A Billionaire's Secret Baby - Chapter 8

“How’s our employee of the month doing?” said Zeke.

“Uh, she’s fine,” I said. I was just finishing some work up in the office while Zeke went down and did the briefing for the evening. Lola was still distraught from Luca’s threats.

I couldn’t believe that I hadn’t seen this side of his personality before. It was like a completely different person had appeared from under the good-humored mask he wore.

It seemed to prove everything I knew about human nature. Despite the fact that some people might seem nice, might seem good-natured, they were ultimately fickle. People could change at the drop of a hat especially when you found them out.

“I’m gonna take Lola home,” I told him.

“All right,” said Zeke. “I’m gonna stick around here for a bit.”

I went down to the staff lounge, where Lola was drying her eyes and sipping a cup of coffee. “How are you doing?” I said.

“I’m okay,” Lola said as she stood up.

But I could see from the look in her eyes, her lightly-stained mascara, that she wasn’t okay at all.

“Come on,” I said. “Let’s go.”

“What, are you leaving too?”

“No,” I said. “I’m coming with you.”

I thought she was going to argue with me, thought she was going to say no. But she didn’t. Lola nodded, and wiped the last of the tears away. Her face was red, but she still looked gorgeous as we stepped out onto the street.

My car pulled up, the black Mercedes I used to travel anonymously around the city. I liked to protect my privacy, and I thought Lola would feel safer in a dark, nondescript car than in one of the more flashy vehicles I owned.

I opened the door for her.

“Where to?” said the driver.

“Jackson Heights,” I said, and we sped away into the night.

By the time we got over the bridge and had left the blinding lights of the city behind us, I was feeling a little better, and so was Lola. She’d straightened her shoulder and was looking out of the window, her head turned in profile as we passed through Brooklyn, and then into Queens.

“You didn’t have to do this, you know,” she said.

“It’s really nothing,” I said. “I’d do this for anyone who was in your situation.”

“Damn, he really got to me,” said Lola.

I looked across at her, and her green eyes shimmered under the yellow lamplight as we got up to Queens. It wasn’t a long drive—forty minutes or so at this time of night. But Lola was shaken up, and we didn’t say much.

When we got to her apartment building, I looked out. Lola sure didn’t live in the nicest part of town. It seemed safe enough and well-lit. But the streets were dirty, and people seemed a lot less well-off around here than in Manhattan.

“Can I walk you up?” I asked quietly. I didn’t want to overstep my boundaries, didn’t want her to feel like she had to invite me into her life.

“Sure,” she said. “If it makes you feel better.”

“It really does,” I said. The truth was that I didn’t mind. But I felt like I was beginning to understand something about Lola. That her pride in what she had was the equal of mine.

We climbed the narrow, rickety stairs of her building and got to her front door.

“Can you wait here?” said Lola.

“Sure,” I said. She looked at me with an embarrassed smile before disappearing inside, and I realized why.

She was checking that her kid was asleep.

I waited there for a minute, maybe half. But eventually, the door on the other side of the corridor opened, and a Latina woman with dark hair and intense brown eyes came out.

She looked at me.

“Can I help you with something, mister?” she said, a little suspiciously. Her eyes darted to Lola’s door.

“I’m just waiting for Lola,” I said. “She’s gone inside.”

The lady said nothing, but watched me intently. I was dressed smartly, in one of my suits, with a silk pocket square folded into a corner in the breast pocket. I’d put it there after offering it to Lola. But she seemed to be looking at me as though I was a potential burglar.

“Alex,” I eventually said, reaching out my hand and smiling. “Alex Lowe.”

“Sara,” said the woman, but she didn’t take my hand. “You a friend?”

“Yeah.”

“Boyfriend?” she said, tilting her head.

“No,” I said. “No, I’m just…I’m actually Lola’s boss.”

“You just said you was her friend?”

“I am her friend,” I said, “but I’m also her boss.”

“I don’t know too many people who’s friends with their bosses,” said Sara, defiantly.

The door opened, and Lola poked her head out.

“Oh,” she said. “Hi sweetie!”

The two of them embraced, while I stood awkwardly in the hall.

“Sara, this is Alex.”

“Nice to meet you,” said Sara, her voice softening now that she knew I was with Lola. “Macy doing okay, Lola?”

“Yeah, she’s out for the count. You’re amazing, Sara. Thanks for putting her to bed.”

“Least I can do, chica. You around tomorrow?”

“Sure. I’ll see you then, okay?”

“Night.” Sara turned and went down the hall of her building.

“Woman was looking at me like I was a crook,” I muttered, as Lola let me in.

“Oh, that’s Sara,” laughed Lola. “She’s always looking out for me.”

