The Lawyer's Pregnancy Takeover (Destiny's Child Book 2)

by Zee Monodee

  And they would be able to do that, too. Possible connections to the mob and all that, she supposed.

  She sighed then, letting her shoulders droop. Why she was resisting so much? Truly, did a night out sound so bad? She could sure do with a break after the hectic week she’d just had. “Okay, I’ll come. You satisfied?”

  The twins shrieked, and she winced. Halfway to Hell—that’s where she was.

  Downing a slice of pizza while the girls fell on the food like starving waifs, proving yet again how wrong the theory was that models supposedly survived on carrot sticks and yogurt, Jane left them and went into the bathroom for a shower. On the way out, she bumped into Ilyanka in the walk-in wardrobe between her bedroom and the master bathroom.

  “Jane, luv, don’t be mad, but …” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Have you put on weight?”

  There it was, the reminder that she was pregnant. She didn’t want to acknowledge this tiny little fact right now. All she wanted was to draw a big blank in her mind and just have some time away from all her concerns. Was it too much to ask?

  Ileana joined them. Jane didn’t even bother to shoo them away. There was simply no privacy with these two around.

  “What are you whispering about?” Ileana propped her hands on her non-existent hips.

  “Nothing. I just thought Jane had put on weight.”

  Ileana scrunched her face, peering at her up and down.

  That’s it. I’m not here. I’m invisible in my own home, aren’t I?

  Ileana gasped, then. “You know what, Yan? Jane hasn’t grown fat. She’s just grown boobs, finally.”

  ***

  Throughout the day, Jane and her baby had remained at the forefront of Michael’s mind. Try as he’d wanted, he hadn’t been able to shake her off. He couldn’t let go of the idea that maybe, just maybe, if he were a part of that situation, he would hold the answer to his mother’s question.

  So, armed with Jane’s address from the file the investigator had delivered, he set out to find her. Henley had been thorough, and some of the information he’d uncovered made Michael feel like a right bastard. Jane Smithers didn’t need a job in the least, sitting at the helm of a family fortune she had yet to touch. She could singlehandedly keep Vista Standard Bank afloat if she chose to; his threats had been for nothing.

  She hadn’t called him out on that, and this made him feel like a lowlife scumbag. He owed her an apology, and he needed to change tactics with her. A shrewd negotiator, he recognized when the time came to place all his cards on the table.

  His strategy was that when he found her, they’d have a long talk. She’d help him out, like he would help her. He rationalized that she’d need a strong male presence around—friendly, of course—someone she could lean on, and he needed to show he could care for someone else. The situation was perfect, and they’d both be winners. His mother would be coddled and end up not being hurt in the same fell swoop.

  Just a chance to prove he wasn’t a sorry bastard who could have someone else’s welfare at heart. She wouldn’t refuse him that, would she? Be her friend—that’s all he wanted.

  He found it remarkably easy to get into her building. What did that say for her security? Her flat was on the second floor, and he pressed the doorbell. When no one answered, he pressed again.

  A quick glance told him there was no light inside the flat. Just his luck. She was out.

  It is Friday night in Chelsea. What’d you expect?

  A male voice came from behind him. “You looking for someone?”

  He turned to find a young couple in the hall. The bloke had one arm around the exotic-looking brunette, and his other hand was removing a key from the lock of the flat opposite Jane’s.

  “Jane Smithers, but I think she’s out.”

  The bloke nodded. “There’s a special night at the Chelsea Lair. She probably went there with the twins.”

  “The twins?”

  “Yeah. They live right there.” The man indicated the remaining flat on the floor. “They’re Jane’s best friends.”

  Michael nodded. “Well, thanks. I’ll try to check the Lair out.”

  “Sure, mate. Do you want me to tell her you were here?”

  “Yes, please. I’m Michael Rinaldi.”

  The dark-haired fellow shook his offered hand.

  “Jeremy Wickham, and this is Shilpa Meher, my fiancée.” He nodded towards the girl with him.

