She showered at Zach’s house, dressed in her favorite pantsuit—white, of course—and slipped her feet into five-inch heels. She arrived at her office building via a town car—the number she’d pilfered from Zach’s refrigerator—thanked the driver and stepped onto the downtown sidewalk.
It wasn’t officially summer yet, but the Texas sun was hot. Judging by the passing professionals, summer was already here. Men had gone without their jackets, the women wore shorter hemlines and everyone, Pen included, had sunglasses perched on their noses.
She’d returned as many emails and phone calls as she could from her cell phone. She told herself that she was going to the office simply to retrieve her laptop, but now that she was here, she decided to stay. The idea of settling into her cushy desk chair, hands on the keyboard, was too tempting to resist.
Bonus, the embryo incubating in her uterus decided to allow her to keep the contents of her stomach. She’d be smart to take advantage of the reprieve.
Two hours into her routine, her planner boasted several checked-off boxes and lined-through tasks, and Pen’s fingers were practically flying over the keys as she crafted an email to a reporter. Reporters and paparazzi were good friends to have when in PR. Even if they were less friends and more acquaintances with benefits.
She sent the email by punching the enter key with a flourish before standing to refill her water bottle. She’d pulled open her office door only a few inches when Zach rounded the corner, paper takeout bag in hand, a scowl on his face.
“Zach, hi!” Rather than fetch herself a much-needed drink, she pulled the door open the rest of the way and ushered him in. “How’d you know where to find me?”
“Tony told me.”
The town car driver.
“Right. Well. Welcome to my humble office.”
Zach didn’t survey her digs, though. He set the paper bag on her desk and glowered down at her. “You’re not at my house.”
“Correct.” She smiled.
“You didn’t eat the food I left for you in the refrigerator.”
At the mention of food, her stomach roared rather than wilted. That was a good sign—her appetite was back.
“I was going to order from the sandwich cart in the lobby.” She’d been so wrapped up in work, she’d forgotten all about eating.
“Now you don’t have to.”
“Are you under the impression that I’m incapable of feeding myself?” She smiled sweetly.
“Don’t be cute.” His voice was thick with warning. “It’s my responsibility to keep you in good health since this situation is at least half my doing.”
“Ha! I’m not a prize pig, Zach. I’m responsible for myself. And I hope you’re not suggesting that you need to ensure I eat for two because I’m neglecting our baby.”
His brows slammed over his nose. “I’m not suggesting anything. I’m telling you that parenting, for me, starts here.”
Her eyes went to the paper sack. That...was actually kind of sweet. Barbaric and completely chauvinist, but sweet. She hooked a finger on the edge of the bag and peeked inside. “You brought enough for both of us. Are you staying?”
* * *
Pen scraped the bottom of her salad bowl with the plastic fork to catch the last bit of honey mustard dressing and cranberry. She hummed while chewing, then opened her beautiful blue eyes and laid them right on Zach. He was glad to see that the color had returned to her face.
“Thank you,” she said. “This was delicious.”
He raised the plastic container containing the remaining half of his Reuben sandwich, dripping with Thousand Island dressing and tart sauerkraut. “Want the rest of mine?”
Her eyes brightened. “Really?”
“Yes, really.”
She eagerly accepted the container and wolfed down the rest of his sandwich. As she swiped her mouth with a napkin, he gathered the plastic containers and stuffed them into the paper sack so he could take them to the trash on the way out.
“Nice to have an appetite.” She swallowed a few guzzles of water from the bottle he’d refilled for her. “It must kick in late afternoon.”
The bing of her email inbox sounded again. That had to be the sixth or seventh time since they’d sat down to eat. She rose to check it and he rose with her, curling a hand around her slender wrist.
“It’s after five, Pen. Time to clock off.”
“Just let me check.” She tilted her head, sending her blond hair sliding over breasts that were pushed against the low V-cut of her silky shirt.
Keeping her wrist captive, he lowered his lips to hers.
“No,” he whispered, lifting his head to find her wearing a disdainful frown. “Gather your things and I’ll drive you home.”
“Oh, all right.” She shut down her desktop computer and slid her laptop into a bag along with a few other files and her planner. “If you could send my things back to my place, I’d appreciate it. There are a few outfits I’d like to have on hand for this week.”
“Home is my place, Penelope.” He lifted the sack and her water bottle, holding the door open for her.
“No. I’m going to my house.”
“Guess again. Let’s go.”
“Zach!” She straightened her back and squared her jaw, ready for a fight. He slid a lingering gaze down her body—over the fitted jacket and pants to the shoes he should have thrown out rather than hid in his closet.
He took a step closer to her and she adjusted the bag on her shoulder. “You’re wearing the shoes I told you not to.” His voice dipped to communicate his displeasure.
“It’s a free country.” She arched one fair eyebrow.
“You’re coming to my house,” he reiterated. He couldn’t risk her slipping in the shoes or forgetting to eat or no one being there if she felt sick in the morning. He wanted her safe. He wanted her with him. “No more discussion.”
