THREE

LESLIE’S POV

“What? No! No no no!”  Rochelle screamed, staring at me like I had grown horns. “I knew I shouldn’t have stepped out of the house when that man came, he’s nothing but bad luck!”

She’d gone last minute shopping while Jeffrey had been around, and now, she was acting as though I had taken a bad deal in her absence.

I sighed. Of course she won’t understand why I just couldn’t hand over a baby to unwilling parents. “This baby is innocent in all of this you know,” I whispered. “None of this is her fault –”

“And you think it’s yours?” Rochelle exploded. “Leslie, why do you keep letting people use this huge empathy of yours to manipulate you? For crying out  that’s a hooker’s baby, not your responsibility!” she enunciated the last three words like she was talking to a toddler.

“For all we know, that’s not even Jeffrey’s baby. That sleaze bag I know is probably too lazy to get a DNA test done.”

Her eyes flashed like she’d gotten another one of her crazy ideas, then she grabbed her laptop and began typing away. After five minutes of waiting in apprehension, she turned the screen around.

“Tada!”

I squinted at the blond haired woman posing in a bikini photo by the beach.

“That’s the escort he paid isn’t she?”

It took a while for me to recognize he without her face made up to look like Carla but … “Yes – I guess, but what’s the point of all this? She’s dead.” I didn’t bother to ask how Roch had figured out she was the one, I wasn’t ready for a long explanation.

Rochelle stared at me like I was dumb. “I found her through a picture she took with Jeffrey, Silly. Now lets see how many more cozy photos she’s taken, so we’d narrow down the men who need to run a DNA test ASAP. I’m almost certain that baby isn’t Jeffrey’s”

“He did mention he’d always thought he was impotent,” I said reluctantly and received an affirming exclamation from Rochelle.

She typed a bit, then her eyes widened in surprise, and a sly look came over her face. “Do you know this man?”

I stared hard at the screen, but aside the ‘Carla’ escort, I couldn’t recognize who else was in the picture.

The ‘Carla’ escort was sitting in a dimly lit lounge – she was on his lap, pressing her lips to his cheek.

His face was so vast in shadows, aside his sharp jaw, and five o’clock shadow, I couldn’t see the rest of his features.

Rochelle showed me another picture, this time of a man dressed in an easy Italian two piece. He stood by a golf course, golf stick in hand, but from the way his muscles bunched up under the short sleeves, I could tell golfing wasn’t his only recreational activity.

He looked rich too – like billions of old money, with that easy dressing that didn’t seek to impress. His hair was cut short, fashionably, yet nothing about him looked like he’d conform to mundane things like fashion.

It was his clear grey eyes, looking directly into the camera that unsettled me.

“Do you know this man?”  Rochelle asked again, a bit too slyly.

He was no doubt the man from the escort’s  picture, but aside the fact that he’d snapped an intimate photo with the woman my husband cheated with, of course I didn’t know him.

“No I don’t!” I snapped at Rochelle, getting exasperated. “Who is he? What are you not telling me?”

She giggled a bit, looking even more vague. “There’s an article about him in the blogs, that he’d gotten a stripper pregnant, so….” She shook her head and straightened up. “Shoot!” it’s almost time for the anniversary gala. Just lets get ready, I promise we’d talk about this when we get back –” Again, that twinkle in her eyes.

“And promise me,”  she started. “Whenever you see this man, you’ll demand a DNA test okay?”

“ Sure,” I answered with a frown. It wasn’t like I wanted to keep the baby.

A full two hours later, Rochelle and I stood in front of the Olandria Lounge, a place I would never have dreamed of coming to in my life time. The baby was hopefully still sleeping, in the arms of Rochelle’s mother who thankfully asked no questions.

Rochelle gripped my hand, her fingers digging into mine like she feared I was going to bolt and run any minute if she left me – I was.

“Invitation please?” The nice lady at the reception said, but behind her, I could see heavily armed security ready to throw us out if we didn’t comply.

I sighed as Rochelle fished around her hand bag and brought it out – it wasn’t too late to run. Then they ushered us in, and it was already too late.

I spotted Hanks easily, drinking by a champagne fountain, and halfheartedly cheering to a toast.

The toast was being made by an elegantly dressed lady, she was saying something about legacy and continuity, then a hush fell on the entire room. I turned my head in the direction all necks were turning and I saw him.

He was dressed in a grey, easy two piece, with his hair a bit too long for conventional looks. His jawline was grazed with stubble that was more than a shadow, and yet not bushy enough to be a full beard.

Grey eyes scanned the entire room, then he walked up to the front of the room, gently nudging the lady aside.

“Good evening, Helix co, friends and partners,” he said calmly.

A pin could be heard if it dropped. I had the unconscious feeling of leaning in to hear him better, and looking around, everyone did too. His voice sounded gruff, yet oddly relaxing, I almost felt hypnotized.

“It’s been ten years,” he continued. “Ten years of building, struggling, pushing through – and yes, ten years of advancement, leaps and bounds. I couldn’t have done this alone, and so for your support, for your tireless work, for always being there, I want to say thank you.”

He looked around, and a waiter quickly pressed a glass into his hand. “Cheers to the next ten years,” he finished, raising his glass, and as the crowd erupted in cheers, he slipped away.

“Who was that?” I whispered to Rochelle, and then it hit me. That was the man from the picture! That was one of the baby’s possible fathers.

Without thinking, I hurried after him. There was so much noise and cheering going about, I almost missed his figure slipping through an emergency stairway, but I followed.

The stairs was narrow, but it led to a completely different arm of the lounge. He disappeared into one of the rooms, and I stopped, trying to figure out which.

I wasn’t supposed to be here, I reminded myself. The last thing I needed for my already plummeting esteem was to be thrown out of Olandria.

I drew in a breath, raised my hand to knock on one of the doors, then just turned the handle instead. The effects of the wine I and Rochelle had taken to loosen inhibitions was obviously kicking in because I didn’t know the last time I was this brave.

It took a while for my eyes to adjust to the dimly lit room, then my jaw dropped at the depravity in front of me.

The man from the party – I didn’t  know what else to call him sat straddling a cane chair, while all around him, all sorts of scantily clad women were engaging in a that that made my cheeks flame. One of them was pouring him a drink as he held out his glass.

He raised his head a bit, and those disturbingly piercing, grey eyes pinned mine.

One brow lifted. “Are you lost, why the hell are you crashing my private party?”