Maureen Child - Wanted by the Boss

‘‘Eileen, this is serious.’’

‘‘Really?’’ She took a bite of her cookie, chewed it and swallowed. ‘‘You mean being pregnant isn’t a joke? It’s not all fun and games? Wow. I’ll alert the media.’’

‘‘Funny.’’

‘‘Didn’t mean to be.’’ She ate the rest of her cookie and reached for another one.

‘‘Is chocolate really the answer?’’

‘‘Chocolate can solve just about anything.’’

‘‘Not this.’’

‘‘I said, just about. Besides, it’s worth a try.’’

He pushed his chair back and the legs scraped against the worn linoleum with a screech. Standing up, he came around the table, reached down and grabbed her hands, then pulled her to her feet.

Her eyes looked bruised, worried and that ate at him. If she hadn’t come to help him out—to do him a favor, they never would have connected again and she wouldn’t be standing here pregnant.

With his child.

That last sentence bounced around the inside of his heart and cracked the edges of it just a little. A child. He’d never expected to be a father. Well, certainly not after his wife had left him. When he first got married, he’d convinced himself that he was in love. That he and Allison would build a family together. But then in a few short months, he’d discovered that Allison had had her eye on his bank account, not their future.

When she left, his dreams had died. And out of the ashes, he’d built a new company and a new life for himself. If that life was a little lonelier than he’d once imagined he would be, at least it was a fair trade-off. He’d never have to watch another woman walk out of his life.

Now, suddenly, the rules had changed on him again. Now there was a tiny life inside Eileen that existed because of him . Whether or not they’d wanted this to happen, it had . And he wouldn’t brush it aside. Wouldn’t walk away. He’d be damned if he’d abandon his own child as his parents had done to him.

And since walking away wasn’t an option, there was only one thing left.

‘‘Eileen,’’ he said, staring down into the eyes that had haunted him since first seeing her walk into his office more than a week ago, ‘‘marry me.’’

She blinked, shook her head and blinked again. ‘‘ What? ’’

‘‘You heard me.’’

‘‘I know what I think I heard, but pregnancy must affect your hearing.’’ She tried to pull away from him, but he held her tight. ‘‘You’re just reacting—you’re not thinking rationally.’’

He laughed shortly and let her go. ‘‘You? Teaching me about rational?’’

‘‘Somebody has to.’’ Eileen reached up and scooped her hair back from her face. She felt trapped. Standing with her back to the wall, the fridge on one side of her, the table on the other and Rick blocking the way out, she suddenly couldn’t catch her breath. Pent-up emotions charged through her body, closing her throat and sheening her eyes with tears she didn’t want to cry.

She needed time to herself to figure this out. To deal with everything that was crowding her mind and her heart. She was pregnant. She had a baby inside her. Living. Growing. Oh, my.

‘‘Marry you?’’ she repeated, and pushed him out of her way so she could walk past him, ‘‘God, Rick. I’m about ten minutes pregnant and you want to plan a wedding?’’

‘‘It’s the right thing to do.’’

‘‘Sure,’’ she said over her shoulder as she stalked into the living room, ‘‘if you’re living in a movie from the fifties.’’

He was right behind her. And suddenly, her living room seemed a lot smaller than usual.

Grabbing her forearm, he turned her around to face him. ‘‘Eileen, that’s my baby you’re carrying.’’

‘‘Rick, it’s too soon to talk about this.’’ She needed quiet. She needed to think. To feel. To plan. Good God. She, Eileen Ryan, needed a plan? The woman who hadn’t planned anything in years? If she wasn’t so scared, she might have laughed at the idea.

‘‘Fine,’’ he said, and let her go, taking a step backward as if to keep himself from reaching for her again. ‘‘It’s too soon. But—’’ he waited for her to meet his gaze before continuing ‘‘—I have to know you’ll talk to me before you decide anything.’’

His features were taut, strained, and Eileen knew he was feeling the same turmoil racing through her, so she smiled as she reached up to cup his face in her palm. ‘‘I promise. Just…give me a little time, okay?’’

A few hours later, Eileen let herself into Larkspur, shutting the front door quietly behind her. Instantly she was enveloped in the commingled perfume of flowers. The scents of chrysanthemums, roses, sweet peas and dozens of others filled the small shop.

Strings of tiny white lights outlined the two large windows that fronted Pacific Coast Highway and threw shadows around the small showroom. Galvanized buckets of water crouched in the center of the room, holding the flowers that didn’t need refrigeration to retain their freshness. Across the room were the glass refrigerator cases, where the roses, orchids and other more fragile flowers stood waiting their chance to be admired.

She hit the overhead light switch and a bank of fluorescent lights flickered to life, dropping shadows around the room. Eileen walked into the back room where the florist supplies were kept. Glass vases in varied shapes and sizes and colors were stacked on a series of shelves. Nearby, there was florists tape and shears and green foam and everything else required to build the fantasy flower arrangements Larkspur was known for.

Everything was neat as a pin. The floor was freshly swept and the cuttings from the day had been carried out to the trash can behind the shop.

Flipping on the radio, Eileen listened to a slow, sad song about love and loss. Then she shrugged out of her sweatshirt and reached for one of the vases. Working with the flowers always relaxed her, gave her a chance to think. To let her mind wander while her hands were busy.

And boy, did she need to think.

Rick’s apartment was dark. Empty. He stood with his back to the room, staring out a bank of windows at the ocean below. Off shore, oil derrick islands were lit up like a tropical paradise and a few boats bobbed in the harbor, their running lights twinkling on the dark surface of the water.

The quiet was starting to get to him. But he was used to being alone and he couldn’t remember it bothering him much before this past week and a half.

Now, whenever he was in this place, all he could think about was leaving it. Going to work, where he’d see Eileen—or better yet, going to her house, where he could be with her. Being there, in her house, he felt…alive. There was warmth there. And laughter. There were long hours cuddled together on her couch watching old movies. There was music, drifting from her neighbor’s backyard and the sound of kids playing hoops down the street.

Here…he turned from the windows and raked his gaze across the narrow, sparsely furnished room. After his divorce, he’d moved into this apartment, thinking it was a temporary thing. Then the days and weeks and months had slipped past and he’d stopped thinking about moving. Stopped living—beyond his work. Until Eileen.

Fear chewed at his insides, though he didn’t want to admit it even to himself. When she left, as he knew she would, she’d not only be taking the warmth he’d only just discovered—she’d be taking his child.

He couldn’t allow that.

Taking a sip of his twelve-year-old Scotch, he felt the fiery liquid spill heat throughout his body and knew it wouldn’t last. The chill gripping him since leaving Eileen was bone deep.