To Keep Her Baby

by Melissa Senate

  Chapter Five

  The next day, after a private lesson in social etiquette, where Ginger learned all kinds of stuff she’d forget in a hot minute—like who got introduced first, the person you were with or the host, and who to make appropriate small talk with at a dinner party, the person on your left or right—Ginger was sprung until three for the group session. Delia, James’s current administrative assistant who was finishing out the week part-time, agreed to train Ginger.

  They sat at Delia’s desk at the front of the James Gallagher Solutions office. The place was minimalist chic, all pale gray and streamlined. Delia liked flowers, so there were a couple gorgeous arrangements scattered around. James’s office was in the back, though he wasn’t there now. He was meeting with a client who wanted a refresher. Also in the back was a conference room with a big square table, plus a small kitchen and bathroom. Every room was spotless. James would probably not like the condition of her bedroom at Madame Davenport’s, with her class folders and notes all over every surface.

  Delia, who Ginger immediately liked, was überprofessional and matched the office in her steel-gray sheath dress, her silver-gray hair a sleek bob. The woman was giving her so much information her head was spinning. Ginger grabbed her school notebook from her tote bag and started writing down everything Delia said—invoicing systems, mail, answering the phone. Oftentimes, clients would call and bemoan they needed James to come in ASAP and handle disputes, and Ginger would need to be very calm on the phone and reassure the clients that James would get back to them right away.

  Now a prospective new client had called, and Ginger could hear the woman squawking on the other end of the phone. “I’m going to kill my sister! She’s destroying the business with her out-there ideas!”

  “Rest assured that Mr. Gallagher will get back to you right away, Ms. Solero,” Delia said ever so calmly. “Within five minutes.”

  “Oh, thank God. His reputation says he’s immediate,” Ginger heard the woman say on a sigh of relief.

  “You can count on James Gallagher Solutions, Ms. Solero.”

  “Always?” Ginger asked when Delia hung up the office phone, grabbed her cell phone and then started texting.

  “Always. Texting him the details now.” Ginger watched her text away, her thumbs flying on the tiny keyboard before she put the phone back down. “He’s likely returning her call as we speak.”

  “What if he’s in a meeting? Or on a plane?”

  Delia smiled. “Then I’d return the call with the exact time he’d get back to the person. Assurance is a huge part of James’s appeal to clients and prospective clients.”

  Don’t I know it, Ginger thought as Delia ran through some other good-to-know topics, such as where the delivery menus were stored and which eateries were quick at lunchtime.

  After an hour and a half, Delia seemed satisfied that Ginger had it down and the woman had left. Ginger was on her own. In the thirty minutes that Delia had been gone, James had three calls, and she’d texted him the details. All prospective clients looking to set up introductory meetings.

  When he returned a half hour later, looking hot and sharp in a dark blue suit, Ginger said in her most professional voice, “Good afternoon, Mr. Gallagher,” then shot him a grin.

  He grinned back. “Delia texted me that you’re smart, a fast learner and ‘she just gets it.’”

  Ginger beamed. She knew she liked that Delia. “I had no idea business types in Brewer County had so many problems. Works out for you.”

  “Conflict is as old as time itself,” he said. “Speaking of which, I’d like you to join me on an introductory meeting at the Solero Sisters Bakery. That way, you can see what goes on firsthand and meet the last new clients I’ll be taking on before my trip. If anything comes up while I’m gone, you’ll have already been looped in.”

  Wait—what? He couldn’t be serious. “James, I may look the part of a professional, but I hardly know what to do or say in a business meeting. The only meetings I ever went to were weekly staff meetings in the back room of Busty’s.”

  “Well then, you have experience at meetings.”

  She laughed. “Uh, somehow I think it’s different.”

  “What did you discuss at Busty’s meetings? Problems and how to solve them?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  He held up a hand. “No yeah, buts allowed. Yeah, but is about excuses and cynicism. And moves you forward.”

