Little Secrets--His Pregnant Secretary

by Joanne Rock

“Thank you.” She nodded. “That would be great.”

  With Lydia’s spot vacated, Delia had a clear view of her host in the club chair, which was situated at an angle to the couch. With both hands folded on top of the cane that rested to one side of his knee, he stared out a window, the lines in his face deeper with his frown.

  Unable to leave things festering between them, she set her plate on the coffee table and slid down so that she sat closer to him.

  She felt Jager’s eyes follow her movement, but she knew what she was doing.

  “Mr. McNeill, I began to feel faint while we were speaking and didn’t get a chance to say that there is nothing to forgive.” She patted his hands awkwardly. “You apologized to me, but I realize that I was unusually prickly, especially at what should be a wonderful reunion for your family. This is about you and your grandsons.”

  “It’s about family. All of us.” He shook his head. “I should not have been so forceful.”

  “But at least I could tell that you were enthused about this baby, and I’m glad for that.” She had come here tonight, telling herself the visit was about her child when, really, she had wanted to be a part of Jager’s world. To feel the embrace of a long-lost family. Did he know how fortunate he was to have people who wanted to claim him for a brother? For a grandson? “My own father has never expressed much joy in his family, so I may not be adept at navigating the nuances of...” She peered around the room, taking in the faces of so many McNeills, so many people who truly did care about welcoming yet another generation. “All this,” she finished lamely.

  “And I am so eager for family, I unwittingly push them away. It wouldn’t be the first time.” When the older man turned his blue eyes toward her, they were bright and shiny. “The mother of any McNeill is family to me,” he said quietly.

  Malcolm had spoken softly, but Delia could feel Jager’s attention focused on them from the other end of the couch. He was listening. She hoped what his grandfather said meant something to him—at least in regard to his own mother, if not to Delia.

  “For that, I thank you.” The words certainly warmed her heart, even as they underscored all that she would miss by not marrying Jager.

  “I had hoped to see all my grandsons married, so I put it in my will.” He shook his head, bent in defeat. “Maybe it was not so wise.”

  She realized it wasn’t just Jager who now strained to listen. Conversation around them had stopped once more. This time, Delia didn’t feel the need to cross swords with him though, even though she guessed each McNeill in the room wanted to shout that his dictate was horribly unfair.

  Yet it seemed to have netted three happy marriages so far.

  “You might be better off letting your heirs decide what’s best for their future,” Delia suggested, reaching for her water glass before remembering she’d left it near her former seat. “Don’t forget Damon already lost a wife he loved dearly. A dictate to marry again would only drive him away.”

  “You make a very good point.”

  All heads turned toward the open double doors to find the source of the comment.

  Damon McNeill had entered the room.

  * * *

  Jager sat with his brother later that night in a second hotel room he’d booked for Damon at The Plaza. Between Delia nearly fainting and Damon showing up unannounced with Bentley, the McNeills’ investigator who’d made good on the promise to deliver him, everyone agreed they would share a meal together some other night. Even Malcolm had been too stunned to argue, perhaps feeling abashed between his pushy tactics with Delia and then having Damon, quite possibly a widower at this point, overhear their discussion of the old man’s matchmaking tactics.

  Jager had had more than enough of the Other McNeills for one night. Cameron had let it slip at some point that that was how they referred to their half brothers. The shoe fit the other damned foot just fine.

  Now, as he shared a beer and watched an NBA game with the brother he’d always been closest to, Jager realized his happiness at having Damon back was only dampened by Delia’s insistence they wouldn’t marry.

  And yeah, it dampened his happiness a whole hell of a lot. Still, he was glad to have Damon’s big, ugly boots planted in his line of sight on the coffee table while they watched a game being played on the West Coast. He needed this time to decompress after Delia’s rejection. Decompress and regroup. He wasn’t giving up, but he wasn’t sure how to move forward to win her over. She was a confounding, complex and amazing woman.

  “If we were still in Los Altos Hills, we’d be at this game right now,” Damon observed, looking thinner and scruffier than he had in the fall before he left on his trip. He looked like he hadn’t shaved since then; his dark beard hid half his face. “We left behind some good season tickets, didn’t we?”

  They’d left behind much more than that, but he wasn’t sure how to broach the subject with his brother. Jager sucked at expressing himself lately, it seemed. He’d fallen short with Delia when he’d tried his best to be honest and forthright with her—which was exactly what she’d said she’d wanted.

  On the TV, a player went for a slam dunk and got rejected at the hoop. It was a perfect freaking metaphor for this day and the ring that burned a hole in his jacket pocket even now. He leaned forward enough to tug his arms from the sleeves and tossed the jacket aside.

  When they’d arrived back at The Plaza, he mentioned wanting to spend some time with his brother, and Delia seemed only too glad to find her bed for the night. She was exhausted and happy to have a tray in her room, something he’d ordered for her before he left her two doors down.

  “I waited around for you to come home,” Jager said now, not sure how much his brother knew about events that had transpired in the past few months. “When I couldn’t get in touch with you, I figured I’d better put the business on the market before it lost all value. You know how rumors of the founder’s disappearance can make investors nervous.”

