He considered warning Bolly and Jason of an ugly man in an ugly car, but he was afraid that would spook Bolly and he would scotch the coaching sessions, and that one hour each day was the only hour during which Griff was marginally distracted.

He called Laura twice more at her office, without success. After the second time, he brazenly called her cell phone. Knowing that she would recognize his number on caller ID, he was surprised but elated when she answered. But all she said before hanging up was “Stop calling me. You can’t call me.”

He tried to exhaust himself by swimming laps. On the days he didn’t swim, he ran miles. He worked out in the gym as though he were still in training. He went to multiscreen cinemas and saw every movie on the marquee.

He killed time.

Finally, while waiting inside a fruit smoothie store for his yogurt-and-berry blend, the call came. He almost dropped his cell phone as he snapped it off his belt and flipped up the cover. “Hello?”

“Griff, Foster Speakman. Congratulations.”

His field of vision shrank to a pinpoint, consumed by onrushing blackness. The clerk behind the counter signaled to him that his drink was ready. Griff looked at him with misapprehension. He turned and left the store. Out on the sidewalk, he stood in the shade, but heat had been trapped beneath the canvas awning. It was like being inside an oven. He was suffocating.

“Griff? Did you hear me?”

“Uh, yeah, I’m just…” His hand had grown slippery with sweat. He switched his phone to the other. “I guess ‘congratulations’ means you’ve got good news for me.”

“We’ve been successful.” The millionaire didn’t even try to contain his jubilation. “Laura’s pregnant.”

The disgruntled clerk came out of the store, bringing Griff’s smoothie with him. He had a silver bar piercing his eyebrow and yellow teeth that needed orthodontia. “You can’t just order something and then walk out.”

Ignoring him, Griff asked, “Are you sure?”

“Three home pregnancy tests this morning were all positive. That’s pretty much indisputable.”

“Hey, I’m talking to you,” the clerk said. “You’re gonna pay for this.” He thrust the drink at Griff.

“Hold on a minute,” he said to Speakman. Covering the phone, he grabbed the drink, which looked nauseatingly frothy and rich, and hurled it into the nearby trash can. He stuffed a five-dollar bill into the pocket of the clerk’s shirt. “Now get the fuck out of my face before I rip that thing out of your eyebrow.”

“They should’ve left you in prison to rot.” Sneering, the clerk shot Griff the finger and went back inside the store.

Griff took several deep breaths, and all that did was inflate his lungs with scorching air.

“Apparently I caught you at a bad time,” Speakman said.

“Not really. I was paying out at a store. I apologize. How reliable are those home pregnancy tests?”

“I shared your skepticism. Laura, too. She was reluctant to take the tests in the first place, afraid that doing so might jinx it.” He laughed. “But once the third one came out positive, she began to believe it was true. A test at the doctor’s office confirmed it.”

“She’s already gone to a doctor?”

“This morning. She pleaded with her gynecologist’s office to work her in. They did a blood test. They just called her with the happy news that her hormone level indicates that she’s pregnant.”

“Is she there with you?” Griff imagined them hugging each other, laughing, crying with joy.

“She was at the office, but she’s on her way home now. I’ve iced down the champagne. Well, I’ll have champagne. Laura, of course, can no longer drink, so I’ve got club soda on ice for her.” Speakman laughed. Griff forced himself to join in. “I wanted to share the news with you immediately. You’ve just become a very rich man.”

“Yeah. It’s kinda hard to take in.”

“Would it be convenient for you to come to the house tomorrow evening? I’ve worked out the details of that hitch.”

“Hitch?”

“How you would continue to be paid in the event that neither Laura nor I outlived you.”

“Oh, that.”

It seemed like a long time ago since he had been in the library of the mansion, sipping Coke from cut crystal, talking about deal points, hammering out the details of this bizarre arrangement. Now that he thought back on it, it seemed like a dream. And only now did he realize that he’d never thought it would actually work out as planned. He hadn’t counted on it ending to everyone’s satisfaction. But it had. The Speakmans were going to have the child they wanted. He was going to be a millionaire again. He was set for life.

He felt like he’d been hit with a sack of shit.

“It’s an unlikely scenario,” Speakman was saying, “but I’ve worked out a contingency for it. Also, we’d like to pay you your half million in person.”

“I thought we weren’t supposed to ever see each other again.”

“Just this once. This is a special occasion, and I want to give it the ceremony it deserves. A gesture of our eternal gratitude. Will you come?”

“Sure,” Griff heard himself say. “What time?”

He arrived at eight-thirty on the dot. He dialed the house from the gate, identified himself to Manuelo, and the gate swung open. The aide opened the door even before Griff rang the bell. He was wearing his customary black, his smile as vacuous as before. He didn’t say a word before ushering Griff through the vaulted entry and into the familiar library, where Foster was waiting. Alone.

“Griff!” he exclaimed happily. He did a funny thing with his chair before wheeling it forward. Smiling ear to ear, he clasped Griff’s right hand between both of his and pumped it enthusiastically. “I’m so glad you could come.”

“Wouldn’t have missed it.”

“Worth the errand, huh? Five hundred thousand in cash. Do you have an armored truck to go home in?”

Griff laughed as expected.

“What would you like to drink?”

He nodded at the highball glass sitting on the end table at Speakman’s elbow. “One of those will be fine.”

“Uno más,” Speakman told Manuelo, who went immediately to the bar and poured Griff a drink from a decanter. As soon as he delivered it, Speakman motioned that the aide could leave. Manuelo pulled the double doors closed behind him.

Speakman retrieved his drink from the table. “I drank an entire bottle of champagne last night and woke up with a terrible headache this morning. But you can toast with good bourbon, too, can’t you?” He raised his glass. “To our success.”

“To our success,” Griff echoed. He took a hefty swig of the whiskey, which burned all the way down. “Mrs. Speakman isn’t joining us?”

“Unfortunately, no. A matter has been brewing in Austin for several months. A baggage handling problem that needed her attention. Or so she thought. I tried to talk her out of going, but she insisted that one of us needed to see to the resolution, and she thought the quick round-trip would be too much for me.”

Griff figured that was the excuse she’d given her husband. The truth of it was that she had hightailed it to Austin because she didn’t want to see him. Her absence sent a clear message that caused him to waver somewhere between longing to lay eyes on her again and anger over her cowardice about meeting him face-to-face after that last afternoon together.

“I won’t let her take on that extra work for much longer,” Speakman said. “From now until the baby is born, my hardest job will be getting her to delegate responsibility. She’s stubborn when it comes to turning a chore over to someone else.” He chuckled with self-deprecation. “Of course, so am I. But we both want to be full-time parents. When the baby arrives, I have no doubt she’ll devote herself to mothering.”

Of course, that was what this had been about, wasn’t it? Laura wanted a baby. She wanted to give her husband a baby. A few orgasms had been a bonus, but they sure as hell hadn’t changed her agenda, and he’d been a damn fool to think they might.