Page 70 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Hunter

"Zara, wait!" I hand the baby over to Summer and follow Zara out of the hospital room. One second she was fine. The next, she jumped to her feet and bolted for the door. I’m not sure what upset her, but I plan to get to the bottom of it.

She hustles down the corridor and toward the waiting room at the far end. By the time I enter the space, she’s standing by the window looking out.

"What’s wrong?" I draw abreast with her, but she refuses to look at me. "Zara, why are you upset?"

"I’m not upset," she says in a hard voice. But when I try to peer into her face, she looks away.

"You are definitely upset." I step around her, and she instantly looks the other way again.

"Zara… Fire."

"Stop already with your silly nicknames. Especially when you don’t mean it," she bursts out.

"How do you know I don’t mean it?"

"If you did, you wouldn’t have just disappeared after the last time we met. Not a message, not a phone call, not even a goddamn dick pic."

I stifle a chuckle. "Do you want me to send you a dick pic?"

"No. I don’t want anything to do with you. Can’t you get that through your thick skull?"

"And yet, you’re pissed off at me because I wasn’t in touch with you."

"I’m not angry at you. I’m angry at myself." She locks her hands together in front of herself.

"And I’m trying to figure out why that is."

"I don’t need to tell you anything." She pulls out a handkerchief from her handbag and dabs under her eyes.

"Zara, baby, don’t cry. Please." I grip her shoulder and turn her to face me, but she averts her gaze. "Please, tell me what set you off. Please?"

"You don’t get to ask that question—"

"—Because I wasn’t in touch with you for the last few months?"

"I know, I’m the one who told you to stay away, and I was right. So I’m not really sure why I’m upset right now."

She tries to pull away from me, but I don’t let go.

"Is it because of the baby?" I scan her features.

"What?" She stiffens. "What makes you say that?"

"Because I thought we came to some kind of agreement in the cafeteria. I thought you agreed to date me."

She tips up her chin. "You’re the one who said you want to date me. I didn’t agree to anything."

"So are you saying you don’t want to date me?" I peer into her features. "Are you, Zara?"

She tips up her chin. "I’m saying, anything between us is impossible. I’ve worked too hard to get to where I am. I can’t throw it all away by getting involved with you. I don’t want to be seen as someone who sleeps her way to the top of her profession."

"I’m not even a client, Zara."

"But your party is. I’ve done work for them in the past. I’ve built my career on being someone who is a problem solver, someone who can defuse the trickiest media situations.

I am a fixer. I am the expert media personalities, including pop stars and politicians, go to when they need help. I’m good at what I do."

"I know that."

"And I’m effective."

"What are you trying to say?" I frown.

"That my reputation rests on the fact that, while I’ve helped others with their PR campaigns, I, myself, have always stayed away from any scandal.

I’ve kept my reputation intact by steering clear of any kind of involvement, with anyone or any situation.

It’s why the media has never found anything on me.

It’s why I am respected. It’s why I am able to influence the influencers.

It’s why journalists and celebrities alike agree to be steered by me.

The position I occupy in the minds of the media is my currency. I can’t fritter it away."

"You’re likening what’s between us to the makings of a scandal?"

She looks between my eyes, then nods.

"But what if it didn’t have to be that way?" I lean in closer to her. "What if we give this—whatever this connection is between us—at least, a chance?"

"It will have to come out at some point. You’re going to be standing for elections. I’ve worked with other members of your party. At some point, people will connect the dots and know what’s happening."

"Why don’t we cross that bridge when we come to it?"

She laughs. "Typical. Of course, someone who comes from a wealthy background doesn’t need to plan out. Maybe you can do things on the fly, but I’m not that way. I couldn’t have gotten to where I am without having planned every step of my career. And that did not include—"

"Someone like me."

She swallows, then nods. "That’s right. I didn’t plan for someone like you coming along.

I can’t afford to have someone like you in my life on a personal level.

You’re a distraction I don’t intend to dwell on for too long.

We’re too different, you and I, and there’s no common meeting ground for us. "

I tighten my hold on her shoulders. "Are you sure about this? Is there nothing I can do to change your mind?"

She looks between my eyes, then nods. "There is one thing you can do."

"Anything."

"Forget you ever met me."

A hot sensation stabs my chest. My stomach muscles clench. It shouldn’t be so difficult to walk away from her. We barely know each other. So why does it feel like I am cutting off a part of myself I didn’t even know belonged to me?

"Zara—"

She shakes her head. "There’s nothing more to say Hunter." She pulls back, and I release her. She secures her bag over her shoulder, then pivots and heads for the doorway.

"Zara!" I call out after her.

She pauses.

"This isn’t over."

"The coffee actually is quite good here." I slide the paper cup in Michael’s direction. We’re seated at a table which has been pushed up in the corner of the waiting room of the hospital.

"I think I should be with Karma." His gaze remains focused on the doorway. His shirt is crumpled, and for the first time since I met him, he’s not wearing a jacket or a tie. His hair is mussed, his chin shadowed with whiskers with hints of gray peeking through. There are dark circles under his eyes and hollows under his cheekbones. He looks like someone who’s wife has given birth by emergency cesarean to a four week early premature baby.

He insisted on sitting by Karma’s side, his fingers entwined with hers as she slept.

It took the combined efforts of Sinclair and me to get him out of her room.

He only agreed when Zara, who dropped by to see her, insisted that she’d stay with her.

A Zara who refused to even acknowledge my presence, much to my annoyance.

Not that I expected anything more, given how we parted yesterday.

I left the hospital soon after and returned this morning to check in on Karma and Michael.