  “I’ll take over with the business now. There’s no need to sell.” Damon clinked his longneck against Jager’s bottle. “I just got held up.”

  Thinking about all the nights he’d been convinced his brother was dead, Jager set the beer down and sat up, barely restraining his anger and—hell, yes—hurt.

  “That’s all you have to say? After months of not answering your phone and letting us all think the worst?”

  Damon traced the outline of the name of the craft beer molded into the glass.

  “I needed to find out what happened to my wife.” His words were flat. Emotionless. “Unfortunately for me, I’ve come to agree with the police. She must have wanted out and didn’t know how to tell me.”

  Jager was too stunned to reply for a long moment. Damon had been so certain she’d been kidnapped. “What about the ransom note?”

  “Must have been a scheme for cash by someone who knew she disappeared. I still need to get to the bottom of that.”

  “You could have called. Or taken me with you. Or—” Jager shook his head. “You shouldn’t have left us wondering what happened to you.”

  “Next time I lose my mind, brother, I’ll try to communicate more.” Damon tipped back his drink.

  Jager stewed for another minute, hoping his brother would offer up the full story. Or at least a few more details. But he didn’t want to push him.

  Yet.

  He’d find out what had happened soon enough. For now, he was so damn glad to have him back and wouldn’t risk pushing him away again. There’d been enough screw-ups on that account tonight.

  “So what’s next for you?” Jager asked, wishing he had a wedding to invite him to. He would have asked him to be his best man.

  Then again... No. He couldn’t have done that. Not when Damon had been preparing for his own wedding just a year ago.

  “I need to launch my software.” Da
mon lifted his bottle to peer through the dark glass. He closed one eye and then the other, watching the TV through the curved surface. “Get Transparent off the ground.”

  “Sounds good.” Jager liked the idea of Damon getting back to work. Before Caroline, he’d been able to lose himself in the business for months at a time.

  Jager wished he could be on the West Coast for him. But he had already spent too much time away from McNeill Meadows. Would Delia keep the cottage if she didn’t marry him? he wondered. But not marrying was unacceptable. Thinking about her pronouncement during the cocktail hour was driving him out of his mind. He needed to get back to their room and talk to her if she wasn’t asleep.

  And if she was, he needed to figure out a way to change her mind about marrying him and convince her first thing when she woke up.

  “So.” Damon set aside the empty bottle and glanced over at him. “You and Delia Rickard?”

  “Yes.” Jager ground his teeth. He had been irritated that his brother hadn’t said much about where he’d been the last few months, and yet he realized he didn’t feel like talking about how he’d spent his time recently either.

  They’d never been an overly chatty family. And since their mother had died, they’d been quieter still.

  “She’s changed since the last time I saw her,” his brother observed. “I almost didn’t recognize her voice when I heard her from out in the hallway. She’s feistier.”

  Jager had wondered what his brother thought about how she’d confronted Malcolm.

  “She contradicted the McNeill patriarch all night long and still won the old man over somehow.” Jager had only heard snippets of their conversation as they’d said their goodbyes, but he had overheard his grandfather wresting a promise from her to stay in touch.

  The dynamic there was lost on him.

  “Did they win you over?” Damon asked, pointing at the television and making the call for a flagrant foul a moment before the game ref did. “Are you going to be joining the petition to merge the families?”

  There’d been a time when Jager would have simply barked a hell no in his brother’s face. But maybe his time with Delia, thinking about a future and family of his own, made him view things differently.

  “I think Malcolm is the only one who is psyched about it. Quinn was polite, but I got the impression he’d rather swallow glass than compromise the empire.”

  Damon chuckled, a sound rusty from lack of use. “I was there for twenty minutes, and knew in about ten seconds he’s a carbon copy of you, dude. That’s exactly how you look to the rest of the world.”

  Jager laughed it off to end the night on an easy note. Finishing his beer, he left Damon to watch the rest of the game on his own. He needed to check on Delia. Make a plan for tomorrow.

  But as he strode through The Plaza’s empty hallway shortly before midnight, he couldn’t help thinking about what Damon had said. Did Delia see him that way? Uncompromising? Unyielding?

  If he could figure out how to change her mind, maybe he still had a chance to win her back. Clearly, introducing her to his family had been an epic fail, but he had one last strategy that still might work. A plan he’d put in place before he even left Martinique.

  Because to help Jager make his case to Delia, Pascal Rickard was on a flight bound for New York tonight.

  Fourteen

  Delia slept late on Christmas Eve. She’d been so tired and heartbroken the night before after the failed dinner at the McNeills; she’d forgotten that time was ticking down to the holiday.

  And now, it was Christmas Eve and she was alone in her bedroom at The Plaza Hotel.

  Through parted curtains, she could see snow falling outside. Fat, fluffy flakes danced down from the sky, taking their time on the way. Her first thought was to share the beautiful view with Jager. Until she remembered their awkward parting the night before.

  She’d told his whole family they weren’t getting married. She’d hurt him on what had to be one of the toughest days of his life.

