Sarah Anderson - His Forever Family

Even stranger, that made him feel better, as if her appreciation was all that he needed. “You’re welcome.”

But she didn’t leave. Instead, she took another step into the office. “Marcus...”

It wasn’t as if she hadn’t said his name before. She had. But there was something about the way she said it this time that held him captive.

“I know I shouldn’t ask this—but...” She looked down at the paper again as if he’d given her a sheet of solid gold. “Can I leave early today? Just today,” she hurried to add. “This won’t be a regular thing. I just...”

And he remembered how she’d soothed the baby, how she hadn’t just hummed a lullaby but had told that little child that he was loved and he was strong and he could make it. And Marcus remembered how watching her holding that baby had rocked him to his core.

“I’ll come in on Saturday and finish up whatever I don’t get done this week,” she offered, mistaking his silence for disapproval.

He stared at her. Did she think he didn’t know she came in on Saturdays anyway?

Liberty went on. “This won’t affect my job performance at all.”

And he was reminded that he held all the power here and that meant he could gain something from this interaction.

He looked at his watch. It was three forty-five—early by their standards. “Here,” he said, holding out his hand for the paper. “Give it to me.”

“Oh.” The disappointment on her face was a painful thing to see. “Yes, of course.” She trudged forward—there was no other word for it—and handed over the paper. Then, without looking him in the eyes, she turned and headed back to her desk.

“Get your things packed up,” he said, picking up his phone. He had nothing to gain from this but he was going to do it anyway. Because he wanted to. “We’ll go together.”

* * *

Somehow, Liberty found herself sitting in the passenger seat of Marcus’s Aston Martin, zipping up Lake Shore Drive. One minute, she’d been crestfallen that she couldn’t immediately go see the baby. The next, Marcus had been hustling her into his car—his very nice car—and personally driving her to the foster home.

She’d never been in his car before. Oh, sure, she’d attended a few business functions with him, but those were either after-hours events when she’d take the El as she always did or business lunches with potential clients when he’d have her order a car big enough for the entire group.

The Aston Martin was his personal car. And he drove it like a bat out of hell. Of course he did, she thought as she surreptitiously tried to grab on to the door handle when Marcus took the curve without braking. He drove as he ran.

“We don’t have to go this fast,” she said, trying to sound calm. “I’m not in that big of a hurry.”

“This isn’t fast,” he replied and then, the moment they hit the straightaway, he gunned it. Liberty was pushed back into the seat as Marcus accelerated, weaving in and out of traffic. Lake Shore Drive was still mostly clear—it wouldn’t fill up for another half hour with commuters. Marcus took full command of the road.

If she wasn’t so concerned with dying in a fiery heap by the side of the road, she’d be forced to admit that it was kind of sexy. How often did a billionaire act as her personal chauffeur? Never.

They zipped up the drive in record time and then cut over on Peterson. There, at least, Marcus slowed down.

She was nervous. What if this foster home was one of the best—and it still wasn’t very good? She tried to think back to the three homes she’d been in. The first home was fuzzy. It was just after she’d started kindergarten. Less than two weeks into the school year, her mom wasn’t there when she got off the bus one day. Liberty had done okay on her own for a few days, going to see Grandma Devlin for food, but before long, she’d been in a foster home.

She didn’t remember much, just that it got cold in her room and that the other girls were mean to her. But she hadn’t been hungry and there hadn’t been the same kind of screaming and fights as at home.

“Why do you need to see him so badly?” Marcus asked when they got stuck at a light.

Liberty tensed. Were they still in the tug-of-war they’d been in earlier? Or were they back to normal? Since they were out of the office, was this the kind of conversation they might have while they were running?

Marcus glanced at her. “I’m just asking, Liberty,” he said, sounding tired. “And it has nothing to do with the wedding.”

Oh, if only she could just answer honestly. But how would that be possible? Because the truth hurt. And what would Marcus think if he knew the truth about addict moms and foster homes and being an unwanted, unloved little girl? Would he still want to take her to this stupid wedding—or would he look at her and see an imposter who was not to be trusted?

Still, she understood what he wanted to know. It wasn’t her deepest, darkest secrets. It was a simple question that was only one step removed from polite conversation. She had to hope he’d be satisfied with her answer. “I had a little brother,” she said and she was horrified to hear her voice quaver.

She’d never said those words out loud. Who would she have said them to when she was a kid? Her foster parents? They had enough kids to worry about. Her teachers? That would have only made them pity her more, and she had enough of that. Her friends? Ha.

“I didn’t realize,” Marcus replied. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s no big deal,” she lied because that lie came as naturally to her as breathing air. None of it had been a big deal because she’d survived. She’d thrived. She could afford to ignore her past now.

Or she had been able to. Right until she’d seen the little baby in the trash. Then everything had come back.

She swallowed and tried to get her voice to work right again. “He was born with a lot of birth defects and didn’t make it long.” Which was a version of the truth that was palatable for Marcus’s refined taste.

An uncomfortable silence boxed her in. She could see Marcus thinking and she couldn’t have that because if he kept asking questions and she kept having to come up with better versions of the truth, sooner or later she’d either let the truth slip or be forced to tell a real lie. So she barged into the silence and said, “I appreciate you coming with me for this, but it wasn’t necessary. You should be focusing on the list I gave you.”

“You mean the list I threw away?” There—they were back to their early-morning teasing and banter.

“I have other copies,” she announced and was rewarded with Marcus rolling his eyes and grinning at her. “You need to be focused on the wedding and the meeting with the producers, not on taking me to see an abandoned baby.”

“Maybe this is what I want to do.”

“Be serious, Marcus.”

They hit another stoplight. “I am serious. You think you’re the only one worried about that baby?”

She stared at him. “You are?”

“I can’t explain it,” he said in a quiet voice. “But watching you hold him...”

Oh. That was bad. The way his voice trailed off there at the end? The way he sounded all wistful and concerned?

Very, very bad. Damned bad, even.

She was not good for him. She could never be anything more than a valuable employee who got up too early every morning to jog with him. “I can’t do anything for your reputation except drag it down.”

Marcus didn’t even look at her. He kept his attention on the road, but she saw him clench his jaw again, just as he had in his office earlier. “My reputation isn’t everything.”

She desperately wanted to believe that, but she knew that in his world, her mere existence would be a scandal. “I’m not good for you,” she said in a whisper.