The Kept Woman (27 page)

"You've been so quiet tonight. Are you OK, sweetheart?"

Sam squeezed Jack's hand as she kept her eyes focused on the colorful production of
La Traviata
, well aware that in this opera box she and Jack were displayed for the crowd almost as conspicuously as the performers onstage. "I'm fine," she said, giving him a brief smile and kissing his cheek.

"Whatever's bothering you, I'm looking forward to making you forget all about it later."

Jack released Sam's hand and let his fingers do a discreet dance up her bare forearm to her elbow, against the curve of her waist, down her hip. . .Sam gasped. . .then Jack gripped her upper thigh.

He leaned in to whisper in her ear over the music and his breath felt hot against her face. "I look forward to sucking on your luscious lips, Sam—both sets. I look forward to nibbling on your toes and your earlobes and your sweet pink nipples. I just love the way your nipples get rock hard at the slightest touch; have I ever told you that?"

Sam swallowed. "Uh, not at the opera."

Jack chuckled while twirling his tongue along the sensitive skin behind her ear, and Sam giggled, too. It still amused her how she once felt suspicious of Jack because he had no creative outlet that she could see. Oh, how wrong she'd been! Jack's creativity was of the sexual variety—the words he used, the tension he built, the desires he had—and she'd take that over glass pea pods any day.

Sam suddenly stiffened at the thought of Mitch. She'd not been able to shake the bad vibe she'd carried away from that encounter in the stairway. Monte flipped out when Sam admitted she'd told him about her arrangement with Jack.

"You know you can't trust that man," Monte had said. "Just pray he doesn't figure out how he can use that against you. This is not good."

No, it wasn't. And Sam wanted to tell Jack about it, but she knew he had enough on his mind in these last weeks of campaigning. Her ex-husband's antics were the last things Jack needed to be concerned about.

In the coming weeks, Sam would be traveling with Jack to all corners of the state, visiting high school auditoriums, standing outside factory gates, throwing out the first pitch at a Little League season opener, and accompanying him to countless dinners and town hall meetings.

She would deal with Mitch quietly and efficiently.

"Something's wrong," Jack said, pulling away from Sam. "Why won't you tell me what it is?"

Sam snuggled up against Jack and felt his arm wrap around her shoulders. What she loved most about Jack was that he gave her a sense of being taken care of yet didn't smother her.

"I'm a little tired, is all." That wasn't a lie. Sam couldn't remember the last time she'd been this exhausted. It had probably been while she was pregnant with Dakota and cutting hair sixty hours a week. Campaigning was damn hard work.

"Sam?"

She looked into his face and was struck by the tender concern she saw in his eyes. It was difficult to believe that Jack had ever been a stranger to her, that she'd ever doubted him.

"I want you to know how much I appreciate what you're doing. I mean that."

She nodded at him.

"You're a trouper. You've done an amazing job with the press and Kara and Stu—trust me, I know they can be obnoxious—and even Marguerite. I don't think I could have done this without you."

Sam smiled. "I'm glad I could help."

Jack leaned down and kissed her, deep and sweet and slow, and neither noticed it was intermission until the house lights went up.

The next morning, Sam opened her eyes, bolted from the bed, ran into the luxurious all-white marble bathroom, and threw up.

Well, she knew what this was. She'd been here before, three times to be exact. She was
so
pregnant.

Jack was shocked to hear that Allen Ditto was calling him at his campaign headquarters, since he hadn't spoken to the man in years. But as Jack picked up his phone he thought this could be a good thing—maybe the retiring senator was ready to endorse him after all.

"Hello, Allen! It's so nice to hear from you."

The voice on the telephone wasn't Allen Ditto's. It was Sam's or a tape recording of Sam's voice, and Jack was so shocked at what he was hearing that the meaning of her words hardly registered.

"You like?" a man's voice asked.

"Who is this? Because you're sure as hell not Allen Ditto."

"No shit, Sherlock. Have another listen."

The recording ran again. "
Look, we're not really engaged to be married, OK? Jack Tolliver hired me to pretend to be his fiancee until the primary. That's all. It's a business deal
."

"Who are you and what do you want?"

