Chapter 31
Watching Irish—Zara—walk out of my hotel feels so fucking wrong, but I can’t terrify her with my intensity on the first day I found her—or rather, she found me. I ride the lift up to my office. Belle looks at me curiously as I step out.
‘How did that go?’ She pats her immaculate bun. ‘Was she what you hoped p>
I shake my head and exhale heavily. ‘She was so much more p>
I stride toward my office door, then spin on my heels, clicking my fingers. ‘Oh, and Belle, find the most expensive florist in the city and have every white phalaenopsis orchid they have in stock sent to Zara Beckett’s office—preferably hundreds of them p>
‘I’m not sure we’ll be able to source hundreds, Mr Hartmann p>
‘Well, get extra flown in from Holland, then p>
Belle’s poker face is good, but there’s no missing the twitch of her lips. ‘Right away, Sir p>
‘And find the best heart shaped candy in Dublin and have it delivered by the truckload.’ The flowers were Zara’s favourite at the resort. The candy, well, that’s for our baby.
I push into my office and shut the door behind me, the soft click deafening in the sudden quiet.
My pulse is still jacked. My blood is still molten lava. My mind is nowhere near catching up with what—who—just transformed my life.
I sink into the custom-made leather chair and drag a hand through my hair. My palm comes away damp. I don’t sweat. I’m always cooler than fucking ice, but this?
This turn of events knocked the breath from my lungs.
I reach for the bottle of Macallan on the corner of my desk. Belle wisely cleared the tea and left the whiskey. She knows me better than I know myself sometimes. I pour a generous measure into the crystal tumbler and take a long, burning swallow. It scorches all the way down, lighting a fuse inside my chest.
I’m going to be a father.
The thought hits me again—harder this time. Raw. Visceral. It’s been repeating like a drumbeat ever since I saw the curve of her bump. My baby. Growing in Zara Beckett’s body.
Jesus.
I slept with the enemy.
And so help me God, given half the chance, I’d do it again. And again. And again.
I lean back in my chair, processing the emotions eating me up from the inside out. Awe. Hunger. Possession so fierce it borders on insanity.
Of all the women in the world…
Of all the ways my life could have gone…
Fate threw her back into my path.
There’s only one person alive I can say this to without sounding unhinged.
I grab my phone and hit Marcus’s name.
He answers on the third ring, groggy but alert. ‘If this is about Barcelona, I told you the paperwork is airtight. Go back to sleep or go back to being an asshole—whichever you were doing p>
‘It’s five p.m. in Dublin, genius,’ I mutter.
He pauses. ‘Oh. Then what’s wrong with you? You sound like you saw a ghost p>
‘Not a ghost,’ I whistle lowly. ‘I found her p>
‘Who?’ he asks sleepily.
‘Irish, who else?’ I take another sip of whiskey and let my words sink in. ‘Well, technically she found me. She strutted into my office an hour ago, and I’m still fucking recovering from the shock p>
There’s a beat of silence, then Marcus practically chokes. ‘No fucking way. The mystery woman you were in a heap about p>
‘I’ve never been in a heap in my life, dickhead.’ I tut and he sniggers.
‘Well, spit it fucking out, Romeo! What did she say? Is she as hot as you remember? Did you p>
‘She’s pregnant,’ I cut in.
Silence follows.
‘Marcus p>
‘Pregnant p>
‘Eighteen weeks.’ My grip tightens on the glass. ‘The baby is mine p>
There’s another beat of stunned quiet before Marcus finds his voice again. ‘Well goddamn,’ he whistles softly. ‘Here I am, two years of fertility treatments, supplements, and acupuncture. And don’t get me started on that disgusting maca root bullshit that my wife keeps making me drink—and still nothing. And then you take one holiday fucking fling and wham bam—talk about super sperm,’ he snorts.
‘It’s not funny p>
‘It’s hilarious p>
Another beat. ‘Wait a minute.’ His tone shifts—softer, edged with something that sounds like suspicion. ‘You don’t think she did it on purpose? To trap you? You’re a billionaire, man. Women do crazy shit when hormones and bank accounts collide p>
‘She had no idea. If anything,’ I growl, swirling the Macallan, ‘I’m the one planning on trapping her. In my bed. In my life. She’s carrying my kid, Marcus. There’s no way she’s sneaking out on me again p>
He laughs—a sharp bark. ‘Jesus, Cole. You sound unhinged. This is how villains are born p>
‘I’m already the villain in her family’s story anyway,’ I shrug. ‘Might as well embrace it p>
‘What do you mean, you’re already the villain?’ His curiosity audibly peaks.
‘You’re not going to believe this.’ I shake my head. I’m still struggling to believe it. ‘My mystery woman is the one and only Zara Beckett p>
‘Fuck off,’ Marcus’s yell practically deafens me. ‘I don’t believe it. That is more fucked up than Romeo and Juliet p>
‘Yep,’ I reach for a top up of Macallan. ‘But I don’t plan on dying. I’ll kill if I have to, but I have no intention of meeting my maker just yet p>
My eyes fall to my desk. The Irish Times is still open in front of me. Four of the Beckett brothers stare back at me from the society pages. A picture of them suited and booted at an awards night takes up a full half a page. Zara looks like them, the same colouring and chiselled cheeks—except she’s stunning and they’re shitheads, of course.
‘Somebody should write this shit down. I swear, it’s better than a movie.’ Marcus’s disbelief hangs on his every word. ‘So what happened? Did she know it was you? Does she even like you? Or did you pounce on her the second she walked in p>
‘I employed her agency to design the casino and hotel interior. I had no idea who she was. We were both shocked, but she agreed to go on a date with me tomorrow p>
‘Of course she did. Fucking unbelievable p>
I stand, stride over to stare out the floor-to-ceiling window with my whiskey in hand. The Dublin skyline—the river, the cranes, the rising empire I’m building with my bare hands.
For the first time in years, the future doesn’t feel like a strategic plan.
It feels like a pull.
A direction.
A destiny.
‘I’m going to make this work,’ I say quietly.
Marcus breathes out a low sound—not quite a laugh, not quite disbelief. ‘You know what’s wild? I actually believe you. What about her brothers? They’re not going to be happy p>
‘Not my problem. My only concern is with her. And our baby p>
I hang up, finish the whiskey, and stare into the glass as if it might give me answers.
Today, my entire world shifted.
Tomorrow?
I start reclaiming what’s mine.