“Rick, please.”
Caught by the tension in Winter’s voice, Michael paused mid step. Frowning slightly, he looked across the few feet that separated them. Her head was bowed, and she was sitting sideways in profile to him so that she had not yet seen him. She was doubled over, intent on the phone pressed to her ear. A shaft of jealousy stabbed him. Whoever the man was, he was important to her.
“For God’s sake, Rick, she’s your daughter. I know—No, no! Listen, please! Rick! Rick?”
Michael watched as she slowly shut the cell and then just sat there, holding it in loose fingers. There was a forlorn appearance to her drooping posture that made him uncomfortable. Then he saw a tear slide and drop from the curve of her cheek. Suddenly, fiercely, he wanted to throttle the man that she had been talking to. What a bastard, giving her grief over their daughter! The savagery of his thoughts startled him. What the hell did any of it have to do with him?
Michael silently retreated. He waited a beat, then began speaking as he walked forward again. “Sorry about that. It was an international call.”
Winter hastily swiped at her cheeks and dropped her sunglasses into place before she turned her head toward him. Her dark sunglasses covered the expression in her eyes, but he saw that she had pasted a smile on her face. He pretended not to see her drop her cell into the canvas bag that was sitting next to her chaise lounge.
“I’m guessing it was your new client. Everything all right?” she asked brightly. There was only a bit of huskiness in her voice to hint at her emotions.
Good girl. He was relieved that she wasn’t going to parade her baggage. He already knew that she was a single mother and that she had a young daughter named Chloe. Apparently her ex—this asshole Rick—was giving her problems. It probably had something to do with visitation rights or child support. Probably child support, he amended, which would explain why she needed the money that she was getting from him.
Michael frowned. He couldn’t imagine himself fighting over a child or refusing to meet his financial obligations for a child that was his. Old dark places opened up inside of him. Michael caught himself up short. He would not go there, now or ever. Whatever Winter’s situation was, it had nothing to do with him or their relationship, he reminded himself.
“Everything is fine. The proposal will go forward as planned.” Michael straddled the chaise lounge beside hers and sat down on it. He reached down for the drink he had left and lifted the glass. The condensation on the glass was cold to his fingers, the liquor biting on his tongue.
“I’m glad.” Winter’s polite response sounded distracted to his alert ears. She didn’t appear to have anything else to add. Silence fell as she faced the clear-blue expanse of the pool. The oak trees rustled in a puff of breeze, casting long shadows over the water with the slowly setting sun.
The silence lengthened. Winter methodically smoothed on another coat of suntan lotion. He watched her.
Michael frowned. He turned the frosted glass round and round between his fingers. He disliked knowing that her thoughts were fixed on something else, especially someone else in her personal life, when she was with him. It was not what he was paying her for, he thought, disgruntled. She was his sugar baby. She was supposed to provide companionship to him when they were together, not be thinking about an asshole of an ex-husband. “Winter.”