The Baby Truce

“In a way, yes.”

“Why? This has got to be as life altering for you as it is for me.”

She had a feeling he knew exactly what she was going to say. That he wanted her to say it so he could contradict it. Fine.

She leaned forward again. “I’ll spell it out, Tom. Once upon a time I loved you. We were supposed to start a catering business. Papers were signed. We had a plan.”

His eyes flashed with sudden temper. “It wasn’t carved in stone.”

“Obviously,” Reggie replied, unfazed. “Since you took off for the north of Spain for a job that had no future.”

“It made one hell of a future for me.”

“Yes, it did,” she conceded. He’d taken a gamble and it had paid off. And, since he had such a valid point, she took the low road. “But which of us is still employed?”

“I will be employed,” he said coldly. “I don’t think Letterbridge is flying me across the country on a whim.”

“Okay…and forgive me for being blunt,” Reggie said, tossing the crumpled napkin past him into the trash, “which one of us will stay employed?”

He smiled. “Which one of us has had the more successful career?” he asked with exaggerated politeness.

“I rather like mine. At least I know I’ll be bringing home a paycheck. It may not be as big as yours, but it’s steady.”

Tom hooked an elbow over his chair back. “You’re still angry about me leaving,” he said as if making a major deduction.

Brilliant, Tom. “Believe it or not, it stung when you chose a shot in the dark over me and a fairly sure thing.”

“You could have come with me. Instead you gave me that fricking ultimatum.”

“Which you took.”

“It didn’t have to be all or nothing. We could have worked something out.”

“Look who’s talking, Mr. Compromise. I don’t think so. It’s all or nothing for you. If everything isn’t just so in your kitchen, you throw a fit. And now you’ve gone public with those fits.”

“I don’t throw fits!” Tom’s voice rose and then he clamped his mouth shut as several people at nearby tables looked his way.

“Tizzies?” Reggie asked innocently, not above driving a point home.

His neck corded as he fought to bring his temper under control. Finally he said in a low voice, “My tizzies aside, here’s what it comes down to.” He stabbed the table with his finger. “You could have come with me to Spain. The catering business had barely started. You wouldn’t because I had deviated from The Plan.”

“I didn’t come because you didn’t ask me.”

“Yes, I did.”

Reggie jutted her chin out. “No, you didn’t.”

Sweat broke out on her forehead, always a precursor to a surge of nausea, but she was not going to give in to it. Not in front of Tom.

Unfortunately, as totally pissed as he was, he noticed. “Are you all right?”

“Just a little queasy.”

“Are you taking care of yourself?” he demanded.

“Yes.” She got to her feet, gathered her purse, holding the oversize bag in front of her stomach like a shield. “I want to come to an understanding about the baby, Tom, but obviously this is not the time or place.”

“I agree,” he said with an obvious effort to control himself. “It seems as though we have some other issues to sift through first.”

Issues Reggie hadn’t expected to come screaming out of her so rapidly. But she should have known better.

She just hoped he hadn’t gotten his back up. The old Tom would have cooled off fast, seen the argument for what it was—a release of pent-up frustrations and unresolved anger. This new Tom…she wasn’t so sure what he was going to do.

“Yes. Maybe we can meet again—” she glanced around “—in a different environment.”

He gave her a you-picked-it-I-didn’t raise of an eyebrow, but simply nodded.

“Good luck on the interview.”

He stood. “I don’t need luck. I’m getting this job, and when I do, we’ll discuss our baby.”

“Call me when you get that job, Tom.” Reggie started across the lobby without a backward glance, thankful that the nausea was rapidly abating so she wouldn’t embarrass herself in the terminal.

She didn’t realize how rigidly she’d been holding herself until she reached the automatic doors. Her shoulders were aching. She rolled them as she started across the street for the parking garage, willing her muscles to relax.

Not the meeting she’d imagined.

She hoped she could repair the damage before it was too late.

THE AUTOMATIC DOORS CLOSED behind Reggie before Tom started back to the escalator. So much for catching a later flight. Going after Reggie would do no good. He’d have to nail this job and show her that, regardless of what he might have done seven years ago, he was more than capable of being “steady.” He had no idea exactly what his role would be, but his father had always been there for him, even if it had been on the other end of a phone line, and Tom would be there for his kid.

And suddenly it was important to him to prove that he wasn’t some maniac who threw fits in public—although every time he’d had a blowup, he’d been more than justified.

He got back into the security line, which was ridiculously short compared to the one in LaGuardia on the first leg of his flight. He pulled his crumpled boarding pass for the next leg out of his jacket pocket.

And what the hell was that about not asking her to go to Spain? Of course he’d wanted her to go. But she’d stuck with The Plan.

At the time he’d been stunned by her choice…?.

In a matter of fifteen minutes he and his belongings had been inspected, prodded and okayed, and Tom was seated alone in the one bar in the concourse, going over his interview notes. This deal with Reggie, the depth of her anger at him, was upsetting, but he would figure out how to handle it after he got this job. One challenge at a time. Surmount one, move on to the next.

Despite all the shit that had come his way, he’d never interviewed for a job and not gotten an offer. The only thing that had tripped him up over the past several weeks had been in not landing the interview. Well, he had one now and he was going to ace this sucker.

He was back.

CHAPTER FOUR

REGGIE HAD BEEN HOME BARELY AN hour when Eden showed up at the door. She knocked, then let herself in, carrying a bottle of sparkling apple cider by the neck.