Hired Girlfriend, Pregnant Fiancée?

by Nina Milne

  Julia studied her for a long moment. ‘If that’s true, then go for it,’ she said. ‘Zander deserves some fun.’

  Gemma smiled. ‘On that note, as you have probably noticed my brother is a workaholic. Anything you can do to persuade him away from the office would be much appreciated! Now, we need to mingle...’

  Soon enough they were engulfed, and Gabby’s plans to embrace invisibility were scuppered by people eager to meet Zander Grosvenor’s date. Panic threatened again, but Gabby combated it with a steely determination not to make a fool of herself or Zander. He’d trusted her to hold her own and she would play her part.

  Yet her nerves twisted and tied into knots, and as the evening progressed the scenario felt more and more surreal. The pop of champagne corks, the glitter of the women’s jewellery in the light of the chandeliers, the flash of expensive watches under the sleeves of designer tuxes, the conversations with their casual mention of royalty, celebrities and share portfolios made her dizzy.

  To her relief, though, most people, whilst clearly curious, were also courteous—until...

  Gabby sensed trouble as a red-haired woman glided towards her with a speculative, near-malicious smile on her lips.

  ‘Hello, Gabby. I just had to meet you. The woman who has lured Zander Grosvenor from his monk’s cell.’

  Gabby tensed; she recognised the woman as a grown-up version of the playground girls who had made her life miserable as a child, with their loaded comments and taunts.

  ‘I’m Melanie Kilton. So, tell me all about yourself—and how on earth you managed to catch Zander.’

  Melanie had a smile on her lips and icicles in her blue eyes. She also had a figure to die for and a plummy voice that spoke of the fact that she’d been born to grace events like this—preferably on the arm of a man like Zander.

  ‘I’m a librarian—’ Gabby began, before realising the stupidity of her answer.

  Melanie’s laughter tinkled. ‘How...stereotypical. Perhaps you and Zander will be like one of those cheesy romances where the librarian heroine falls in love with the handsome hero?’

  Gabby willed her brain to come up with a witty comeback. But in the mirror of her childhood, she stood there, with the sting of humiliation behind her eyelids, willing the ground to open up and swallow her.

  ‘I think you may be mixing up cheesy romance with classic fiction.’

  Gabby turned at the sound of Zander’s deep voice, half in relief, half in exasperation that she hadn’t thought of the riposte herself.

  ‘Hello, Melanie,’ he continued. ‘I see you haven’t changed a bit.’

  It seemed clear it wasn’t a compliment as the redhead flushed slightly and narrowed her eyes. ‘It seems that you have,’ she said, and flicked a venomous glance at Gabby. ‘And your standards have definitely dropped.’

  With that she swivelled on a pointy stiletto and walked away. Gabby knew it was irrational, but the words had stung with a poison that made her insides twist.

  Your standards have definitely dropped. Was everyone thinking that? Comparing her to Claudia? She knew it was petty, irrational, stupid and unnecessary to make the comparison, but she was. All those feelings of not being good enough resurfaced. But she was damned if she would let anyone see it.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Zander’s voice was level.

  ‘What for? All you did was come to my rescue. A rescue I shouldn’t have needed. You have nothing to apologise for.’

  Dammit, she was snapping at him. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply. This wasn’t Zander’s fault. The issue here was that she was a fish out of water, the mutton in the flock of lambs, the woman who should never have taken the job.

  ‘My turn to say sorry.’

  ‘Forget it. I came to tell you the auction is going to kick off soon.’

  She was sure she heard the smallest strain in his voice, so slight she wouldn’t have heard it if her own sensitivities hadn’t been so heightened.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ she asked. ‘Was it what Melanie said about you changing?’

  If the words had upset her, of course they must have been a hundred times more difficult for him to hear.

  ‘This must be hard for you—everyone believing you’re with another woman.’

  Especially one who didn’t measure up. How many people at this dazzling high-society event were whispering behind their hands, wondering why on earth Zander was with someone so ordinary?

