Pregnant with the Boss's Baby

by Sue MacKay

  ‘Your mummy’s going to fight for everything you need, baby.’ Her hands slid across her stomach, gently trying to feel the wee dot growing in there. As if. Hard to believe that something so small could create so much havoc.

  Her stomach rolled uncomfortably. The first warning.

  On the bedside table her phone rang. The screen read Conor. This early? Before work? Couldn’t be good. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Just checking you were awake. Not sure if you set the alarm before you dropped into unconsciousness last night.’ That Irishness surrounded her, warmed her, and tightened her stomach further.

  ‘I didn’t, but it seems I woke at my usual time anyway.’ Her feet swung over the edge of the bed.

  ‘You want me to pick you up this morning?’

  That was getting too friendly. Her stomach lurched, another warning it wasn’t going to play nice for much longer. ‘I’ll catch the bus as per normal. See you later.’

  But he hadn’t finished. ‘Thought we could do breakfast at the Grafton Café, talk a bit about things so the day won’t be too rocky, if you get my gist.’

  No, no, no. Rolling her head from side to side, she dug deep to control her roiling stomach. ‘I’ve got a couple of things to do before I leave for work.’ Like throw up, for one. ‘I’ll see you there.’

  ‘You can’t avoid me, Tamara.’ A thread of annoyance tightened that brogue.

  ‘I’m not. It’s just I don’t do so well with breakfast at the moment. See you at work.’ Got to run. ‘Bye.’ She threw herself out of bed and down the short hall to the bathroom. That had been far too close.

  * * *

  Tamara rushed into the department a little before seven thirty, knowing she looked dishevelled. ‘Sorry I’m late,’ she gasped as she struggled to get her breath back after running from the bus stop.

  ‘Where have you been?’ Conor asked. ‘I was getting worried.’

  ‘You don’t need to keep track of me all the time because of—’ Quiet. Lots of ears around here. ‘I got busy with things and lost track of time.’

  ‘You’re never late.’ A furrow formed between his eyes. ‘You’ve been crying.’

  Not crying crying. ‘Soap in my eyes.’ Her life had done an abrupt turn. Of course there’d be the occasional tear.

  Conor’s delectable lips didn’t look so tempting when they pressed together tightly. Neither were his eyes the light, sparkling blue of a kingfisher any more. He ground out, ‘Try again.’

  The ambulance bay buzzer saved her from answering. ‘I’ll get that.’ She raced away before someone else could take the case and leave her to deal with Conor’s questions.

  ‘Morning.’ Kelli bounced alongside her. ‘Did I sleep well last night, or what? The only good thing to come out of that bus accident.’

  ‘I had the best sleep in for ever,’ Tamara agreed. Not that she’d felt that flash since baby had had its say first thing.

  ‘Conor’s got a glare going on this morning.’ Kelli nodded back at the department hub. ‘Any idea what’s brought that on?’

  Tamara blanched, and tripped over her own feet. ‘Why ask me?’

  ‘Just wondering if something’s going on between the two of you.’

  ‘You’ve got an overactive imagination, Kelli Watts.’

  ‘You’re overreacting to a simple statement, Tamara Washington.’ Kelli grinned. ‘The man’s hot, and you’re single.’

  ‘I’m still getting over my last mistake,’ Tamara snapped.

  Kelli’s hands went up in submission. ‘I’m sorry for teasing you, but sometimes you need to let go of the past enough to have some fun at least. Who better to get back in the saddle with than a gorgeous Irish doctor who’s not hanging around for ever?’

  Couldn’t argue with that. So she didn’t. But Kelli still had to be shut down in a hurry. Just knowing all about what had gone down with Peter didn’t give her the right to interfere. ‘The thing is, I don’t want to get back in the saddle. That leads to complications and I’ve had my share of those.’

  And I have another, bigger one under my waistband right now.

  ‘You know what, girlfriend? Not all men are devious, manipulative, nasty pieces of work like your ex.’ Kelli’s words were followed with a quick hug.

  ‘Yet you avoid Mac like the plague.’ Tamara was certain her friend was halfway to being in love with the night-shift specialist.

