By her.
“What you’ve done here is remarkable,” she said as he closed the office door behind them. She shook her head. “Especially in the last few years. But I’ve only heard of maybe two of your philanthropic efforts. Why haven’t you shared with the public what you’ve shown me today? I think most people would be amazed and as impressed as I am with all that you do for the community on a local and even national level.”
“If someone brags about what should be their privilege and right to do, I question not just their motivations but their hearts. Besides—” he slipped his hands into the front pockets of his pants and a faint smile quirked the corners of his mouth “—I’ve found that most people, particularly the press, have never been interested in reporting anything positive about my family or the company.”
She tried not to wince. And didn’t quite manage it. “Touché. But to be fair, my article didn’t attack you, personally.”
“Fair?” he repeated, sarcasm hardening his voice. “Forgive me if I’ve never associated fair with the media. And attack? No. But for an article that was supposed to be about the so-called anniversary of the Black Crescent incident, you invaded my personal life in a way that seemed intrusive and unnecessary.”
Her chin snapped up and her shoulders back, offended. “Am I supposed to apologize for being good at my job? I can’t control what my sources tell me or where my investigation carries me. I won’t apologize for the truth. Ever.” She narrowed her eyes on him. “If anything you should be thanking me for not including the truth about your illegitimate daughter in the article. I can’t say the same would’ve happened if—”
“Don’t say it again,” he barked. No, growled. And the ominous rumble of it snapped off her words like a branch cracking from a tree. Thunder rolled across his face, shadowing his eyes and pulling the skin taut across his cheekbones. He took a step forward but drew up short the next instant. “I am. Not. My. Father,” he snarled. And somehow, that low, dark statement stunned her more than if he’d yelled it at her. “I would never, ever turn my back on my family the way that bas—”
He broke off, but the rest of his sentence might as well as have been shouted in the room, it echoed so loud, momentarily deafening her.
“The way your father did,” she whispered, the words rasping her throat.
Joshua’s face could’ve been carved from stone, but his eyes. God, his eyes damn near glowed with fury...and pain. Such deep, bright pain that the breath caught in her throat, and she ached with it. Ached for him.
She crossed her arms over her chest and turned away from him, eyes momentarily closing. Until this moment Vernon Lowell had been a story, a shadowy, almost urban legend–like figure who’d committed an infamous crime, then disappeared into thin air. But now, in his son’s eyes, she saw him as a father—a father who had abandoned and hurt his son so deeply with his actions that even years later, that son suffered. Suffered in ways he hid so successfully that no one—least of all Sophie—had suspected.
That emotion—the intensity of it—couldn’t be faked. So was Joshua telling the truth about the child? Did he really not know of her existence? Not only did she rely on her investigative skills in her job, but her instincts. And they were screaming like a pissed-off banshee that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t.
Pinching the bridge of her nose, she bowed her head. I can’t believe I’m doing this. But her heart had made the decision seconds before her brain caught on. And she moved toward the laptop bag she’d left on the couch in the sitting area of his office before leaving for the tour of the company.
Moments later, she had her computer removed and booting up on the coffee table. Glancing up at a still stoic and silent Joshua, she waved him over. “I have something to show you, Joshua,” she murmured, using his name for the first time. Something had shifted inside her with that glimpse into his eyes. Standing on formality seemed silly now.
After a brief hesitation, he strode over and lowered onto the cushion next to her. Resolutely attempting to ignore the heat that seemed to emanate from his big body, she focused on pulling up a password-protected file. In several clicks, a report filled the screen.
A DNA report.
He stiffened next to her, and his gaze jerked to her. Silence throbbed in the office, as loud as a heartbeat, as he stared at her. She met his penetrating study evenly, not betraying the wild pounding of her pulse in her ears or the sudden case of dryness that had assaulted her mouth. She couldn’t swallow, couldn’t move. Common sense railed that she was making a huge mistake, maybe even violating her ethics. But her sense of decency—her soul—insisted that if she could somehow make this right, she should. If she could ease the pain that he would probably deny even existed, she needed to. Whether that was by confirming his daughter’s existence or even having a hand in reuniting them... She didn’t know. But she had to try.
He turned to her laptop and, leaning forward, scrutinized the report. Taking in his name at the top and the mother’s name, which was blacked out. Scanning the results that ended in one determination: Joshua Lowell was a match for a baby girl born four years ago.
Slowly, he straightened. Shock dulled his eyes, flattened the lush curves of his mouth. Only his fists, clenched so tight the knuckles bleached white, betrayed the hint of a stronger current of emotion that could be coursing through him.
Finally, he shifted his gaze to her. “Where did you get this?” he asked, his deep voice like churned-up gravel. It scraped over her skin, abrading her.