  There was a silence, and she couldn’t read the expression on his face. Then, ‘We need to talk.’

  Hand on the small of her back again, he gently ushered her into a secluded corner, shielded from the flow of guests by an exotic arrangement of verdant green potted plants.

  * * *

  Zander stared down into Gabby’s hazel eyes, saw the vulnerability he knew she was trying to hide, and knew Melanie’s words had hurt her. He knew he couldn’t let her believe he was racked with guilt because he felt he was betraying Claudia’s memory.

  ‘You’re right—something is bothering me, but it is nothing to do with Claudia.’

  Gabby’s forehead creased in bemusement and question. If he prevaricated she wouldn’t believe him, so he needed to tell her the truth—how hard could it be? It wouldn’t kill him to admit weakness. Much.

  ‘I’m nervous.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t like giving speeches.’

  It reminded him too much of being asked to read out loud at school—the weight of imminent humiliation as the teacher went round the class, the horrible knowledge that it would be his turn next. The fear of having to mark other people’s work, his mind and body constantly geared up for fight or flight.

  ‘As in really don’t like it.’

  As in it caused a sensation of nausea, a clamminess-inducing anxiety, a sheer funk that he loathed and had barely tamed into reluctant snarling submission.

  To his relief Gabby didn’t laugh; instead her expression softened.

  ‘That sucks,’ she said. ‘How do you manage at work?’

  ‘Avoidance where I can, but at work it is a little easier. I know what I’m doing and I’m the boss.’ The last words were stated in a deep drawl, but she didn’t smile, clearly recognising the bravado as fake.

  ‘You know what you’re doing here, as well. You know it better than anyone. What it feels like and what may help others. I know the facts and the figures—I researched those and the numbers matter—but I don’t know what it feels like inside. To be that child, that young adult, that adult with dyslexia. You do. That’s what you can bring to your audience and they will listen because you care, not because you da boss.’

  The small smile she gave, the warmth of her voice, the sheer belief in her eyes touched him. Even if it was a touch misplaced. Because his speech focused on facts and figures; he had no intention of making it personal.

  But before he could explain that she reached into her small beaded evening bag. ‘You could try this, as well.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘It’s a herbal remedy for anxiety—it helps calm you down. It’s new, completely full of natural good things. Just a couple of drops work wonders. Really. I used it tonight and I’m sure it helps.’

  ‘I need all the help I can get.’ Taking the bottle, he took a couple of drops, handed it back.

  She placed her hand on his arm. ‘You hide it really well,’ she said. ‘I would never have imagined you were capable of even the tiniest amount of nerves and neither will anyone else.’

  ‘It’s more than a tiny amount.’ The all-too-familiar flotilla of butterflies looped the loop in his gut. No amount of logic could quell them. ‘I’m terrified. Bricking it. Scared. Here. Feel my heart rate.’

  Taking her hand, he put it over his chest. Bad move. Because as she looked up at him the moment caught light, shimmered around them, and his w
hole being was preternaturally aware of the feather-light touch of her fingers that seemed to burn through the silk softness of his shirt. Now his heart rate ratcheted up, and this time it was nothing to do with nerves.

  ‘Maybe I can help.’

  Her voice was a near whisper as she stood on tiptoe and placed her other hand on his chest to steady herself before pressing her lips against his.

  The lightest of butterfly kisses skimmed his lips and he closed his eyes and pulled her closer, his hands at her waist. Just as the sound of a throat being cleared caused Gabby to leap backwards so fast she nearly fell over.

  Gemma grinned at him. ‘Sorry to interrupt, little bro, but it’s auction time.’

  Zander rolled his eyes at his sister. ‘We’re on our way.’ He waited pointedly until she’d vanished and then looked down at Gabby. ‘You OK?’

  ‘Embarrassed—but yes, I’m OK.’ Her gaze met his full-on. ‘Right now you need to go and knock them dead. I know you can.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  On some level alarm bells clamoured in his head—the idea that events were running away out of his control made his unease torrent. By his reckoning that was kiss number three—and, oddly, it had been more potent even than the two before.

