“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.
He crouched down next to Serena and started rubbing her back. “Breathe, Serena. Please. I’m sorry. I’m not mad at you.”
She leaned into him then. Not much, but enough to rest her head against his shoulder. Hadn’t he wanted this just a few days before? Something that resembled his holding her?
But not like this. Not because he’d lost his temper. Not because she was...
Pregnant.
Chadwick didn’t have the first clue how to be a good father. He had a great idea of how to be a really crappy father, but not a good one. Helen had said she didn’t want kids, so they didn’t have kids. It had been easier that way.
But Serena? She was soft and gentle where Helen, just like his own mother, had been tough and brittle. Serena worked hard and wasn’t afraid to learn new things—wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty down in the trenches.
Serena would be a good mother. A great mother.
The thought made him smile. Or it would have, if he hadn’t been watching her asphyxiate before his very eyes.
“Breathe,” he ordered her. Finally, she gasped and exhaled. “Good. Do it again.”
They sat like that for several minutes, her breathing and him reminding her to do it again. The assistant knocked on the door and delivered their beverages, but Serena didn’t pull away from him and he didn’t pull away from her. He sat on his heels and rubbed her back while she breathed and leaned on him.
When they were alone again, he said, “I meant what I said on Monday, Serena. This doesn’t change that.”
“It changes everything.” He’d never heard her sound sadder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want anything to change. But it did. I did.”
They’d lived their lives in a state of stasis for so long—he’d been not-quite-happily married to Helen, and Serena had been living with Neil, not quite happily, either, it turned out. They could have continued on like that forever, maybe.
But everything had changed.
“I won’t fail you,” he reminded her. Failure had not been an option when he was growing up. Hardwick Beaumont had demanded perfection from an early age. And it was never smart to disappoint Hardwick. Even as a child, Chadwick had known that.
No, he wouldn’t fail Serena.
She leaned back—not away from him, not enough to break their contact, but far enough that she could look at him. The color was slowly coming back into her face, which was good. Her hair was mussed up from where her head had been on his shoulder and her eyes were wide. She looked as if she’d just woken up from a long nightmare, like she wanted him to kiss her and make it all better.
His hand moved. It brushed a few strands of hair from her cheek. Then his fingers curved under her cheek, almost as if he couldn’t pull away from her skin.
“I won’t fail you,” he repeated.
“I know you won’t,” she whispered, her voice shaking.
She reached up—she was going to touch him. Like he was touching her. She was going to put her fingers on his face and then pull him down and he would kiss her. God, how he would kiss her.
“Knock, knock!” Mario called out from the other side of the door. “Is everybody decent in there?”
“Damn.”
But Serena smiled—a small, tense smile, but a smile all the same. In that moment, he knew he hadn’t let her down yet.
Now he just had to keep it that way.
Five
“Breathe in,” Mario instructed as he held up the first gown.
Serena did as she was told. Breathing was the only thing she was capable of doing right now, and even that was iffy.
She’d almost kissed Chadwick. She’d almost let herself lean forward in a moment of weakness and kiss him. It was bad enough that she’d been completely unprofessional and had a panic attack, worse that she’d let him comfort her. But to almost kiss him?
She didn’t understand why that felt worse than letting him kiss her. But it did. Worse and better all at the same time.
“And breathe all the way out. All the way, Ms. Chase. There!” The zipper slid up the rest of the way and she felt him hook the latch. “Marvelous!”
Serena looked down at the black velvet that clung to every single size-ten curve she had and a few new ones. “How did you know what size I’d need?”
“Darling,” Mario replied as he made a slow circle around her, smoothing here and tugging up there, “it’s Mario’s job to know such things.”
“Oh.” She remembered to breathe again. “I’ve never done this before. But I guess you figured that out.” He’d guessed everything else. Her dress size, her shoe size—even her bra size. The strapless bra fit a lot better than the one she owned.
“Which part—trying on gowns or being whisked out of the office in the middle of the day?”
Yeah, she wasn’t fooling anyone. “Both.” Mario set a pair of black heels before her and balanced her as she stepped into them. “I feel like an imposter.”
“But that’s the beauty of fashion,” Mario said, stepping back to look her over yet again. “Every morning you can wake up and decide to be someone new!” Then his face changed. “Even Mario.” His voice changed, too—it got deeper, with a thicker Hispanic accent. “I’m really Mario from the barrio, you know? But no one else does. That’s the beauty of fashion. It doesn’t matter what we were. The only thing that matters is who we are today. And today,” he went on, his voice rising up again, “you shall be a queen amongst women!”
