Johnson Family 2: Perfect (8 page)

He hung up the phone and went to work.

Chapter Eight

Daniella pulled up to the gate of the house she’d shared with Cyrus for a year and sat there, waiting. It was nightfall and the neighborhood was quiet.

As luck would have it, the gates swung inward to let out a vehicle. It was the van from Aldi’s Market; they’d probably dropped off Cyrus’s weekly grocery delivery. No change there—everything on schedule. She gripped the steering wheel and slipped in on the right side as they drove out on the left. If no one was paying close attention to the video camera trained at the gate’s entrance, she’d have the element of surprise on her side.

She entered the house as if she belonged there and was immediately accosted by the memories. She and Cyrus used to eat breakfast in the kitchen down the hall when he came back from his morning run through the neighborhood. She also recalled reheating meals for a late night dinner and going up to the rooftop patio to enjoy them together under the stars.

Those moments had been special but she couldn’t afford to dwell on them now. Nostalgia led the way to weakness.

Now to find him.

She’d only walked a few feet when Ms. Ernestine appeared, her gray and white uniform crisp and clean. Damn.

Officially Cyrus’s housekeeper, she also cooked many of his meals and worked closely with the house manager to maintain the house and grounds. Ms. Ernestine eyed her with a surprised smile. They hadn’t seen each other since she left. “Mrs. Johnson, what are you doing here?”

“I, um…”

“You’re too late for Katie’s birthday party,” Ms. Ernestine supplied. “The last of them left about thirty minutes ago.”

“Oh no, too bad.” She tried to gauge the older woman’s disposition. Apparently, Cyrus hadn’t told her anything negative. “Is Cyrus around? I’d like to talk to him.”

Ms. Ernestine stood in place, but her expression remained pleasant. “Mr. Johnson is in his office, working.”

Good, she could get him alone right away. Relieved, Daniella smiled. “Thank you.”

“It’s good to see you again, Mrs. Johnson.”

Ms. Ernestine continued on to her destination and Daniella breathed a quiet sigh of relief she’d gotten this far. Nothing at all like the fiasco at the Johnson Enterprises building.

Cyrus’s office was at the back of the house where he could work in peace and quiet, so she had quite a walk and plenty of opportunity to see reminders of their life together. Her chest constricted when she saw all of the changes she’d made were still in place. Several contemporary pieces of art lined the walls, and she’d removed the drapes from the windows in the main corridor that ran along one side of the house, leaving them bare to allow in plenty of light.

Her steps slowed at the entrance to the reading room. Books lined the shelves and a skylight allowed sunshine to pour in without restriction. The Chinese powder-blue vase she’d set on one of the bookshelves remained in place. Cyrus hadn’t been fond of the color, and she’d fully expected it to be gone.

Why
had
he left it there? Why had he left any of it—the paintings, the wall hangings, even furniture remained that she’d chosen. How could he live here with all of these reminders of her and their failed marriage?

Because in his eyes, their marriage hadn’t failed.

Her confusion gave way to the anger that had prompted this visit. He hadn’t removed anything because he’d had every intention of forcing her to come back. By any means necessary.

With her anger freshly nourished by thoughts of Cyrus’s manipulative tactics, Daniella started once again toward her destination.

At the end of the quiet corridor, she flung open the door and slammed it behind her, happy to have the element of surprise on her side. Cyrus paused in the middle of pacing behind his desk, tension ball in hand.

For a fleeting second her heart tripped. This was the third time she’d seen him within a short period, and the additional contact was doing strange things to her nerves. So was the fact he didn’t have on a suit jacket and looked particularly stylish and attractive wearing a pair of wide suspenders over his white shirt. Tiny vibrations filled her stomach. He’d always looked so damn good in his suspenders—downright delicious, in fact—and this time was no different.

Damn him.

“We need to talk.
Now
,” she said. She marched forward and slammed down the correspondence Roland had dropped off. “What is this?”

Cyrus carefully set the ball on the desk and bent over the phone. “Gentlemen, we’ll have to postpone this conversation.”

Her cheeks flushed hot, and she allowed herself a brief moment of contrition. She hadn’t known he was in the middle of a meeting when she barged in.

“I have a hysterical woman in my office and this may take some time to resolve. On Monday I’ll have my secretary contact you to reschedule our meeting.” He hit a button and turned off the speaker.

Daniella bristled at the disparaging remark he used to describe her. She’d show him hysterical if that’s what he really wanted.

“What is this?” She jabbed a finger at the wrinkled letter she’d dropped on his desk.

He slid it toward him and scanned the contents. “Looks like a dismissal letter,” he said.

“
Your
dismissal letter. You bought a majority interest in BoldMine, Inc. and fired Roland. How could you? He’s worked hard for years to get this company launched.”

Cyrus folded his arms across his chest, the movement bringing attention to his hard pecs. Was his chest bigger? Even his biceps looked larger.

“He did such a good job of selling the company at dinner the other night, I have no doubt I made the right decision to invest in BoldMine.”

“All of a sudden you’re interested in inventory software?” Daniella demanded. His personal investments tended toward real estate and businesses that complemented his family’s businesses.

“You know I have a diverse portfolio.”

“It’s not that damn diverse. Don’t patronize me, Cyrus. Your investment had nothing to do with diversifying your portfolio. You wanted to destroy his life.”

He sat down and rested his hands on the cushioned arms of the chair. Leaning back, his expression turned indolent, uncaring. “Destroy his life? You’re being a bit melodramatic, aren’t you?”

“If anyone’s being dramatic, it’s you. Those were your words three years ago, remember? And you followed through. For no good reason, you had Roland dismissed from a company he founded.”