  ‘Low blow.’ Kelli stepped back. ‘But you’re forgiven since you are very wrong.’

  They reached the ambulance line. ‘Who’s this?’ Tamara asked the ambulance officer standing with the stretcher.

  ‘Cassandra Wright, thirty-three. The car she was a passenger in was involved in a nose-to-tail car accident on the southern motorway,’ they were told. ‘The driver’s in a second ambulance about to arrive.’

  ‘Hello, Cassandra. I’m Tamara, and this is Kelli. We’re nurses. I hear you had an argument with the windscreen.’

  The woman was wearing a neck brace, and blood covered most of her face from abrasions to her forehead and chin. ‘Stupid of me not to put my seat belt on.’

  Definitely. ‘We’ll take you through to ED so one of the doctors can examine you,’ Tamara told her. ‘Have you got a headache?’

  ‘A blinder,’ Cassandra acknowledged.

  ‘Any numbness, pins and needles?’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head, then winced. ‘Ouch. I can turn my head either way. That’s got to be good.’

  ‘We’ll be cautious until the doctor’s seen you.’ The neck brace was standard with any head injuries, and hopefully it wouldn’t be needed for much longer.

  In a cubicle it was all hands to the blanket as they transferred Cassandra onto a bed. Then Tamara began attaching leads from the heart monitor to the pads already stuck on the woman’s chest. ‘We’re off to a busy start.’ At least that’d keep Conor from slipping under her skin and turning her into a nervous wreck.

  ‘Welcome to the A team, Cassandra.’ Conor strode in, taking up space and air in the cubicle. ‘After yesterday we can handle anything,’ he said in a quiet aside to Tamara and Kelli.

  The buzzer went again. ‘That’ll be Cassandra’s friend,’ Tamara muttered. ‘I’ll bring her in.’ Kelli could work with Conor and she’d go with another doctor. Fingers crossed. She needed distance from Conor while coming to terms with his new role in her life.

  Tamara reached her next patient, grateful for the distraction. She was told, ‘Suspected concussion, fractured left wrist, and upper arm pain where she hit the steering wheel. Obs are good.’

  From then on they were busy, but after yesterday no one was complaining about the steady stream of patients with mid-level urgency.

  At five past ten Tamara looked up from typing obs into a patient’s file on the computer and said to Kelli, ‘Take a break while you can.’ Having got over its morning petulance, her stomach was rumbling with hunger.

  Conor leaned over the counter. ‘I shouted Danish pastries for everyone. After yesterday we deserve a treat.’

  ‘I’m out of here.’ Kelli grinned and headed away as the desk phone rang.

  ‘That’s good of you,’ Tamara sighed as her stomach sat up to attention. ‘I love Danish pastries.’

  ‘I’ve noticed.’ Conor dropped some ambulance patient notes into the ‘finished’ basket.

  He hadn’t bought them especially for her, had he? She studied him and got a shrug in return. ‘Thanks. I—’ The phone continued ringing. ‘I’ll be there in a minute.’ Hopefully.

  The first tummy-tightening smile of the day appeared. ‘I’ll save you two.’

  By the time Tamara had dealt with the haematology tech about a CBC result the department was quiet. As was the crammed kitchen space when she walked in.

  ‘Tamara.’ Kelli was at her side, her voi
ce troubled.

  ‘What?’ Her antenna was up and rotating as she looked around at the faces of her colleagues watching her.

  ‘Same old, same old,’ one of them muttered, and drank from her mug.

  ‘What’s happened?’

  Conor stepped in front of her and reached for her elbow. ‘Bring your coffee to my office.’

  Her stomach dived, right to the floor. The idea of food was suddenly abhorrent. When Conor tugged her gently she stood strong, kept both feet planted firmly on the floor. ‘Tell me.’ Why did this sensation swamping her feel so familiar? She dropped her gaze to the table.

  Newspaper headlines screamed out at her.

  Heiress Making Good for Her Misdemeanours?

  Beneath that was a colour photo of Tamara and Conor in Resus One, working on their wee patient’s foot—or where his foot had once been.

