And sexy. So damned sexy. She savored the lump crab cake she’d ordered for lunch and couldn’t help admiring the way the tanned skin at the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled. And how the light reflecting off the lake added glints to the sun-streaked gold of his hair. When he leaned forward, Gina caught the ripple of muscle under his starched shirt. She found herself remembering how she’d run her palms over all that hard muscle. That tight butt. Those iron thighs. The bunched biceps and…
“Gina?”
She almost choked on a lump of crab. “Sorry. What were you saying?”
“I was asking if you’d consider coming down to D.C. for a short visit. I’d like to show you my home and introduce you to my parents.”
The request was reasonable. Naturally Jack’s parents would want to meet the mother of their grandchild. From the little he’d let drop about his staunchly conservative father, though, Gina suspected John Harris Mason II probably wouldn’t greet her with open arms.
“Let’s talk about that later,” she hedged. “After I get settled and find a job.”
They finished lunch and lingered a few minutes over tea and coffee refills. Gina’s nerves had started to get jittery by the time they exited the Boathouse. Jack walked with her through the park now filled with bicyclers and in-line skaters and sun worshippers sprawled on benches with eyes closed and faces tilted to the sky.
A group of Japanese tourists had congregated at Bethesda Fountain and were busy snapping photos of each other with the bronze statue of the Angel of the Waters towering over them. At the shy request of one of the younger members of the group, Jack obligingly stopped to take a picture of the whole party. Everyone wanted a copy on their own camera so Gina ended up acting as a runner, passing him ten or twelve cameras before they were done. By the time they reached Fifth Avenue and Jack hailed a cab to take her to her interview, she was feeling the pressure of time.
“Keep your fingers crossed,” she said without thinking as the cab pulled over to the curb.
Only as he reached to open the door for her did she remember that he would prefer she didn’t land this—or any job—in New York. He made no secret of the fact that he wanted to put a ring on her finger and take care of her and their child. To his credit, he buried those feelings behind an easy smile.
“I’ll do better than that. Here’s a kiss for luck.”
He kept it light. Just a brush of his lips over hers. On the first pass, at least.
Afterward Gina could never say for sure who initiated the second pass. All she knew was that Jack hooked a hand behind her nape, she went up on tiptoe and what had started as a friendly good-luck token got real deep and real hungry.
When he finally raised his head, she saw herself reflected in his eyes. “I…I have to go!”
He stepped back and gave her room to make an escape. She slid into the cab and spent the short drive to the Tremayne Group’s headquarters trying desperately to remember all the reasons why she wanted—no, needed!—this job.
* * *
At three-ten, she was reiterating that same grim list. She’d been sitting in Nicole Tremayne’s ultramodern outer office for more than half an hour while a harried receptionist fielded phone calls and a succession of subordinates rushed in and out of the boss’s office. Any other time Gina would have walked out after the first fifteen or twenty minutes. She didn’t have that luxury now.
Instead, she’d used the time to reread the information she’d found on Google about the Tremayne Group. She also studied every page in the slick, glossy brochure given out to prospective clients. Even then she had to unlock her jaw and force a smile when the receptionist finally ushered her into the inner sanctum.
Stunned, Gina stopped dead. This dark cavern was the command center of a company that hosted more than two thousand events a year at a dozen different venues? And this tiny whirlwind erupting from behind her marble slab of a desk was the famed Nicole Tremayne?
She couldn’t have been more than five-one, and she owed at least four of those inches to her needle-heeled ankle boots. Gina was still trying to marry the bloodred ankle boots to her salt-and-pepper corkscrew curls when Nicole thrust out a hand.
“Sorry to keep you waiting. You’re Eugenia, right? Eugenia St. Sebastian?”
“Yes, I…”
“My father had a thing for your grandmother. I was just a kid at the time, but I remember he talked about leaving my mother for her.”
“Oh. Well, uh…”
“He should have. My mother was a world-class ball-breaker.” Swooping a thick book of fabric swatches off one of the chairs in front of her desk, Tremayne dumped it on the floor. “Sit, sit.”
Still slightly stunned, Gina sat. Nicole cleared the chair next to hers and perched on its edge with the nervous energy of a hummingbird.
“I looked at the digital portfolio of your sister’s wedding. Classy job. You did all the arrangements?”
“With some help.”
“Who from?”
“Andrew, at the Plaza. And Patrick Donovan. He’s…”
“Dev Hunter’s right-hand man. I know. We coordinated a major charity event for Hunter’s corporation last year. Three thousand attendees at two thousand a pop. So when can you start?”
“Excuse me?”
“One of the assistant event planners at our midtown venue just got busted for possession. She’s out on bail, but I can’t have a user working for TTG.” Her bird-bright eyes narrowed on Gina. “You don’t do dope, do you?”
“No.”
“I’d better not find out otherwise.”
“You won’t.”
Tremayne nodded. “Here’s the thing. You have a lousy work record but a terrific pedigree. If you inherited half your grandmother’s class and a quarter of her smarts, you should be able to handle this job.”
