Inside the cavernous mahogany study of the Long Island estate, Guilford stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows. He rolled an unlit cigar between his long fingers, his jaw tight, his broad shoulders rigid under his white dress shirt.
The heavy double doors creaked open. Imogene walked in, her footsteps silent on the Persian rug. She carried a steaming cup of black coffee.
She set the cup on the massive desk, walked up behind Guilford, and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her body against his back.
Guilford went rigid. He reached down, peeled her hands off his stomach, and stepped away, putting the width of the desk between them.
Imogene's smile faltered. She recovered fast, her face shifting into a mask of gentle concern. "How were Isadore's latest labs?"
Guilford sank into his leather chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Worse. We have to start the process immediately."
Imogene placed both manicured hands on the desk, leaning in. "Guilford, we should use IVF. That woman... her life is a mess. Who knows what diseases she carries? Natural conception is too risky. It'll dirty you."
Guilford's hands stopped moving. He slowly raised his head. His dark eyes locked onto hers, piercing.
Imogene swallowed hard. Her gaze darted away, nervously straightening a stack of files on his desk.
"Dr. Adler was clear," Guilford said, his voice empty of warmth. "IVF has a ten percent success rate. Isadore doesn't have time for us to fail."
Imogene bit her lip, her white teeth pressing into the gloss. "I can bring in the best specialists in the country. My family's medical connections—"
Guilford slammed his Montblanc pen onto the desk.
The crack echoed like a gunshot. Imogene jumped back, her face draining of color.
Guilford stood up. His towering frame cast a long shadow over her. "This is a Gates family matter. I don't need outsiders interfering."
The word outsider hit Imogene like a physical strike. Her eyes instantly welled with tears. "I'm just trying to protect you."
"To save my son," Guilford said, his voice dropping to a brutal, absolute register, "I would sleep with the devil herself. I don't care how disgusting she is."
Imogene's chest tightened. A sick jolt of jealousy shot through her. She realized she couldn't stop the physical contact. She forced a sob, playing the victim. "I just love you so much."
Guilford waved his hand toward the door, already looking back at his laptop. "I have work. Leave."
Imogene ground her teeth together. She whispered an apology and walked out.
The second her hand touched the brass doorknob, her gentle, victimized expression vanished. Her face went cold, calculating. She stepped into the hallway and pulled the heavy door shut behind her. Pulling her phone from her designer purse, her thumb hovered over a contact. She took a deep breath, smoothing her features back into perfect elegance just as Alistair walked by.
Imogene stopped him with a raised hand. "Alistair. Find out Carissa's exact address in Queens. Immediately."
Alistair bowed his head. Imogene walked away, her heels clicking sharp and fast against the marble.
Inside the study, Guilford pressed the intercom button. "Franklin. Did she sign?"
His assistant's voice crackled through the speaker. "Yes, sir. She agreed to the natural conception. And... she didn't ask for a single cent in additional compensation."
Guilford's brow furrowed. No money? That contradicted everything he believed about her.
An irritating itch of suspicion crawled up his spine. He looked out the window at the darkening sky. He tossed the unlit cigar into the trash can, grabbed his suit jacket off the chair, and walked out. He was going to get her himself.