  But Gabby was right—he would consider those ramifications later. Now he had a job to do. A speech to make and an auction to run.

  They made their way back to their table. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Gemma in conference with their mother, saw their quick speculative looks across at them. On the plus side, at least that kiss should have solidified the illusion that he and Gabby were in a relationship.

  Hoping Gabby was correct in her analysis that not a single one of the guests would have so much as an inkling of the nervous energy that coursed through his veins, Zander went and stood on the podium, smiled and began.

  He kept his speech measured, his words evenly paced as he focused on the content he had memorised and practised until he was word-perfect. He ensured his words matched the prepared presentation, carefully colour-coded so his brain could decipher and interpret the words his audience could read with ease. He went through the facts and figures, the case studies, hoping his voice was infused with the passion he felt for this subject, and then he did an audience participation exercise in which he handed out notes written in Chinese and asked people to try to read them.

  As he came to an end, Gabby’s voice echoed in his head.

  I don’t know what it feels like inside. To be that child, that young adult, that adult with dyslexia. You do. That’s what you can bring to your audience and they will listen.

  Before he knew it, unrehearsed words began to form in his brain and spill from his mouth.

  ‘Before I wind up, I’d like to make this a little more personal. I have dyslexia myself, and I wasn’t diagnosed until my late teens.’

  The change in the audience was electric—a low hum that generated a charged silence. Suppressing the urge to gulp, he let the words continue.

  ‘I know exactly what it is like to feel stupid, to feel humiliated, to feel small and awful inside. I was lucky. I got a diagnosis and my family helped me to cope with it. A lot of children don’t have that. Equally, though, if I had been diagnosed earlier, it would have made my childhood a much happier, easier place to be. I want other children out there to be given a chance. So dig deep into your wallets—because it’s time for the auction!’

  * * *

  Gabby watched as Zander began the auction with the sale of a beautiful landscape painting—a kaleidoscope of colours that evoked the English countryside in such detail that she almost felt she could step into it. But she realised it was his pitch that called attention to and emphasised the merit of the artist, made her want to buy the picture, made her appreciate every stroke the artist had touched to the canvas.

  He talked, caused laughter and a friendly competitive spirit, encouraged people to bid without being aggressive—it was a masterly performance, made all the more admirable by the speech he had made earlier.

  Gabby hugged the knowledge to herself that she and only she knew what it had cost him, the emotions he’d had to master. She realised that she was proud of him.

  Whoa. Careful, Gabs.

  But right now she didn’t want to be careful—and there was nothing wrong with admiration anyway. There were numerous people she admired. Winston Churchill, Mother Teresa, her grandparents... Problem was, she didn’t think she’d be studying the way Winston’s hair curled on the nape of his neck, or the lithe grace with which he moved. Whereas as she looked at Zander, her tummy was tied in knots of desire.

  Next to her, Julia cleared her throat, and Gabby could only pray she hadn’t been drooling.

  ‘He’s doing a pretty good job, isn’t he?’

  Turning, Gabby attempted what she hoped was a casual smile. ‘Definitely. You have to admire that passion in someone—I think Winston Churchill was the same.’

  Had she really said that?

  Julia looked slightly puzzled, clearly wondering the same thing, and Gabby hurried on. ‘Anyway, it’s fantastic to see people having fun and bidding so much.’

  As she spoke, the gavel pounded to indicate the painting had gone for an exorbitant sum and Zander moved on.

  ‘Next up is an incredible trip to the sunny climes of Portugal. A romantic three-night trip in...’

  Julia nodded. ‘I’m not sure if Zander told you, but the reason he decided to do this event wasn’t only because of his own dyslexia. It’s because my son, Freddy, was diagnosed with it recently, and that seemed to trigger Zander into an absolute determination to do something. He said he wants to show Freddy it’s nothing to be ashamed of.’

  Great! Something else to admire about the man. Just what Gabby needed. But it was impossible not to appreciate the gesture, the drive to do more than simply offer personal support.