She looked at him, more than a little surprised at what he’d said. Was it possible that he really was Mario from the barrio—that he might understand how out of place she felt surrounded by this level of wealth? She decided it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he’d made her feel like she could do this. She felt herself breathe again—and this time it wasn’t a strain. “You really are fabulous, you know.”
“Oh,” he said, batting her comment away with a pleased grin, “I tell my husband that all the time
. One of these days, he’s going to believe me!” Then he clapped his hands and turned to the cart that had God only knew how many diamonds and gems on it. “Mr. Beaumont is quite the lucky man!”
But he wasn’t. He wasn’t the father of her baby and he wasn’t even her boyfriend. He was her boss. The walls started to close in on her again.
She needed to distract herself and fast. “Does this happen a lot? Mr. Beaumont showing up with a fashion-challenged woman?” The moment she asked the question, she wished she could take it back. She didn’t want to know that she was the latest in a string of afternoon makeovers.
“Heavens, no!” Mario managed to look truly shocked at the suggestion as he turned with a stunning diamond solitaire necklace the size of a pea. “His brother, Mr. Phillip Beaumont? Yes. But not Mr. Chadwick Beaumont. I don’t believe he ever even joined his wife on such an afternoon. Certainly not here. I would recall that.”
Serena breathed again. There wasn’t a particularly good reason for that to make her so happy. She had no claim on Chadwick, none at all. And just because he hadn’t brought a girl shopping didn’t mean he hadn’t been seeing anyone else.
But she didn’t think he had. He worked too much. She knew. She managed his schedule.
“Now,” Mario went on, draping the necklace around her neck and fastening it, “you may have woken up this morning a frugal...” He tilted his head to the side and looked at her suit, now neatly hanging by the door. “Account executive?”
“Close,” she said. “Executive assistant.”
He snapped his fingers in disappointment, but it didn’t last. “By the time Mario gets done with you, you will be royalty.”
He held his arm out to her, for which she was grateful—those heels were at least two inches higher than her dress shoes. Then he opened the door and they walked out into the sitting room.
Chadwick was reclined in the loveseat, a glass of champagne in one hand. He’d loosened his tie, a small thing that made him look ten times more relaxed than normal.
Then he saw her. His eyes went wide as he sat up straight, nearly spilling his drink. “Serena...wow.”
“And this is just the beginning!” Mario crowed as he led her not to Chadwick but over to the small dais in front of all the mirrors. He helped her up and then guided her in a small turn.
She saw herself in the mirrors. Mario had smoothed her hair out after he’d gotten her suit off her. Her face still looked a little ashen, but otherwise, she couldn’t quite believe that was her.
Royalty, indeed. Chadwick had been right. This dress, just like her black dress at home, made her feel beautiful. And after the day she’d had, that was a gift in itself.
She got turned back around and saw the look Chadwick was giving her. His mouth had fallen open and he was now standing, like he wanted to walk right up to her and sweep her into his arms.
“Now,” Mario said, although it didn’t feel like he was talking to either Serena or Chadwick. “This dress would be perfect for Saturday, but half the crowd will be wearing black and we don’t want Ms. Chase to blend, do we?”
“No,” Chadwick agreed, looking at her like she hadn’t announced half an hour ago that she was pregnant. If anything, he was looking at her like he’d never really seen her before. And he wanted to see a lot more. “No, we don’t want that.”
“Plus, this dress is not terribly forgiving. I think we want to try on something that has more flow, more grace. More...”
“Elegant,” Chadwick said. He seemed to shake back to himself. He backed up to the loveseat and sat again, one leg crossed, appraising her figure again. “Show me what else you’ve got, Mario.”
“With pleasure!”
The next dress was a pale peachy pink number with a huge ball gown skirt and a bow on the back that felt like it was swallowing Serena whole. “A classic style,” Mario announced.
“Too much,” Chadwick replied, with a shake of his hand. She might have been hurt by this casual dismissal, but then he caught her gaze and gave her a smile. “But still beautiful.”
Then came a cornflower blue dress with an Empire waist, tiny pleats that flowed down the length of the gown, and one shoulder strap that was encrusted with jewels. “No necklace,” Mario informed her as he handed her dangling earrings that looked like they were encrusted with real sapphires. “You don’t want to compete with the dress.”
When she came out this time, Chadwick sat up again. “You are...stunning.” There was that look again—like he was hungry. Hungry for her.
She blushed. She wasn’t used to being stunning. She was used to being professional. Her black dress at home was as stunning as she’d ever gotten. She wasn’t sure how she was going to pull off stunning while pregnant. But it didn’t seem to be bothering Chadwick.
“This one has a much more forgiving waistline. She’ll be able to wear it for several more months and it’ll be easier to get back into it.” Mario was talking to Chadwick, but Serena got the feeling that he was really addressing her—greater wearability meant better value.