“You can’t keep me prisoner, you know.” She propped a fist on one hip.
Stubborn thing...
Zach dropped the bag and scooped Pen against him, his arm locked at her lower back. He kissed her, his tongue plunging past her lips, pleased when her free hand went from pushing him away to fisting in his shirt and tugging him forward. A thrill pulsed through him when her lips went pliant and her tongue began sparring with his.
When she finally surfaced, he kissed her lips softly once, twice more, and made sure she was steady on her spindly shoes before letting her go.
He then bent and lifted the bag and smirked down at her. Her hair was rumpled, her jacket askance and her lips pink and swollen from his five o’clock shadow.
His. Through and through.
“Your place.” She said it with an eye roll, and offered a droll, “But only because there’s no one at my house who kisses me like that,” over her shoulder while they walked to the elevator.
Yeah, he thought she’d see things his way.
* * *
“Engaged?” Penelope’s mother squawked into the phone.
Penelope’d had a feeling the news would be a surprise. Her mother knew Pen had all but sworn off men since one ran her out of Chicago.
Paula Brand had always been a busy woman. When Penelope was growing up, one indelible fact stood out about her mother: she worked.
Part of Pen’s work ethic had come directly from her mother. Yes, her father worked on their co-owned real estate business, but it was Paula whom Penelope had always wanted to grow up and be like.
“I’m getting you the news a little late,” Pen said. “There was a bit of a kerfuffle here in Dallas about my being engaged to the mayor’s brother.” Not that the news would have traveled to Chicago.
“Well, what’s he like? Other than being the mayor’s brother,” her mother said, rustling papers. Paula was most likely sitting at the kitchen table of her latest project. Pen could im
agine a paper-strewn surface surrounded by refinished cabinet drawers leaning against every wall, stacks of to-be-installed tile dotting worn linoleum. Paula was usually busy with one house project or the next, but she always made time for her only daughter.
“Well, I actually met him in Chicago in passing a few years back.” Hopefully this would foster the notion that she hadn’t rushed into anything. “He relocated to Dallas, and when I did, too, I ran into him at...a concert.” Concert seemed better than a club. No way was Pen sharing what transpired that evening. Namely: the conception of their son or daughter.
“What does the mayor’s brother do?” Possibly the most important question her mother could’ve asked. Vocation in the Brand family was paramount. The answer would please her, Pen was sure.
“He’s the CEO of Ferguson Oil.”
A drawn out silence, and then, “Impressive.” Her mother took a breath and then issued a warning of sorts. “I hope this man has more to him than money. I raised you to support yourself.”
Paula, though in a strong marriage with Pen’s father, had always encouraged her to be independent. She knew her mother was looking out for her rather than accusing her of chasing a man because of the size of his wallet.
“Funny story. I didn’t even know about his monetary status until we became serious. He used to be a contractor. A very good one. He came home to run the family business.”
“Even when you try to go blue-collar, you end up with a suit.” Paula’s tone was filled with mild humor, yet approving. “That sounds like you.”
Zach looked as delicious in worn jeans as he did in suits, if memory served. Pen hadn’t had much of an opportunity to see him in jeans—though he had worn a pair of low-slung sweats the other night that nearly made her eyes tumble from their sockets. This morning he’d kissed her while she slept, and walked out of the bedroom wearing his running gear. She regretted now not waking up completely to take in the view.
“If you are happy, darling, I’m happy,” her mother said. “That’s all I want.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Her support would make the baby bombshell easier to drop in the future.
“As long as this man is ten times the man Cliff was.”
Unfortunately, Pen hadn’t been able to hide the circumstance that drove her out of Chicago and away from her parents. When she’d decided to relocate to Dallas, she’d told them the truth.
“Zach is one hundred times the man Cliff was.” She’d been pacing the living room as she talked on her cell phone, so when she turned on her heel to pace back, she was surprised to find the subject of her conversation already in the room. She bid her mother farewell, and with a promise to check in soon, ended the call.
“I can get used to coming home to high compliments.” Zach’s words were puffed out between a few labored breaths. “You’re up.”
“Did you take the stairs?” Not what she wanted to say, but she had to fill the gap of silence that had mostly involved her staring. Zach’s black T-shirt was damp with sweat, his biceps pressing the edges of the sleeves, and his strong legs poking out from beneath a pair of gray shorts. Had she ever known a man with a body this incredible? She didn’t have to think long to come up with that answer.
No. No was the answer.
“I confessed to my mother about the engagement. I figured if she was comfortable with the idea of us getting married, she’ll embrace the idea of being a grandmother.”
He nodded, taking the information in stride. “Guess we should make that announcement eventually. I’m not sure how long we can hide it.”
She dragged her palm over her flat stomach. She wasn’t showing yet, but she would be soon enough.
“We could always tell everyone we were waiting until we were positive nothing would go wrong.”
“It’s our news to share whenever we want, for whatever reasons we decide.”
She liked Zach’s confidence. She liked sharing this with him. Though unexpected, the baby was their little secret—well, theirs and Stef’s.
