The Ruthless Caleb Wilde
Page 43
“A brilliant deduction. No. I’m not.” He took a card from his pocket and tossed it in her lap. “Caleb Wilde. Thomas Caldwell’s lawyer.”
She picked up the card. Stared at it, then at him. Her eyes widened. A man could fall into those blue depths and drown, he thought, and hated himself for the momentary loss of focus.
“His—his lawyer? But how? How did you—”
“Just one of those lucky strokes of fate,” he said coldly.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“Trust me, lady. I didn’t believe it, either.” His mouth twisted. “Maybe life has a bad sense of humor.”
She didn’t respond. He could almost see the wheels turning. Then she took a long, wobbly breath, expelled it the same uneven way, and got to her feet.
She swayed.
He almost drew her into his arms.
It had been an automatic response, he knew, an instin
ctive male reaction to a female in need, but that the thought had even crossed him mind infuriated him.
“Sit down.”
“I’m leaving.”
“You want to pass out again?” He grabbed her arm. “Dammit, sit down!”
She stared at him. Then she wrenched her arm free and sank onto the loveseat.
“Where’s Caldwell?”
“Have I spoiled your plans? Were you looking forward to a face-off with a man grieving for his son?”
“Grieving?” She gave a shaky laugh. “For a lawyer, Mister—” she glanced at his card, still clutched in her hand, “for a lawyer, Caleb Wilde, you’re not very smart.”
“Your patsy isn’t coming.”
“My what?”
Caleb sat down in one of the chairs that flanked the loveseat.
“How much?”
“What?”
“How much do you want for the baby?”
“Are you crazy?”
“Look, let’s not waste time. You told Caldwell you won’t give him his grandchild but we both know that’s bull. Tell me your number and I’ll tell you if you’re anywhere in the ball park.”
She got to her feet. So did he.
“Goodbye, Mr. Wilde.”
Caleb watched her through narrowed eyes. She was good, but then, she was an actress.
“Let’s get down to basics, Ms. Dalton. The last offer was five million. I’m authorized to up it to six, no higher. Take it or leave it.