by Laura Moore
She had her answer when she went to Max’s study to let him know dinner was ready. He was on the phone, standing by the window and staring into the black night.
“Roger, he’s setting the stage for some kind of major showdown, I know it—” Perhaps catching her reflection in the glass, he broke off. “Listen, I’ve got to go…Right. Thanks…Yeah, you, too.” He ended the call and turned. “Hey.”
“Hey. The lasagna’s done. Are you ready to eat or do you need more time?”
“I’m ready.”
They went into the kitchen. She’d set places at the island, where they often ended up eating. She’d opened a bottle of Sangiovese for him and a San Pellegrino for herself. She gave him a healthy portion of lasagna and filled the remainder of the plate with salad. Since she still felt better when she ate lighter meals, she cut a far smaller square of lasagna and heaped a mountain of salad next to it.
He lit the candles, sliced the garlic bread, and then held out her barstool as she climbed onto it.
“Thanks.” She waited until he, too, had settled behind the island. “New headaches at the office?”
His fork stalled over his food. “Same ones. Roger and I are trying to make sure Chris doesn’t suggest anything foolish to the board next week. Chris can sometimes be a little too clever. Unfortunately, Bob Elders might be too willing to listen.” He dug into the lasagna.
He seemed to really like the lasagna, so she let him eat in peace. When he’d finished and picked up his wine, she spoke again. “From everything you’ve told me, Bob Elders seems really smart. Why would he be taken in by a too-clever pitch on Chris Steffen’s part?”
He lifted a shoulder in a restless shrug. “Bob’s looking for a Twinkie.”
“Excuse me?”
Max set his glass down and speared an avocado slice. “A Twinkie, you know, as in the Hostess Company. They made those prepackaged pastries—Twinkies, Devil Dogs, Ho-Hos.”
“Oh. Okay, but I’m still clueless as to why your CEO would want one.”
“When Hostess went bankrupt, an L.A. private equity group acquired it. They cleaned up the company, cut inefficiency, improved production and distribution, and marketed new products. They even figured out how to expand the Twinkie’s shelf life. The PE firm’s initial investment was around four hundred and ten mil. By the time they announced the IPO, the company was valued at two point three billion.”
She put down her fork. “Wow. That’s some Twinkie.”
“Yeah.” He smiled. “And the equity group kept a forty-two percent stake in the company. All told, a very nice return on investment.”
“Well, I guess I can’t blame Bob for wanting a Twinkie, too.”
Max nodded. “I’m pretty sure Chris’s going to try to give him his sugar fix.”
“By being too clever by half.” She picked up her fork again. “But surely you can stop Chris if he gets reckless.”
“Yeah, maybe. Bob and I have a meeting with Chris next week in advance of the Chiron board meeting.”
She passed him the bread. “When is that?”
“The meeting?” He tore his piece of bread in half, and a waft of garlicky steam teased her nostrils. “Thursday.”
“If you have to prepare for it, don’t feel that you have to come to Dr. Davis’s with me.”
“And that’s—”
“On Wednesday, at one o’clock.”
“This one’s for another ultrasound, right?”
“Yes.”
“I can make it. Bob’s out of town until Wednesday night in any case. After the doctor, I’ll head into the city and probably spend the night.”
She hated the nights when he was in the city. She’d grown used to being lulled to sleep by the heat of his body curled around her and by the deep and steady rhythm of his breathing. “That’s fine. Maybe I’ll invite Rae over for a working dinner—” Abruptly she froze and then said in a hushed voice, “Max, it happened again. The baby. Come here.”
He jumped off the stool and came around to her side of the island. When he was next to her, she took his hand. Slipping it under her blouse, she willed the baby to stretch or wriggle or somersault, so Max might feel it. “Oh!” she said when the strange fluttery movement came a second time. “Did you—”
The awe on his face was a perfect match for the marvel occurring inside her body. “Yeah, I think I did.” He pressed his splayed palm over her belly a little more firmly. “There, it moved again, right?”