“I’m going to grab a shower. Join me?” His crooked smile went a long way to convincing her to do just that. Unfortunately...
“I already took one. And I have another phone call to make. Rain check?”
Even sweaty, he was sexy. He strolled over, water bottle in hand, and grinned down at her. The earthy outdoor scent wafting off him didn’t deter her in the least—only made her want him more.
“In your case, Penelope, it’s always raining.”
The delicious lilt of his drawl was enough to bring her to her tiptoes. She placed a kiss on his lips and when he pulled back he dragged his top teeth along his full bottom lip. That move almost made her change her mind.
Almost.
Her mother’s words echoed in her mind. Penelope had been raised to support herself.
Sexy baby daddy or no, her workday called.
Eleven
Serena Fern and Ashton Weaver sat at a round table by the swimming pool, Pen across from them in a matching cushioned wicker chair. She’d met them at Ashton’s mansion, per his request, and was as grateful for the peppermint candy he offered as much as the warmth of the summer sun.
These two were currently interviewing for a public relations specialist to handle an incident that happened during a particularly wild party where Serena, who was engaged to Michael Guff, her manager, was photographed sliding lips with her fellow actor, Ashton.
And who could blame her? Serena and Ashton were in their early twenties and Michael was pushing forty.
In their matching aviator sunglasses, Serena and Ashton looked very much like a couple. Especially since they held hands on the tabletop next to three sweating glasses of lemonade.
“We want to go public,” Ashton declared. “She doesn’t love Michael.”
Serena’s smile was sweet—hopeful. She liked that Ashton claimed her; Pen could tell that much.
“You are public,” Pen informed them. “You’re public in a big way.” TMZ had plastered those photos all over the internet. There was nothing demure about Serena in her string bikini in this very pool and Ashton’s tongue visible as she clung to his neck. The engagement was off, but Serena said Michael hadn’t dropped her as a client yet. Because he was smart. He knew Serena was at the top of her game, and wasn’t about to let his cash cow go. So to speak.
“I don’t want to be the bad guy here. I look like I cheated.” Serena’s full pout appeared. She was gorgeous, if not a petite little thing.
“You did cheat,” Pen reminded her. Her clients came to her for the truth and she wasn’t holding back. “The good news is, most of the public will see this as predatory. Michael knows what he’s doing. He wooed you with his professionalism and expertise. We’ll perpetuate the story that he was marrying you for a cut of your money. A few timely interviews and tweets, and then you and Ashton can go public. For now, you can be seen together, but no kissing. No hand-holding. Go out and have coffee—better yet, with your scripts like you’re rehearsing. In a few weeks you can snog in public all you like.”
Serena grinned. Ashton didn’t.
“What about Michael?”
Pen smiled. And here came the part where the young actors hired her.
“I’d recommend Serena firing him.”
Ashton grinned. Serena gasped.
“Can I...do that?” she asked.
“Not only can you do that, you should. I know a couple of wonderful agents who could recommend someone reputable for your career.”
“And then we could stop sneaking around and pretending it was an accident.” Serena grasped Ashton’s hands with both of hers and then, the two most adorable people ever embraced and kissed in a way that made Pen uncomfortable.
Job acquired, Pen left Ashton’s mansion and those two to their inevitable lovemaking. Serena’s words wound around her brain as Pen climbed into her c
ar. Sneaking around.
While Pen and Zach weren’t exactly sneaking, it irked her that she didn’t have a blueprint for their situation. This was what she did for a living—she should be able to draw up a concise plan.
Which would be...what?
She thought back to Chicago, to Reese and Merina Crane’s marriage of convenience, and how it turned into love despite starting as a farce.
Is that what Pen was hoping would happen with her and Zach? Because that was...silly.
What they had was an engagement that had started out as a distraction for Zach’s PR issue. What they currently had was an entanglement that couldn’t be resolved by a few tweets and sound bites.
What they had was a budding family and Pen needed to decide how, exactly, to move forward while preserving the Ferguson family’s good name.
She drove to her apartment, deep in thought about what that plan would look like. How she and Zach would maintain a friendship throughout raising their child. When the best time would be to announce the dissolving of their engagement.
Probably the wisest move was to announce the baby on the heels of them not being engaged—that way everyone would be too excited about the baby to focus on the breakup.
Sigh.
Maybe she should hire a PR person to handle her case.
From where she sat, everything looked muddy.
At her apartment, she pulled into the lot. Without a private garage like Zach had, she didn’t have much choice but to park her car in the elements. As luxurious as his apartment and amenities were, she couldn’t stay there forever. She had to start thinking about where to put the baby—and considering that her apartment was a compact one-bedroom, one-bath, that meant she would have to consider moving.
Perhaps that was the first order of business.
She stepped from her car and turned for the property manager’s office directly across from her building. As luck would have it, Jenny was heading her way.
“Ms. Brand.” Her cropped blond hair blew in the summer breeze. She wore a fitted pencil skirt and a button-down shirt over a pair of sensible pumps. “Great timing. I was coming to give you this.”
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