Secrets of the Tycoon's Bride / The Executive's Surprise Baby: Secrets of the Tycoon's Bride

Letters that had upended Lauryn’s life and sent her on a three-thousand-mile quest to find the woman who’d loved her enough to have her but not enough to keep her.

Adrianna Laurence.

Her birthmother.

How could her father have lied? Lauryn asked herself for the billionth time. And how could her mother have let him?

The timer beeped. On autopilot Lauryn retrieved the carton, scraped the contents onto a plate and pulled a Diet Coke with lime from the fridge.

Hadn’t her father realized what a shock it would be for Lauryn to suddenly discover she wasn’t who she’d thought she was for the past twenty-six years?

Hadn’t he known finding out she was the by-product of her father’s affair with a Miami Beach socialite would make Lauryn doubt everything she’d once held as truth?

Why hadn’t he guessed that finding out he’d married his deceased buddy’s pregnant wife only to provide a mother for his infant daughter would make Lauryn question the very fabric of her parents’ marriage? Or that discovering the child growing in her “mother’s” rounded tummy in all those pictures wasn’t Lauryn at all, but a baby boy who had died before taking his first breath?

Why couldn’t her father have told her about her birthmother earlier? Before Adrianna had died. If he’d done so Lauryn would have had a chance to meet the woman who’d given her life and ask questions. She could have heard her mother’s voice, seen her face and learned about her parents’ relationship. What attracted them? What separated them? What had driven Adrianna to give her baby away and why had she died so young?

Even Lauryn’s name was part of the mystery. Laurence. Lauryn. According to Lauryn’s adoptive mother, Adrianna Laurence had insisted on the name. Was it because she wanted Lauryn to find her one day? Or because she couldn’t bear not being a part of her daughter’s life in some small way?

Lauryn might never discover the reason, but it wouldn’t be from lack of trying on her part.

If her father had told the truth then Lauryn wouldn’t be forced to use subterfuge to find her answers.

Answers that, according to the letters, might be found in a diary hidden in a secret compartment beneath the closet floorboards of the estate Adam Garrison now owned.

Were the diaries still there? Or had someone besides her mother known about them and removed them from their hiding place long ago? From Lauryn’s research she knew that her grandmother, the last surviving member of the Laurence clan, had died shortly before Adam bought the property.

Doors will open for you, Adam had said.

The only doors Lauryn wanted to open were the ones to that house. Her birthmother’s house. But she couldn’t just blurt out her odd request. If she did and Adam turned her down, then she’d have nowhere else to turn, and she’d never have her questions answered.

And so the deceit began. She’d moved from California to Florida planning to befriend her new boss and gain his trust. She’d believed that once she did that, once she’d proven she wasn’t some flake with outlandish ideas, he’d be more likely to grant her bizarre request to pry up a few floorboards.

Only it hadn’t worked out the way she’d hoped. She and Adam only saw each other in a business setting at biweekly meetings. There was nothing remotely personal in discussing the club’s bottom line and there were always other employees in the vicinity.

And now…

She stared at her steaming dinner with absolutely no appetite.

Now, Adam’s crazy plan and her refusal to participate in it had probably ruined any chance of friendship or trust ever developing. She’d be lucky if she escaped this situation with her job.

She’d have to find a way—short of marriage—to make amends or kiss her quest for answers goodbye.

Two

Getting out of the building for an hour on Friday appealed to Lauryn about as much as winning the lottery.

With the club operating from 11:00 p.m. to 5:00 a.m., Adam didn’t usually make appearances in the Estate offices until late afternoon. While he slept, a hive of office staff, custodians and food and beverage restockers did their jobs to prepare for the night ahead. Nevertheless, Lauryn had jumped at every sound this morning and looked forward to taking the bus to her favorite Dolphin Mall deli and spending a relaxing hour not worrying about Adam Garrison’s bizarre proposition.