  The infamous Wickham. So this was the bloke who had gotten Jane pregnant. Tall and lanky, with a boyish face and a lock of dark hair that constantly fell over his eyes, he looked everything like a choirboy. Not at all like the bastard Michael had imagined.

  “Hey.” Jeremy nodded towards the stairs. “You know, we’re on our way there. Why don’t you come with us? It’s only a couple blocks away. We always walk.”

  “Not a bad idea. Lead the way.”

  Fifteen minutes later, they made their way into the dark, sultry interior of the Lair. Michael had had no trouble getting in, seeing how the club owner was a former client of his.

  Where to find Jane? His eyes growing accustomed to the gloomy setting, he spotted her in the lounge on the mezzanine right above the bar. She sat on a plush, crimson-velvet couch, a glass clutched in her hand, an expression of utter boredom on her face. Surrounded by two doll look-alikes, she was the odd one out, clashing with her black hair that gleamed almost blue under the surreal lights of the club.

  “There they are.” Jeremy thumped him on the back.

  After making their way up the stairs, the three of them then ambled over to where Jane and the blondes sat. A waitress approached, and Jane shook her glass.

  Chunks of ice gleamed in the crystal tumbler, and a slice of lime added a hint of colour.

  What the hell! She was drinking? In her condition?

  In a flash, he reached her side, closing his hand over hers on the glass.

  She raised stricken eyes to him and paled as she tried to flinch away into the seat.

  She wouldn’t get off so easily, and he didn’t care if all talk had suddenly stopped in their corner of the lounge.

  “Just what the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” he said through gritted teeth.

  He had never thought she would be so irresponsible. Her pregnancy might’ve been unplanned, but still, she should have some more good sense.

  “I ...”

  Nothing but that choked word came out of her mouth. Did she think she wouldn’t get caught?

  “Didn’t you think of the baby?”

  She licked her lips and took her gaze off him. At the same time, her eyes grew wide, focused on something behind him. What, now?

  Michael glanced over his shoulder. Jeremy stood at his back, his gaze riveted on Jane, looking as ghostly as she did.

  “Jane?” One of the blondes poked her in the ribs. “You’re pregnant?”

  She blinked, and it seemed to be all the answer the two identical dolls needed.

  “We’re gonna be godmothers!” They squealed before jumping on Jane and engulfing her in a huge hug.

  Michael’s hand got dislodged from hers in the outburst.

  Jane still didn’t move, and behind him, he heard Jeremy’s heavy breathing despite the thud of the techno music blaring on the dance floor.

  Awkward. What a predicament for Wickham, to learn about the baby he didn’t know he had fathered this way. And what a bummer for Jane, too, her secret getting out like this.

  Michael had vowed to help her, hadn’t he, so how could he do so now?

  Jeremy cleared his throat. “Who’s the father?”

  Jane paled even further, if that were possible, rendering her the appearance of a waxen statue. She wouldn’t be sick now, would she? She seemed on the verge of fainting.

  He couldn’t let that happen. She’d been through too much already.

  Overwhelmed by a rush of concern, Michael heard himself saying,

  “I am.”

  Chapter Five

 
“What the hell were you thinking?”

  An incensed Jane stomped out of the club, shooting the question at Michael as they hit the pavement and she started in the direction of her flat, anxious to put as much distance as possible between them ASAP.

  “Jane, calm down.”

  She stopped and whirled to face him. Seriously, did he hear himself speak? No, of course he didn’t.

  “Calm down? You have the balls to tell me to calm down? When you just told everyone I was expecting your baby?”

  “Stop screaming. You want to alert the whole of Chelsea?”

  The gall of him. She huffed. “No, mate. You took care of that already.”

  What had been going on in that thick skull of his? She hadn’t been able to think while the others had fallen over her, overwhelming her with their congratulations. Ilyanka had even wanted to ask the DJ to play a special song, though what techno song pertained to a pregnancy, she had no idea.