  Yeah, but—she’d always been a “yeah, but” kind of person. She thought yeah, but was about reality. But if she really stopped to think about it, she could have yeah butted herself right out of driving to Wedlock Creek and trying to get accepted into the etiquette school without money to pay the tuition. Yeah, but I’m broke. Yeah, but I’ll never really change anyway.

  She’d refused to let anything stop her, hadn’t she?

  So maybe James had a very good point.

  “And I guess I’m going to this meeting,” she said. “Good thing I wore my new pants.” She’d been surprised she’d been drawn to them during her shopping trip at Jazzy’s. Workish pants, the color of butter, and a matching sleeveless top with its own cool sheer watercolor-type scarf at the neck. This morning in group class at Madame Davenport’s, Sandrine and Karly had told her she looked “very corporate” for her first day of training, and she’d eaten up the compliment.

  “You look highly appropriate.” He headed toward the door. “Ready?”

  “I most certainly am,” she said, even if butterflies were swirling.

  If you could see me now, she thought, picturing the crew at Busty’s, who’d just be waking up at this hour. The one person she wished truly could see her was her mom, but she always felt like her mom was watching anyway.

  She left the office beside James, feeling like a million bucks.

  * * *

  The Solero Sisters Bakery was barely a five-minute walk from his office, so he and Ginger headed down Main Street, the late-May sunshine and warm breeze bringing people to sit outside at the cafés and restaurants. As they walked, he realized he’d sneaked at least a hundred peeks at Ginger. She was talking a mile a minute about how excited she was to be going to this meeting, giving him a rundown of everything Delia had taught her, and he could barely take his eyes off her.

  But then a metallic-blue Fiat convertible zipped past and pulled into a spot in front of the expensive new Italian restaurant that had opened last month. And out walked Ava Guthrie and a tall, blond cowboy who looked like he was playing dress up. He was wearing Western-style clothes and a Stetson, and if James wasn’t mistaken, he was sucking on a toothpick. Ava rushed around the car and wrapped her arms around him, giving him one hell of a kiss for Main Street in the middle of the day. Then she linked arms with him and they went into the Italian restaurant.

  James stopped dead in his tracks as a rush of acid crawled inside his stomach and into his throat. His success had bought her that car. Idiot! he mentally yelled at himself. Why hadn’t he seen Ava for what she was? How could he not have realized she was using him? A big sob story about a sick granny who didn’t have health insurance and how Ava had almost bankrupted herself paying for her beloved nana’s care, and suddenly he was giving her big checks. Anything to take the worry and sadness from her eyes. Of course, after, he’d discovered that Ava’s only living grandmother was actually a very healthy sixty-five-year-old Pilates teacher at the local Y with two boyfriends.

  “Something wrong?” Ginger asked, her hand on his arm.

  “Yeah, something’s wrong. I’m an idiot. That’s what’s wrong.”

  “Ooh, boy. Five minutes ago, you were God’s gift to those with problems. Now you’re an idiot?”

  That actually almost made him feel better. “See that car? The Fiat?”

  She craned her neck. “Spiffy.”

  “Yeah. It was the last thing I bought for a recent graduat
e of Larilla’s before she let me know I was a sucker and ‘Sorry, but I never said I was serious about you.’”

  “Were you about her?” she asked.

  “That’s what makes me feel like an idiot. I was. I really fell for her.”

  She glanced at him, then at the car, then back at him. “What was so special about her?”

  “I guess at first it was her combination of vulnerability and goals—she wanted so much to turn herself into someone her supposedly terminally ill grandmother could be proud of. I fell for it all. Her grandmother wasn’t even sick. She just wanted a free ride while she was taking Larilla’s course and needed a fool to bilk. And I fell for it.”

  He froze. Hadn’t he been thinking recently that Ginger’s vulnerability and goals had gotten to him? He mentally shook his head at himself. He had to be careful.

  “I’m really sorry, James. That had to have hurt bad. Betrayal sucks.”

  He nodded. “It sure does.”

