by Jeannie Watt
“I am not the problem.”
“So this has all been what?” Pete asked calmly. “A run of bad luck?”
Tom slapped his hand down on the desk. Why in the hell couldn’t the man see what was going on? “It’s been a run of idiots with money thinking they know more than the experts they hire. Assholes who can’t handle hearing the truth because they didn’t think of it themselves.”
“Assholes who do the hiring and firing.” Pete pointed a finger at him. “Assholes who hold your future in their hands.”
“They don’t hold my future,” Tom said. “I hold my future.”
“Don’t be so sure of that.”
Tom’s head started to pound. Pete was missing the point, and Tom needed to get the hell out of there before he really blew. He turned and headed for the door. “I’ve got to go.”
“Don’t do anything stupid,” Pete said. “Or should I say stupider.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Tom yanked the heavy paneled door open and strode out into the hall. “I’ll check back with you.”
Pete didn’t answer. Tom didn’t know whether that was good or bad, and didn’t care. Pete had been his manager since he’d been a candidate for the James Beard Upcoming Chef awards, and once they weathered this particular storm, things would be good again.
He could see why Pete wanted to make nice with Montrose—after all, Tom wasn’t Pete’s only client. But he was his biggest name, and Tom would pound nails with his knife before he’d apologize for speaking the truth.
Let the man do his worst.
THE UNOPENED PREGNANCY TEST stood like a sentinel on Reggie’s kitchen island. She walked slowly around the granite-topped fixture, not quite ready to take the plunge, mainly because she couldn’t be pregnant.
No. Way.
She and Tom had used condoms. Both times.
So why didn’t she just pee on the stick and get it over with?
Because the possibility of being tied to Tom for the next eighteen years was simply too much for her to handle. Yeah, she’d once loved him. But that wasn’t why she’d slept with him.
Never sleep with someone you don’t want to raise a kid with—no matter how hot they are. Her ninth-grade health teacher’s words, which had been repeated at least fifty times during the semester.
No question about Tom being hot. And if Reggie pushed aside her resentment about how he’d walked out on her, how he’d chosen a high-risk job on the other side of the ocean over staying with her and starting the catering business that had become Tremont, she could concede that he had good points besides hotness. But he wasn’t father material. Fathers needed to be steady. And there.
Reggie grabbed the box and opened the top. Enough. She was settling this once and for all.
IT TOOK TOM A LONG TIME TO wake up enough to realize that the constant ringing was not in his head. He pushed himself upright on the sofa, stared at the cell phone he held in his hand, then answered.
“Are you crazy?” Pete barked into his ear, making him wince.
“According to you, I am,” Tom said, his voice thick. He cleared his throat twice, trying to ease the cotton mouth. “Why?”
“Do you recall talking to any reporters lately?”
Tom planted a palm on his forehead, trying to hold in the pressure. “Why in the hell are you calling me about reporters?”
“Because of what greeted me in the paper this morning!” Pete, normally the most patient of men, even when Tom was on a rampage, sounded utterly pissed. “I sent you the link. Take a look once your vision clears enough to read it.” The phone went dead.
Tom let his head fall back against the sofa cushions. Closed his eyes. His head was throbbing. Mescal? Was that what he’d drunk? He remembered demanding something strong to kill the disappointment of having everyone he’d called for a job lead give him a helpful suggestion as to somewhere else he might want to call.
Whatever he’d drunk, it’d been a killer night. But he hadn’t talked to any reporters. He was certain of that.
The room spun as he got to his feet and trudged naked to the bathroom. A woman’s red sequined top hung on the doorknob by one strap. He stared at it for a moment, then continued into the john, closing the door just in case. When he came back out, he looked around the apartment, which didn’t take long since it was only four small yet highly expensive rooms. No woman.
He sat in front of the computer, brought up his email and clicked on the link Pete had sent. Obviously some tabloid had manufactured a few lies, twisted a few truths.
And that tabloid was called the New York Times.