  Michael had received hearty thumps on the back, a smug smile on his lips as he’d accepted the accolades, as if for all intent he really were a proud, expectant father. She’d raced out of the club as soon as she’d been able to, pretending the onset of a headache, Michael right on her heels.

  She started walking again, long strides that would take her back to her building. The more distance she put between her and that loon, the better. The cheek of him! How could he just waltz in as if he owned the place and proclaim in front of everyone that she was carrying his child? Did the bully in him never let up?

  The thought made her blood accelerate in her veins, pulsing with the repressed violence of outright anger. The fiery feeling obliterated whatever remaining sense she still possessed, and her mouth chose to run off with the fury.

  “I never thought you would be so dumb, Michael. What got into you? And for your information, there was not a drop of alcohol in my glass. It was just fizzy water with a slice—”

  His hand closed on her upper arm, interrupting her tirade, his grip gentle yet firm at the same time. Not a good thing. The gesture was too controlled. She closed her mouth despite the string of curses she wanted to hurl at him. Something told her it wouldn’t be a good idea to goad him with further provocation. She never backed down in front of bullies, but even she knew when she shouldn’t throw oil on fire.

  He turned her around to face him.

  She bit her lip at the tension etched on his handsome face. Standing in the dim halo of a streetlamp, the soft yellow glow flowed over his upper body, shadows subtly reaching around to hover across his chiselled features and large shoulders. His wide jaw was clamped, his lips a tight white line. His eyes were narrowed and dark, boring into her as she gazed up at him.

  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had to look up to peer into a man’s face. Half the time, she towered above them, even without heels. Today, with thick wedges on, she was still a few inches short of meeting his eyes without tilting her head. This suddenly made her feel small and delicate.

  The pashmina shawl she wore on her bare shoulders loosened under the pressure of his palm on her arm. A whiff of cool air wafted over her exposed neck and drifted onto her collarbones, sending a slight shiver down her back.

  He brought his right hand up and clutched the end of the shawl. With a gentle tug, he pulled the soft fabric and draped it over her upper body, bringing the lapels together in front.

  His knuckles grazed her jawbone when he pulled the ends tighter. She parted her lips, a tingling sensation diffusing from her jaw down the length of her body.

  Michael’s eyes grew darker, a nerve beating in his cheek.

  “We better get you inside. It’s cold out here.” His voice was a husky whisper.

  Jane blinked, and the spell was broken.

  What was she doing here with him? She needed to get away from this nutcase, the sooner the better. Shrugging off his hands, she then turned and started walking again. He fell into step beside her, and increased his pace when she lengthened hers.

  Drat. No shaking him off.

  “What got into you?”

  His easy silence attacked her nerves big-time, and as usual when she was upset, her mouth went into overdrive.

  “It got you out of a mighty mess, didn’t it?”

  “And just like at Tabitha’s place, later, you’ll hush it up, right?” She snorted.

  He didn’t even glance at her, keeping his gaze on some unknown point in the distance.

  But he was right, and her anger flared even more because of that. “Still, why’d you do that? It was stupid.”

  He glanced her way, his pace not slowing. “Was it?”

  The teasing undertone in his voice goaded her and made her hackles rise. He really was taking all this as a joke, wasn’t he? This was her life they were dealing with here. Fury boiled into her mind, and she imagined a hiss of steam must be coming out of her ears. How could this man be so exasperating?

  “Not only was it stupid, but it was uncalled for and irresponsible, as well.”

  They had reached her building by then, and both paused before the steps that led up to the front door.

  Michael faced her, and Jane clammed up. His energy all but bristled in the air around him. He was a man who could be signing a million-pound deal any minute, but right that instant, even in his midnight-blue suit, he made her think of someone who could bodily haul a bloke from his chair and fling him through the wall without a second thought. Such was the intensity of his stance.

  Why, oh why, did she have to get entangled with people who were so completely off their trolley?