“Yes.” She placed her hand over his, praying she never forgot this moment.
“It’s amazing.”
“It is.” And her love for Max and the baby inside her grew that much bigger.
Max’s arms quivered, his muscles screaming in protest, but he didn’t let go of the bar, instead hauling his body up until his chin met metal. He made himself do five more reps while the sweat poured off him and AC/DC blasted his eardrums before dropping to the floor, his sneakers hitting the rubberized floor in a heavy slap.
He grabbed a towel lying on the adjustable bench and wiped his face and arms before going over to the rowing machine. He’d had Dakota order one for the gym for the days when he didn’t feel like running on the beach or the roads. Or for times like this, when it was still black as pitch outside.
He sat down on the wooden seat. Strapping in his feet, he grabbed the handle and began rowing to Old 97’s “Let’s Get Drunk and Get It On.” It sounded like an ode to the good old days. It sounded great. He paused for a moment to crank the volume and then resumed his stroke.
It was a good thing that pregnancy caused Dakota to sleep like the dead. First, because she didn’t like AC/DC or Led Zeppelin or Guns N’ Roses, and this playlist featured a lot of all three, and in his present mood, he intended to keep the volume cranked. Second, because while she was sleeping the sleep of the just, Max was hardly getting any shut-eye at all. He didn’t want her worrying about him or guessing that he was being torn apart like some poor bastard strapped to one of those medieval torture devices.
Once again Max recalled how it had felt when he’d placed his hand on the curve of Dakota’s belly and beneath his palm, beneath her taut skin, he’d caught the faint movement, the grazing caress from the baby they’d made. Extraordinary, and extraordinarily unnerving, it was doing weird things to him, messing with his mind and with his sense of self. With each new stage in Dakota’s pregnancy, he got sucked in deeper, losing sight of the man he used to be.
For instance, last night, when he’d felt the baby, he could have happily stood there with his hand on Dakota’s stomach for the next twenty weeks, monitoring the baby’s every waking movement.
Had he become a sap? Steffen obviously thought so. Distasteful as it was to agree with anything that little shit insinuated, Max had a hunch he was right.
It was one thing to worry about how much the presence of Dakota and the baby was changing him. It was a whole other truckload of worry to realize it was affecting his business sense.
Only a short time ago, listening to Chris crow about raking in megabucks wouldn’t have bothered him in the least. That was the name of their game. Max would have cheered him on, urged him to search high and low to eke every penny they could from Chiron. Now, trying to figure out what the hell Chris was up to was making him lose sleep.
There was a part of him that wondered whether he shouldn’t just play the game as he always had and forget his misgivings. After all, they were mere pangs compared to the pain of his straining muscles in his chest and legs now that he’d been rowing all out for God only knew how long. He could focus on the dollars that would rain down on the Summit Group and their partners, and do a fist pump in victory when Chiron’s profits brought him that much closer to his goal of stepping into Bob Elders’s shoes and making his first billion by forty.
He could do that and block out the rest, just as he’d always done.
At last he slowed to a stop and sat bowed over the rowing machine, his chest heaving. Setting the handle in its cradle
, he turned his hands over and stared at the matching lines of shredded blisters across his palms. His conscience was in far worse shape.
—
Dr. Davis’s waiting room was blessedly empty. Dakota had cleverly booked the first appointment following the office’s lunch hour. With luck they’d be in and out.
He nodded at the nurse—it was the same one, Trudy—when she called them back to the exam room and then listened to her and Dakota engage in small talk. The routine was familiar to him now. Dakota had to pee, get weighed, have her blood pressure checked, and have vials of blood drawn…the amount they took from her was downright ghoulish.
Scooping up the vials and Dakota’s chart, Trudy excused herself, saying Dr. Davis would be in shortly. Dakota began unbuttoning her white shirt. He watched as she shrugged out of it and hung it on the hanger they provided. From the back it was still impossible to tell she was carrying a child. She looked as lean and strong as ever. Bending over, she peeled off her black leggings, and her full breasts spilled deliciously over the cups of her bra. He had a sudden fantasy of playing doctor with her, doing his own thorough exam of her luscious breasts, her adorable little bump that wasn’t even as big as a football (which he’d proved to her when she mentioned how big she was getting), and below.
