Secret Baby Santos Read Online Free PDF Page B

minutes before she’d been able to work up the nerve to go up to his suite and actually knock on the door.
    The celebration party of Nick’s win was in full swing when she stepped—no, when she was dragged —through the door of the elegant suite by a large dark-haired man sporting a ponytail. People packed the room, laughing and talking, hard-rock music pounded from a stereo system, and a blond man dressed in a Hawaiian shirt circled the room pouring champagne. The women were all beautiful, the men rugged and handsome, and Maggie had never felt more out of place in her entire life.
    She couldn’t do this. She still hadn’t seen Nick, and even if he’d seen her, he wouldn’t remember her, anyway. He had a different woman on his arm every time the tabloids took his picture. If she left right now, she wouldn’t have to suffer the humiliation of him having no idea who she was.
    She was already turning to leave, already formulating the lie she’d tell her boss, when the Hawaiian man blocked her way and shoved a flute of champagne at her.
    â€œYou here from the hotel?” he asked.
    Dressed in her tailored navy blue shirt and blazer,
she could understand why he’d think she was hotel staff. “Well, actually—”
    â€œIt’s in the bedroom bathroom. I thought someone should look at it, but you don’t need to send anyone to fix it until tomorrow.”
    She tried to explain she wasn’t with the hotel, but the noise level had risen considerably when two women grabbed Nick and started to dance with him, and the man leading her toward the bedroom couldn’t hear her explanation.
    She stumbled at the sight of him dancing with the women. Well, he wasn’t exactly dancing, he was sort of watching more than anything. Her heart pounded furiously. He was as handsome as ever, his hair as thick and dark as she remembered, his smile just as dazzling. She couldn’t find her voice when Hawaiian Man nudged her into the bedroom, then took off.
    Grateful for the quiet, Maggie slipped into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. She stared at the champagne in her hand, held her breath and took a big gulp. The bubbles lingered in her throat, tickling, and though she never drank much, she realized she liked the taste. She also liked the sudden shot of confidence buzzing through her.
    Setting her cotton workbag on the bathroom counter, she recovered her handheld tape recorder, turned it on and cleared her throat. “Testing, testing,” she spoke into the recorder, cleared her throat and said quietly, “Cottleston, Cottleston, Cottleston Pie, a fly can’t bird, but a bird can fly.” She listened to the recording, then flipped it off again and closed her eyes as she took another drink of champagne.
    When she opened her eyes again, she looked into the bathroom mirror and stared at herself. She could have
at least put some lipstick on, tried to do something with her wild hair. She’d just never known what to do when it came to cosmetics and hairstyles. Or maybe it had just never mattered to her. Suddenly it seemed to matter very much.
    But there was nothing that could be done about it now. With a sigh, she removed her glasses and turned the faucet on, intending to splash cold water on her face. A stream of water sprayed up at her, drenching the front of her jacket. Gasping, she fumbled with the faucet handle and shut off the water. Looks like she found out what Hawaiian Man had wanted her to look at.
    Groaning, she removed her jacket and slipped it into her bag with her glasses, then mopped up the water on the counter and floor with a hand towel. This cinched it for her. She was leaving.
    She downed the remaining champagne, drew in a deep breath and slipped out of the bathroom.
    Someone had closed the bedroom door to the outside parlor and the bedroom was cloaked in darkness. Maggie had no idea where the light switch was, so she felt her way across