Free Zoe and the Tormented Tycoon by Kate Hewitt Page A

leaflet again. There was no escaping it, no denying it.
    She was pregnant. With Max Monroe’s baby.
    Just the thought of Max made her stomach clench. He’d sent her packing after one night; what on earth would he do when—if—he discovered he was the father of her child?
    Yet even as this question formed in Zoe’s mind, she realised there was no if about it. The life inside of her was tiny, fledgling, but it was there. It was part of her, part of Max, and with a sense of something—her whole self—settling into place, she knew this was where she belonged.
    And Max needed to know.
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    It took Zoe three days to work up the courage to face Max. First she had to find him. She couldn’t have found her way back to his apartment building if she tried, and she wasn’t even sure she wanted to confront Max in the place that was his own domain, where they’d made love. If what they’d done had anything to do with love, which she now knew it hadn’t.
    Still, it had resulted in a child, a life, and for that alone Zoe knew she had to tell Max. A quick Internet search gave her the address of Monroe Consulting, an office building near Wall Street, right on the water, and Zoe made her way there.
    She felt a sickening sense of déjà vu as she crossed the threshold. A row of security desks faced her, guarding the entrance to the elevators which led to the exclusive offices upstairs.
    A bored security snapped his gum as he looked up. ‘Who are you here to see?’
    â€˜Max Monroe.’
    The guard nodded and reached for the phone. Zoe watched, her heart thudding as it had before, hardly able to believe that she was in the same awkward, uncomfortable, excruciating position she’d been only three days ago. Once again she was about to confront a hostile man and give him the unwelcome news that he was a father.
    And this time it mattered even more.
    â€˜Name?’ the guard asked, cradling the receiver to his ear, and Zoe swallowed nervously.
    â€˜Zoe.’ He waited, and she added rather grimly, ‘Just Zoe. He’ll know who I am.’
    The guard shrugged and spoke into the receiver; Zoe couldn’t hear what he said. After only a few seconds he replaced the telephone in its cradle. The look of boredom had been replaced by one of prurient interest. Zoe flushed. ‘He says he’s not expecting you, miss.’
    â€˜I didn’t ring beforehand,’ Zoe confirmed with what she hoped passed as a gracious smile. ‘I hope Mr Monroe isn’t averse to surprises.’
    The guard shrugged. ‘He sounds like he might be. He doesn’t want to see you anyway.’ He paused before he turned back to the newspaper he’d been reading. ‘Sorry.’
    Zoe stared at the man in disbelief, her flush intensifying, spreading through her entire body in hot, prickly colour. Max Monroe wasn’t going to even let her come to his office. He wasn’t going to see her at all.
    She drew in a shaky breath even as her vision swam and nausea rose in her throat. ‘I see,’ she managed. ‘Thank you.’
    On legs that very nearly tottered she made her way outof the building. She stood in the middle of the concrete concourse in front of the building, the breeze from the Hudson River blowing her hair into tangles around her face. She took two, then three, deep lungfuls of air, trying to steady her nerves, her shaking body. Even now, after one spectacular dismissal, she could hardly believe she’d been given a second. Max Monroe wasn’t going to give her the opportunity to tell him about his child.
    And she, Zoe determined, was not going to give him the opportunity to escape.
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    Max sat back in his chair, discomfort prickling along his body, through his thoughts. Why had Zoe— just Zoe—come to see him? He’d made it abundantly clear that he had no intention of pursuing a relationship or even setting eyes on her again. He