A Billionaire's Secret Baby - Chapter 2

Six years later…

“I’m sorry?” I said.

In front of me, on the chair in my living room, the journalist seemed to falter for a moment.

“I said,” she asked again, “Is there anyone in your life at the moment?”

I frowned and uncrossed my leg. “I don’t think your readers would be very interested in that sort of thing, would they?” I said.

The journalist from the Times laughed, as if I was being ridiculous. “Mr. Lowe,” she said. “You’ve amassed a fortune worth over ten billion dollars. You’re in a percentage of the population that can only be expressed in ten decimal places. And more to the point, you’re one of New York’s most well-loved philanthropists, with charitable contributions ranging from art galleries and exhibitions to children’s food programs and international aid. You’re telling me people won’t be interested in your love life?”

I sighed, and leaned back in my chair. She was right, I guess. But so far all the questions had been about my lifestyle, my tastes. And now my love life? Was this interview for the business section, or the gossip columns?

“Actually,” I replied politely, “I’m not seeing anyone at the moment. My restaurants and bars keep me busy most of the time.”

“Really? No dates or girlfriends…?” said the journalist.

“I’ve been on dates. But I guess you could say I’m a workaholic.”

“You were spotted with Sandra Simons, the supermodel, last August. Did it go anywhere?”

“We’re just friends,” I said.

“And what about Katherine Ziegler? The rumors are that you ended your relationship just a few weeks after—”

“Katherine’s great,” I said. “But we’re both extremely dedicated people. There isn’t always time for a relationship when you’re running a billion-dollar enterprise.”

“What about your early childhood?”

“Oh, there’s not much to tell,” I said. “I was born in Philadelphia and moved to New York about ten or twelve years ago. Say, is that the time?”

***

It was a Saturday, so I was planning on heading down to The Blue Orchid—my flagship restaurant, in uptown Manhattan—in order to check on things. But first, I’d have to get out of the gray Henley and dark chinos I’d been wearing. My publicist had ordered me to dress casually for the interview, but I never felt comfortable leaving the house unless I was wearing one of my suits.

My suits were like my armor. They helped me blend into the world of the ultra-wealthy, expensive cars, and high fashion—a world to which I didn’t really belong. I chose an elegant blue tie from Hermès, which I knotted in my trademark Windsor around the collar of a white Dior shirt. I slipped on a dark navy suit, and called a driver.

Through the tinted windows of the anonymous black Mercedes, I watched Manhattan slide by through the streets. I’d never get over how the city looked to me. When I first arrived in Manhattan, I’d been completely entranced by its beauty, the glamor of the tall buildings in midtown, which seemed to gleam in the sunlight, the long straight streets that seemed to be paved with gold. In the distance, I could see the greenery of Central Park as the car slid down Madison Avenue towards the Upper East Side.

When we got to The Blue Orchid, I had my driver drop me at the front of the restaurant and stepped through the front door. It was Saturday lunchtime, one of our busiest times of the week, and around me, the dining room was bustling with activity as happy customers sat dreamily contemplating the lavish dishes that were being set before them. On the other side of the room, I heard a champagne cork pop, and grinned: it was one of my favorite sounds.

“Good afternoon, Mister Lowe,” said Cherise, the maîtresse d’.

“Cherise,” I growled. “I’ve told you to call me Alex. How are we doing today?”

“Just fine,” said Cherise. “Two parties of ten and a party of four still left to arrive. And Zeke asked if you could spare him a second. I’ll call him down.”

“No need,” I said. “He’s in his office, right? I’ll go up now.”

But the truth was that I could have spent all day watching The Blue Orchid’s dining room.

Most people think of restaurants as being chaotic places, filled with noisy crowds and shouting chefs. But the truth was, those were only the bad ones. Really great restaurants were places of harmony, where everyone was working together and the diners were having a great time. So despite the voices of a hundred people chattering away around me, it felt peaceful to be back here. The Blue Orchid was like my home away from home.

But as my eyes strayed to a nearby table, who were currently being presented with a sharing platter of a whole roasted duck with spring vegetables, I was stunned by a familiar scent in the air. And it wasn’t the food.

I turned my head, searching for the intoxicating smell. It was a perfume. Where had I smelt it before?

Then, my head was reeling with a memory from the past. A smoky bar in Bali. A beautiful woman, with an elegant, slim waist, gorgeous shoulders, red tresses and green eyes. Graceful movements, as though she were a trained dancer. And an irrepressibly cheerful, beaming smile, so unlike me.

I thought about her for a moment—that woman from long ago, who sang for me one night in a bar halfway across the world. The woman with whom I’d spent a long night, making love in a dark room as the world stood still outside. There was no one like her. And nothing I could do now, after what I did to her. I still remembered the voicemail I’d gotten six years ago, the worried tone of the speaker. The last remaining trace that she and I had ever been in the same room.

“Alex? It’s Lola. We met in Denpasar. I need your help. I don’t want anything from you, but please, get in touch with me.”

I felt a pang of shame. The memory fizzled out as I walked through a discreet door at the back of the restaurant. I jogged up the old wooden staircase—I’d preserved the original fixtures and fittings of The Blue Orchid meticulously. At the landing, I rounded the staircase and kept on going, past the breakroom for my staff to the very top. To the office of Zeke Wilcox.

