Page 37 of Hidden Heir With His Housekeeper

She threw her hands up, exasperated. ‘About everything, Mason. About becoming a father. About finding me again. About what I just told you... Stuff like that!’ she huffed, so frustrated now she could scream.

Was he playing some kind of game with her? Trying to unnerve and antagonise her?

But when he placed his fork back on his plate, his demeanour didn’t appear manipulative or confrontational. Good to know she could read that much at least.

‘The way I see it...’ The tight muscle in his jaw started to twitch, but she had the strangest feeling his fury wasn’t directed at her any more. ‘Your father is a bully, who doesn’t give a damn about you, except what he can get out of you. He showed up at my office the day after you disappeared, and straight away I recognised the type. Because my old man was the exact same, just without the peerage and the posh accent and the expensive suits. A sewer rat willing to sell his own kid to the highest bidder. I don’t blame you for wanting to escape from that.’ The barely leashed aggression shocked her a little, but not as much as the pulse of compassion at the glimpse into his childhood.

It was all part of the Mason Foxx myth, that he’d had a rough start in life. But the details had always been deliberately vague, steeped in rags-to-riches romanticism to make the Foxx Group’s CEO seem invincible while also being a brilliant brand ambassador for aspirational luxury.

But as he ran his thumb over the scar on his brow, and she glimpsed the barbed wire tattoo on his collarbone which had fascinated her that night—and fascinated her still—she wondered about the reality of his rough start. What price had he paid to become a success? What experiences had given him the drive and ambition to escape? And had he really been able to leave that boy behind? Because beneath the anger and bitterness directed at the father who had exploited him, she also detected an odd note of regret, even guilt, which didn’t fit at all with the myth he had created for himself.

‘I’m glad you broke free of that bastard,’ Mason continued, dropping his hand from his face as if he had just noticed the habitual gesture. ‘I also owe you an apology for the way I reacted that morning. Which I can see now had as much to do with baggage from my childhood as it did with finding out about your old man’s agenda.’

‘What baggage?’ she asked, astonished not just by his forthright apology, but also the way it made her feel—both vindicated and seen.

‘Just...stuff.’ He shrugged, clearly unwilling to elaborate.

Had he said more about his past than he’d intended?

She quashed the foolish burst of compassion and hope. She’d allowed herself to get emotionally invested before, when she was lying in his arms that night, kidding herself the physical intimacy they’d shared had meant something more. She couldn’t make that mistake again. Because there was so much more at stake now. Not just for her, but also her baby.

Theirbaby.

She let the thought sink in. It had been so easy not to engage with Mason’s place in her child’s life while she was working her backside off to create a new life for herself. It was a lot less easy while he was sitting across from her, his broad shoulders stretching his T-shirt and his stubbled jaw reminding her of the feel of his lips on her...

She pushed down the unwanted blast of heat.

Focus, Bea, for Pete’s sake.

‘It’s not important,’ he said evasively, the intense gaze becoming hooded. ‘The point is,’ he continued, lifting his fork again, to wind it into the pasta, ‘I guess I can understand why you ran off, but that doesn’t explain why you didn’t tell me that...’ He ducked his head to indicate her belly. ‘That our night had consequences.’

That? It? Junior? Your condition? The pregnancy? Consequences?

Was it significant that whenever he referred to their baby, he used impersonal terms? He’d made a massive deal about the fact she hadn’t informed him of the pregnancy, but at the same time he hadn’t given her any hints about what he felt about becoming a father.

‘I intended to tell you, eventually,’ she said, determined to believe that was true. She’d come so far. Enough to know she wasn’t a coward any more. But contacting him had seemed overwhelming.

‘I guess I kept putting it off to focus on other things... Like making a living,’ she added, which was mostly true. ‘And because I was scared about how you would react to the news.’ Which was absolutely true. Her emotions whenever she thought about telling Mason had swung violently between panic and fear and guilt, so it had been simpler not to think about telling him at all. ‘So I took the easiest option and just kept putting it off. And for thatIoweyouan apology,’ she said, finally getting to the point.

Whatever his views on fatherhood, she hadn’t had the right to keep this pregnancy a secret.

She’d made the decision to have this baby—theirbaby—without involving him, and she refused to regret it because she still didn’t know how he would have reacted if she’d told him straight away. But it didn’t matter what he might have said and done then, because it was academic now.

His brow furrowed with disapproval. But instead of berating her again for failing to contact him sooner, he shoved the pasta into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed, then gave her a stiff nod.

‘Okay. Apology accepted,’ he said, his tone tight, and a little grudging, but his gaze direct. ‘I guess we both made mistakes.’

Relief washed through her. The knots in her stomach loosened.

Maybe this didn’t have to be as hard as she had thought it would be.

But then he shot a pointed glance at her untouched food. ‘Eat up before it gets cold. Then we need to discuss next steps.’

Next steps?Whatnext steps?

Was he going to make demands and ultimatums? To dictate what would happen now? Because she was not about to compromise the independence she’d worked so hard for to kowtow to a man—even the scorching-hot billionaire who was the father of her child...

Scorching-hot?Where did that come from?So not the point, Bea.

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