  She wrapped her arms around him and held on to him, and he felt himself stiffen. “Oh, stop it, James Gallagher. You need a hug.”

  He took a step back. “What I need is to keep myself focused on what I want—to leave town. To never let myself get wrapped up in someone’s life.”

  “Good luck with that one. If you’re human, you get wrapped up. It’s just how life works.”

  “Well, I’m about sailing away. Not getting involved with anyone—especially a student of Larilla’s.” Oh hell. Had he said that last part? Yes, he had because Ginger had her hands on her hips and she was glaring at him.

  “Are you talking about me? Clearly you are.”

  “I said a student. Any student. Come on, you get burned by someone in a particular place and of course you’ll avoid that place. Would you really have trusted another leering customer at Busty’s after what happened with Alden?”

  The hazel glare continued. “I don’t judge every person based on what one jerk does. Even leering Busty’s customers. One person doesn’t speak for a place.”

  She was right. Of course, she was right. But still.

  “I trusted Ava and she turned out be a lie,” he said, his voice low and kind of broken, making him realize how stupidly hurt he still was over what happened. A year ago too.

  “You really did love her,” she said, her voice low and reverent.

  “It’s not about that. I don’t have any feelings for her. I just saw her plant her tongue in some cowboy’s mouth and walk into Capanelli’s Italiano, and I felt nothing but revulsion—at her, at my stupidity. I guess it’s not hurt that I feel so much bitterness.”

  “Well, if you’re thinking I’m a big fat con artist, I’m not.”

  “I don’t think that, Ginger. But my radar wasn’t working with Ava. So I’m not the most trusting guy. That’s all I mean. And there’s nothing between you and me, so this conversation doesn’t even need to be happening.” He’d said that a bit too sharply and regretted it, but hell, maybe it needed to be said and that way. There was something between them, something that felt more than friendship, more than boss-employee. She was inside him in the same way Ava had been, but Ginger was very different from Ava. Ginger was walking, talking honesty—and he knew it. She said what she meant.

  He could not fall for her. Could. Not.

  No matter what else, she was pregnant. In several months she’d be a mother. She’d have a tiny, needy baby. And everything in him had been kicking up its heels to get away from responsibility.

  Get her out of your system, he ordered himself. Somehow, some way.

  “The Solero Sisters Bakery is across the street,” he said, pointing. “See the little bookstore? It’s a few doors past that.”

  “You okay?” she asked. “Delia made it crystal clear that you are Mr. Dependable when it comes to your business, but maybe you should reschedule. You just saw your ex and—”

  “And I’m fine,” he muttered.

  But he really wasn’t. He felt jumbled inside, in a way he couldn’t explain, and it had nothing to do with Ava Guthrie and everything to do with his new administrative assistant.

  * * *

  “No, we should be doing amazing cupcakes, quick-eat pastries and cakes,” Antonia Solero said, glaring at her twin sister in the big kitchen of the Solero Sisters Bakery.

  “Not if you look at the books, which you never do!” Geneva Solero shot back. “We make our money with cakes, but the cupcakes and pastries take tons of time. Talk some sense into her, please, James.”

  While James instead asked some basic questions of both sisters, regarding their hours and how the duties were split, Ginger looked from twin to twin. What she saw, besides two attractive identical twins in their late thirties, their long dark hair in matching sleek ponytails, silver aprons with The Solero Sisters Bakery in white type, was anger. The Soleros were pissed. If they were her clients, she’d start with that, then get to the baked goods. Or maybe their differences in how to handle their products had truly stirred up the anger, and she should focus on pure numbers—the books. Well, she wasn’t the solutions expert, so she was dying of curiosity to know how James would approach this.

  Wouldya listen to me, she thought. If they were my clients? She’d promoted herself to James’s business partner. But then again, listening to their issues and coming up with solutions seemed rooted in common sense—above all else.

  James asked more questions about the books and profits, and it was clear that the cakes were the moneymaker for the bakery.

