Executive Mother-To-Be

by Nicola Marsh

  Her child?

  Sighing, she picked up the picture and slid it into her handbag. Their child. Nate was the father, and he deserved to know no matter how protective she might feel towards her unborn baby.

  Whether he wanted anything to do with the baby or not, it should be his decision to make, not hers.

  This baby was real.

  This baby was theirs.

  Suddenly, Kristen knew it was time to give Nate the news. This wasn’t only about her, and a good mother always put her child’s needs first.

  Starting now.

  Kristen opened the door to her dinner guest, her breath catching as she caught sight of Nate standing on her doorstep wearing dark denim, a navy designer T-shirt and a smile.

  The guy was seriously gorgeous, and she could easily fall for him given half a chance.

  But that was out of the question. She had a baby to care for, a life to build for them both, and her needs would come a far second to that of her child.

  ‘These are for you.’

  He handed her five large blocks of Swiss chocolate with the gooiest fudge-caramel centres, her favourite, and she welcomed him in.

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘I’ve seen you devouring the odd block or two at your desk.’

  The odd block or two? She reckoned she’d bought out the local chocolatier with her intense cravings for the creamy, smooth chocolate that melted on her tongue. So her baby would have a sweet tooth. If that was the worst trait he or she inherited from its mother, she’d be lucky.

  ‘Have you been spying on me?’

  He grinned. ‘Of course. I always keep an eye on my best exec producers. James Bond has nothing on me.’

  ‘You could give James a run for his money,’ she said, ushering him into the cosy dining room set for two and handing him a bottle opener. ‘In the successful stakes, of course.’

  Uh-oh, had she actually said that, the bit about him giving James Bond a run for his money? Going by his cocky smile she had, and he probably knew exactly how she was comparing him—in the sexiness stakes. Her cover-up for her gaff had been pathetic at best.

  She bustled about the table, handing him the wine to uncork while she topped up her glass with sparkling mineral water.

  ‘Wine?’

  ‘No thanks,’ she said, the mere fumes sending a wave of nausea crashing over her.

  She hadn’t been too bad with morning sickness, but come six p.m. her hormones surged, and the faintest of smells set her off and running for the loo.

  Indicating he take a seat, she slid into the chair opposite. ‘I’m not having wine, though I thought you might like some. It’s the one you ordered in Singapore, your favourite, I believe.’

  ‘You remembered?’

  His expression relaxed as he sat down, though the wariness never left his eyes. He had no idea what he was doing here, and it was time she enlightened him.

  ‘Uh-huh,’ she said, barely refraining from adding how could I forget anything about that evening?

  He poured himself a glass of wine, his steady stare never leaving her for an instant.

  ‘I must say, this dinner invitation came as a pleasant surprise.’

  She almost choked on her mineral water. Not half as much a surprise as it would be before the evening ended.

  Replacing her glass on the table for fear of sloshing the lot, she clasped her hands to stop from fiddling, and looked him straight in the eye.

  ‘I wanted us to have some quiet time together away from the office.’

  ‘Really?’

  She couldn’t fathom the expression in his eyes. Confusion? Interest? Fear?

  Nodding, she said, ‘I have something to tell you, and it’s important.’

  Curiosity replaced confusion in his coal-dark eyes, and he leaned forward, all his attention focussed on her.

  ‘Go ahead, shoot. Though, if you’re gunning for a raise, forget it.’

  Her nervous laugh sounded hollow. ‘I’m pregnant and you’re the father,’ she blurted, horrified at the inane way the words flew out of her mouth, grateful he finally knew the truth.

  The smile died on his lips as he stared at her, blanching, his pallor matching the sickly beige of the walls.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I thought the chocolate gorging might’ve been a dead giveaway?’

  Her false bravado petered out quickly as he didn’t move a muscle, stunned into immovability, staring at her in wide-eyed shock.

  ‘But we used protection.’

  ‘Condoms are only ninety-seven percent effective,’ she said, watching him compute the figures, but the information not really sinking in. ‘I know this must be pretty shocking for you. I felt the same way when I found out—’

  ‘How long have you known?’

  She looked away, pretending to study the elaborate table setting. ‘Since that day I fainted.’

  ‘And you’ve waited till now to tell me?’

  She wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d exploded or lost his temper or jumped up from the table. Instead, his cold, icy control terrified her more than any of the reactions she’d anticipated.

  Reaching a hand across the table to comfort him, she flinched as he leaned away from her and out of reach.

  ‘I wasn’t sure if I wanted to tell you or not. It was a big decision to make, so I wanted to take my time, think about it and make sure I made the right one.’

  If he’d been pale before, he turned positively ghostly now.

  ‘And have you? Made the right decision, I mean? After all, it must’ve been real tough working out if you think I’m the kind of guy who can handle being told he’s about to become a father.’

  He pushed away from the table so fast his chair slammed onto the floor, fury etched into every tense line of his body.

  She shook her head, hating how this was going. She should have led up to the news, broken it to him gently, tried to formulate some answers to the inevitable questions he would have.

  Instead, she’d spilled the news quicker than she’d dropped her guard around him that night in Singapore.

