile—and specifically told him not to date anyone, warning him that he was likely to be followed by reporters in search of fuel for the gossip columns.

Their conversation convinced Chance that he needed to protect Jennifer from unwanted publicity—which meant that just as he would stay away from the Armstrong Fertility Institute offices, he also had to stay away from the diner.

Fortunately, an appointment for the HLA blood
test was set within the week and once the results were back, Chance knew he’d be cleared—and free to see Jennifer again.

Still, putting his plans on hold, though necessary to protect her, didn’t sit well.

He dialed her home number from his cell phone but reached her answering machine. Finally, unwilling to explain the situation without speaking to her in person, he left a brief explanation telling her that something important had come up and he would be in touch in about a week.

Edgy and restless, frustrated that he hadn’t been able to talk to Jennifer in person, he drove home. His neighborhood was bursting with spring color—pale green leaves unfurling on trees and window boxes blooming with brilliant purple, blue, yellow and pink flowers. Although he’d chosen to buy his town house in part because of the charming neighborhood, today Chance barely noticed his surroundings. He was preoccupied with how much he’d wanted to talk to Jennifer in person. If he couldn’t see her, he needed to hear her voice.

He tossed his car keys on the kitchen’s tiled island countertop and switched on the coffeemaker. Within moments, the aroma of brewing coffee filled the air. Just as the timer beeped to announce the
coffee was ready to pour, the door knocker sounded, its rapping echoing through the entryway and into the kitchen.

Chance strode down the hallway and pulled open the door. A distinguished, silver-haired man in a gray suit stood on the porch, a chauffeur-driven, long black town car parked at the curb behind him.

“Hi, Dad.” Chance stepped back, holding the door wide. “This is a surprise—I didn’t know you were in town.”

“I have a dinner meeting with a group of investors tonight.” Jonathon Demetrios walked past his son and into the oak-floored entryway. “Since I have a free hour, I thought I’d drop by to say hello.”

Not bloody likely,
Chance thought, wondering what had really brought his father to Boston. Whatever it was, he knew from past experience that it was easier to let John Demetrios have his say, then usher him out the door as quickly as possible.

“Come into the kitchen,” he said aloud. “I just made a fresh pot of coffee.”

When his father was seated on one of the chrome and black suede stools, a mug of coffee on the counter in front of him, Chance picked up his own steaming mug.

“Why don’t you tell me why you’re really here,
Dad,” he said, leaning his hips against the cabinet counter behind him.

“All right.” John took a newspaper clipping from his inner jacket pocket and slid it across the counter toward Chance. “Your mother and I are concerned about this woman you’re dating.”

Chance picked up the clipping, his gaze narrowing over the black and white picture. The photographer for the Boston newspaper’s society page had captured him dancing with Jennifer. There was no use denying the expression on his face or hers—the photo highlighted the smoldering attraction between them.

“Nice snapshot,” he commented.

“That’s not the point,” John said impatiently, frowning.

“What
is
the point, Dad?”

“The point,” John urged with emphasis, “is that this young woman is a waitress at a local diner. Certainly not the kind of person my heir should be escorting to an important social event.”

Chance bit off a curse. He didn’t bother asking his father how he knew Jennifer was a waitress and where she worked. John Demetrios had a staff of attorneys at his beck and call. He’d probably had an investigator’s detailed report about Jennifer on his desk within twenty-four hours of seeing the photo. He
scrubbed his hand down his face and eyed his father wearily. “Don’t tell me that you’re here to deliver the proper-behavior-for-the-Demetrios-heir lecture again, Dad. I thought you realized I won’t listen after the last time we did this.”

“The last time you dated inappropriate women was your senior year in college,” John snapped. “In the intervening years, your mother and I assumed you’d matured and now had better sense. You have obligations, Chance, whether you want to acknowledge them or not.”

Chance held up his hand, palm out. “Don’t, Dad. Just…don’t.” He drew a deep breath to keep from raising his voice. “Who I date is my business. And I will never choose a woman based on a set of antiquated rules created by you and Mom. Certainly not based on whether the woman is suitable for a Demetrios heir. And when I marry—
if
I ever marry,” he added when his father flushed with anger, his mouth opening to speak, “I’ll choose the woman. And it’s not likely she’ll be someone from the handful of families approved by you and Mom.”

“You have an obligation to the family name,” John spoke tightly. “For years, your mother and I have been tolerant of your rebelliousness, hoping you’d eventually take your proper place….”

“Father.” Chance held on to his temper with an effort. “My proper place is helping my patients. I’m a doctor. I’m never going to live the life of a trust fund baby. I told you and Mother when I entered med school—my first obligation will always be to my patients.”

“I suppose this waitress you’re dating thinks she’s struck gold,” John condemned scathingly. “Not only is she dating a doctor, but you’re a Demetrios.”

Chance considered the older man while he fought to hold on to his temper. “You know,” he said slowly, “I doubt she even knows who the Demetrios family is. Or that she would give a damn.”

“Humph.” John stood, straightening his jacket with annoyed tugs. “That’s highly unlikely. Young women in her class always want to move up. She knows who you are, all right.”

“I’m going to forget you said that,” Chance said evenly. “But in the future, don’t make disparaging remarks about Jennifer.”