I knocked on the door—a distinctive knock, five times, that Zeke knew meant I was coming in. It was sort of a shared code between us.

But when I opened the door, Zeke wasn’t there. Instead, I saw my business partner, Luca, sitting at his desk. With his feet up on the walnut desk.

Luca turned and looked at me. There was news playing on the computer, and he had a plate of spaghetti from the kitchen perched on his lap. He looked a little startled, but almost as soon as I saw him, his expression softened, and he smiled that big, brazen smile I knew so well.

“’Lex,” he said, his voice oozing charm. I might have a good head for business, but I couldn’t match Luca for sheer suavity. He took his feet quickly off the desk, and stood up. “How are you, man? Ain’t seen you here in…well, a while.”

“I’m in almost every day, Luca!” I said. “Maybe if you came by a little earlier in the day, you’d catch me round.”

“I hear you, buddy,” laughed Luca, and nudged a stack of papers out the way for his lunch, perching his ass on the desk. “But I’ve got a lot of exciting things coming up with me and my friends. Can’t wait to tell you about it, Big A.”

“I’m sure,” I said, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. Luca always had some kind of scheme up his sleeve. His latest obsession was casinos, and the company expense account had already financed several expensive ‘market research’ trips to Las Vegas. Still, he had his uses. If an industrial air conditioning unit broke and you needed a new one, Luca had you covered. Chef needed twenty pounds of prime rib delivered at short notice? Luca could get thirty, and probably at half the price the restaurant normally paid. He was sly, I gave him that.

“Well, if you’re not too busy working on these exciting things, could you do the forms to renew our liquor license? You’re the signatory, remember?”

“I’ll get Zeke to do it,” muttered Luca, looking at his phone.

“Zeke,” I said calmly, “isn’t going to be here forever to fudge all the paperwork for you. How about you do it yourself, huh? Before I start taking a look at all those dinners you got comped for last month?”

Luca rolled his eyes, and for a moment, I thought I saw a flash of anger cross his face. But then it was gone.

“Your wish is my command, pal,” he said snidely.

He swished through the door, pausing only to pull one of his fancy pocket squares from his jacket and wiped the corners of his mouth. “Boss wants to see you,” he said to someone on the stairs, and I turned and grinned, as Zeke came up. I stepped out of the door and we fist-bumped on the landing.

“How’s it going, ‘Lex?”

“Never better, brother. At least if I can get Luca to do some work around here.”

“Hey, if our accounts prove anything, it’s that even miracles are possible, huh? You do the Times interview today?”

“Yeah. Some lady who kept asking about whether I have a girlfriend or not.”

“But Alex,” said Zeke innocently, scratching his mop of ginger hair. “You’re married.”

I looked askance at him. “No, I’m not!” I huffed.

“Sure you are. To a hundred-and-fifty seat restaurant on the Upper East Side. We’re standing in it now, as a matter of fact.”

I laughed, and clapped him on the shoulders. Zeke was a born-and-bred New Yorker, with a sardonic sense of humor. But I liked him—he was one of my few friends in a world where money and power isolated you from people. Zeke knew me from the old days when I was just a struggling bar owner in the East Village. The bond between us ran deep, and I knew exactly who to ask when I was considering opening a restaurant on the Upper East Side.

“Hey,” said Zeke, “I’ve got someone I want you to meet. New waitress. She’s been doing a trial shift with us this morning but I’m going to give her a job. She’s incredible.”

“She a hard worker?”

“Yeah. Was working at Bellaire—you know, the place in Brooklyn that just closed? She’s good, Alex. I think she could go far. You wanna talk to her?”

“Of course,” I said. I tried to talk to every new hire at The Blue Orchid. I wanted to make sure they felt like part of the team.

“Hey, LOLA!” called Zeke. “Get up here!”

I froze. I didn’t even put two and two together right then—but that name. It was like hearing a familiar tune to which I didn’t know the words.

I watched, silently, as a redheaded woman rounded the staircase and made her way up the stairs. She was attractive, with slim hips and a graceful walk. And as she did, the scent of the perfume hit me again, and I looked into the wide, green eyes of the girl I’d met all those years ago.

“What is it, Zeke?” said Lola, laughing as she bounced up the last few steps to meet us.

For a moment, I thought it was a ghost. She hadn’t changed at all. Still just as beautiful as ever, her hair long and tossed over her slim shoulders.

But now the smile was quickly evaporating, and I saw Lola’s mouth open a little in shock as she stared at me. A dark, warm desire filled my body at her presence. But it was replaced by a sickly, cold feeling, tiny pinpricks of heat on my face, as the shock spread across our faces in tandem.

“You,” she said, almost silently.

“Alex Lowe,” said Zeke, oblivious. “Please meet…”

“Lola Ryder,” I croaked.

“Yeah, how did you—” said Zeke.

“I have to go,” said Lola.

“Oh,” said Zeke. “Sure. Well, it was great meeting you today. I’ll be in touch, okay? I’ll just get those files for you, okay, Alex?”

He turned and went into his office. I watched him go past.

Then it was just the two of us, alone on the landing.

“It’s been a long time,” I said.

But Lola turned. She went down the stairs and before I knew it, she was gone.

I went after her, my heart pounding.