  “Small baked goods bring customers in!” Antonia insisted. “They sit at the little café tables. They have a complimentary cup of coffee or tea or lemon water with their scone or cupcake or chocolate croissant. And they can’t help but notice the amazing display cakes.”

  “Our occasion cakes are what bring in profits,” Geneva said, her voice tight. “We have incredible word of mouth. We don’t need Joe Schmo walking in off the street for a cupcake that took time to bake and free beverages on the off chance he’ll order a cake for his daughter’s third birthday party.”

  “It’s called customer service!” Antonia yelled. “Community building!”

  Geneva threw up her hands. “Well, I’m the one who’s going to be stuck doing most of the work, aren’t I?”

  “Oh, please. You know I’ll be here.”

  “Meaning what?” James asked.

  “Meaning guess who’s pregnant,” Geneva said. “I can forget about having a partner. So I say we also forget the baked goods and free stuff and focus on cakes that I can handle alone with our part-time assistants.”

  Ginger eyed Geneva Solero, her flashing dark brown eyes, the slight mist to them. The woman was angry and sad at the same time.

  A half hour later, they had both sisters’ sides, their schedules, their assistants’ schedules, their business plan and their hopes for the future. James had asked to talk separately with each sister as well during the initial meeting, but neither Solero had been willing to be out of earshot of what the other might say. Talk about toughies.

  Ginger, meanwhile, had taken “minutes,” a new word she’d learned from Delia, writing down all the important bits in “bullet points.” Delia had taught her all the major corporate terminology, from not in my wheelhouse—though everything seemed to be in James’s area of expertise—to let’s put a pin in it, which Ginger thought was especially ridiculous. If someone’s idea struck you as dopey, instead of saying so, you could say “let’s put a pin in it” to keep it up on the “idea board” and come back to it if necessary, not that you ever planned to. Lolsville on that one. She loved corpo-speak.

  James was good, she had to give him that. He asked personal questions in a way that made it seem like he wasn’t getting down and dirty in the sisters’ private beeswax. He’d gotten out of Geneva that she lived in a one-bedroom condo in the same new development as her sister, and had been dating
her boyfriend, a lawyer in town, for more than three years. Geneva was sure he was going to propose either on her birthday in July or Christmas. If not, definitely on Valentine’s Day. Ginger wrote all that down. Antonia, meanwhile, got accidentally pregnant on her third date with a guy she’d now been seeing for all of seven weeks. They were madly in love and, though scared, were going for it.

  “I was a little nervous how he’d react,” Antonia said, her expression turning all dreamy. “But do you want to know what he said?”

  Somehow Ginger had a feeling it was very different from Alden’s reaction. She braced herself, since thinking about Alden’s comments tended to bring her down.

  Antonia smiled and touched her heart. “He said, ‘Our future is happening now.’ And then he picked me up and whirled me around and said he was glad that future was starting early because he knew on our first date that I was the one. How sweet is that?”

  Knife into midsection. Ginger tried to keep a frown off her face. It wouldn’t be professional to bring her personal life into this meeting. Smile on, girl, she ordered herself.

  “And then he asked if he could come to my first prenatal appointment,” Antonia continued. “He can’t wait to see the ultrasound and hear the heartbeat. Otherwise I would have been all alone.”

  Was it hot in here? Ginger wondered. Her skin felt clammy and her throat was closing.

  She’d be “all alone” at her prenatal appointment. All alone to hear the heartbeat.

  So what! she yelled at herself. And you won’t be alone. You’ll be with Bluebell. So chin up now!

  Geneva Solero glared at her sister. “Hello? Duh. I would have gone with you. You wouldn’t have been alone. Stop being so dramatic. Drama doesn’t get anything baked. And we have to get the cannoli going.”

  “Stop picking a fight!” Antonia snapped back. “Stress isn’t healthy for the baby!”

  Geneva rolled her eyes. “I can’t say anything around here!” She threw up her arms—her trademark, Ginger noted—and both sisters crossed their arms over their aprons, reverting to their corners.