Gina wasn’t sure whether she’d just been complimented or insulted. She was still trying to decide when her prospective boss continued briskly.
“You also grew up here in the city. You know your way around and you know how to interact with the kind of customers we attract. Plus, the classy digital portfolio you sent me shows you’ve got a flair for design and know computers. Whether you can handle vendors and show yourself as a team player remains to be seen, but I’m willing to give you a shot. When can you start?”
Tomorrow!
The joyous reply was almost out before Gina caught it. Gulping, she throttled back her exhilaration.
“I can start anytime but there’s something I need to tell you before we go any further.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m pregnant.”
“And I’m Episcopalian. So?”
Could it really be this easy? Gina didn’t think so. Suspicion wormed through her elation.
“Did my grandmother call you?” she asked. “Or Pat Donovan?”
“No.”
Her jaw locked. Dammit! It had to have been Jack.
“Then I assume you talked to the ambassador,” she said stiffly.
“What ambassador?”
“Jack Mason.”
“Jack Mason.” Tremayne tapped her chin with a nail shellacked the same red as her ankle boots. “Why do I know that name?”
Gina didn’t mention that TTG had coordinated Jack’s wedding. For reasons she would have to sort out later, that cut too close to the bone.
“Who is he,” Tremayne asked, “and why would he call me?”
“He’s a friend.” That was the best she could come up with. “I told him about our interview and…and thought he might have called to weigh in.”
“Well, it certainly never hurts to have an ambassador in your corner, but no, he didn’t call me. So what’s the deal here? Do you want the job or not?”
There were probably a
dozen different questions she should ask before jumping into the fray. Like how much the job paid, for one. And what her hours would be. And whether the position came with benefits. At the moment, though, Gina was too jazzed to voice any of the questions buzzing around in her head.
“Yes, ma’am, I do.”
“Good. Have my assistant direct you to the woman who handles our personnel matters. You can fill out all the necessary forms there. And call me Nikki,” she added as her new employee sprang out of her chair to shake on the deal.
* * *
Gina left the Tremayne Group’s personnel office thirty or forty forms later. The salary was less than she’d hoped for but the description of her duties made her grin. As assistant events coordinator she would be involved in all phases of operation for TTG’s midtown venue. Scheduling parties and banquets and trade shows. Devising themes to fit the clients’ desires. Creating menus. Contracting with vendors to supply food and decorations and bar stock. Arranging for limos, for security, for parking.
Even better, the personnel officer had stressed that there was plenty of room for advancement within TTG. The tantalizing prospect of a promotion danced before Gina’s eyes as she exited the high-rise housing the company’s headquarters. When she hit the still glorious May sunshine, she had to tell someone her news. Her first, almost instinctive, impulse was to call Jack. She actually had her iPhone in hand before she stopped to wonder why.
Simple answer. She wanted to crow a little.
Not so simple answer. She wanted to prove she wasn’t all fun and fluff.
With a wry grimace, she acknowledged that she should probably wait until she’d actually performed in her new position for a few weeks or months before she made that claim. She decided to text Sarah instead. The message was short and sweet.
I’m now a working mom-to-be. Call when you and Dev come up for air.
She took a cab back to the Upper West Side and popped out at a deli a few blocks from the Dakota. Osterman’s had occupied the same choice corner location since the Great Depression. Gina and Sarah had developed their passion for corned beef at the deli’s tiny, six-table eating area. The sisters still indulged whenever they were in the city, but Gina’s target tonight was the case displaying Osterman’s world famous cheesecakes. With unerring accuracy, she went for a selection that included her own, her grandmother’s and Maria’s favorites.
“One slice each of the white chocolate raspberry truffle, the key lime and the Dutch apple caramel, please. And one pineapple upside down,” she added on an afterthought.
The boxed cheesecake wedges in hand, she plucked a bottle of chilled champagne from the cooler in the wine corner. She had to search for a nonalcoholic counterpart but finally found it in with the fruit juices. Driven by the urge to celebrate, she added a wedge of aged brie and a loaf of crusty bread to her basket. On her way to check out she passed a shelf containing the deli’s selection of caviars.
The sticker price of a four-ounce jar of Caspian Sea Osetra made her gasp. Drawing in a steadying breath, she reminded herself it was Grandmama’s caviar of choice. The duchess considered Beluga too salty and Sevruga too fishy. Gina made a quick calculation and decided her credit card would cover the cost of one jar. Maybe.
“Oh, what the hell.”
To her relief, she got out of Osterman’s without having the credit card confiscated. A block and a half later she approached the Dakota with all her purchases.
“Let me help you with those!”
The doorman who’d held his post for as long as she could remember leaped forward. Although she would never say so to his face, Gina suspected Jerome assumed his present duties about the same time Osterman’s opened its doors.
“You should have called a cab, Lady Eugenia.”
Sarah and Gina had spent most of their adult years trying to get Jerome to drop their empty titles. They’d finally agreed it was a wasted effort.
“I’m okay,” Gina protested as he tried to relieve her of her burdens. “Except for this.”
She sorted through her purchases and fished out a wedge-shaped box. Jerome peeked inside and broke into a grin.