  ‘Freddy’s lucky, really—early diagnosis makes an enormous difference. I don’t think Mum will ever forgive herself for not working it out sooner with Zander. You see, Gemma and I were high achievers academically and she expected Zander to be the same. To be honest, she was baffled when he wasn’t. Never unkind, but her pep talks and lectures and the muted disappointment must have been hard for him. Of course, he’s achieved a lot now!’

  ‘Yes. And Zander certainly doesn’t seem to blame anyone.’

  ‘We feel guilty all the same. I used to tease him sometimes. Now, when I look at my Freddy and imagine people teasing him, it makes me so mad I could spit.’

  Before Gabby could respond, a cheer went up and they looked to the podium as Laura Grosvenor stepped up on to the stage.

  ‘Oh. Mum’s won the holiday! She must have got it for her and Dad’s anniversary.’ Julia smiled fondly at her parents. ‘Dad is really quiet, but I don’t know what Mum would do without him. He is her rock. I’ll just go and congratulate them...’

  The rest of the auction items went for equally exorbitant sums, and the gavel pounded a final time to much applause. But before Zander could step down, Laura Grosvenor climbed on to the stage again and took the microphone.

  ‘Sorry, everyone. One last thing. Zander—I am very proud of all you have achieved, tonight and throughout your life. And it occurs to me that you deserve a holiday. So here you go—this is for you. A three-day break to Portugal. And I’m sure we all know who you’ll be taking!’

  As the whole room turned to look at her, Gabby strove to fix a smile of surprise and delight on her lips, even as her brain churned in incoherent panic.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  SOMEHOW GABBY REMAINED in role, smile in place, as she watched the scene play itself out on the podium. After a split second of shock, Zander thanked his mother with apparent sincere appreciation, cracked a couple of jokes with an aplomb she could only envy, and then he and his mother descended from the stage.

  Stay in ro
le.

  Horribly conscious of all the eyes on her, she rose and walked towards Laura, hand outstretched.

  ‘Thank you so much. That is amazingly kind of you—though you really shouldn’t have included me.’

  Laura’s gaze went from one to the other of them. ‘Why ever not? I’ve had a look at the conditions and you can go as early as next week if you like.’

  Her blue gaze was disconcertingly perceptive—but, charade or no charade, Gabby knew she had to try to wriggle out of this somehow. She might not have been listening completely to the description, but words like sun-kissed, romantic, cosy and perfect for two lingered in her memory.

  ‘I feel a little guilty accepting such a generous gift. I mean, you hardly know me.’

  ‘Yes, but I do know Zander. And I know he hasn’t had a holiday in five years.’ The implication hovered in the air. Since Claudia. ‘All he has done is work. So I would love for him to have some downtime, and now seems like the perfect opportunity.’ Laura glanced from one face to the other. ‘I’m counting on you, Gabby, to convince Zander that all work and no play is not a good thing!’

  ‘I’ll try,’ Gabby said and wondered if her nose was having a Pinocchio moment. ‘But if I can’t, then you must promise me that you will accept the holiday back for you and your husband.’

  ‘We came back from a cruise just recently.’

  ‘And we don’t want it.’ Gemma and Julia had materialised.

  Gemma continued, ‘I’ve got a wedding to plan and my honeymoon is already booked.’

  ‘I have work commitments, no one to go with and the kids to think of,’ Julia pointed out. ‘So it’s all yours.’

  Any more protest would only fuel the suspicion that was already on the verge of sparking, so Gabby tucked her hand into Zander’s arm. ‘Then all I can do is thank you.’

  ‘You’re very welcome.’

  The rest of the evening passed in a blur. Zander’s proximity as they sat through dinner was both a solace and a menace. Not even the food—marinated salmon, truffle potatoes, a fillet of beef so rare and tender it made sense of the melt-in-the-mouth cliché—could completely distract from her body’s reaction to his proximity or the sense of impending doom that the idea of Portugal had brought on.