Page 64 of The Valentine Inn

We all chuckled.

“We’ll see.” Drake gave Jameson a wink.

“Yes!” Jameson put the cap on his head.

Our little huddle was interrupted by a photojournalist, camera in hand. “Drake, is this your son?” he shouted from across the room. “How did it feel to learn you’re a father?”

I couldn’t believe my cheeks could burn any hotter than they already were, but apparently, I’d now entered the fourth level of hell, and those babies were feeling crispy.

“Why don’t we head to the conference room?” Rich suggested.

Drake put his arm around me, grabbed Jameson’s hand, and led us toward the conference room.

The photog was relentless and chased after us.

Drake stopped and turned, blocking us from the persistent man; he was struggling to rein in his fury, judging by how red his ears burned. “I’m here with my family to ski. So, I’m going to ask you politely to back off.” He didn’t sound all that polite.

I didn’t care how he sounded—I was touched he’d called us his family. It almost made the photog’s next questions not sting as much. Almost.

“Is it true your son was kept a secret from you? Do you plan to take legal action against his mother?” The slimy man flashed me a devious grin.

Drake’s fists clenched. “I suggest you leave before I call security.”

The man snapped several pictures, before leaving with the biggest smirk on his face.

Meanwhile, I was dying a little inside. Not that I was worried Drake was going to sue me. It was the fact the man had a reason to ask such a question. That my deepest regret was going to be a headline. It was made worse with the knowledge Drake was still angry about it. He’d missed five years of Jameson’s life because of me. Yet, I had to play it cool. There was no crying for the cameras. That was like blood to a shark.

Drake turned, trying to gain his composure.

“Why does everyone keep taking our picture?” Jameson growled, sounding an awful lot like his dad.

Drake let out a heavy breath before responding, “Some people think because I make movies, they have a right to know all about my life. And now that you’re a part of my life, they want to know you too.” That was a good explanation.

“I don’t want them to know me.” Jameson puffed out his chest.

“Don’t worry, I won’t let anyone near you.” Drake tapped the brim of Jameson’s cap.

I rubbed my chest, feeling more and more guilty for placing my son in this situation. I’d known what having Drake’s baby would mean, but I’d exacerbated the situation by keeping it secret.

“Are you okay?” Drake tugged on a tendril of my hair.

I swallowed down the truth, not wanting to admit to anything for fear of being heard, or worse, that I would start crying.

Drake gave me a sympathetic smile, as if he knew what I couldn’t say. I wasn’t doing okay.

“Come in and meet everyone.” Rich waved us into the conference room.

I welcomed the refuge and the hand Drake offered me. Um . . . scratch that.

“Darling,” Marissa’s shrill voice filled the cavernous room, with a couple of well-known faces and several strange ones sitting around a large pine table.

I had gone from the frying pan right into the fire.

Marissa, decked out in a white snow bunny getup that fit to stunning perfection, came charging after Drake. She didn’t let the fact that Drake was holding my hand, or that our son was a witness, stop her from wrapping her tentacles around Drake like a vixen octopus, pushing me out of the way. “Are you surprised?” she purred.

Drake, to his credit, tried to shake her off, but she was holding on like a dog to her bone. I was sure if someone tried to extricate Drake, she would bare her gleaming white teeth and foam at the mouth. With no shame, she touched him everywhere she could with her slender manicured hands, bearing long red nails that were obviously itching to scratch up Drake’s back.

Watching her made me feel so very small and so out of Drake’s league. She was painfully beautiful with thick dark tresses showcasing her high cheekbones and smooth porcelain skin. She even smelled like every man’s wildest dreams. I probably smelled like the plum jam Jameson had dropped and splattered all over me this morning during breakfast. I once again felt like Drake’s insignificant assistant. I was waiting for someone to pat me on the head and ask me to fetch them some coffee.

I remembered all the headlines and articles about Drake and Marissa. Many beginning with—Hollywood’s Most Beautiful Couple. Seeing them together confirmed the written word.

I took Jameson’s hand to remind myself that my worth didn’t come in designer outfits or even in my looks, but it was impossible not to compare myself to the beauty before me. I wanted to say something, stake my claim on Drake, but realized it would be a never-ending battle. There were always going to be women throwing themselves at Drake. Many not caring if he was with me or not.

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