Oh, shit.
In a small but clear photo he had one arm draped over a woman wearing a sequined top very similar to the one on his bathroom doorknob. With the other hand he pointed directly at the camera, his mouth open as he obviously expounded.
And how he’d expounded, according to the article beneath the photo. The text wasn’t long, but it was colorful and explained exactly what he thought of Jervase Montrose and his restaurants, plus his feelings on all corporately managed eating establishments. The reporter had also helpfully included Tom’s insights into the personal habits of several food critics. There were many, many quotation marks.
Tom slammed the laptop shut and jumped to his feet, needing to move.
He sensed the need for some damage control.
He punched Pete’s number into his phone. The business manager answered on the first ring. “You read it?”
“Yeah.”
“Then you’ll understand what I’m about to say next.”
“Which is?”
“I quit. Please seek other management.”
REGGIE HAD HEARD OF WOMEN IN denial buying three and four different pregnancy tests, just to make certain the first two or three were correct. She was about to join their ranks. The only thing that stopped her was the landline ringing as she went for her purse and keys. Ignore her sister or get it over with?
If she ignored her, Eden would show up at her door.
“Well?” Eden said when she answered.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“No!”
“I said I don’t want to talk about it.” Reggie planted the palm of her free hand on her throbbing forehead, trying to ease the tension there. “I’m going to buy another test. This one may have been old.”
“Old?”
“Or compromised in some way.”
“Or the reason you’re throwing up is because you’re pregnant.” Reggie dropped her hand. She couldn’t bring herself to respond. “I’ll be right over,” Eden added.
“Don’t tell Justin,” Reggie said through gritted teeth. Her brother did his best to appear as if nothing bothered him, but it was a front. Justin was the most protective male of her acquaintance, and right now she didn’t need protection. She didn’t need to hash this through with Eden, either, but better to get it over with now, while she was still numb.
“Wouldn’t think of it,” Eden said. “See you in twenty. Just…stay calm.”
Reggie rolled her eyes and hung up. Stay calm. Oh, yeah. She headed for the door. She had just enough time to get to the nearest drugstore and back again.
No. She’d wait for Eden and then go to the drugstore. They could go together. Reggie stopped in the middle of the room and pressed her palms against her abdomen. How? How could there possibly be a baby growing inside her?
When Eden showed up twenty minutes later, Reggie was sitting on the sofa, holding Mims on her lap and staring at the opposite wall. This was real. She had accidentally become pregnant at the age of thirty.
Unless, of course, the test was wrong. It happened.
Reggie stood as Eden let herself in with her own key. They were dressed almost identically in white T-shirts and jeans…and Eden’s jeans were going to fit her in six months. For a moment the two sisters simply stared at each other, then Eden crossed the room to wrap her arms around Reggie and hug her tightly. “You’re not alone in this. All righ
t?”
“I know.”
Eden released her and stood back. “It’s none of my business—”
“Tom.” No sense being coy.
“Gerard?” Eden’s mouth fell open. She waited, as if expecting Reggie to say, “Just kidding.” That didn’t happen. “When…where…? Isn’t he in New York?”
“Sommelier class. San Francisco. He was staying at the hotel while interviewing for a job. We ran into each other the first day of class.”
“So you slept with him?”
Reggie gave her sister a weary look. Obviously.
“You—”
“We used protection,” Reggie said. “It didn’t work.”
“But…Tom?”
She wasn’t going into the wherefores and the whys—mainly because they sounded lame. And she didn’t want anyone to know that she’d gotten pregnant proving to herself that she was over a guy; that she could walk away, just as he had.
Especially when she’d made the rather startling discovery that physically, at least, she wasn’t over him. Regardless of what her very logical brain was telling her. Sleeping with Tom after all these years had been…something. And if it hadn’t been for her realization that she still had issues with him, she would have pushed back her departure. Had another night with him.
“Yes, Tom.” She picked up a squirming Mims, who’d had about enough of being used as a security pillow. “And now I have to tell him.”