  Nurse Tamara Washington and Dr Conor Maguire in the emergency department, working to save the children involved in yesterday’s horrendous bus accident on the motorway.

  ‘Will this never go away? Why won’t they let me get on with my life?’ She slapped her hands on her hips in an attempt to stop the shaking. ‘Then again, why am I even surprised? They’re never going to let me live my pathetic little life in peace.’ Of course the media weren’t going to drop anything about the rich young woman who’d tantalised them for years and now sold papers and turned on TVs just by living. Every time this happened it was another slap across her face, saying See, this is what happens when you get involved with wicked men.

  ‘Breathe, Tam.’ Conor spoke quietly beside her.

  She hadn’t been aware she’d stopped. Apparently her lungs had given up the ghost. If only her brain could follow. At least until her rage died down to a disgruntled angst. About the middle of next year.

  Angry tears slid down her face. Frustration made her clench her hands so her fingers were bruising her hips. ‘I hope something’s been done to beef up security. No reporters should’ve got in here.’

  Conor nodded. ‘I’ve talked to the CEO. It won’t happen again.’

  ‘Hope he realises they’re persistent by nature.’

  ‘You know all about that?’ Conor asked. He knew little or nothing about her past, and she’d liked it that way. Could be why she’d allowed herself to get closer to him than she did anyone else. Except Kelli, but she’d been there for her the whole way through.

  ‘Sit down before you fall down.’ Conor pulled a chair from the table and took her elbow to direct her.

  One step and that blasted newspaper got all her attention. Her hands were shaking so badly she couldn’t pick it up so she pressed them to the table, either side of the evil missive, and stared at the words.

  ‘Don’t read it, Tamara. You know what they’re saying. It’s old hat.’ Kelli made to remove the paper.

  Tamara slapped one hand bang in the centre, anchoring the paper on the table. Old habits forced her to read everything the media wrote or said about her. A tear splashed onto the newsprint.

  ‘Here.’ Conor passed over a handful of tissues before putting his hand back on her shoulder, his thumb immediately going into soothing mode by rubbing circles over her. He must’ve read this and now had more knowledge than she cared for.

  ‘Guess you had to find out sometime,’ she snapped. Longing for normal hit her. The need to lean back against Conor without having to consider the ramifications was very strong. But history kept her still. She’d be fooling herself. Nothing was right, and didn’t look like becoming so in the near future. Whenever a reporter wrote yet another sensational article about her she folded, let them walk all over her with their comments. Some were kind, but no better with their fawning comments about the girl who’d been sucked in by the fraudulent lawyer than those who said she was as guilty for making it easy for Peter to get away with her father’s fortune, and hurting others along the way. She slashed at her wet cheeks with the tissues.

  You have a baby growing inside you.

  The truth sideswiped her, shoved everything else to the back of her skull, settled the turmoil back into the smouldering anger which she drew on to redirect her thoughts.

  She had to toughen up. This was no longer just about her. These people mustn’t be allowed to hurt her any more, because they’d be affecting her child.

  Glancing around, she saw only Conor and Kelli left in the room. The low murmurings outside the door indicated everyone else must’ve stepped outside the kitchenette to give her space. At least they knew the score. ‘I presume someone’s already filled you in on my past.’ She nodded at her baby’s father.

  ‘Not at all, and if this morning’s reaction is anything to go by I don’t think anyone’s bothered except for how it affects you.’ His fingers were gentle on her shoulder. ‘The media can’t destroy you if you don’t let them, Tam.’

  She jerked sideways, away from that warmth. ‘Don’t call me Tam.’ Now the tears were a flood. ‘Dad called me that. My wonderful dad.’ She stabbed the headline glaring up at her. ‘I let him down so badly that I don’t deserve to be called Tam.’

  ‘That’s a lie,’ Kelli growled. ‘You weren’t the first person Peter ripped off, and I bet when he gets out of jail, you won’t be the last. He fooled your father first, remember?’

  Tamara gasped. ‘Kelli.’ Where had her supportive friend gone?