The clock ticked noon. Time to escape. Tension drained from her knotted shoulders. She pulled her purse from her desk and took her usual circuit through the club. With the lights turned low, the antebellum structure that had begun life as a French-owned casino looked as if it, too, were sleeping. Later this afternoon the building would awaken as the technicians tested every speaker and bulb and set up whatever stage requirements tonight’s entertainers demanded.

The club was designed around a “night out at home” theme, and each room in the vast building had been set up with trendy leather sofas and chairs arranged in conversational nooks. There were multiple bars and dance floors on both levels, each having its own color scheme. State-of-the-art lighting and sound systems and top-notch live entertainment kept the place packed to its twenty-five-hundred-person capacity with an A-list crowd every night. Or so she’d heard. She hadn’t been a customer yet and probably never would be since she’d given up late-night partying years ago and she didn’t fit the guest profile.

She paused to caress the carved newel post of the grand staircase sweeping up to the second floor. This was her favorite part of Estate. She’d always thought it resembled a stage from a Hollywood movie set.

Thinking of Hollywood reminded her of California and home.

Home. And the mother she’d inadvertently hurt when Susan Lowes had revealed Lauryn’s true parentage.

Way to go, Lauryn. Shoot the messenger.

Lauryn hadn’t meant to imply Susan had been anything less than a perfect mother. But Lauryn had questions about her heritage. Questions Susan couldn’t answer. And then there was the anger. Anger toward her father and Susan for withholding the truth. Anger toward Lauryn’s birthmother for rejecting her without even giving her a chance to fit into her world.

Shaking off her unproductive emotions, Lauryn circled back toward the employee exit, shoved open the side door and stepped into the Miami sunshine and balmy November day.

The first thing she saw once her eyes adjusted to the brightness was Adam Garrison leaning against a silver BMW convertible parked by the curb.

Her stomach dropped like a cruise ship anchor and her nerves knotted like a snarled line. So much for avoiding him after yesterday’s fiasco. She hoped he wasn’t waiting for her.

Reluctantly, she made her way down the sidewalk. She had to walk past him to get to the bus stop a block away. Lauryn had quickly learned that driving in South Beach was a disaster, not due to the traffic but because of the parking. Specifically, the lack thereof. So she relied on the bus system to get to and from work most of the time.

“Good afternoon, Lauryn.” Adam straightened as she neared.

At several inches over six feet, he looked lean and athletic in sharply creased chocolate slacks that accentuated his height and a cream silk T-shirt that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders. A breeze ruffled his dark hair, which always looked in need of a trim. She’d bet he paid a fortune for that casually unkempt look. Thankfully, his designer sunglasses covered his gorgeous make-Jell-O-of-her-kneecaps blue eyes.

She was ashamed to admit that in the beginning she’d had a bit of a crush on her boss, but then stories of his swinging bachelor lifestyle and short attention span with women had eroded those feelings. She’d been there, done that and didn’t ever want to live that kind of superficial, self-absorbed life again.

Adam was gorgeous, but good-looking men were a dime a dozen in South Beach. Not that she was shopping for one. You couldn’t walk down the sidewalk without passing a bare-chested guy showing off his tan and pecs—either of which may or may not be real here in a city where artificial beauty was as common as a cold.

But most of those guys didn’t make her pulse blip unevenly.

And none of them had proposed.

“Good afternoon, Mr.—Adam. Did you need me for something?”

Please say no.

“Lunch.”

Not the answer she wanted. “I…have plans.”

He frowned. “A date?”

She hesitated and debated lying. But she couldn’t. Her presence in Miami was already complicated by too many half-truths. “No. I was going to the mall.”

“I have a better idea. Get in.” He opened the passenger-side door.

Would he fire her if she refused? Not something she wanted to find out. She eased into the leather seat and fastened her safety belt. Adam slid into the driver’s seat, started the engine and merged into the Washington Avenue traffic.