was.
“You’re not worth the trouble,” he muttered and lowered his hand. “I have other ways to get my grandson.”
The door to her office banged open. She looked past Mr. Thompson, expecting the receptionist. Morgan Danby stood there instead, his face twisted with hatred.
Damn. Thompson had beaten him here.
Even flying in on Danby Holdings’ private jet hadn’t made up for the time lost before Thompson’s sister could reach Lillian and warn her Thompson was on his way to L.A. to claim Joey. For the sister’s sake, Morgan hoped the man never learned who’d tipped them off.
Thompson turned to face him. “You?”
Morgan pulled his eyes away from the mixture of relief and confusion on Rosalie’s face to glare at the older man before he loosened the fists clenched at his side. As good as a solid right to Thompson’s face might feel right now, it wouldn’t to help matters.
He ignored the other man to ask Rosalie, “You okay?”
She nodded, face pale. He watched her square her shoulders with new respect.
“I think our conversation is at an end, Mr. Thompson,” she said. “Please leave now.”
Charlie’s father glanced from one of them to the other.
“Don’t think this over.” He jabbed a finger in Morgan’s direction. “And don’t think Danby will save your bacon. All he cares about is money. Just like his old man.”
Thompson strode out of the room. Rosalie skirted both her desk and Morgan to follow the older man into the reception area.
“That is Paul Thompson,” she told the receptionist. “If he ever comes back, call the police.”
Morgan couldn’t see the receptionist’s face, but he heard the anger in his tone, “Gladly.”
Rosalie walked stiff-backed into the office and closed the door.
Now what? Morgan wondered.
The crisis dealt with, reaction set in. Rosalie swallowed the tears of anger and fear that threatened to blind her, then turned to face Morgan, who stood frowning at her from one side of the room.
“Are you okay?” he asked again.
The compassion in his voice was too much. She took a step toward him at the same moment he moved toward her, his arm raised in silent invitation. She crossed the space between them and collapsed against the solid strength of his chest, her body shaking, her breath ragged.
He held her gingerly at first, but when she sniffed instead of bursting into tears, his arms softened around her into a gentle hug. She let her arms slide around his waist, her face relaxed against the softness of his silk shirt.
“He can’t take Joey away from you,” Morgan said gently. “He couldn’t even get custody of Charlie back when courts were much less savvy than they are now about domestic violence. Lillian still has a protection order against him, and so does his second wife. The only reason he’s never been arrested is his family’s money and political pull. No judge in his right mind would hand the kid over to him. Ever.”
She pushed herself away to look up at him. “He told me he got custody of Charlie back.”
Morgan’s face twisted back into a mask of anger again for a moment before he hid it behind the usual bland mask.
“Lillian voluntarily surrendered custody.”
“Why did she do that?”
He took a moment to answer. “My father didn’t want him in the house anymore.”
“Why?” she asked again, but Morgan shook the question away.
“It doesn’t matter.”
She suspected it mattered very much, but was weak enough to let it go for now and sink back against Morgan’s chest. The warmth she felt through his suit jacket and silk shirt, the regular beat of his heart while hers still raced, the steady rise and fall of his breathing calmed her until her own body relaxed, her mind cleared.
Morgan felt Rosalie melt against him. The effort not to respond physically to the softness of her body made his jaw clench, but he needed the few minutes of calm and silence as much as she did to block out the memories that roiled through his
“You’re not worth the trouble,” he muttered and lowered his hand. “I have other ways to get my grandson.”
The door to her office banged open. She looked past Mr. Thompson, expecting the receptionist. Morgan Danby stood there instead, his face twisted with hatred.
Damn. Thompson had beaten him here.
Even flying in on Danby Holdings’ private jet hadn’t made up for the time lost before Thompson’s sister could reach Lillian and warn her Thompson was on his way to L.A. to claim Joey. For the sister’s sake, Morgan hoped the man never learned who’d tipped them off.
Thompson turned to face him. “You?”
Morgan pulled his eyes away from the mixture of relief and confusion on Rosalie’s face to glare at the older man before he loosened the fists clenched at his side. As good as a solid right to Thompson’s face might feel right now, it wouldn’t to help matters.
He ignored the other man to ask Rosalie, “You okay?”
She nodded, face pale. He watched her square her shoulders with new respect.
“I think our conversation is at an end, Mr. Thompson,” she said. “Please leave now.”
Charlie’s father glanced from one of them to the other.
“Don’t think this over.” He jabbed a finger in Morgan’s direction. “And don’t think Danby will save your bacon. All he cares about is money. Just like his old man.”
Thompson strode out of the room. Rosalie skirted both her desk and Morgan to follow the older man into the reception area.
“That is Paul Thompson,” she told the receptionist. “If he ever comes back, call the police.”
Morgan couldn’t see the receptionist’s face, but he heard the anger in his tone, “Gladly.”
Rosalie walked stiff-backed into the office and closed the door.
Now what? Morgan wondered.
The crisis dealt with, reaction set in. Rosalie swallowed the tears of anger and fear that threatened to blind her, then turned to face Morgan, who stood frowning at her from one side of the room.
“Are you okay?” he asked again.
The compassion in his voice was too much. She took a step toward him at the same moment he moved toward her, his arm raised in silent invitation. She crossed the space between them and collapsed against the solid strength of his chest, her body shaking, her breath ragged.
He held her gingerly at first, but when she sniffed instead of bursting into tears, his arms softened around her into a gentle hug. She let her arms slide around his waist, her face relaxed against the softness of his silk shirt.
“He can’t take Joey away from you,” Morgan said gently. “He couldn’t even get custody of Charlie back when courts were much less savvy than they are now about domestic violence. Lillian still has a protection order against him, and so does his second wife. The only reason he’s never been arrested is his family’s money and political pull. No judge in his right mind would hand the kid over to him. Ever.”
She pushed herself away to look up at him. “He told me he got custody of Charlie back.”
Morgan’s face twisted back into a mask of anger again for a moment before he hid it behind the usual bland mask.
“Lillian voluntarily surrendered custody.”
“Why did she do that?”
He took a moment to answer. “My father didn’t want him in the house anymore.”
“Why?” she asked again, but Morgan shook the question away.
“It doesn’t matter.”
She suspected it mattered very much, but was weak enough to let it go for now and sink back against Morgan’s chest. The warmth she felt through his suit jacket and silk shirt, the regular beat of his heart while hers still raced, the steady rise and fall of his breathing calmed her until her own body relaxed, her mind cleared.
Morgan felt Rosalie melt against him. The effort not to respond physically to the softness of her body made his jaw clench, but he needed the few minutes of calm and silence as much as she did to block out the memories that roiled through his
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