  ‘It’s true, and it’s about time you acknowledged that instead of taking all the blame. As in really accepted it deep down. Conor’s right. Stop letting these guys hurt you.’ The words were harsh but Kelli’s smile was kind. ‘Only thinking of you, girlfriend.’ That knowing glint from earlier was back in her eyes as she glanced at Conor. ‘I’ll go and cover for you while you get your mojo back.’

  If only it was that simple. But, yes, she could no longer sit around sulking, or dreaming up ways to kill off every reporter walking the country. ‘Thanks, Kells.’ Then she turned to the man who deserved an explanation. He hadn’t disappeared out the door; neither did he look starved for the gossip. He only appeared concerned—for her.

  ‘Have you read any of that?’ Tamara nodded at the article.

  ‘Didn’t finish the first paragraph. I can’t stand idle nastiness. You’re not that person he’s written about, Tamara. Nor has anyone around here told me anything. I suppose they all think it old hat and don’t need to bring me up to speed. If I’m going to learn what it’s all about I’d prefer you told me.’

  ‘You don’t think I’ll paint a dishonest picture about being the victim to keep you onside?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You have no idea, and yet...’ He didn’t understand the gift he’d given her. Warmth swamped her, right down to her toes.

  Conor was spooning coffee into a fresh mug, and now he hesitated. Turning to look her in the eye, he seemed to be searching for something. And she really needed him to find it. Whatever it was. They had a baby to think about. Even her own future was waving at her. The next few minutes were going to have a lasting effect on how that went once Conor knew about her past mistakes.

  Sinking onto a chair, she turned the paper over. As Conor had said, she could tell the story without the innuendo and nastiness. Propping her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands, she began. ‘I grew up in a wealthy family. Dad started an engineering company when he was twenty-one, and went from strength to strength, making a fortune. Timing was everything, and he’d hit it bang on. I had the life of a princess, and I certainly took on that role very well.’

  Conor placed a mug in front of her. ‘Get some of that in you.’

  Liquid didn’t slop on the table when she picked it up. It had to be Conor’s calming influence because her body wasn’t feeling completely out of kilter as normally happened when she talked about her beloved father. ‘Dad wanted me to join the company but I was determined to become a nurse. If
I hadn’t been in such a hurry to prove I could do anything I chose, I might’ve figured out that I really wanted to study medicine and become a doctor.’ But that was another story, and irrelevant. She was avoiding the real screw-up in the room. A mouthful of coffee and she put the mug down. ‘Peter Gillespie was the company lawyer, a hotshot man who charmed everyone. Including me. I fell hook, line and sinker. We got engaged, but the wedding kept being postponed for one reason or another. Mum wasn’t happy with the venue or Peter wanted to invite someone who wouldn’t be able to attend on that date. Then Dad was diagnosed with dementia.’

  More tissues appeared in her line of vision. ‘Take it slowly.’

  ‘I haven’t talked about this for so long I should be rusty, but the words are always there, banked up in the back of my skull ready to spill any time I press the button.’

  ‘How old were you when you got engaged?’

  ‘Twenty-three. Old enough to know better.’ Her sigh was bitter. ‘But, then, I was used to people falling into line with me. Peter seemed to be following the same path. He was a lot older than I was. I liked that.’ His age had lent itself to his authenticity. Yep, she’d been naïve.

  Conor sat opposite her, not staring at her as though she was a nutcase, or avidly hanging onto every word and waiting for the dirty details.

  If she wanted to fall in love, here was the perfect man. But she didn’t, so no go. ‘I was twenty-five when Dad’s dementia became apparent, and a year later he was beyond running his company.’

  ‘Fast, then. Or had he been hiding it?’

  ‘A bit of both, not that anyone can conceal having dementia. But he was clever at covering his errors until—until he couldn’t any more.’ She scratched at a mark on the table as some of the heartbreaking memories rose before her. ‘Fast was best. I’d have hated for him to take years of slowly diminishing before us. Watching him was hard enough anyway.’

  Conor’s hand covered hers, gentle and caring. There was no need for words. He understood her pain.