  Hating the surge of tears at the mess she’d made of everything, she said, ‘Look, Nate, it wasn’t like that. It took me a while to absorb the news. I just wanted to make sure I was doing the right thing in telling you.’

  Clenching his fists, he turned to face her, his frigid glare freezing her heart.

  ‘You should’ve told me earlier.’

  ‘Maybe,’ she said, sipping at her mineral water in an effort to buy some time, to give him an opportunity to calm down.

  Not that she could blame him for reacting like this. She’d bawled, he’d ranted. Everyone handled life-changing news in their own way and, boy, was his life in for a major change if he wanted to be a part of their child’s life.

  ‘But I can’t turn back time or change the way I’ve gone about this, Nate. Believe me, I’ve really thought about this long and hard, and once I’d made the decision I really wanted you to know.’

  He grunted, fixed her with another icy glare, before shaking his head, righting his chair and sitting back down.

  ‘The baby’s doing fine, by the way,’ she said, hoping to focus his attention on the real issue here—their child—and away from how much he’d like to throttle her.

  His hand shook as he reached for his wine, and he quickly took a healthy swig before replacing the glass and dropping his hand out of sight, as if embarrassed by a physical sign of his obvious shock.

  ‘That’s good. And how are you?’

  ‘Okay, apart from the usual stuff like morning sickness.’

  ‘How far along are you?’

  ‘About fourteen weeks.’

  His gaze flickered to her belly, strategically disguised behind a loose, flowing peasant top.

  ‘You can’t tell.’

  ‘I’m not that big yet,’ she said, grateful they’d moved onto discussing the baby and away from his rage, but wishing they could fall back into their natural camarader
ie rather than speaking in these stilted syllables.

  ‘A baby,’ he muttered, draining half his glass of wine before shaking his head.

  They lapsed into silence, his eyes round, dark orbs in his pale face, stark in their bleak expression, her gaze darting to his to ascertain the slightest change in mood.

  After thirty tension-fraught seconds which felt like a lifetime, she knew she had to get the rest out before she bolted upstairs and let the waterworks flow.

  ‘I told you because I believe you have a right to know, not because I expect anything from you. Whether you want to be involved or not is entirely up to you…’ She trailed off, horrified by the pain which jagged across his face, his striking features almost collapsing into a crumpled heap.

  ‘I don’t believe this,’ he muttered, running a hand over his face, rubbing his eyes as if trying to erase the memory of the last few minutes—maybe erasing the memory of the night that had landed them in this parenting role together.

  You better believe it! she wanted to scream.

  In fact, in the face of his reaction, she wanted to jump up and down and throw a tantrum to end all tantrums.

  She’d worked so hard to stay calm, to tell him in the right way, to understand the roller-coaster of emotion he’d just stepped onto, but as he raised stricken eyes to her she wanted to shout, wave her arms about, do anything to snap him out of it.

  Struggling to keep her voice steady, she said, ‘What part don’t you believe? The part about being a father, being involved or the role you played in all of this?’

  Some of her anger must’ve been audible, because he sat back and folded his arms, pinning her with a stare that could turn her to stone.

  ‘Don’t patronise me,’ he snapped, his lips compressed in a thin, rigid line. ‘I’m well aware of my role in all of this. As for being involved, what do you want me to say?’

  Suddenly, the fragile hold on her temper broke. ‘Tell me what you’re thinking. Tell me how you’re feeling. Tell me what I can do to make this easier. Tell me whatever you damn well please, but for God’s sake stop blaming me for something that isn’t my fault!’

  She thought he’d really lose it then, but her tirade had an unexpected effect, as his shoulders softened and he reached across the table as if to take her hand before thinking better of it.

  ‘This isn’t your fault.’

  ‘Damn right it’s not,’ she muttered, downing the rest of her mineral water and topping up, anything to keep her hands busy and away from strangling him, or touching him, whichever was worse.

  ‘I can’t tell you what you want to hear because I have no idea what I’m feeling, let alone what I’m going to do about any of this.’

  She heard the sincerity in his voice but it didn’t make this any easier. The man she’d hoped would stand up and be counted the moment he found out about his unborn baby wasn’t feeding her the reassuring lines she’d wanted to hear.

  Sighing, she pushed away from the table.

  ‘Look, I know this is a big deal, and I’m well aware you probably need some time to absorb what I’ve just told you. Why don’t we skip dinner?’

  Gratitude flickered through his eyes, the first sign of any emotion other than shock or pain.

  ‘You sure?’

  Hating the way her heart sank at his first instinct to bolt, she nodded.

  ‘Go ahead. If you want to talk some more, you know where to find me.’

  With as much dignity as she could muster, Kris headed up the stairs. She needed to get away to process her disappointment, to rationalise the disillusionment that, despite the faint hope that Nate would be as thrilled as she was about this baby, he wasn’t.

  It didn’t surprise her, yet she couldn’t help the wave of sadness which washed over her as she realised what a delusional fool she’d been for hoping her wretched crush could morph into something more, something they could build on and strengthen in time for the baby’s arrival.

  Blinking against the tears burning her eyes, she padded up the stairs, hating the finality of the front door slamming as Nate left.

