Worth More Than Money (Worth It 3)

“The one with the twins.”

“Yep. It’s a suitable amount.”

“All right. One million dollars for the child, given that it’s yours.”

“No. One million dollars for the child, period,” I said.

The phone call went silent, and even I wasn’t sure why I’d just made that stipulation.

“Mr. MacDonald, I don’t think you realize—”

“I know what I just said. And I’ll say it again. One million dollars for the child if Miss Danforth doesn’t want to stick around to raise it,” I said.

“Even if the child isn’t yours?”

“Yes.”

I had to protect that unborn child. Something in the pit of my gut rose to a protectiveness unlike anything I’d ever experienced. If that child was Andy’s, it couldn’t go back to Stillsville. It couldn’t be raised by that man. I couldn’t allow it. I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t willingly send a helpless infant back into the throes of the type of life I grew up in. If that child was mine, I’d buy it off Michelle. If that child was Andy’s, I’d certainly buy it off Michelle. It would rid her of the terror of looking into its eyes and seeing her ex, and I would get the satisfaction of knowing I saved a child from what was possibly the same fate I suffered as a kid.

“You know I’ll have to—”

“Write in whatever is necessary, but the only other possible father for that child is an incoherent drunk in Stillsville. He won’t be capable of taking care of that child, nor will he want to. Either way, that child comes with me if Miss Danforth decides to offload it,” I said.

“Then if you’re sure, I’ll draw it up in the documents.”

“Let me know when it’s finished.”

Then I hung up the phone, sat back in my seat, and turned to look out the window. And there she was, with her beautiful red hair and her flowing yellow dress, still staring off into the distance. Entranced by the view with the sun beating against her shoulders.

I really hoped she wasn’t the kind of woman I feared she was.

Chapter 20

Michelle

As I stood there looking out over the town of Napa, I came to a stark understanding that I no longer had the energy to fight. I wanted to make some sort of a life with Grayson MacDonald. I loved him, I was in love with him, and I wanted to stay at his side. I’d fought hard against it, and kept telling myself that I’d have to do this without him. Kept telling myself I had a home to go back to. Kept telling myself he was a no-good, angry son of a bitch.

But he wasn’t.

He simply didn’t trust anyone.

The entire time I’d been at his place, he had been polite. Courteous. Aware of my emotional state and unobtrusive on my time to myself. We’d fallen into a routine that had become comfortable. As my first week at his home passed, we fell into a nightly routine we seemed to both enjoy once he was done working. I’d shoo the private chef away so I could cook dinner, then the two of us would take it up to one of the guest bedroom terraces and watch the sun set below the horizon. After dinner, we’d take a walk to the indoor pool and hot tub, then sit with our feet in the water and play cards.

It turned out that Gray knew a lot of card games, so he ended up teaching me one every single night.

“Do you know how to play Rummy?” Gray asked.

“I don’t know how to play any of the card games you suggest,” I said, with a grin.

“Well, the object is simple. We play with two decks, and each person playing tries to form matched sets of cards,” he said. “Like three aces or a four of a kind.”

“Seems easy enough.”

“Players can also make sequences of three or more cards, as long as they’re in the same suit.”

“Got it,” I said.

“The dealer deals ten cards,” he said, as he began to distribute them, “then the dealer flips a card over. Like this.”