The Surrogate He Discarded

He wore a black leather jacket, his expression cold and unreadable. He glanced briefly at the empty chair beside him before turning his attention back to Claire.

”Then why don’t you drink this?”

He pushed a glass across the table.

”Consider it an apology for keeping us waiting.”

His tone was calm, but there was an unmistakable edge beneath it.

Clear, sharp, and unforgiving.

Claire lowered her eyes to the glass.

Vodka.

She hesitated for only a moment before pulling out the chair and sitting down. Then she picked up the glass and raised it toward the man in the leather jacket.

”To my tardiness.”

She drained it in one swallow.

The liquor burned its way down her throat, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. Claire exhaled slowly as warmth spread through her chest. The familiar haze of alcohol softened her nerves, but it did not dull her purpose.

If anything, her courage sharpened.

She stood and crossed the small space between them. Without asking permission, she settled onto his lap, close enough to make her intentions unmistakable.

The man’s eyes narrowed slightly.

He looked past her at his companion.

That single glance was enough.

The other man immediately rose from his chair. He slipped his phone into his pocket, walked toward the door, and paused only long enough to give Claire a knowing look.

Then he stepped outside and locked the door behind him.

Silence settled over the room.

Claire turned her attention back to the man beneath her.

”So,” he murmured, his voice lower now, ”what did you find out?”

”I got the design blueprint.”

Claire’s voice softened. She reached for his shoulder, her expression taking on a faintly wounded look.

”But it was only an earlier draft.”

She sighed as though the failure genuinely pained her.

”I was so close. I almost succeeded.”

She paused, then added bitterly, ”Who would have thought Isobel wouldn’t stay in bed? She went back to work almost immediately.”

There was something deliberately vulnerable in her tone—the kind of voice that could make a man feel as though he were supposed to comfort her rather than question her failure.

”Show me.”

His answer was brief.

Claire felt his warm breath brush against her neck.

For a fleeting second, the room seemed to tilt.

She blinked and shook her head lightly, clearing away the fog that was beginning to settle over her thoughts. She couldn’t afford to lose focus now.

She reached into her bag, pulled out her cellphone, and unlocked the screen.

Then she turned it toward him.

A photograph of the blueprint appeared on the screen.

His eyes immediately dropped to it.

Claire kept her eyes on him, waiting for his reaction.

When a satisfied smile finally appeared on his face, some of the tension in her shoulders eased.

”Good girl.”

He reached over and patted her lightly on the head.

Claire blinked.

For a moment, she seemed unable to understand what he had done. Then her lips curved into a small, bewildered smile.

”Huh...?”

She touched the top of her head and looked at him through half-lidded eyes.

”Why’d you do that?”

The words came out slightly slurred.

She leaned closer, as though she needed to study his face to make sense of him.

”Are you... my father?”

”What the hell?”

The man’s expression hardened. How dare she call him her father?

”Who wants to be your father?”

Claire stared at him blankly.

A second passed. Then another.

Suddenly, she giggled.

”Oh...”

She pointed unsteadily at his hand.

”I thought you were my father. You patted my head.”

Another giggle.

Her finger wavered before dropping to her lap.

”That’s what fathers do, right?”

The man stared at her.

The alcohol had clearly taken hold. Her cheeks were flushed, her movements loose and unsteady, and her thoughts seemed to drift from one idea to another before she could finish the first.

He could have laughed at her ridiculous question.

Instead, something darker flickered in his eyes.

He reached out and caught her chin, forcing her to look at him.

Claire’s smile faded.

”You’re drunk,” he murmured.

She blinked slowly.

”Maybe...”

”You shouldn’t have drunk so much.”

”I can still think.”

”Can you?”

His thumb brushed slowly along her jaw as he studied her unfocused eyes.

Claire tried to pull back, but her movements were sluggish.

The man smiled. It wasn’t a reassuring smile.

”Then let’s see how much you really understand.”

Claire stared at him, the fog in her eyes making it difficult to read his expression.

Something in his gaze made her uneasy.

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a quiet murmur.

”You came here because you wanted something from me.”

His fingers tightened slightly around her chin.

”Now, Claire, it’s time to find out what you’re willing to give in return.”

”Oh, come on,” Claire muttered, jabbing an unsteady finger against his chest.

”Didn’t we already agree? We use each other.”

She stood then swayed slightly, but managed to steady herself against him.

”You get the design...” She paused, struggling to gather her thoughts. ”And I get money... and a marriage.”

The man let out a low, mocking laugh.

”How bold. But I have no intention of being tied down by marriage.”

Claire’s lips curved into a drunken pout.

”Oh...”

She lowered her hand and stared at him for a moment.

”That’s too bad.”

Her voice suddenly became quieter.

”Isn’t marriage wonderful?”

She gave a wistful laugh, but there was no happiness in it.

”Look at Morgan and Kristine Foster. They’re so happy together.”

Her eyes grew misty.

”Everyone gets to be happy...”

She swallowed, her voice cracking.

”Then why can’t I?”

The man said nothing.

Claire lowered her head, and a tear slipped down her flushed cheek.

”I just wanted Morgan.”

The name came out like a confession she had been holding inside for far too long.

”I wanted to wake up beside him. I wanted him to look at me the way he looks at her.”

She laughed bitterly and wiped at her cheek, only smearing the tear across her skin.

”But I can’t even see his face anymore.”

Her voice broke.

”He doesn’t look at me. He doesn’t call me. It’s like...” She struggled to finish the thought, her drunken mind losing its grip on the words. ”Like I never mattered to him at all.”

For a moment, she simply stared at the floor.

Then she whispered,

”Why wasn’t I enough?”

The man watched her in silence.

Her misery seemed almost pathetic. But instead of pity, something calculating settled behind his eyes.