But he’d learned to control it like everything else in his life.
And he did control it. To the point where he barely thought of her anymore unless she was thrust into his consciousness.
Like now.
He arrived at his outer office, his gaze slicing to his secretary, Gillie, who stared at him wide eyed and opened her mouth to speak.
Jack cut her off before she could utter a word. “Don’t. It’s not your fault.”
“Do you want me to call security?” Gillie asked as Jack strode to the door of his office.
“No. This is not going to make the papers. Leave it,” Jack ordered and pushed open the door.
Two women were in his office. One he could imagine was Belle’s mother. The other looked more like her older sister.
The elder woman was dressed all in dove grey, a flowing, light, ankle length skirt, silk woven tunic and stylish flats. Her hair was a shining mixture of both blonde and white, as if the white that would declare her age to the world was trying to win but the blonde of her youth refused to let go.
She had very unhappy, stormy grey eyes.
The other one was also blonde, with Belle’s thick, long hair, untethered and falling in a wild mass of waves down her back. She also had grey eyes, which, turned to him, weren’t stormy but surprised and a little curious. She was wearing jeans, cowboy boots, so much silver at her fingers, wrists, neck and all along the curves of her ears it was a minor miracle she could hold herself upright and a purple t-shirt that asked, bizarrely “Mummy, where’s Fluffy?” across the chest in glittery, green script.
Jack closed the door behind him, put his shoulders to it, crossed his arms on his chest and regarded both women.
“You’ve got five minutes,” he announced.
Lila, who he assumed was the older one unless Belle did have a sister which could well be as Jack knew her about as far as he could throw her, said with grave affront, “Well, that’s a fine how-do-you-do.”
“Mom…” the younger one mumbled softly, her voice, Jack noted even on that one word, was the same as Belle’s, sweet and musical.
At the sound of it, Jack clenched his teeth.
“Ladies, I’m busy,” he told them. “You’re losing time.”
Lila’s back straightened, her eyes shot daggers at him and she opened her mouth to speak but Rachel got there before her.
“We agreed I’d do the talking,” Rachel said to Lila.
Lila turned her murderous glare to her daughter and announced, “I’ve changed my mind.”
“Mom, seriously, let me do the talking.”
“No, I’ve got a few things to say to this… this…” Lila stuttered but was so caught up in anger she couldn’t find an appropriate word.
“Say them,” Jack clipped his invitation. “Then go. I have things to do.”
“All right then…” Lila started, leaning forward, clearly ready to let loose a stream of invective but it was what Rachel said at the same time that caused Jack’s body to go rock-solid.
“Belle’s pregnant.”
Jack stood motionless at the door, his mind completely blank as the two women ignored his stunned reaction and bickered in front of him.
“I can’t believe you just blurted it out like that!” Lila snapped.
“Well, it’s not news you can easily cushion,” Rachel returned.
“He doesn’t deserve cushioning but you didn’t have to just… blurt it out,” Lila fired back.
Rachel put her hands to her hips. “How would you have done it?”
Lila put her hands to her h*ps as well. “I don’t know but I wouldn’t have blurted it out.”
“You’re just mad you didn’t get to tell him and be all,” she raised her be-ringed hands to either side of her head and shook them, “drama.”
Before Lila could respond, Jack’s voice hit the room and they both jumped when he said, “Excuse me.”
They turned to him and stared as if they were surprised he was even there.
Yes, he thought, they were both very like Belle.
“Let’s go back to Belle being pregnant,” Jack suggested in a deceptively soft voice. His mind, unusually slow, still not wrapped around this fact however he did recognise one of the feelings he was feeling.
It was anger.
“Well, she’s pregnant. That’s it. That’s what we came to say,” Rachel told him as if she did this every day, forced her way into men’s offices and informed them the one night stand they’d had months ago was pregnant.
“And you’re saying you think it’s mine,” Jack stated and the air in the room changed drastically. It was not friendly before but after he uttered his words, words he knew were unnecessary, words he also knew were a serious insult, the air became sluggish and suffocating.
Rachel, the more pleasant one, lost all vestiges of pleasant. Her eyes narrowed and her cheeks went pink.
As becoming as this was (the same as when her daughter blushed), Jack’s gaze moved to Lila and he saw she stood straight and still, hands clenched into fists at her sides, the daggers in her eyes had turned to deadly spears.
“We shouldn’t have come here,” Rachel muttered furiously. “Belle told us but did we listen? No, we did… not… listen. Do we ever listen to Belle? No, we never… listen… to Belle. Do we always get in trouble? Yes! We do!”
Jack, instinctively knowing Lila was the more worthy opponent, didn’t take his eyes from her as Rachel ranted. Therefore he saw immediately when her expression cleared, the anger cooled and she looked at her daughter.
“This is good,” Lila told Rachel.
“How is this good?” Rachel returned sharply.
“Belle didn’t want him to have anything to do with the baby. He doesn’t think it’s his. Belle gets what she wants.” Lila clapped her hands together like she was wiping away dust and declared, “Fin.”
Jack watched Lila walk to his couch and pick up a sleek, expensive purse.
Then her eyes went to the painting over the couch. A painting that had been moved from his old office to this office three years ago upon his father’s death. A painting Jack had owned for twelve years. It was the first painting Jack had ever invested that kind of significant money in. His own money. Money that he’d earned.
Her painting.
“You know, Belle told me you owned one of my pieces and I gotta say, it goads me you have it but I’ll let it be,” she said to the painting and then looked at him, eyes unfriendly, face unhappy. “We walk out of this room, you cease to exist. And good riddance,” she finished as her daughter walked up beside her and grabbed a square, battered, woven, tan, leather handbag with a long strap from the couch.