The apartment was homely and warm, despite the old furniture and the threadbare cushions on the sofa. The living room and the kitchen were all one. For a moment I thought of Philadelphia again. Lola’s apartment couldn’t have been much bigger than the one I grew up in.

Except, it was completely different. Whereas my childhood home had been empty and desolate, a sad house with little furniture and nothing on the walls, Lola’s apartment was alive and vibrant. On the walls were posters of famous jazz musicians, Ella Fitzgerald, Miles Davis. And the room’s centerpiece was a giant, antique record player, flanked by two bookcases crammed with enormous sleeves.

“I didn’t know anyone still owned one of these,” I said.

“Oh, that,” said Lola. “Yeah, I used to be pretty obsessed. I’ve got all kinds of stuff here.”

“So,” I said.

“So,” said Lola.

For a moment, we were conscious that we were alone again. I hadn’t stopped thinking about what being here would be like. In the place where she lived, where she played with her kid.

“Sit down,” said Lola. “You want something? Tea?”

“Tea would be lovely, thank you,” I said. “You know, I’m really getting into this special oolong. I get it sent over from China in small batches, comes in a box every month. I—”

I trailed off. Lola was smiling at me.

“You really are cut from a different cloth, aren’t you?” she said, and smiled wistfully as the kettle boiled. “I got peppermint, and I got jasmine.”

“Peppermint would be fine,” I said.

We sat on the couch.

“I was really impressed by how you handled today,” I said.

“I cried for like, two hours, Alex,” she said.

“That’s fine. No one expects you to be invincible.”

“A lot of people expect me to,” she muttered. “You know I got a visit from social services once?”

“What for?”

“When Macy was four, we lived in this nasty building in Brooklyn. Someone heard a lot of banging and shouting in my apartment, so they sent an inspector to see us.”

“And?”

“It was me and Macy dancing to Buddy Rich,” she said. “You know? The drummer? They thought—oh,” said Lola, shaking her head and putting her forehead into her palm. “Let’s not talk about this. It was so scary. I thought they were going to take her away.”

“Why would anyone ever take her away?” I said. “You’re obviously a great mom.”

“Yeah,” I said. “But it’s not like I’d be able to do this job if it weren’t for Sara. She looks after Macy when I’m not around. I just hate being so…reliant on others.”

“Why?” I said, curiously.

I don’t think I’d ever relied on anyone my whole life. I was curious to know that Lola and I shared that.

“Because that’s not what a mom’s supposed to be like.”

“You’re not just defined by being a mom though. You’re a key part of my team. You’re a great person. And you’re a singer.”

“Singing doesn’t pay the bills,” said Lola.

“It doesn’t have to—right now. What matters is that you realize you’re doing a good job.”

Lola looked at me, and a smile slowly spread off her face.

“How come you always say all this nice stuff, and you never smile?”

“What?”

“You heard me. You’re such a kind person, Alex. I know it.”

I snorted. “No, I’m not,” I said.

“You are.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter. Smiles can be deceiving. Luca Desilva sure loves to smile at you. Right before he stabs you in the back.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“Well, this has come at a good time. You know he wanted me to turn The Blue Orchid into a casino?”

“No way.”

“Yeah. I told him where to go. I couldn’t do that. The Blue Orchid’s all I have.”

“No, it’s not, Alex. You run like, four nightclubs. And you’re a billionaire.”

“That stuff means nothing to me without that place. You know, there was this place I used to walk by in Philadelphia. It was downtown. The fanciest restaurant. It was on the ground floor of this hotel. I used to walk by every night. I thought to myself, ‘if I could have a place like that, I’d find a way to make it work.’”

We were close now, and she turned towards me in the lamplight.

“That’s nice,” she said. She was close enough to kiss, and I wanted to, wanted to put my hands around her shoulders, turn her towards me, bend my face, and kiss the soft skin at her collarbone.

But then a little voice said, “Mommy?”

We looked up. A little girl stood in the doorway, holding a bear in her nightgown.

“I had a bad dream.”

“Oh, baby,” said Lola, and stood up, and walked over to her. She kneeled down and brushed a strand of hair away from the little girl’s face.

“Who’s that?” said Macy, and pointed at me, sleepily.

“Oh, that’s just my friend, Alex,” I said. “This is Macy,” she explained.

“Excuse me,” I said, standing to my feet. “I’ve gotta be going.”

“Okay. I’ll see you next week.”

“Sure.”

I walked out of there and went back downstairs. I got into my car and I was driven away. The whole time I didn’t think, just stared straight ahead.

Stared straight ahead, and tried not to think about the little girl, and her clear blue eyes, that resembled mine so closely.