Birthright

very sorry, Mr. Carlyle’s calendar is completely full. I’d be happy to make an appointment for you. He has an opening on Thursday of next week.”
    “We’re only in town today,” Callie told her.
    “That’s very unfortunate. Perhaps I can schedule a phone consultation.”
    “Phone conversations can be so impersonal, don’t you think”—Jake glanced down at the brass nameplate on the desk, boosted up his smile, looked back at her—“Ms. Biddle?”
    “That would depend on who’s doing the talking. Maybe if you gave me an idea of the nature of your business, I could direct you to one of Mr. Carlyle’s associates.”
    “It’s personal business,” Callie snapped, and earned a mild glare of reproof from Ms. Biddle.
    “I’ll be happy to give Mr. Carlyle a message for you and, as I said, to make an appointment for you on Thursday of next week.”
    “Personal family business,” Jake added. Deliberately he stepped on Callie’s foot, kept his boot planted there while he gave Ms. Biddle his full attention. “It has to do with Marcus Carlyle, Richard’s father. I think if you could free up just a few minutes for him today, he’ll want to talk to us.”
    “You’re family to Mr. Carlyle?”
    “There’s a connection. We’re only in Atlanta a short time. Those few minutes would make a big difference to us and, I think, to Richard. I’m sure he wouldn’t want us to fly all the way back to Maryland without seeing him.”
    “If you give me your names, I’ll tell him you’re here. That’s all I can do.”
    “Callie Dunbrook and Jacob Graystone. We certainly appreciate that, Ms. Biddle.”
    “If you’d like to wait, I’ll tell Mr. Carlyle as soon as he’s off his conference call.”
    The minute her foot was free, Callie gave Jake a quick kick in the ankle, then walked over to sit in one of the wing-back chairs. “I don’t see how lying’s going to get us through the door,” she grumbled at him.
    “I didn’t lie. I prevaricated. And it loosened her up enough to have her tell him we’re here.”
    She picked up a magazine, immediately tossed it down again. “Why do you have to flirt with every female you come in contact with?”
    “It’s genetic imprinting. I’m a victim of my own physiology. Come on, babe, you know you’re the only one for me.”
    “Yeah, I’ve heard that one before.”
    “You heard it, but you never listened. Callie, we’ve got a lot to straighten out. After you find the answers you need on this score, we’re going to find the answers between us.”
    “We found the answers between us.” But the trouble was, she thought on a spurt of panic, she was beginning to think some of the answers she’d found had been the wrong ones.
    “We never even asked the damn questions. I’ve spent the best part of a year asking them.”
    Anxiety curled up in the center of her chest. “Don’t startthis with me, Jake. I’ve got enough messing up my head right now.”
    “I know. Callie, I want you to know—” He broke off as Ms. Biddle approached.
    Bad timing, he thought in disgust. It had been nothing but since he’d managed to get back to Callie again.
    “Mr. Carlyle can give you ten minutes. If you’ll take the stairs to the second floor, his assistant will show you in.”
    “Thank you.” Jake took Callie’s arm as they started up a staircase. “See? Never underestimate the power of prevarication.”
    The second floor was as graceful and charming as the first. She’d pegged Carlyle as rich, classy and successful.
    Both his appearance and that of his office seemed to bear that out.
    The office resembled a gentleman’s study. A large study, to be sure, but with what Callie thought of as a manly and intimate tone. Shelves of books and mementos lined two walls. There were paintings by American artists as well as American antiques.
    The masculine theme was continued in colors of burgundy and navy, the use of leather and brass.
    Richard Carlyle stood behind his desk. He was tall and well built. His hair, streaked with gray, was well cut and brushed back from a high forehead. Both his nose and mouth were thin. When he extended his hand she noted the mono-grammed cuffs. The Rolex. The glint of diamonds in his wedding ring.
    She remembered Henry Simpson describing Marcus Carlyle as a handsome man, a dynamic man of exquisite taste.
    Like father, she decided, like son.
    “Ms. Dunbrook, Mr. Graystone. I’m afraid you have the advantage on me. I’m unaware of any family