"I'm nothing but an anonymous offshore banking account number. You'll be sending one million dollars to me within the next twenty-four hours or I'll give this tape to the press."

Jack leaned back in his swivel chair and tried to comprehend what was happening. He didn't have a clue who this bastard was. He'd never heard his voice before. And how did he get that recording? Was it legit or spliced together? And who would have been able to record Sam's voice without her knowledge?

Of course it was Christy.

"Tell your boss lady that I don't negotiate with terrorists or blackmailers. Good-bye."

"Wait!"

Jack hung up and buzzed his secretary. "Get Christy Schoen on the line, now."

"Christy Schoen,
Channel Ten Action News
, how may I help you?"

"I'm on my way over to your office. You better be there."

As he started up the Lexus and headed toward Media Row, he decided this was one little errand he would be pleased to take care of himself. He'd tell Stuart and Kara all about it later.

"Mom? You OK?"

Lily was checking on her again, and Sam didn't know how much longer she could stay locked up in the bathroom like this, hiding from the world.

"I brought you some tea. Do you want it? I got my midterms back today. Wanna see?"

"I'll be out in just a second, sweet pea." Sam splashed cold water on her face and grabbed some lip gloss out of the medicine cabinet. She pinched her cheeks, wishing she could get them to look as pink as the whites of her eyes did—she'd been sick so much in the last twelve hours that she'd ruptured a few capillaries. Sam blinked at herself, and decided she looked like a pregnant, redheaded Queen of the Undead.

Sam exited the bathroom and took the tea gratefully. Lily guided her over to one of the two sofas and handed Sam the computer printout of her midterm grades, which were straight A's.

"Lily, you are an incredible young woman. I am so proud of you!" Sam hugged her oldest with all her might, the printout clutched in her hand, and was suddenly overcome with a vivid memory of holding this same person in the first seconds of her life, her precious, tiny, brand-new life. Sam began to sob.

"Mom?" Lily patted and soothed her back. "Mom? What's wrong? Do you have a brain tumor or something? You're really scaring me."

Sam shook her head but couldn't speak. She just kept holding her daughter and crying. Dale began clawing at the carpet at Sam's feet, looking for the ideal place to lie down for a nap.

Sam pulled away from Lily and began to wail. "That dog is supposed to be in the Florida room! I promised Jack he'd stay on the porch! What have I done? I've screwed up so bad!"

Lily squinted her eyes and patted her mother's hand. "Yo, Mom. News flash. Dale hasn't set foot on that porch for months. He has the run of the place. He was in the pool the other day. He sleeps on the couch in Jack's office. Nobody cares."

Sam put her face in her hands and howled. Dale offered up a series of sharp yips as harmony. Lily sighed. "OK. It's Auntie Monte time."

Sam nodded.

"Is she working today?"

She nodded again.

"Here. Drink your tea and don't move, Mom."

Lily got the cordless phone from its perch by the bed and had Monte on the line in seconds.

"Hey," Lily said. "We are in full crisis mode here at the palace. I think Mom's losing her shit—I mean—no, wait, that's exactly what I mean. Mom is losing her shit and you better get up here quick."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Christy looked all puffy around her throat and jaw, and she sounded like Brando in
The Godfather
. Jack studied her carefully.

"The tape. I'm asking you who the creep was who taped Samantha without her knowledge and then spliced together that little gem of a sound bite."

Christy's eyes got huge.

"Here's the situation as I see it. Whoever you hired went gonzo on you, Christy. He just called me and told me to pay him a million dollars or he'd give the tape to the press."

Jack had to give her credit. Christy Schoen had a steel rod for a spine and a steel trap for a brain. He'd eventually discovered that her heart was made of the same substance, and sometimes he couldn't believe he had lasted three months with her, at Marguerite's behest.

God, was he glad he found Sam.

"Answer me. Is he an intern? One of your hangers-on? A guy from studio engineering who's been in love with you for years?"

"I want you to leave my office, Jack. I think you're making all this up just to upset me."

"Upset you?" Jack laughed hard. "You barrel through this town not giving a damn who you upset or destroy or misrepresent. You follow people into toilets, for God's sake! Christy, you are the only person in the world who hates me enough to try to orchestrate something like this. It's your mess to clean up."

