Page 10 of Shadowed Agenda
The Senator’s supporters came from all corners of the community. A crew member could have overheard their heated exchange and passed the information on, but Regan didn’t recall anyone nearby.
Perhaps it was time to sever her relationship with Isla. She could no longer trust her as her publicist or as a friend. Regan pulled out her cell phone and accessed the cloud server she used. Her lawyer would know the ins and outs of her contract with the publishing company, but she could at least skim to see if a clause was locking her into using Isla.
The knock at the door startled her. Regan glanced at the time on her cell phone. Pavlo was early. He had struck her as one of those people with the uncanny ability to arrive exactly on time. It was probably another one of those skills a SEAL had to have.
She set her cell phone on the coffee table and walked to the door. “You’re early,” she said as she flung the door open.
“I take it you’re expecting someone,” Nicholas Wyndham said as he walked past her into her suite. “I won’t keep you long.”
“How did you find out I was here?” Regan asked and followed him into the living room.
“I have money. I can find out anything.” His laugh conveyed the ridiculousness of her question. He undid his suit coat’s buttons and sat down on the couch. “I also own a controlling share in your publishing house. It only required a phone call to the board’s chairperson by my administrative assistant to locate you.”
The explanation wasn’t intended to answer her question. It was a deliberate attempt to make her feel insignificant.
“What do you want?” Regan asked and remained standing. Whatever he had to say, he’d better say it quickly and leave.
“No ‘I haven’t seen you for two years, Nicholas. How have you been?’” he asked sarcastically.
“That was your decision,” she replied, a flicker of apprehension sweeping through her. It had been almost three years since she’d left him. Why would Nicholas suddenly want to speak with her?
“You left me. Remember?” he said and smirked.
“You were happy to get rid of me when you found out I wasn’t having a boy—a male to inherit the business.” Those had been the exact words he’d used when they’d found out she was carrying a girl. “I was happy to get rid of a cheating bastard.”
“Let me get straight to the point,” Nicholas said, his eyes now cold and hard. “I want to be involved in bringing up Emmeline.”
“I’m surprised you know her name. Why the sudden interest inmydaughter?” Regan asked, anger building slowly inside her. She couldn’t see Nicholas changing his playboy lifestyle to accommodate a child, especially a two-year-old with severe health problems. She would not allow him to use Emmeline as he’d used her. “Is someone on your board of directors disapproving of your lifestyle?”
Nicholas’ lips pressed into a thin line. “It’s my PR consultant’s suggestion.”
“PR consultant? That’s new. Since when have you been worried about your image?” Regan scoffed. They’d been married almost two years, and she’d been three months pregnant when her cousin had sent her a newspaper clipping. The black-and-white photo above the three-column article showed Nicholas entering a luxury hotel in Paris, a woman wrapped around him. The woman had been Regan’s BFF. A little digging had turned up other affairs.
“I’ve been asked to run for the House of Representatives. Even you should be able to understand the role image plays,” he said, leaning back and resting his arm on the back of the couch.
“Asked or bought your way in?” Her ex-husband’s company was worth millions. Regan shrugged her shoulders. “I’m guessing it’s a tomato, tomahto thing.”
He ignored the comment.
“This is about you looking after yourself. Why am I not shocked?” Regan made a show of looking up at the ceiling and throwing her hands in the air. “Your PR consultant can stop worrying. You’re not a part of our lives and never will be.”
“It’s not that simple,” Nicholas said.
“You were the one to draw up the contract relinquishing all your rights in return for me walking away penniless. You even refused to pay child support.” Regan would not allow Nicholas to waltz back into her and her child’s life. “I was six months pregnant when we divorced. Not once since then have you asked to see my daughter.”
“Our daughter,” he corrected her.
“Mydaughter,” Regan replied. “Check the settlement.”
He ignored her comment. “You know how the media likes to dig up dirt.”
“You should be more worried about your lifestyle and reported affairs with married women affecting voters’ opinions than a two-year-old gaining you supporters,” Regan sniped.
“Now that your little books are doing well, it won’t take long before an ambitious reporter discovers we were married.”
“Thoselittle books…” Regan ground out the words. “Are more than enough to take care of my daughter and myself. I don’t need your help financially, and Emmeline doesn’t need you in her life.” During their marriage, he’d dismissed thestoriesshe’d written as meaningless drivel.
Her guest lecturing at the university wasn’t enough to pay for Emmeline’s surgeries, so she’d turned those stories into bestsellers.