A Billionaire and a Baby. Marie Ferrarella

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      Humor, she liked that. Even if it was a little dark. Sherry smiled in response, aware that it threw him off. She liked that, too.

      “Then I’ll just have to make sure you don’t do away with me, at least not until I get my story.”

      He edged closer to the doors, blocking any access she might have to the keypad in case she decided to make a lunge for it. “Tempting as the trade might be, I’m not prepared to give you a story in exchange for your fading out of my life.”

      The elevator came to a stop. “When will you be prepared?”

      The doors opened. He saw the security guard sitting at the desk in the lobby. If this hounding reporter gave him any more trouble, he could turn her over to the man. “There’s an old song, ‘The Twelfth of Never.’ I suggest you take your cue from the title.”

      With that, Sin-Jin got off.

      Just as she began to follow Adair, the baby kicked. Hard. It momentarily took her breath away. Long enough for Adair to get far enough ahead of her.

      “You can run, Adair, but you can’t hide,” she called after him.

      Sin-Jin never broke stride and didn’t bother looking over his shoulder. But his words hung in the air as he made his exit through the revolving doors.

      “Watch me.”

      The glove had clearly been thrown down. Owen had been right. This was a definite challenge. Exhilaration filled her.

      “I intend to do more than that, Adair,” she murmured with a grin.

      Two hours later, drained, Sherry flirted with the thought of just going home and crawling into her queen-size bed. By her count, she was down some ten hours of sleep in the past five days because her baby insisted on kickboxing for hours on end.

      But tonight was her weekly Lamaze class and she hated to miss that. If nothing else, she could definitely use the camaraderie. Not to mention the fact that Rusty, her former cameraman and present coach, would be there. She could pick his brain about Adair. The man had a way of ferreting things out. If Rusty Thomas didn’t know about something, it didn’t bear knowing.

      The practical side of attending her class was that she was a little more than a month away from her due date. A minor sense of panic was beginning to set in at the peripheral level. She needed all the preparation for the big event she could get.

      Stopping home for a small dinner and a large pillow, Sherry changed her clothes to something even looser and more comfortable. Fifteen minutes later she was on the road again, driving to Blair Memorial where the classes were being held in one of the hospital’s outlying facilities.

      The cheerfully painted room was built to accommodate a hundred. Twenty couples had signed up. They were down to thirteen after the instructor, Lori O’Neill, had shown the birthing movie. Apparently there were miracles that were a little too graphic for some people to bear. Sherry liked the extra space. It made the gathering seem more like a club than a class.

      Entering the class, her pillow tucked under her arm, Sherry looked around the area. Almost everyone was here. She nodded at couples she recognized by sight, if not by name. They were a cross section of life, she thought, being brought together by their mutual condition. In the group there was an independent film producer, a lawyer, three teachers, a doctor and an FBI agent, not to mention an assortment of other people.

      She looked around for her group, two women she’d gotten close to in the last few weeks. Spotting Chris Jones and Joanna Prescott, Sherry made her way over to them. They had all been introduced to one another by Lori. The incredibly perky instructor had felt that the three women would form a strong bond, given that they were all single moms for one reason or another. Lori referred to them as The Mom Squad. Sherry rather liked that label.

      “So, how was your week?” Joanna asked the moment Sherry came within earshot. Of the two of them, it was Joanna who could relate more closely to the woman she recognized as the former anchorwoman of the nightly news. Joanna, a high school English teacher, had lost her job for the same reason that had seen Sherry out the door of her studio. An unmarried pregnant woman was the elephant in the living room as far as the board of education was concerned. Rather than cause problems and be in the middle of an ugly trial that might affect her students, all of whom had rallied around her, Joanna had agreed to leave.

      She knew the frustration that Sherry had dealt with.

      “Don’t ask.” Sherry sighed the answer as she did her best to sink down gracefully. It wasn’t an easy accomplishment. Of the three, Sherry was the furthest along.

      And the largest, she thought ruefully. These days Sherry felt as if she was all stomach and very little else.

      “The Mom Squad’s all here, I see.” Walking up to them, Lori placed an affectionate hand on Sherry’s shoulder. She nodded at the two coaches who accompanied the other two women. “Hi, Sherry, where’s your coach?”

      Sherry glanced toward the doorway. Two couples came in, but no Rusty.

      “He’ll be along,” she assured Lori. “Punctuality was never Rusty’s strong suit.”

      “Well then, for your sake, I hope this baby turns out to be late,” Lori teased.

      Lori shifted, trying not to look too obvious. Her back was aching. And with good reason. She hadn’t told the others yet but she’d found herself in the same delicate condition that they were in. Five months along, she wasn’t showing too much yet. With any luck, she’d be one of those rare women who could hide inside of moderately loose clothing and never show.

      The noise at the door had her turning to look. “Oh, more arrivals.” About to go off and greet the newcomers, she paused for a final word with the trio. “We still on for ice cream after class, ladies?”

      Chris and Sherry nodded. “Try and stop me,” Joanna laughed. “I’ve been fantasizing about a mound of mint-chip ice cream all day.”

      “See you later,” Lori promised before she hurried away.

      Sherry glanced at her watch, wondering what was keeping Rusty. Class was almost starting. Thinking about what she wanted to ask her former cameraman, she leaned over toward Chris. Blond and vibrant, Chris Jones was not the kind of woman who came to mind when someone said FBI agent, but that was exactly what she was, having been part of the Bureau for over six years now.

      “Chris, what do you know about St. John Adair?”

      “If you’re asking if the man has an FBI dossier, I wouldn’t be able to answer that—” And then Chris smiled. “If he did.”

      Sherry made the natural assumption. “Which means he doesn’t.”

      “Ruthless takeovers aren’t a crime in themselves, except perhaps to the people who lose their jobs because of them.” Chris cocked her head as if curious. One by one they’d each spilled their stories over various mounds of ice cream at Josie’s Old-Fashioned Ice Cream Parlor. “Why do you want to know?”

      Sitting cross-legged on the floor, Sherry pressed her hand to the small of her back, wondering if the perpetual ache she felt there was ever going to be a thing of the past. “My editor wants me to do an in-depth piece on him. I actually cornered СКАЧАТЬ