“Pineapple upside down! Trust you to remember my favorite.”
Gina’s emotions jumped on the roller coaster again as she thought about his devoted loyalty to her and Grandmama over the years.
“How could I forget?” she said with a suspicious catch to her voice. “You slipped me an extra few dollars every time I said I was going to Osterman’s.”
For a moment she thought the embarrassed doorman would pat her on the head as he’d done so many times when she was a child. He controlled the impulse and commented instead on the bottles poking out of her bag.
“Still celebrating Lady Sarah’s wedding?”
“Nope. This celebration is in my honor.”
Riding her emotional roller coaster to its gravity-defying apex, she poured out her news.
“I’m moving back to New York, Jerome.”
“Lady Eugenia! That’s wonderful news. I admit I was a bit worried about the duchess.”
“There’s more. I’ve got a job.”
“Good for you.”
“Oh,” she added over her shoulder as she made for the lobby. “I’m also pregnant.”
Four
Gina walked into the Tremayne Group’s midtown venue at 9:30 a.m. the next morning. She didn’t drag out again until well past midnight.
Her first impression was wow! What had once been a crumbling brick warehouse overlooking the East River was now a glass-fronted, ultra-high-rent complex of offices, restaurants and entertainment venues. TTG occupied a slightly recessed four-story suite smack in the center of the complex. The primo location allowed into a private ground-floor courtyard with bubbling fountains and a top-floor terrace that had to offer magnificent views of the river.
A young woman with wings of blue in her otherwise lipstick-red hair sat at a curved glass reception desk and fielded phone calls. Gina waited until she finished with one caller and put two others on hold to introduce herself.
“I’m Gina St. Sebastian. I’m the new…”
“Assistant coordinator. Thank God you’re here! I’m Kallie. Samuel’s in the banquet hall. He said to send you right up. Third floor. The elevators are to your right.”
Gina used the ride to do a quick check in mirrored panels. She’d left her hair down today but confined the silky curls behind a wide fuchsia headband studded with crystals. A belt in the same hot pink circled the waist of her apple-green J. Crew tunic. Since this was her first day on the job she’d gone with sedate black tights instead of the colorful prints she preferred. She made a quick swipe with her lip gloss and drew in a deep, steadying breath. Then the elevator door glided open and she stepped out into a vortex of sound and fury.
What looked like a small army of workers in blue overalls was yanking folded chairs from metal-sided carrier racks, popping them open and thumping them around a room full of circluar tables. Another crew, this one in black pants and white shirts, scurried after the first. They draped each chair in shimmering green, the tables in cloth of gold. Right behind them came yet another crew rattling down place settings of china and crystal. The rat-tat-tat of staple guns fired by intent set designers erecting a fantastic Emerald City added to the barrage of noise, while the heady scent of magnolias wafted from dozens of tall topiaries stacked on carts waiting to be rolled to the tables.
Soaking up the energy like a sponge, Gina wove her way through the tables to a wild-haired broomstick with a clipboard in one hand, a walkie-talkie in the other and a Bluetooth headset hooked over one ear. “Not The Wizard of Oz,” he was shouting into the headset. “Christ, who does Judy Garland anymore? This is the new movie. Oz the… Oz the…”
Scowling, he snapped his fingers at Gina.
“Oz
the Great and Powerful,” she dutifully asserted.
“Right. Oz the Great and Powerful. It’s a Disney flick starring Rachel Weisz and…”
More finger snaps.
“Mila Kunis.”
“Right. Mila Kunis. That’s the music the clients requested.” The scowl deepened. “Hell, no, I don’t! Hold on.”
He whipped his head around and barked at Gina. “You the new AC?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Samuel DeGrange.”
“Nice to…”
He brushed aside the pleasantries with an impatient hand. “Go upstairs and tell the DJ to pull his head out of his ass. The clients don’t want Dorothy and Toto, for God’s sake! Then make sure the bar supervisor knows how to mix the fizzy green juice concoction that’s supposed to make the kids think they’re dancing down a new, improved Yellow Brick Road.”
* * *
Eight and a half hours later Gina was zipped into the Glinda the Good Witch costume that had been rented for her predecessor and making frantic last-minute changes to seating charts. Kallie the receptionist—now garbed as a munchkin—wielded a calligraphy pen to scribble out place cards for the twenty additional guests the honoree’s mother had somehow forgotten she’d invited until she was in the limo and on her way from Temple with the newly bat mitzvahed Rachel.
* * *
Another six hours later, Gina collapsed into a green-draped chair and gazed at the rubble. Iridescent streamers in green and gold littered the dance floor. Scattered among them was a forgotten emerald tiara here, an empty party-favors box there. The booths where the seventy-five kids invited to celebrate Rachel’s coming of age had fired green lasers and demolished video villains were being dismantled. Only a few crumbs remained of the fourteen-layer cake with its glittering towers and turrets. The kids invited to the party had devoured it with almost as much gusto as the more than two hundred parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins and family friends had drained the open bar upstairs.
The Diplomat's Pregnant Bride Page 4
