Catherine Mann - Boardroom Kings

He hadn’t meant marriage. He’d been thinking more along the lines of an engagement to shut up any gossips, something she might appreciate, too. But telling her as much probably wouldn’t go over well. “If agreeing to marriage moves too fast for you, I’ll settle for a trial engagement.”

“Trial engagement? You’re out of your freaking mind and I’m freezing.” She turned toward the door. “You’re right about one thing. We should move this conversation to my apartment.”

He picked up the canvas bag she’d left on the ground—the only sign she might be nervous—and followed her down two flights of stairs to the third floor. Her place was safe by New York standards, but somehow that didn’t seem like enough now. And where would an active toddler play?

He’d had a lot of time to think on that flight, and one thing he’d settled on for certain—he didn’t want to be a bicoastal dad. He wanted to be a larger part of his child’s life. Sure, he worked hard, but he wasn’t going to be like his father, who’d expected Jason to be a carbon copy of him, while never spending any time with his son to actually get to know him.

He needed to lure Lauren to California for more reasons than the Prentice account. He tucked the ring back in his pocket—for now. His goal set, he waited while she unlocked the double bolts and swept the door wide.

Her one-bedroom apartment reflected her personality. Vibrant. Alive. Packed with flowers, plants and colorful framed fabrics, an oasis in the middle of winter. Each area was painted a different color—the living room yellow, the kitchen green.

A hint of pink showed past her partly open bedroom door. He’d joined others from work for drinks at her apartment before, out here in the living area, but he’d never seen the bedroom up close. Something he intended to change down the road.

He set her bag on the hall table and followed her inside, wiping his feet on a rag rug. “We were friends for months, and we’re obviously attracted to each other.” He gestured toward her stomach. “Can you honestly say you never considered a future between us?”

“Never.” She hung her coat on one of the vintage doorknobs mounted on a strip of wood, glancing back over her shoulder at him. “Now could you wrap this up, please? We can talk later about logistics for after the baby is born, but right now, I need to get ready for work.”

“Wow, no worries of a guy getting an inflated ego around you.” This didn’t seem to be a wise time to bring up how fast she’d kicked him out of her office four months ago. Besides, she looked tired. Fine lines of exhaustion furrowed her forehead. His instincts went on alert. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

She hesitated a second too long before walking away toward the green galley kitchen. “I’m fine.”

He tracked her movements as she poured a glass of milk, her silky red hair swinging along her back and inviting his hands to test the texture, to discover if it was as soft as he remembered. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“I promise the baby and I are both totally healthy.” She lifted her glass in toast, her back still toward him.

She was dodging something, he was sure, but he could also sense she wouldn’t share more now. He would be best served by a temporary retreat before advancing his cause again in a few hours.

He was an ad guy, after all. He knew how to make a pitch, and for now, he needed to back off. The right opportunity would present itself.

Jason pulled the box out of his pocket and set it on the small butcher-block counter. “Just hang on to this for now. We don’t have to decide anything today.”

She eyed the box as if it contained a snake. “I already know there’s no way in hell we’re getting engaged, much less married.”

“Fair enough.” He nudged the box forward until it rested beside an apple-shaped ceramic cookie jar. “Save the ring for our kid.”

Turning toward him, she sagged back against the counter, her T-shirt with paint splatters hugging her pregnant belly—and her fuller breasts. “You seem sure it’s a girl.”

His eyes dropped back to her stomach, his own gut clenching tight as an image of a little girl with red curls filled his head. This baby was real and growing inside Lauren just an arm’s reach away. He’d barely had time to process the idea of being a father, much less see the proof so visibly. His hands itched to touch Lauren, to explore the differences in her.

To feel the baby kick?

His throat went tight. “It could be a boy, who’ll one day need an engagement ring to give some girl.”

She tipped her head to the side, her silky hair gliding over the rounded curves of her breasts. “Do you want a boy? Seems that most men prefer to have a son first.”

“Is that how things were with your dad?” His own father sure as hell had wanted a mini-version of himself, someone to mirror his every move, decision, thought.

Her face closed up. “This isn’t about my father.”

“Okay, then.” He gave in to temptation and stroked back a lock of her hair, sliding his hand away before she could protest. “You look beautiful but tired, and I seem to recall you saying something about needing to go to work.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead, resisting the urge to linger and, instead, making a beeline for the door. “Goodbye, Lauren. We’ll talk later.”

He stepped into the hall, her confused face stamped on his memory, fueling him in his decision to retreat for the moment, keep her off balance. She had doubts and he could play on those.

She may have said no this morning, but he wasn’t down for the count. Without question, by the time he took the last flight out on Sunday night, Lauren would be coming to California with his child.

Lauren pushed through the glass door leading into the fourth-floor offices that housed her graphic-design business. Not much space, actually, just a common room with tables, a receptionist desk by the door and her own office in back. Where she and Jason had made this baby.

At the moment she couldn’t blame the pregnancy for her churning stomach. Her insides swirled around like a Jackson Pollock color extravaganza.

The small velvet ring box seemed to weigh ten tons in her purse—a sack of a bag made from an old sweater she’d found at a consignment store. She’d packed up the jewelry so she could call Jason, schedule a lunch and return the ring. An engagement was a ludicrous idea.

She had enough on her plate, anyhow, finding a way to save her business from bankruptcy.

Franco, her secretary, passed her a stack of memo sheets. “Ms. Presley, your messages.”

“Thanks, Franco.” She forced herself to smile.

Lauren shuffled through the inch-thick pile; calls from prospective clients were mixed in with phone numbers from creditors.

Franco stood, smoothing down his NY Giants tie. “Before you go into your office—”

“Yes,” she answered, opening her door at the same time. The floral scent wafted out.

Franco shrugged and leaned back. “They were delivered just before you arrived. And, uh… ”

His voice dwindled off in her mind as she turned to find her office packed with at least five vases of white rosebuds with pink and blue ribbons. On the corner of her desk, she saw a carafe of juice and basket of muffins. She spun back to hear what else Franco was saying.

Movement drew her attention to the far recesses of the reception area, where Jason lounged, assessing her with sexy, hooded eyes. How had she missed him when she came in? And why hadn’t Franco told… ? Okay, so Franco had tried.

Lauren nodded Jason into her office. “Come on. You might as well eat with me.”

He shoved away from the wall, slowly, lean and lanky, like a predator cougar as he strode toward her. Franco, the new accountant and the two interns from NYU looked from Jason to her with undisguised curiosity.