Although she still wasn’t looking at the price tags.
“I don’t know where else I’d wear it,” she said.
Chadwick didn’t say anything, but he gave her a look that made her shiver in the best way possible.
They went through several dresses that no one particularly loved—Mario kept putting her in black and then announcing that black was too boring for her. She tried on a sunflower yellow that did horrible things to her skin tone. It was so bad, Mario wouldn’t even let her go out to show Chadwick.
She liked the next, a satin dress that was so richly colored it was hard to tell if it was blue or purple. It had an intricate pattern in lace over the bodice that hid everything she didn’t like about her body. That was followed by a dark pink strapless number that reminded her of a bridesmaid gown. Then a blue-and-white off-the-shoulder dress where the colors bled into each other in a way that she thought would be tacky but was actually quite pretty.
“Blue is your color,” Mario told her. She could see he was right.
She didn’t think it was possible, but she was having fun. Playing dress-up, such as it was. High-end dress-up, but still—this was something she’d had precious little of during her childhood. Chadwick was right—she did feel beautiful. She twirled on the dais for him, enjoying the compliments he heaped upon her.
It was almost like...a fairy tale, a rags-to-riches dream come true. How many times had she read some year-old fashion magazine that she’d scavenged from a recycling bin and dreamed about dressing up in the pretty things? She’d thought she’d gotten that herself with her consignment store dress, but that was nothing compared to being styled by the fabulous Mario.
Time passed in a whirl of chiffons and satins. Soon, it was past seven. They’d spent almost four hours in that dressing room. Chadwick had drunk most of a bottle of champagne. At some point, a fruit-and-cheese tray had been brought in. Mario wouldn’t let Serena touch a bite while she was wearing anything, so she wound up standing in the dressing room in her underthings, eating apple slices.
She was tired and hungry. Chadwick’s eyes had begun to glaze over, and even Mario’s boundless energy was seeming to flag.
“Can we be done?” Serena asked, drooping like a wilted flower in a pale green dress.
“Yes,” Chadwick said. “We’ll take the blue, the purple, the blue-and-white and...was there another one that you liked, Serena?”
She goggled at him. Had he just listed three dresses? “How many times do you expect me to change at this thing?”
“I want you to have all options available.”
“One is plenty. The blue one with the single strap.”
Mario looked at Chadwick, who repeated, “All three, please. With all necessary accessories. Have them sent to Serena’s house.”
“Of course, Mr. Beaumont.” He gathered up the gowns in question and hurried from the room.
Still wearing the droopy green dress, Serena kicked
out of her towering shoes and stalked over to Chadwick. She put her hands on her hips and gave him her very best glare. “One. One I shouldn’t let you buy me in the first place. I do not need three.”
He had the nerve to look down at her and smile his ruthless smile, the one that let everyone in the room know that negotiations were finished. Suddenly, she was aware that they were alone and she wasn’t wearing her normal suit. “Most women would jump at the chance to have someone buy them nice things, Serena.”
“Well,” she snapped, unable to resist stamping her foot in protest, “I’m not most women.”
“I know.” Then—almost as if he were moving in slow motion, he stood and began taking long strides toward her, his gaze fastened on her lips.
She should do...something. Step back. Cross her arms and look away. Flee to the dressing room and lock the door until Mario came back.
Yes, those were all truly things she should do.
But she wanted him to kiss her.
He slipped one arm around her waist, and his free hand caught her under the chin again. “You’re not like any woman I’ve ever known, Serena. I could tell the very first time I saw you.”
“You don’t actually remember that, do you?” Her voice had dropped down to a sultry whisper.
His grin deepened. “You were working for Sue Colman in HR. She sent you up to my office with a comparison of new health-care plans.” As he spoke, he pulled her in tighter, until she could feel the hard planes of his chest through the thin fabric of the gown. “I asked you what you thought. You told me that Sue recommended the cheaper plan, but the other one was better. It would make the employees happier—would make them want to stay with the brewery. I made you nervous—you blushed—but—”
“You picked the plan I wanted.” The plan she’d needed. She’d just been hired full-time. She’d never had health benefits before and she wanted the one with a lower copay and better prescription coverage. She couldn’t believe he remembered—but he did.
Her arms went around his chest, her hands flat on his back. She wasn’t pushing him away. She couldn’t. She wanted this. She had since that day. When she’d knocked on the door, he’d looked up at her with those hazel eyes. Instead of making her feel like she was an interruption, he’d focused on her and asked for her opinion—something he did not have to do. She was the lowest woman on the totem pole, barely ranking above unpaid intern—but the future CEO had made her feel like the most important worker in the whole company.
Not the Boss's Baby Page 6