His father’s eyes widened, his expression taken aback. “Are you saying you’re actually serious about this woman?”

“I’m saying I don’t want her harmed because my father is a snob,” Chance explained bluntly.

“You may think I’m a snob, but I’ve had more ex
perience in these matters than you,” John told him flatly. “Getting involved with women outside our class invariably leads to disaster. I’ve seen it happen over and over again with friends and family.”

“We’ll have to agree to disagree,” Chance countered, as unconvinced now as he had been by his parents’ arguments on the subject since he was fourteen. “Is Mother looking forward to the cruise you booked for her birthday?”

Fortunately for Chance’s temper, his father allowed the change of subject and didn’t return to his warnings about dating Jennifer. A half hour later, Chance closed the door on John’s departing back.

“I love them but my family makes me crazy,” he muttered to himself as he headed down the hall to his home office. And he considered himself damn lucky they didn’t seem to know about the paternity suit yet.

But unfortunately for Chance, the picture of him and Jennifer at the ball and the gossip column paragraphs weren’t the only items that included the Demetrios name. The following afternoon, he opened the
Boston Herald
and found a quarter-page article with the details of the paternity suit featured prominently in the local news section. The story was accompanied by a grainy photo of Georgina Appleby side-by-side with a photo of him.

He swore out loud and headed for the shower. Dressing in record time, he drove to the diner. Much to his frustration, Jennifer had already completed her shift and gone home.

“Will you tell her I came by?” he asked Linda, the blonde waitress he’d seen often talking with Jennifer.

“Sure.” She poured coffee in his mug. “But why don’t you just give her a call? Or drop by her apartment?”

Chance didn’t want to confess he’d left several messages on Jennifer’s answering machine but she hadn’t returned his calls. He was beginning to suspect she was having second thoughts about spending the night with him. And if she’d read about the lawsuit, he wouldn’t blame her.

“I can’t go by her apartment. I’m being followed by a photographer for the
Boston Herald
’s gossip columnist. I recognized him when I parked in front of the clinic,” he informed her. “And I don’t want the guy following me to Jennifer’s house. I’d just as soon keep her off his radar.”

Linda’s eyes widened. “Is this because you took Jennifer to the Founder’s Ball?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Something else.”

“Is he following you now? Where is he?” she whispered, glancing furtively behind her.

“Sitting in the booth nearest the door.”

She twisted, craning her neck to see around an older couple on their way to the exit. “The little guy with the hat? Is that him?” She looked back at Chance and sniffed. “He doesn’t look like he’s big enough to cause you any trouble.”

“Maybe not, but that camera of his makes a powerful weapon,” Chance said dejectedly.

The waitress leaned closer. “Would you like us to keep him here while you leave out the back?”

“I appreciate the offer, but he’s been parked outside my house so he knows where I live. He’d just go back there and wait for me.”

“What on earth did you do that has a reporter following you?” Her eyes were curious.

“Not a damn thing,” Chance growled. “But it’s going to take a week or so to clear up what he
thinks
I did and in the meantime, I’m stuck with having reporters tailing me.”

“Well, keep him away from Jennifer,” Linda advised. “I don’t think she’d appreciate having a reporter camped on her doorstep. She’s a very private person.”

That was just what he was afraid of, Chance thought, though he didn’t voice his concern about dragging Jennifer into the gossip storm currently
harassing his personal life. “I respect that,” he said instead. “And I don’t want the gossip columnists to know I’m seeing her.”

Linda smiled at him with quick warmth. “It’s nice to see a guy concerned about her protection.”

Something about the way she phrased the statement set off warning bells for Chance. “That sounds as if somebody hasn’t protected her in the past…”

Linda grimaced and waved a hand dismissively. “The last guy she was involved with was her husband. I’ve never met him but he sounds like a jerk,” she said bluntly. “If any of Jennifer’s friends thought you were anything like him, we’d form a posse and come after you,” she warned.

Chance nodded solemnly, acknowledging the not-so-subtle threat. “If I treated her badly, I’d deserve it,” he conceded.

“Good to know.” She lifted her head, glancing over her shoulder to nod at the cook. “I have to go.” She looked back at him. “Are you sure I can’t get you something besides coffee?”

“No, thanks.”

She leaned closer, her expression serious. “Take care of our girl, Doc. We think a lot of her.”

“So do I.”

His response seemed to satisfy her and she nodded abruptly before hurrying off.

Chance drained his mug and rose, shoved a hand in his jeans pocket for cash and counted out bills before tossing several on the table. Then he headed for the exit, pausing to allow an elderly woman to hobble past before he left the diner, the doorbell jingling musically.

At the moment Chance walked out of the Coach House Diner in Boston, in New York City, Jonathon Demetrios finished reading the article detailing the paternity action involving his son.

His mouth tight with anger, he closed the door to his office to keep his wife from hearing and dialed a number while walking back to the desk.

“Maxwell Detective Agency.”

“I want to speak with Andrew Maxwell.”

“One moment, please.”

While he waited, Jonathon reread the article, his anger growing.

He knew very well his son would be furious if he ever learned his father had interfered. Nonetheless, the scandal threatened the entire family with damage to their good name.