Bossman's Baby Scandal / Executive's Pregnancy Ultimatum: Bossman's Baby Scandal / Executive's Pregnancy Ultimatum

He clasped his hands behind his back. “I’m offering you a trade.”

She thrust the ring toward him. “How can you be so certain this big-account client will even know the baby is yours? We can just stay silent.”

His chest expanded. “There’s no way in hell I’m denying my own kid for even a day. I may be ambitious, but there are lines. That one’s not negotiable.”

She pressed the back of her wrist to her forehead, ring box still in her grip. “This is all too much to absorb at once. I just don’t know …”

He clasped her shoulders lightly. “Fine, we’ll let that ride for now.” He massaged gently, his touch both soothing and stirring. “We have more pressing concerns, anyway, making plans for the baby. I’ll pick you up after work.”

She struggled not to loll into his caress, his comfort. His help. She’d been so tense and scared her whole body ached from knotted muscles. “Do you think for once you could ask rather than command?”

He smoothed his hands down her arms, plucked the ring box from her and set it on her desk. Then he linked their fingers, the first real connection they’d shared since they’d made love in this office four months ago. “Would you like to go out to dinner after work?”

“To discuss plans for the baby.”

He nodded, still holding but not moving closer, not crowding, only tempting.

She should know better. But they did have to talk. She couldn’t avoid him forever. “Pick me up at my place at seven.”

As she watched him leave her office, she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d made a mistake bigger than the rock resting in that ring box.

Three

Phone tucked under her chin, Lauren hopped on one foot, tugging on her purple boot. “Hi, Mom.” She dropped onto the edge of her bed. “What can I do for you?”

“Lauren, dear, I’ve been calling and calling and you never pick up at work, or home, or on your cell,” her mother said, rambling a thousand miles an hour at the other end of the line. Her flat New England accent was more pronounced, a sure sign she was worked up. “I’m beginning to think you’re dodging me.”

“Would I do that?” She’d spoken with her mom just a couple of days ago. Jacqueline Presley had logged in about thirty-seven messages since then. Lauren had enough trouble dealing with her mother in a manic cycle during a regular day.

These days were far from regular.

“I don’t know what you’ll do, Lauren, I don’t know anything about you lately.” Her mother paused. For air? To gather her thoughts? “Have you spoken with your father?”

Ah, hell. She needed to steer clear of that ticking bomb. “No, Mother, I haven’t given Dad a single minute more of my time than you’ve gotten.”

“There’s no need to be snippy. I don’t know why you get so uptight. Sometimes you’re just like your father’s sister, and she ended up alone. And fat.”

Great. Just what she needed to hear, her mother’s obsession with her daughter’s curves. Lauren had probably been the only ten-year-old on the planet who’d known what the term Rubenesque meant.

“Didn’t mean to offend you, Mom.” Perched on the edge of the mattress, Lauren zipped one boot, then the other, glancing at the clock. Jason would be ringing the doorbell any minute now. She’d barely had time to yank on the black stretch pants and long sweater after her workday had run late. She’d tossed her purse onto her bed and the ring box had tumbled out. “Things are just hectic at work.”

“You don’t have to grind yourself into the ground trying to prove yourself to me.” A chain jingled on the other end of the line as Jacqueline Presley undoubtedly fidgeted with her jewel-studded glasses chain. “I can tell your father to release a portion of your inheritance now. Or you could have simply invested that money from Aunt Eliza and had a nice little nest egg while you pursued real art.”

Lauren’s chest went tight. A typical stress reaction around her mom, especially when Jacqueline went down this path …

“You could be as good an artist as I was, Lauren, if you just applied yourself.”

Lauren twisted her fists into her satiny damask bedspread. The debacle with the accountant would only fuel her mother’s arguments. She felt ill. “Mom—”

“I’m going to be in the city next week.” Jacqueline plowed ahead. “We can lunch.”

Good God, once her mother was on a roll with her list of all the ways Lauren wasn’t living her life right, it usually ended with a list of eligible young men she’d met. Men Lauren would just love. Men like Jason.

Her mother was going to have a cow when she learned about this pregnancy.

“Mom, it’s been great talking to you—” she stood, tugging her sweater over her hips “—but I really have to go.”

“You have plans?”

And if she didn’t? Her mother would keep talking. Might as well be honest. “I do have a dinner date with a work associate. Not a date kind of date.” Babbling only made things worse, and worst of all made her fear becoming like her mother.

“Please, dear, do go and pretty yourself up. And remember, pink is not your color. Ta-ta.” Her mother hung up.

“Argh!” Lauren thumbed the off button so hard her nail polish chipped. She tossed the phone on the bed, pacing and shaking her hands as if she could somehow flick away the irritation.

The hurt.

After all these years, she should have gotten used to her mother, and actually, this conversation hadn’t even really been that bad in the big scheme of things. But she could hear the mania building, knew how close her mother was to the edge. One small nudge would send her flying into a full bipolar swing. Since her mother refused medication and therapy lately, the highs and lows grew more extreme.

Finding out about the baby would be more than a small nudge for Jacqueline Presley. Add the embezzlement, and who knew how her mom would react? One thing was certain, her mother wouldn’t handle any of the news calmly.

Passing a potted fern under the window, Lauren snapped off a dry frond. What would it be like to have a mother she could turn to right now? Her hand slid to her stomach. She would do whatever it took to be that kind of support for her child.

Lauren turned the fern stand so the other side of the plant received equal time in the sun. If only she could have a few weeks to regain her footing outside the high drama. If she just had some space to gather her thoughts, plan, put her life on track again …

The ring box in the middle of the mattress drew her eyes like a magnet. Her feet followed, leading her toward the bed.

Jason’s offer of a temporary engagement spiraled through her mind. Tempting. Dangerous. Could she risk that much time in California in close quarters with him?

Then again, with her life in New York ready to implode and her own health a bit touchy, could she afford not to?

Jason guided the rental car along the two-lane road leading into a quaint small town about forty minutes out of the city. Lauren sat beside him, her head resting back, that crazy sweater purse of hers cradled in her lap against the gentle curve of her stomach.

Of their baby.

He finally had Lauren alone for a few hours and he needed to make the most of them. He’d dug deep for everything he knew about her, had approached the evening as an account he needed to win.

Yeah, thinking of this analytically was a helluva lot easier for him than contemplating how important it had become to win this point. The more he thought about the crook who’d stolen from her business, the more pissed off he got. She was so damn talented. He’d recognized her extraordinary artistic gifts from their very first meeting.

His fist tightened on the luxury sedan’s gearshift. The urge to do more than protect—to take action—fired through him, stronger than anything he could remember since he’d been on assignment in the Navy.

Of course, persuading Lauren would be easier if she was awake. She’d been out like a light before they hit the city limits. If she didn’t wake up by the time he reached their destination, he would simply circle the block until she woke up or he needed to refuel the car. As much stress as she’d been under, she undoubtedly needed the sleep. And he could press his point better with a well-rested Lauren.

Vintage streetlamps dotted the roadside, casting dim orbs for a shadowy view of the small stores and shops. Snowflakes skittered in front of the sweeping beams of the headlights, the occasional car swishing past in the other lane.

Ring, ring. Her cell phone cut through the silent car with soft wind-chime tones, buried deep in her funky sweater purse. Too deep for him to fish out. Would she simply sleep through it?

She stirred, then jolted awake, her long eyelashes sweeping wide and blinking fast. Lauren grabbed her purse and stuffed her hand inside. She pulled out the cell just as the ringing stopped. She frowned.