  He’d been cold and distant, barely speaking to her directly afterward. Of course, he’d had a shock seeing his brother walk into the library. She hadn’t blamed Jager for wanting to spend time with Damon when they returned to the hotel. She’d felt deeply tired anyhow. But a part of her had also recognized that Jager was pulling away from her.

  From them.

  He’d said all along their chemistry was off the charts. He’d made no promises about having feelings for her.

  Rolling to her side, she noticed the time—almost 10:00 a.m. Wow. She scrubbed her hand across her eyes. She’d slept half the morning away, the pregnancy sleep deep and heavy, as if her body needed plenty of quiet time to nurture the life inside her. Moving a hand to her flat stomach and touching it through the silk nightgown she wore, she marveled to think that her child grew there. One day, she’d be able to share the wonders of snowfalls and Christmases with this baby.

  Or Christmases, at least.

  Of the many things she would miss when Jager was no longer in her life romantically, snow seemed like a small, frivolous addition to the list. How many times a day would she think about ways she would regret not having him in her life?

  As she sat up, her forearm crumpled a piece of paper on the pillow beside her.

  Puzzled, she reached for it and discovered Jager’s handwriting on hotel stationery.

  There is a breakfast tray outside your bedroom. Please take your time getting dressed. I left an outfit for you as I invited a special guest I think you will want to see this afternoon. —Jager

  Special guest?

  She wondered if he meant Damon. Or someone else in his family. Key word being his. Not hers.

  Although for a surprisingly touching moment last night, she had wanted to hug Malcolm McNeill tight for his kindness to her. She’d started off the evening so irritated that the older man had put her on the spot, implying she was pregnant when she hadn’t been ready to announce anything. Yet by the end of their eventful time together, she’d felt a keen understanding and affection for Jager’s grandfather.

  Was it the overdose of hormones that made her so emotional? Or was she so hypnotized by the idea of a paternal figure that even Jager’s bossy grandparent could win her over that fast?

  Planting her feet on the floor, she waited for any sign of morning sickness, but she felt good. Solid. Padding to the door, she opened it and peered out to see if Jager was around, but she spotted only the silver room service tray, as he’d promised.

  She also saw a huge, decorated Christmas tree in the living area that hadn’t been there the night before. Red ribbons festooned the branches along with multicolored lights and ornaments that looked like...skyscrapers?

  Unable to resist, she hurried closer, hugging her arms around herself to ward off the chill from seeing snow outside.

  The ornaments were all New York themed. The Empire State Building and the Chrysler Building shone bright in the glow of tree lights. The Statue of Liberty hung from another branch, along with taxicabs, hansom carriages and even The Plaza Hotel with the flags flying on the front. Some of the decorations she’d seen at Rockefeller Center were represented, including the white angels blowing their trumpets and the gilded bronze Prometheus statue that presided over the ice skating rink.

  The tree, the scent of pine that filled the room, it all mesmerized her, putting her in the holiday spirit. And outside in Central Park, that dizzying white snowfall coated the trees.

  Had Jager done all this? Well, all this except the snowfall? Even a McNeill couldn’t make demands of Mother Nature.

  Delia wondered if this was his way of... No. She squelched the hopeful thought as she ignored the breakfast tray and jumped in the shower. She was unwilling to build up her expectations all over again. She would speak to Jager. Ask him about realistic goals for co-paren
ting in the future and plan accordingly. He might break her heart, but she couldn’t afford to indulge that hurt. She had to be mature and responsible for her child.

  No more running away from her problems on a Jet Ski.

  An hour later, she finished drying her hair and dressed in the outfit she’d found on the lower shelf of the room service tray: a simple red velvet dress with a black ribbon sash. As if that wasn’t decadent enough, there were red velvet heels with skinny ankle straps. Both boxes were stamped with designer logos from exclusive New York boutiques. And everything fit her perfectly.

  She checked her reflection and wondered if it was wrong of her to wear the gifts after what she’d done the night before. Then again, maybe wearing the clothes was a conciliatory gesture. She didn’t want to appear ungrateful after all Jager had done for her.

  They’d been friends first. She wished there was a way they could maintain that friendship somehow. But there would be no going back now. Not after everything they’d shared.

  Blinking fast before her emotions swallowed her whole, she braced herself for whatever awaited her in the next room. She thought she’d heard Jager return when she first emerged from the shower, but she’d done as he asked and taken her time getting ready for whatever special guest he’d brought. Fully expecting to see Damon when she opened the bedroom door, her brain couldn’t process what—who—she saw.

  Her father?

  She blinked, but sure enough the vision stayed the same.

  Pascal Rickard sat on the couch in front of the Christmas tree, a glass of eggnog in his hand.

  “Dad?” she asked so softly she wasn’t sure how he heard.

  But he shifted on his cushion, turning toward her before getting to his feet slowly. Behind him, Jager rose as well. It was a sign of how stunned she was that she’d missed him sitting there.

  “Hello, Delia.” Her father placed his drink on the coffee table to greet her, but didn’t move closer.

  She looked over at Jager, seeking an explanation, something to account for this visit.