“Maybe he should have stayed away from you.” His tone grated on her nerves.

That was why no man within the entire city of Seattle would come near her or risk being seen with her. Not while she was still Cyrus Johnson’s wife. His power and influence was far reaching.

The Seattle social circle for the rich and famous was small, and every other single man her age—even those who were older—steered clear because of her ties to Cyrus. None of them wanted to risk his wrath—yet another reason she needed to be free of him.

As long as she remained his wife, she couldn’t get a date even if she paid for one. She’d dropped the Johnson part of her name after they separated, yet every article about her gallery described her as “the estranged wife of Cyrus Johnson, billionaire brewer and head of Johnson Enterprises.” As if the modifying phrase was a title attached to her name. She was inextricably tied to him, with no identity of her own.

“I can’t respect a man who goes back on his promise. What choice did I have?” He tried to look apologetic but failed miserably. She wasn’t even sure he was really trying. “What were you doing with him anyway?”

“I forgave him for what he did. Who knows, we may rekindle or relationship after you and I divorce.”

The comment had been meant to provoke him, but Cyrus chuckled knowingly. He didn’t believe a word she said. “You expect me to believe you’re going back to him? After being with me? Come on, Dani.”

She gritted her teeth at his egotism. “Why didn’t you take your revenge out on
me
?” Daniella leaned over the desk. “You had no right to hurt him. This is between you and me.”

“I disagree,” Cyrus said coolly. “I think any man who knowingly goes out with another man’s wife is being damned disrespectful. Not to mention Roland reneged on our original agreement.”

“One that was dishonest and deceitful,” she reminded.

“One that served his purpose at the time. He took the money.”

“He has nothing now.”

“That’s not my problem.” His jaw hardened. “All things considered, you should thank me for the mercy I showed him,” he said in a vicious undertone.

“If you think destroying a man’s livelihood and everything he’s ever worked for is being merciful, you have a warped sense of what exactly mercy is.”

“I took his business, but I could have done much worse. I could have destroyed him and everything he knows. No one comes between me and what’s mine.” His face had darkened into possessive anger. “Now he knows better.”

“I’m
not
yours.”

“You are mine. You see this?” He showed her the back of his hand, bringing attention to his platinum wedding ring. “I take my vows seriously. You’re mine, and I’m yours. You don’t get to walk away on a whim.”

Daniella took a good look at her husband—the stubborn set of his jaw, the way his eyes met hers in challenge. More than ever, it became clear she fought a losing battle. The draining power of defeat seeped into her limbs.

“You’re never going to stop, are you?” she asked quietly.

“You’re my wife, Dani. It’s time that you come home.”

She took a deep breath, loathe to give in, but the never-ending fight with him was taking a toll on her bank account and her sanity.

Time to end the standoff.

Bracing herself, she looked her husband squarely in the eyes. “Okay.”

He stilled. “Okay what?”

“I’ll do my best to give you a child.”

For the first time ever, Daniella saw Cyrus speechless. He clearly couldn’t believe she had caved even though he’d done everything in his power to ensure she did. His eyes probed her face, searching for any sign of trickery.

“Do you understand what that means?” he asked.

She nodded. “I do. After I…have the baby, you’ll give me a divorce?”

His face remained expressionless. “Yes.”

Daniella nodded her acceptance of his terms and took out her smartphone. She tapped the calendar app and launched into a matter-of-fact conversation about the particulars.

“The best chance for fertilization is when I’m ovulating, of course,” she said in an unemotional voice. She had to disassociate herself from the idea or she’d never go through with it. “We can both keep track of the dates and times. My next menstrual cycle is—”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Cyrus came to his feet and stared across the desk at her as if she’d lost her mind. His eyebrows dipped over his eyes. “
Fertilization
?” He said the word as if he’d never heard it before.

“Yes,” Daniella said with a tight smile. “That’s what the sperm does to the egg so a child can grow inside of me. Surely they taught you all about it in the expensive private school your parents paid for you to attend…?”

“I know what fertilization is,” Cyrus said slowly, wrestling with impatience. “But that’s not exactly the word I would use to describe what we’re about to do.”

Daniella shrugged one shoulder. “Fine, procreation. Better? It really doesn’t matter what we call it. We’re making a baby.” She bent her head to her calendar again. “I’ll talk to my doctor about the options available for us to reproduce.”

“The options available—” Cyrus ran his hand down the back of his head, as if he couldn’t even let himself finish repeating the words. Pinching his nose, he closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, she didn’t like the determined look in them. “There seems to be some kind of misunderstanding.” He spoke in a deliberate, slow voice. The tone disturbed her and sent a frisson of unease down her spine “You’re my wife. We’re having a child.”

“I understand that, and we need to know what options are available to us to do this.”

He laughed then, a heavy, deep chuckle that brightened his features. It was a real laugh this time, and she hadn’t seen him in the throes of true humor in so long she could only stare. The carved lines of his face softened and stirred something in her chest. Feelings she’d long ago discarded because they threatened her objectivity.

He put his hand to his stomach. “I haven’t laughed that hard in a long time.” He came around the desk with a slow gait. “There’s only one option available for us to ‘do this.’”

Her mind shied away from the direction she suspected he was going in. “There are several options,” she insisted. “There’s IVF, GIFT…” She trailed off when he shook his head, dismissing her suggestions.

“We’re not having fertility problems.”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t use those options.”

“Actually, it does. Because I have absolutely no intention of getting doctors, tubes, or petri dishes involved.” He stopped in front of her, no further away than an outstretched arm could reach. “We’re going to have sex.”