  Nate staggered from Kris’s house like a drunk, the half glass of wine he’d had sloshing around his stomach till he thought he’d throw up.

  Kris was pregnant.

  He was the father.

  Straightening, he glanced back at the house, his heart clenching at the sight of the woman carrying his child silhouetted against an upstairs window before she quickly closed the blinds.

  He’d known something was different lately.

  She’d been too withdrawn, too accepting of his proposals the last couple of weeks, agreeing to practically everything he’d put forward without so much as a minor skirmish or argument.

  He’d attributed it to their new-found truce, and in a way he’d been too happy to question it. Building a strong working relationship with her had been rewarding, fostering a friendship even more so.

  He loved the way they were on the same wavelength. He’d have an idea, she’d put the finishing touches on it. He’d propose an amendment, she’d sanction it. They were a great team, and he could envisage RX moving forward into the upper echelon of Australian TV at a rate of knots.

  But it was more than that.

  He loved her quicksilver smile, the triumph in her deep blue eyes when they made an idea happen, her loud laugh when RX’s latest comedy series hit the top of the ratings. He loved her fierce independence, and now all that was about to change, courtesy of him.

  She was carrying his child.

  Hell.

  Bracing himself against the front fence, he took a deep breath, the crisp, bracing Melbourne air filling his lungs, hopefully clearing his head.

  He couldn’t do this.

  No matter how much he liked Kris, he couldn’t be the man she wanted.

  Taking a chance on fatherhood was a risk he wasn’t willing to take.

  Releasing the fence, he turned away from her house and strode down the street towards his car, his long, angry steps eating up the pavement.

  If hearing Kris’s news had shocked him, it had nothing on the bolt of disappointment when he’d realised he couldn’t be the father she wanted for her child—yet for one brief, crazy moment when she’d first told him he’d had a startling vision of the two of them together, his arm around her while she cradled their baby.

  Irrational, stupid and beyond belief, the absurd surge of hope that their one incredible night together could’ve resulted in a baby had thrilled him before he’d bolted, running from his demons.

  He didn’t want to be a father.

  Reaching his car, he slammed a hand against the bonnet, hating the painful memories slashing through the fog of confusion caused by Kris’s revelation.

  Could he take a risk again?

  No, he couldn’t do it.

  With his head pounding with unanswered questions, Nate gunned the engine and slid away from the kerb.

  He needed time to think, time to get his head around the fact he’d fathered a child, and what on earth he was going to do about it.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘YOU wanted to see me?’

  Nate nodded and beckoned Kristen in, scribbling furiously on a notepad while he mumbled a string of ‘uh-huhs’ into the phone squeezed between his ear and shoulder.

  She stepped into his office, wishing she had the guts to quit. It had crossed her mind several times since he’d left her place two nights ago. It would be so difficult to work with him, seeing him on a daily basis, trying to pretend that everything was okay, when as a matter of fact she wanted to clobber him over the head for being a cold, callous cretin.

  And she’d thought her string of lousy foster mothers had been bad!

  At least they’d feigned interest in her at the start, whereas Nate didn’t seem interested in his son or daughter at all.

  He hadn’t tried to contact her, hadn’t phoned or visited when she’d called in sick to work yesterday. Nothing, and his silence spoke volumes.

 
; Some people were cut out to be parents and some weren’t, and till a few months ago she’d fallen into the latter category herself. But that was before she’d woken up and smelt the ginger tea—a godsend for her nausea. In a way she should be grateful he’d shown his true colours now and hadn’t strung her child along, promising birthday visits and ponies only to renege on every vow at the last minute.

  She’d hated the false promises more than the lack of affection from her numerous foster parents, and she’d be damned if she sat back and let her child go through the same heartache.

  Cupping his hand over the mouthpiece, he murmured, ‘Sorry, this will only take a minute.’

  She nodded, not caring if he took an eternity on the phone and never spoke to her again.

  Being here, sitting across from him like nothing had happened, grated. She couldn’t quit no matter how much she wanted to. She’d made a vow to be the best mum she could, and for her that meant staying at home for the baby’s first year at least, which meant she needed to scrounge and save every penny she could now. Besides, who would employ a pregnant woman for the next few months only?

  She had no choice.

  She had to act the model employee, while eyeing the steel letter-opener within arm’s reach and imagining creative ways she could make her heartless boss squirm.

  Hanging up the phone, Nate threw down his pen and said, ‘Sorry about that. Interstate conference-call took longer than expected.’

  She ignored his apology, eager to get straight to the point. The less they saw of each other, business arena or not, the better.

  ‘What did you want to see me about?’

  ‘This.’

  He handed her a gilt-edged embossed invitation and she opened it, scanning over the words with little interest. ‘An invitation to the Logies. So?’

  ‘We’re going.’

  The stiff cardboard invitation to the Australian television awards crumpled in her clenched fist like tissue paper, and she forced herself to relax.

  ‘You might be. I’m not.’

  It took every ounce of willpower to place the balled invitation on the desk and not throw it in his face. Now, if she could manage to hold onto her temper for the few steps between the desk and the door, she’d be doing well indeed.