Robyn Grady - Unfinished Business - Bought - One Night, One Marriage / Always the Bridesmaid / Confessions of a Millionaire's Mistress

As Cally moved the nausea rose and the walls started wobbling. Oh, hell, she wasn’t going to faint again, was she?

‘Are you OK?’ Curious concern was clear in her customer’s gaze and Cally lowered hers to avoid it. She stared at the round belly. A sudden suspicion gripped her. She felt warmth flooding into her cheeks. She managed to ask.

‘When are you due?’

‘Just over a month.’

And the thoughts swirling in her head were so dizzying, so impossible and yet so true. She couldn’t believe it. Could hardly dare to think it. Excitement and hope and incredulity flooded her and in the craziness her brain decided it couldn’t cope—it needed to descend into darkness to meditate on the idea a while.

She came round and stared into Mel’s concerned face.

‘Cally, not again!’ Mel was on her knees beside her, clutching at Cally’s upper arms, rubbing them as if she were cold.

Cally threw her a ‘settle down’ look.

Mel wasn’t having it. ‘You have to go home. See a doctor. This has gone on too long to be some bug.’

Cally looked over to see if the customer had left. No. The pregnant woman was looking right back at her. For a suspended moment their gazes met and meshed. Recognition flowed between the two. A shared knowledge.

Cally grinned, the first huge, natural beam in three weeks. Unstoppable delight. And the curious question in the customer’s eye settled into certainty.

‘Mel, I’m fine. Really. I’m absolutely fine. In fact, I’m fantastic.’

‘I’ve got that info you wanted.’

It was first thing the day after he’d asked her. Judith could always be relied upon to deliver the goods. He’d hired her immediately on application. She had drive, dedication and was completely and utterly competent. And she was thoroughly in love with her husband, which meant there wasn’t any risk of unwanted attraction or distraction. He wasn’t looking forward to having to replace her. She also had a social networking system like no one else he’d ever encountered. Which was why she’d been the one to hit up unsuspecting males for the bachelor auction.

Today he could see she looked agitated. Usually her eyes sparkled and good humour shone from her—even when he was being demanding. But now she looked troubled and, yes, apprehensive. He sat very still and braced himself. Whatever it was, she didn’t want to tell him and that gave him the feeling he didn’t want to hear it.

‘Tell all.’

‘You know the state of the business already—you can see from the sales sheet there. I’ve pulled the most recent mentions in the paper—social stories as well as business. Seems she’s pretty active in the charity scene although not obviously so. No significant male interest. In fact you could say she’s conspicuously single. She’s known as a workaholic.’

‘What else?’ He gripped the pencil that little bit tighter. ‘Spit it out, Judith.’

His secretary sighed and looked him straight in the eye. ‘I think she might be pregnant.’

‘What?’

‘I think she’s pregnant.’

Blake picked up the two pieces of the pencil and tossed them into the rubbish bin by his desk, leaned back in his chair and tried, vainly, for a relaxed pose. ‘What makes you say that?’

The uncomfortable look increased. ‘I have no concrete evidence. But I do have intuition, Blake, and she was fainting and she looked at me, looked at my tummy and I just know it, Blake. I know it.’

Judith did not get things wrong. He knew to trust her judgment. If she thought there was good reason to suspect anything, then he’d suspect it.

‘Early on, I’d say. She’s not showing or anything. In fact, I think she’s still getting used to it herself. Certainly keeping it to herself—she hasn’t told her staff.’

Blake stared into middle distance. Judith’s voice faded as he thought about the possibilities. The implications. Then he remembered what she’d said—that she was never having children, that nothing was more important to her than her business. He’d assumed she meant she was covered contraception-wise. A career girl through and through. Just like Paola.

She’d better not be just like Paola.

He swore—short, sharp and loud. He was not going to be shut out again. He was not going to be robbed of all power. He’d get in there and make damn sure his baby was all right. Nothing would happen to another child of his. He wouldn’t let it—not this time.

She’d been so adamant about her business being her priority. His eyes narrowed, as did his concentration. This was the business about whose future she was unsure—how unsure? Exactly how honest had she been with him? What the hell kind of game was she playing?

He rapidly reassessed his plan. If what Judith thought was true then Cally Sinclair had no idea what was about to hit her. OK, so this wasn’t going to be some nice little beneficial-for-all merger. This was a takeover. And he was quite happy for it to be hostile, because one thing was for sure: he was going to be in control.

‘Blake?’ He heard his PA’s soft voice and when he looked at her he realised it wasn’t the first time she’d tried to get his attention.

‘Is there anything I can do?’ She looked worried.

‘No.’ He summoned a slight grin. ‘Thanks. Head home and rest up. I’ll handle things here.’

‘It’s a few hours off home time, but I’ll leave you in peace and find something to do.’ She gave him a look but said nothing further, reminding him why he’d given her that rise. Then she stood and made for the door.

‘Judith?’ She turned to look at him. ‘I don’t need to remind you about discretion, do I?’

CALLY slothed on the sofa in her favourite raggedy robe and kept pressing the button on the remote. Finally she stopped on a cooking channel, only to press it again when she saw they were doing awful things with offal. She was in such a state of shock she couldn’t focus on her computer, or a book, she’d be best off with a lame comedy, complete with cues telling her when to laugh. Ten minutes later she couldn’t have told anyone a thing about the show screening. She was kidding herself she was calming down when inside her head there were at least five hamsters competing on treadmills with bells and whistles attached.

The hammering on the door startled her. She heaved herself up, head spinning, made her way to the door and peeked through the peephole.

Damn.

‘Open up. I know you’re in there, Cally.’

Hell, her insides were going mush-tastic. Her silly heart let out a squeal. Her lower belly began to soften like liquid honey. But her head hit the panic button. She’d fob him off for now. Deal with him when she was on better form. She pasted a smile on and opened the door. ‘Blake, what a surprise.’

He too wore a smile but its edges were sharper than a porcupine spike. ‘You didn’t get my message?’

‘What message was that?’

He held up a couple of grocery bags. ‘That I’d be doing dinner tonight.’

‘Umm …’ Stunned, she tried to think. Message? What message? When message? How message? He was here to do dinner? Half thrilled, half terrified, totally hungry and utterly too late, she went to decline, polite platitudes finally finding their way to her brain.

He’d already pushed past and was disappearing down the hall. She had nothing else to do but shut the door and follow him. He’d gone straight to her kitchen and was unpacking the contents of the bags onto the island bench. Unsure of what to say she looked at the label on the bottle of wine, brows lifting when she saw the vintage. She glanced up and found him studying her sardonically.

‘Why so surprised? I’m not cheap, Calypso, as well you know.’