Sarah Anderson - The Beaumont Brothers - Not the Boss's Baby

Or so he kept telling himself.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” He hung up before Matthew could get in another barb. “There,” he said, shoving his phone back into his pocket. “Schedule’s clear. We have the rest of the afternoon, all forty-five minutes of it.”

She glared at him, but didn’t say anything.

It only took another fifteen minutes to make it to the shopping center. Mario was waiting by the curb for them. The car had barely come to a complete stop when he had the back door open. “Mr. Beaumont! What a joy to see you again. I was just telling your brother Phillip that it’s been too long since I’ve had the pleasure of your company.”

“Mario,” Chadwick said, trying not to roll his eyes at the slight man. Mario had what some might call a flamboyant way about him, what with his cutting-edge suit, faux-hawk hair and—yes—eyeliner. But he also had an eagle eye for fashion—something Chadwick didn’t have the time or inclination for. Much easier to let Mario put together outfits for him.

And now, for Serena. He turned and held a hand out to her. When she hesitated, he couldn’t help himself. He notched an eyebrow in challenge.

That did it. She offered her hand, but she did not wrap her fingers around his.

Fine. Be like that, he thought. “Mario, may I introduce Ms. Serena Chase?”

“Such a delight!” Mario swept into a dramatic bow—but then, he didn’t do anything that wasn’t dramatic. “An honor to make your acquaintance, Ms. Chase. Please, come inside.”

Mario held the doors for them. It was only when they’d passed the threshold that Serena’s hand tightened around Chadwick’s. He looked at her and was surprised to see something close to horror on her face. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” she answered, too quickly.

“But?”

“I’ve just...never been in this particular store before. It’s...” She stared at the store. “It’s different than where I normally shop.”

“Ah,” he said, mostly because he didn’t know what else to say. What if she hadn’t been refusing his offer due to stubborn pride? What if there was another reason?

Mario swept around them and clapped his hands in what could only be described as glee. “Please, tell me how I can assist you today.” His gaze darted to where Chadwick still had a hold of Serena’s hands, but he didn’t say anything else. He was far too polite to be snide.

Chadwick turned to Serena. “We have an event on Saturday and Ms. Chase needs a gown.”

Mario nodded. “The charity gala at the Art Museum, of course. A statement piece or one of refined elegance? She could easily pull off either with her shape.”

Serena’s fingers clamped down on Chadwick’s, and then she pulled her hand away entirely. Perhaps Mario’s extensive knowledge of the social circuit was a surprise to her. Or perhaps it was being referred to in the third person by two men standing right in front of her. Surely it wasn’t the compliment.

“Elegant,” she said.

“Fitting,” Mario agreed. “This way, please.”

He led them up the escalator, making small talk about the newest lines and how he had a spotted a suit that would be perfect for Chadwick just the other day. “Not today,” Chadwick said. “We just need a gown.”

“And accessories, of course,” Mario said.

“Of course.” When Chadwick agreed, Serena shot him a stunned look. He could almost hear her thinking that he’d said nothing about accessories. He hadn’t, but that was part of the deal.

“This way, please.” Mario guided them back to a private fitting area, with a dressing room off to the side, a seating area, and a dais surrounded by mirrors. “Champagne?” he offered.

“Yes.”

“No.” Serena’s command was sudden and forceful. At first Chadwick thought she was being obstinate again, but then he saw the high blush that raced across her cheeks. She dropped her gaze and a hand fluttered over her stomach, as if she were nervous.

“Ah.” Mario stepped back and cast his critical eye over her again. “My apologies, Ms. Chase. I did not realize you were expecting. I shall bring you a fruit spritzer—non-alcoholic, of course.” He turned to Chadwick. “Congratulations, Mr. Beaumont.”

Wait—what? What?

Chadwick opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

Had Mario just said...expecting?

Chadwick looked at Serena, who suddenly seemed to waver, as if she were on the verge of passing out. She did not tell Mario that his critical eye was wrong, that she was absolutely not expecting. She mumbled out a pained “Thank you,” and then sat heavily on the loveseat.

“My assistant will bring you drinks while I collect a few things for Ms. Chase to model,” Mario said. If he caught the sudden change in the atmosphere of the room, he gave no indication of it. Instead, with a bow, he closed the door behind him.

Leaving Chadwick and Serena alone in the silence.

“Did he just say....”

“Yes.” Her voice cracked, and then she dragged in a ragged breath.

“And you’re...”

“Yes.” She bent forward at the waist, as if she could make herself smaller. As if she wanted to disappear from the room.

Or maybe she was on the verge of vomiting and was merely putting her head between her knees.

“And you—you found out this weekend. That’s why you were upset on Monday.”

“Yes.” That seemed to be the only word she was capable of squeezing out.

“And you didn’t tell me?” The words burst out of him. She flinched, but he couldn’t stop. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Mr. Beaumont, we usually do not discuss our personal lives at the office.” At least that was more than a syllable, but the rote way she said it did nothing to calm him down.

“Oh? Were we going to not discuss it when you started showing? Were we going to not discuss it when you needed to take maternity leave?” She didn’t reply, which only made him madder. Why was he so mad? “Does Neil know?” He was terrified of what she might say. That Neil might not be the father. That she’d taken up with someone else.

He had no idea why that bothered him. Just that it did.

“I...” She took a breath, but it sounded painful. “I sent Neil an email. He hasn’t responded yet. But I don’t need him. I can provide for my child by myself. I won’t be a burden to you or the company. I don’t need help.”

“Don’t lie to me, Serena. Do you have any idea what’s going to happen if I lose the brewery?”

Even though she was looking at her black pumps and not at him, he saw her squeeze her eyes shut tight. Of course she knew. He was being an idiot to assume that someone as smart and capable as Serena wouldn’t already have a worst-case plan in place. “I’ll be out of a job. But I can get another one. Assuming you’ll give me a letter of reference.”

“Of course I would. You’re missing the point. Do you know how hard it’ll be for a woman who’s eight months pregnant to get a job—even if I sing your praises from the top of the Rocky Mountains?”

She turned an odd color. Had she been breathing, beyond those few breaths she’d taken a moment before?

Jesus, what an ass he was being. She was pregnant—so he was yelling at her.

Something his father would have done. Dammit.

“Breathe,” he said, forcing himself to speak in a quiet tone. He wasn’t sure he was nailing “sympathetic,” but at least he wasn’t yelling. “Breathe, Serena.”

She gave her head a tiny shake, as if she’d forgotten how.

Oh, hell. The absolute last thing any of them needed was for his pregnant assistant to black out in the middle of the workweek in an upscale department store. Mario would call an ambulance, the press would get wind of it, and Helen—the woman he was still technically married to—would make him pay.