Eden’s expression became closed. “Why?”
Reggie hugged Mims tighter, holding the cat’s plump gray body against her chest. “What do you mean, why? Because he’s the father. He has a right to know.”
Eden let out a sigh as she reached up to pat Mims, who escaped to the back of the sofa after Reggie released her. “It’s just that he made you so damned unhappy when you guys broke up, and now…” She gave a small shrug. “But it isn’t like he’s going to want to settle down or anything.”
“No.” Again, obviously. He hadn’t settled into anything since leaving her, moving from job to job, city to city. Her kid was going to have a normal life, and Tom’s life was anything but normal.
Her kid. What a concept.
“And I guess he should pay support,” Eden added.
“I don’t know that I want him to.” Because if he paid support, he’d have a say in the child’s upbringing.
But would he want a say?
She’d been officially pregnant for all of an hour and was already drowning in unanswered questions and potential complications.
And she was still grappling with the thought of a tiny being growing inside her. “I guess the smart thing to do, after I go to a doctor and make sure I’m really pregnant, is to see a lawyer.” She sat on the sofa, reaching up to stroke Mims on the cushion next to her head. “It’s going to take a while to get used to this idea.”
“For all of us.”
Reggie dropped her hand into her lap and looked up at Eden, who still stood next to the recliner. “I always figured that if one of us got into this mess, it would be Justin.”
Eden’s mouth twisted in ironic acknowledgment. “Instead, it’s the responsible Tremont. Go figure.”
The responsible Tremont who had no idea what to do next.
CHAPTER TWO
REGGIE TOOK TWO MORE PREGNANCY tests early the next morning before work. Just to make sure.
Her body and three different pharmaceutical companies were in agreement. She was pregnant.
After the last test went into the trash, Reggie poured a big glass of orange juice, took two sips before deciding it tasted off, then put the glass on the counter.
She sat at the kitchen table and laid her head on her folded arms. Mims jumped up on the off-limits surface and butted her with her head, trying to remind her that the Salmon Soufflé was still in the can. Reggie shooed her off, then closed her eyes. Maybe she could sleep here, shut out the world and all the issues she had to figure out fast.
Issues she didn’t think Eden would fully understand, because she hadn’t understood until she’d found herself in this position.
The questions about her future, the sobering reality of being responsible for a child. The fear that Tom’s gypsy lifestyle would forever warp her kid, coupled with the lingering sense of unreality about the entire situation. She wanted nothing more than to slip into denial, pretend none of this was happening—at least until she vomited again.
Mims was having none of being shooed away. She threw her body hard against Reggie’s legs and then, when she had her weary owner’s attention, raced for the pantry. Reggie got to her feet and followed, wishing she’d thought of picking up the old brand of cat food when she’d gone to the store for more pregnancy tests.
A few minutes later, she took a deep breath, held it as best she could as she opened the can and dished out the food. She tossed the can in the trash on top of the pregnancy tests, then fled the kitchen for the relatively fresh air of the living room.
When she arrived at work twenty minutes later, Justin was there alone, leaning against the counter at the opposite end of the room, not moving at high speed for once in his life…almost as if he was waiting for her.
“Justin.”
“Reggie.”
Oh, yeah. He knew. She didn’t know whether to be angry at Eden for spilling the beans, or grateful that she herself didn’t have to. The three siblings hadn’t kept many secrets from one another while growing up. They’d been in the odd position of practically raising each other while their long-haul trucker father had been on the road, after their mother’s death. Oh, Justin had tried to hold secrets, but the neighborhood grapevine was quite effective at keeping Reggie and Eden up to date on his activities.
But this time it wasn’t Justin who was in hot water. Nope. Tables turned.
Reggie walked the short distance from the back door into the office as if nothing was wrong, put away her purse, smoothed her hair, tied on an apron. When she left the office, Justin was right where he’d been when she’d entered the building, leaning against the stainless steel counter, gripping the metal on either side of him. His usually warm expression was cold. Was he ticked because this had happened to her after all the lectures she’d given him?