"I don't hate you, Jack."

"Sure you do."

"All right, I do hate you, but so do hundreds of other women you've unceremoniously dumped."

"I don't think the number is that high, but thanks for reminding me that I need to apologize to every single one of them. Anyway, none are as conniving as you are. You're the only suspect."

"Come on, Jack! It could be anyone! Maybe this is Charleton Manheimer's doing. Did you even consider that possibility? You know, I could probably help you with this if I knew exactly what the tape said."

Jack laughed again and got up out of his chair. He headed toward the door, his back to Christy.

"At least you could have found someone more suitable for your little game. I mean, Samantha Monroe? Puh-leeze!"

Jack turned very slowly, walked back to Christy's desk, and leaned his fists on it. "More suitable? What do you mean?"

Christy swallowed hard, and at this close a range, Jack could definitely tell she had a problem with her teeth.

"I just meant someone more your type," she whispered, leaning away from Jack.

"I'll tell you what my type is, Christy. She's a woman who appreciates the little things in life, who has an adventurous spirit, who likes to be silly and laugh, who is as beautiful in her soul as she is in her swimsuit. My type of woman is the kind who is loving, brave, and responsible, but can still let loose where it counts. Samantha Monroe is my type, and you can quote me directly on that."

A thoroughly puzzled expression crossed Christy's face, and Jack realized it was the first time he'd ever seen her doubt herself, even for a second.

"What the hell is wrong with your jaw, Christy?"

She rolled her eyes. "Four impacted wisdom teeth."

"Ouch." Jack straightened up. "Don't listen to what the oral surgeon tells you—it hurts like a mutha and you'll walk around like a zombie for a week."

"Thanks for the heads-up."

"Don't fuck with my fiancee, Christy." Jack stared into her widening eyes to make sure she got the point. "Sam Monroe is the best thing that ever walked into my life, and I'll be damned if you'll hurt her."

Jack reached for the door once more but stopped. He looked over his shoulder at her. "I apologize for my behavior that night at the awards dinner. What I did was inexcusable. You didn't deserve it. And I'm sorry it's taken me so long to tell you that."

Jack slammed the office door shut behind him, savoring the look of utter bewilderment he'd just seen on Christy's face.

"She's indisposed at the moment."

"You told me that two hours ago. What's going on up there? I want to talk to Sam."

Monte paced back and forth in Sam's suite, holding the cordless phone up to her ear with one hand as the positive pregnancy test stick dangled from the other.

He really wants to talk to you
, Monte mouthed to Sam, who then reached out for the phone.

"Hey, Jack! How's everything at headquarters?"

When Monte rolled her eyes, Sam realized she'd overdone the perkiness a little.

"It's been an interesting day, to say the least. We have another labor dinner tonight, this time the state and local government employees. Is it OK if I pick you up a few minutes early? There's something I want to talk to you about privately, and we sure don't seem to have much private time these days."

Sam took a big gulp of air, wondering if he had somehow guessed she was pregnant. "That sounds fine. I have something to talk to you about, too."

Jack went silent. Finally he said, "I've known for a while that something's on your mind and I think I may even know what it is. We'll talk about it tonight. I'll pick you up at six, OK? I do love you, you know that, right?"

"Yes," she said.

Jack hung up and Sam weakly clicked the phone off, letting it drop to the comforter.

"I think he's going to dump me," Sam whispered.

"What? Why in the world do you say that?"

Sam shrugged. "He said he had something he wanted to talk to me about—that's never good. Plus, you've got to remember that the last time I was pregnant, Mitch told me he'd decided he was gay."

"Don't think that's much of a risk this time around."

Sam gave her a feeble smile.

"Besides, he told you he loved you. You told him you loved him. Have a little faith." Monte put the phone back in the cradle. "I'll go down into the kitchen and rustle you up some chicken soup. Just rest for a bit."

Sam closed her eyes and concentrated on her breathing, trying to recall what it felt like to be pregnant with Dakota and when it was that she'd felt the first flutter of life inside her. She spread her hands across her belly, trying to calculate exactly how far along she might be.