He indulged in his X-rated fantasies while his wife stripped off her undies and bra and then slipped on the gown.
Turning, she caught his eye, and then shook her head. “Tell me you weren’t ogling me.”
He grinned unrepentantly. “Guilty as charged.”
Being horny was infinitely preferable to being on edge and frustrated, which not even his punishing workout had tempered. Thinking about how the exam table was the perfect height for one of the scenarios that had flashed through his mind was much better than obsessing about the futility of whipping on his Superman cape and trying to stop the inevitable train wreck that was Chris Steffen driving Chiron.
Dakota hopped onto the exam table, her bare legs dangling over the edge. He liked her feet. They were long and strong like the rest of her. She’d painted her toenails a deep cherry red.
He rose from his chair and went over to stand between her legs. Yup, the table really was the perfect height. Reaching up, he fingered one of the gown’s ties. Because she was Dakota, she’d knotted it with a perfect bow. “Want to know what I’m thinking?”
Her hand closed over his. “I’m not sure I do.” Laughter made her husky voice even sexier than normal.
“I’m thinking you should pinch one of these exam gowns. Then we could play doctor at home.” He tugged, and his piss-poor mood improved a hundred percent when the bow came undone and the flaps of the gown parted.
“Max…”
“What?” With his finger he traced the deep valley between her breasts, smiling when her breath caught.
A quick knock on the door had him cursing and stepping back as Dr. Davis entered, tailed by Trudy. Damned inconvenient of them to be on time.
“Hello, Dakota and Max.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets and nodded at the obstetrician while Dakota greeted her with a sunny hello.
“How are you feeling, Dakota?”
“Really good. A little sleepy in the evenings.”
Max stifled a snort. A major understatement. Dakota’s eyes started to roll into the back of her head by ten o’clock. It was funny as hell. The upside was that it was a terrific excuse to lead her upstairs and then have slow lullaby sex.
“And I—Max, too—we felt the baby move.”
Dr. Davis was generous with her smiles. “That’s wonderful. You’ll be feeling the baby move more and more from here on out. At times this will be less than comfortable. But when it does, remember that you’re more than halfway through your gestation.”
“Yay.” Dakota grinned.
The next ten minutes were devoted to Dr. Davis examining Dakota. Max listened to them chat as she measured Dakota’s belly and answered her questions. Then another knock sounded and the sonogram technician entered—Max thought her name was Marcy—and took a seat in front of the machine.
“Are you ready to see what the baby’s up to this afternoon?” Dr. Davis asked. “Today’s the day we check on the baby’s anatomy, make sure it’s growing properly.”
Max’s gut clenched. Please let everything be normal. Please let the baby be all right.
Dakota didn’t seem fazed by the fact that the stakes had risen ever since they’d begun feeling the baby move. Turning her head, she smiled at Max and stretched her hand out in invitation. He hesitated to take it for the simple reason that he desperately wanted the contact. But if he refused, Dakota would notice and then perhaps realize just how nervous he was.
He closed his fingers around hers. This time, unlike during that first visit, Dakota’s hand was warm and steady in his.
“Brace yourself, Dakota. Here comes the revolting jelly,” Dr. Davis warned as she smeared a glob of clear goop on Dakota’s exposed bump.
“As slimy as anything in Ghostbusters,” Dakota joked.
He felt a spurt of annoyance that they were being so freaking casual.
He fixed his eyes on the monitor and the black field. The sound, the whoosh, whoosh that reminded him of a washing machine churning away, was reassuringly familiar. Out of the black, he distinguished the shape of the baby.
“Oh!” Dakota said, seeing it, too. “It’s so much bigger.” And she laughed in delight.