“Been talking to Eden?” Reggie asked, giving him an opening so they could get this discussion over with fast.
“Yeah.” Still cold. Still closed off.
“Well.” Reggie shrugged, less than comfortable discussing this matter with her younger brother. The one she’d threatened with annihilation as a teen if he wasn’t sexually responsible. “I don’t know what to say.”
He nodded as he regarded her. “Have you…made any plans?”
“Like…?”
“Keeping the baby?”
Reggie raised her eyebrows. “I’m keeping the baby.” Of course she was keeping the baby. She wasn’t a pregnant teen. The thought of giving it up hadn’t even crossed her mind.
Her brother’s face relaxed an iota, but his voice was still stern when he asked, “Told Tom yet?”
“No.”
“You gotta do that.”
Reggie frowned. “I will.” Justin appeared as if he was on a mission. But what mission? She hadn’t a clue. “I’m going to phone him.”
Her brother glanced down at his feet. He was wearing flat skateboard shoes. He hadn’t changed yet, which meant talking to her had been his first order of business. “I can be there when you make the call.”
Justin was returning to protective form—a good sign.
“I’ll handle it.” It wasn’t a conversation she wanted anyone to hear. She met her brother’s blue eyes. “If I need propping up afterwards, I’ll hunt you down.”
He smiled slightly. “Just…don’t put it off too long. All right?”
“All right.” Reggie smoothed her hands down the sides of her apron. “Well, I guess I’d better get going on the chops for the dinner tonight.” She started for the cooler, then glanced back over her shoulder. “Will you be here
for the interviews this afternoon?”
“I got called in to the lake early.” His mouth tightened. “Sorry about that.”
“No, I understand.” Justin’s job at Lake Tahoe brought in a lot of contacts and potential business. “Eden and I will be fine.”
“Don’t settle,” he said. “Because, well, there’s a chance whoever we hire might end up full time for a while. You know?”
Reggie knew.
TOM GAVE PETE A WEEK TO COOL off, then phoned. Pete was out of the office. The next time he called, a day later, Pete was once again unavailable. By the third call Tom understood that he was never going to be available. Tom was on his own.
And that sucked, because while he could cook, he knew squat about business.
He’d already called everyone he knew in the city, tried to pull in a few favors, but so far no luck. Even people who said they wanted to help indicated they couldn’t. Not right now. Lower-end restaurants were more than willing to take a chance on him, hoping his notoriety would bring in business, but that wasn’t a career move Tom was ready to take. He wasn’t into notoriety. Not on purpose, anyway. He was into making good food the only way he knew how. His way. The Times article had done him some serious damage. He spent an evening writing a blistering rebuttal, but realized after an hour of slamming thoughts onto paper that he wasn’t in the most defensible position. In fact, he was pretty much in the juice.
Memories were short, though. Given a month or two, a new scandal, people would forget. He’d be back at the helm of a new restaurant, and this time he’d choose more wisely—choose a place where he approved of the management style, rather than the name. He had savings and investments. Although he knew very little about them, since he’d trusted Pete implicitly.
But what to do now? Continue pounding the pavement, trying to get an interview? Call Lowell and hear the guy rant about how Tom had screwed himself?
Not yet. Lowell Hislop, who’d gotten Tom the job in Spain that had ultimately jump-started his career, was the closest thing to a mentor he had. He was also unpredictable and hard to deal with. A veritable force unto himself, and at the moment as unemployed as Tom was. But in Lowell’s case it was by choice, while he hammered out a divorce agreement with his French wife, Simone. They’d split innumerable times in the past, but this once it appeared to be for real. Lowell had sold his restaurant, dumped his investment properties and quite likely stashed a bunch of cash in odd places. He was nothing if not savvy, but the last Tom had heard he was up to his ass in his wife’s lawyers.