I found the waiting room, once again, full—this time, with Michael’s brothers who had taken to keeping watch outside Karma’s room and the nursery.

Not that there’s any danger to Karma from anyone, given the Sovranos have made peace with most of their enemies—and, rumor has it, neutralized those who didn’t accept their offer to end any clan wars.

Still, given the newborn is Michael’s heir, the first in the next generation of Sovranos, they feel duty-bound to stay alert and ensure no one gets through to mother and child.

The hospital didn’t protest about their presence, which isn’t a surprise, considering the kind of weight the Sovranos carry with those in power.

And while I’m confident that same influence extends to keeping their presence out of the media, I don’t particularly want to tempt fate by being seen with them in public.

But Michael’s my friend, and I want to be here for him and Sinclair.

Which is why I grabbed a couple of coffees on my way in and insisted he join us for coffee in the waiting room. Now, I train my gaze on him.

"She’s in good hands," I reassure him.

"Weston is the best in his field." Sinclair leans forward in his chair. "Along with the Chief Consultant of Obstetrics from the hospital, they won’t leave any stone unturned when it comes to her safety."

Michael drags his fingers through his hair. "The doctors have been wonderful, and the baby is going to be fine. I just worry what impact going through the delivery has had on Karma.”

"The challenging part is over, and she has a new baby to look forward to. She’s going to be back on her feet and healthy very soon." Sinclair takes a sip of his coffee, and an expression of shock skims his feature. "What the—" He glances at the coffee, then back at me.

"Told you." I try not to recall sitting here with Zara when she said the same thing to me just yesterday. Yesterday… When she reiterated that I shouldn’t try to keep in touch with her, while her actions conveyed the opposite. She was upset that I hadn’t messaged her or called her since the time we last met.

Yet, she was as insistent that nothing could develop between us.

She’s not even willing to give us a chance, which is bloody frustrating.

"Did you hear me, Hunter?" Sinclair’s voice cuts through my thoughts.

"It’s Zara who introduced me to the coffee." I roll my shoulders, trying to dispel the niggling ache that has settled there.

"Zara, huh?" Michael seems to grow alert and narrows his gaze on me. "So, you and Zara—"

"Me and Zara, nothing," I add quickly.

"I think he’s protesting too much. Don’t you think he’s protesting too much?" Sinclair turns to Michael.

"I think he’s protesting too much," Michael agrees.

I scoff. "Since when did the ex-criminal and his victim begin to see eye-to-eye?"

Both of them stiffen. "Tread carefully, Whittington. Spouting bullshit to your constituents seems to have loosened your tongue," Michael says in a low voice.

I raise my hands. "You’re right. I’m sorry. I crossed a line there." I glance between them. "Still, you have to admit the two of you sitting across the table from each other and ganging up on me is a far cry from when you two were essentially on opposite sides."

The two of them exchange glances. Something passes between them, then Sinclair cracks his neck.

"It’s true that Michael’s family was behind the incident when the rest of the Seven and I were kidnapped.

But now that I’m a father, I’ve realized no child should pay for the sins of the father.

I haven’t exactly lived a blemish-free life, myself…

And it’s true what was done to us changed the course of our lives forever.

It left us emotionally crippled, and if we hadn’t met the women who’ve given each of us the courage to allow ourselves to feel again, things would have looked very different.

But we did meet them, they did change us, and here we are today, with both of our wives having delivered newborns next to each other in the same hospital ward. "

"Also, our wives are sisters." Michael rolls his shoulders.

"Summer would never forgive me if I held a grudge against her sister’s husband," Sinclair admits.

"And I am deeply apologetic for what happened to the Seven."

I glance between them. "I assume this apology also had a monetary aspect to it."

"It did cross my mind that an offer of investing in Sinclair’s company would help ease the pain of what had happened, but then Karma told me to put myself in Sinclair’s shoes.

She asked me how I’d feel if I had been the one who’d been kidnapped and emotionally tortured as a child, and then had my perpetrator’s family tell me they’d make it up to me with money.

" He winces. "Rest assured, that put things in perspective. "

Sinclair inclines his head. "And Summer asked me how it would feel if someone held a grudge against my child because of something I did.” He raises a shoulder. "It’s time to move forward. Our sons are cousins."

"I don’t want any child of mine to be tainted by my past," Michael agrees.

"And I don’t want any of my children to carry on the quest for revenge that dogged most of my life," Sinclair confirms.

I rub my chin. "If only politicians could see eye-to-eye on important policies.

" I draw in a breath. "I say that because I’m one of them. Sometimes, it’s difficult for me to see things from the opposition's point of view. And hearing the two of you, my instinct says it’s best for my country if I try to find common ground, rather than take issue with them. "

"Perhaps that might not be a savvy move though. It would dilute your message," Michael points out.

"Perhaps," I reply, and tap my fingers on the table, "but the only reason I went into public service is so I can make a difference to the community and my country."

"You having second thoughts about running?" Sinclair narrows his gaze on me.

"Maybe."

"Does it have anything to do with a certain dark-haired woman who’s been able to stand up to you and who clearly takes no bullshit from you?" Michael drawls.

"Possibly." I glance at the cup in front of him. "Also, have you tasted the coffee yet?"

He glances at it, then lifts the cup to his mouth and takes a sip. He blinks, then does a double take. "And that came from the hospital cafeteria?"

"Good, right?" I smirk.

"Almost as good as the espresso in Italy, and far superior to the swill they serve at most coffee shops in this country." He takes another sip, and the muscles of his shoulders seem to unwind. "Give my thanks to Zara for introducing you to this brew."

"On that…" I rest my elbows on the table and place the tips of my fingers together. "I need your help with something."