“Yes,” Dr. Davis agreed. “A lot of development has occurred in the past few weeks. Today Marcy’s going to check and measure the baby’s skull and bones, count the vertebrae in the spine, and look at the chambers in the heart to rule out any abnormalities.”
Christ, I shouldn’t have come, he thought as panic washed over him. His lungs constricted while he waited for the technician to finish, unable to draw a proper breath.
At last Marcy broke the excruciating silence. “Everything looks to be developing normally. And we’ve caught the baby between naps. It’s moving its legs and arms. See?” The cursor hovered, and Max saw a tiny leg shift.
“That’s amazing,” Dakota said.
His heart took off.
“Oh yes, that’s very good,” Dr. Davis said.
Max and Dakota spoke simultaneously: “What?” and “What’s good, Doctor?”
“At the last ultrasound I couldn’t properly determine your baby’s sex. But I got a good peek this time. If you’d like, I can tell you now.”
Dakota turned away from the screen to look at him. Her eyes shone with excitement.
He wasn’t sure about this. But how could he deny Dakota? He gave a small nod.
Beaming, she returned her attention to the monitor. “Yes, we’d like to know.”
“Well then, I’m very pleased to tell you you’re going to be the parents of a baby girl.”
“A girl.” Dakota’s voice quivered with emotion.
He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t swallow. A girl. He shifted his feet, hoping to find his balance.
A little girl. She’d be vulnerable. There’d be so many ways she could be hurt. She’d need his protection and his care. He’d failed on both counts with Rosie. Who was to say he wouldn’t again?
Dakota was deliriously happy. It bubbled up inside her as she changed back into her clothes, folded up the cotton exam gown, and slipped it into her hobo bag, making sure to keep it hidden from Max as she checked out at the front desk and scheduled her next appointment with Dr. Davis.
A girl, she thought. She’d have been pleased with the news of a boy, too, but a girl felt special. Felt right on so many levels. While Max drove them home, she kept glancing at the printout of the baby: her tiny little nose, the curve of her ear, her perfect little feet. Dakota’s mind quickly filled to overflowing with the things she would teach her, the things they would share.
Her happiness made her expansive. Possibilities became boundless.
Max seemed distracted. That was all right. Expecting him to match her e
uphoria was unrealistic—he wasn’t carrying the baby inside him, nurturing her body with his. But he was going to make such a wonderful father, of that Dakota was certain. Their little girl would learn to throw a perfect spiral and change the oil in her car and understand how to analyze a price/earnings ratio. Again, so many possibilities for joy.
They pulled into Windhaven’s driveway. Even with the detailed ultrasound, the doctor’s visit had only taken an hour and a half out of their afternoon. She recalled the light in Max’s eyes when he’d toyed with the ties of her gown. How, at the glide of his finger, desire, delicious and tingly, had coursed through her.
She hadn’t thought of her baby as a gift before. She did now. Gratitude had her wanting to reciprocate.
There was the obvious gesture, but then, in a flash, a more lasting gift occurred to her, and she smiled, for the idea felt as deeply right as everything else that had happened this afternoon.
But first things first.
She followed him into the house. Entering the living room, she went to the mantelpiece and propped the picture of the baby on it. She’d buy a frame for it tomorrow. Their first family photo.
She turned to find Max leaning against the doorjamb, his hands fisted in his pockets. Despite the casual pose, there was a distant, preoccupied air about him. Time for present number one, she thought, confident it would help put a smile on that beautiful mouth.
She went up to him. “Do you have to leave for New York right away?”
“I’ve reserved a five o’clock flight.”
More than enough time for everything. “You know, I kind of thought Dr. Davis rushed my exam today.”
“What?” He straightened. “What do you mean? Is something wrong?”
She bit her lip at the sharp concern in his voice. It was sweet. “Maybe.”
“Maybe? Jesus, Dakota—”
Before he could hustle her back into the car and head straight for the doctor’s, she injected a husky note into her voice. “I was hoping you could take a look at me.” Slowly she reached into her bag and pulled out the filched gown.