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he’d gotten Courtney pregnant. His actions were reprehensible. Not to mention criminal—not that he’d ever been held accountable for them. Palo Alto was still a very small town and the Ballards were wealthy enough to keep the closet that held their skeletons firmly padlocked.
    Still, Kyle was happy and that was what mattered. She couldn’t have loved Kyle more if he had been her own child. But every once in while, he did make her yearn for the children she would never have. And she sometimes wondered if they would have looked like Kyle, with Matt’s eyes and her light brown hair.
    She flashed a smile that she hoped hid her more melancholy emotions.
    Kyle smiled back. “Thanks, Aunt Claire!”
     
    By the time the night of their date rolled around, she still knew nothing. She had no idea what to expect on their date. Other than the plane, of course. But then again, everyone in town had known within about twenty minutes of Matt scheduling the flight at the nearby airstrip.
    She’d once read in a magazine—years ago when she still followed news about Matt—that he owned a Cessna. So she’d expected him to fly her somewhere in that. But instead, the plane waiting for her on the tarmac was no mere single engine aircraft, but a veritable jet, sleek and long and reeking of wealth and privilege.
    Of course, filthy rich, debonair Matt would own his own jet. She was still making payments on her decade-old car.
    When she climbed out of the limo, Matt was standing there waiting for her, looking vaguely like James Bond, what with the tailored charcoal-gray suit, his perfectly styled hair, the snazzy sunglasses and the plane.
    When he saw her, he slowly removed the sunglasses to study her. If he was disappointed in her appearance, it didn’t show in his expression.
    She owned exactly three dresses, all of which were nearly as old as her car. She’d borrowed this outfit—which consisted of wide-legged silk pants and a beaded vest with a matching shawl, all in a warm chocolate-brown—from Olga.
    The limo driver took her bag out of the back and delivered it into the cabin of the plane. She’d debated for hours whether or not to actually bring a bag. Shecertainly didn’t want Matt thinking she condoned being ordered around. Or worse that she was going to sleep with him. At the last minute, she’d dug an ancient duffel out of the back of her closet and thrown in a few things. She tried not to read too much into the fact that it was one of the bags she’d packed when she’d left him.
    Now, the proprietary gleam in Matt’s eyes as he looked at her made her feel vaguely queasy. She resisted the urge to rub her palms on her pants—after all they weren’t hers.
    “I didn’t know what to wear,” she explained, immediately regretting how insecure she sounded. The last thing she wanted was him imagining her stressing out over preparing for this date, though of course she had. “You didn’t say what we were doing.”
    The left side of his mouth curved in a smile. “You look perfect.”
    Her chest tightened inexplicably. Dang it. He was not supposed to make her feel all fluttery. She gritted her teeth. And how dare he compliment her? Like he could charm her into submission.
    “I assume,” she said peevishly, “that’s your plane we’re taking.”
    He looked taken aback. “It is. How did you guess?”
    She gestured to the scrawled name on the tail of the plane “ The Raven ? It’s—” Then she snapped her mouth shut. “It was just a guess. Didn’t you love that poem by Poe?”
    But he’d caught her slip. He walked closer to her to stand less than a foot away. “The Raven was our project name for the nickel-metal hydride battery FMJ developed right after we went public.”
    Suddenly, she was aware of how tall he was. He’dbeen an extremely late bloomer, still in the five-nine range when he’d graduated from high school, but he’d sprouted those last three or four inches in college. When she’d known him,