Baby's First Christmas. Marie Ferrarella

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      “You’re doing harm to the baby, see if you’re not,” Sally had announced, her dark brows forming a single accusing line over the bridge of her hawklike nose.

      Marlene had let her grumble. She knew Sally enjoyed fussing over her. The old woman anticipated the birth of the baby almost more than she did. Sally liked to boast that after the baby’s arrival, she was going to add nanny to her résumé, right after housekeeper.

      Sally didn’t need a résumé, Marlene thought. She intended to keep the woman on forever. Without Sally, she would be lost.

      She passed her hand over her eyes. The beginning of a headache was taking hold. It did nothing to improve her mood. She hated these mood swings that insisted on battering her. Something else she had been unprepared for in this pregnancy.

      One more month to go, she promised herself. It seemed endless when she thought of it in single minutes.

      The phone rang, startling her. Habit had her glancing at her watch before answering. Nine o’clock. She wondered if it was Harris calling from London. She’d sent him there a week ago to handle the final negotiations of their first transatlantic account.

      She preferred handling everything on her own and had wanted to make the trip herself. But her due date was less than a month away, and she didn’t want to take any unnecessary chances. She wanted nothing to ruin this precious opportunity she had at becoming a mother.

      If that meant trusting someone else to take care of the negotiations for the agency, so be it. If this deal fell through, then there would be other contracts. But there was never going to be another child for her. This one was it.

      That feeling alone, she thought, separated her from her father. Nothing had ever gotten in the way of negotiations for James Bailey. Not his children, not his wife, not the death of his father. It was always business—first, last and always.

      If Robby had lived, perhaps things would have been different.

      She was getting maudlin. This had to stop. Marlene jerked up the receiver on the third ring, shaking off her mood. “Yes?”

      She snapped out greetings like a commando. He wondered if it was going to set the tone of their conversation. “Ms. Bailey?”

      The rich voice that filled the receiver didn’t belong to Harris. His was higher with an undertone of nervousness that never left him. She knew instantly who it was. The man whose calls she’d refused to return at the office.

      Marlene tensed. “Why are you calling me at home?”

      “I would think that would be obvious. You won’t return my calls during office hours.” He had left a dozen messages in the last three days. She hadn’t returned any of them.

      She had hoped that he would get the point and tire of calling her. Wishful thinking. “How did you get this number?” she demanded.

      He laughed and the sound was oddly warming, like wine drunk too quickly on an empty stomach. Marlene pressed her hand to her forehead. She was more tired than she’d thought.

      Getting her number had been relatively easy with his connections. “To quote a cliché,” which might be more than apt here, he thought, “Where there’s a will, there’s a way, Ms. Bailey.”

      “Not always,” she snapped. Why didn’t he just go away?

      Charming to the end, he mused. And yet, there was something about her that was compelling.

      He read the message in her voice loud and clear, then disregarded it. “You’ve had a few days to think about our conversation. I’d like the opportunity to discuss it further with you. How about lunch tomorrow?”

      When hell freezes over. “Sorry, I’m busy.”

      “All right, dinner then.” He had a previous engagement, but this was more important than attending one of Alan and Cynthia Breckinridge’s parties.

      She smiled smugly. Usually, her evenings were free, but not tomorrow night. It spared her the trouble of lying. She’d accepted the invitation to the party over a month ago. “I’m sorry, I have a social function I have to attend tomorrow evening.”

      “Black tie?” he guessed.

      She didn’t see why that would make a difference to him. “Yes.”

      “Lucky for you I own one.”

      Marlene sat upright, removing her feet from the ottoman. Was he actually inviting himself along? “What you have in your closet doesn’t interest me, Travis. You’re not invited.”

      He could easily swing an invitation, too, if necessary. Almost anyone throwing what Marlene termed a social function had to be on his list of acquaintances. If not his, then his father’s.

      “You need an escort, don’t you?”

      There was no end to this man’s gall. “What makes you think I don’t have one?”

      He laughed. This time, the sound annoyed the hell out of her. “You went to a sperm bank to become pregnant, Marlene. I think it’s safe to assume that you do a lot of things by yourself. So, when do I pick you up?”

      He’d called her Marlene, not Ms. Bailey. He was getting way too personal.

      “You don’t.” With that, she broke the connection and left the receiver off the hook. She let out a long breath. That should stop him from annoying her tonight.

      Tomorrow was something she would deal with when the time came—and it would come all too soon. Right now, she didn’t want to think about it.

      Nicole eased the door open and slipped quietly across the threshold into the office. Marlene’s secretary, Wanda, had momentarily stepped away from her desk, so there was no one to announce her. She liked it that way.

      She observed her older sister for a moment before she greeted her. Marlene was so immersed in her work, she was oblivious to the fact that there was anyone else in the office with her.

      Marlene worked too hard, Nicole thought reprovingly. She’d always worked too hard. There’d never been a financial need to do so, but Nicole knew that for Marlene there had been an emotional one.

      As if James Bailey had ever noticed.

      Nicole remained in the doorway and crossed her arms over the swell of her abdomen. It’d been a little over a year since their father had died, but it still felt odd seeing Marlene sitting behind that desk.

      The few times that she had been ushered into this office along with her brother and sister, her father had been sitting in that very chair. Like as not, he would be bent over his work, just as Marlene was now. He would ignore their presence until the last possible moment, even when one of them made a noise to catch his attention.

      Whether it was to put them in their place or because he really was so absorbed in what he was doing that he didn’t notice them, Nicole never knew. But even as a child, she’d been aware of being angry. Angry because he was making all of them feel so insignificant.

      Or trying to.

      And СКАЧАТЬ