  “Tell me something, Jane.”

  He paused for emphasis, and her mouth went dry as dread seeped through her. She didn’t like that too-quiet, rational tone.

  “How can a man who takes the responsibility for a child he didn’t father be deemed irresponsible?”

  At a loss for words, she licked her lips to buy some time.

  “That’s just the point, Michael. This baby isn’t yours.”

  He drew closer, and she hitched in a breath as his broad body loomed over hers.

  “What if it were?”

  No, not again.

  “We discussed this already.”

  “Have we?”

  His husky whisper did things to her she didn’t want it to do. It brought trepidation, a bristling excitement, as well as a tinge of apprehension into her. Fantasies of the two of them together flittered in again, unbidden, and she couldn’t stop them from unfurling in her head. Because Michael Rinaldi would always step up …

  “You have no idea what you just got us into,” she whispered.

  “I know exactly what I’m doing.”

  He did, didn’t he? So much for thinking a softer man existed inside him. He knew nothing of feelings and the realities of day-to-day life for the likes of her, the people always on the wrong end of the deal. Indignation rioted rife in her heart and mind. What did he think this was? A bloody corporate merger?

  “I’m not one of your deals, Michael, and certainly not one that needs a PR team to come in to work damage control after you’ve been so reckless with the assumptions you let develop.”

  Breaking eye contact first, knowing she had gained the advantage with the gesture, she rummaged through her clutch bag to find her keys, and pulled them out.

  He shot a hand out and closed his grip over hers before she realized what was happening. His palm felt warm and strong, the heat flowing into her bloodstream.

  Time froze, she staring at him, he watching her with fiery eyes that would bring anyone to their knees.

  “Cards have been dealt, Jane. Now you have to play.”

  He really thought she was a pawn in this game? It galled her that he thought he pulled the strings all along.

  “What if I’m not a player?”

  An etching of a smile touched his lips. “That’s not an option.”

  Bollocks. And he believed she’d buy that? Fat chance.

  “There’s always another option.�
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  Fuelled by her sudden spurt of rebellion, she shrugged her hand out of his grip. Hopefully, the element of surprise would unsettle him enough to allow her to go in and leave him stranded here on the steps.

  He released her hand just as she pulled, and the keys went flying. To her horror, they landed right into the large crack between two slabs of pavement, disappearing with an imaginary plop into the sewers.

  What had she done? She didn’t have a spare set.

  “I suppose those were the house keys.” He raised an eyebrow.

  She nodded, unable to look up at him for the mortification burning bright in her now.

  “Your building must have a landlady. Won’t she have a spare set?”

  Mrs. Cheswick. Good idea. Embarrassment consumed her as she contemplated her current plight.

  “Someone better have that pavement repaired.” Michael started up the steps. He stopped, his hand closing on her elbow, gently pulling her in his wake.

  Unable to face him, she nodded. “We complained, but as usual, to no avail.”

  The front door leading into the entrance hall lay open, and they both stepped into the dim room, the wall sconces providing little light. Strange. The door usually needed to be buzzed open from the inside.

  Oh, no. This couldn’t be. Mrs. Cheswick only left the door open when she was away and expected there would be no one in the building to buzz the residents in. This wasn’t good. At all.

  Her heart hammering, Jane approached the door of the flat at the far right of the ground floor, where the landlady lived. No light shone under the door, but then again, it was past midnight, and the old woman was probably asleep.

  After pressing the doorbell, she waited with foreboding. No one answered after five rings, and she fought the urge to burst into sobs. Everything that could’ve gone wrong that day had gone down the drain. And now, here she was stranded literally on her own doorstep.

  “I figure she’s not in.” Michael pressed his back against the wall and crossed his arms.

  She let out a small sniff and clamped her hand over her nose and mouth to prevent another such humiliating sound from coming out. She couldn’t break down in front of him, of all people. If she gave in, he’d have full access to run her over with his brilliant pregnancy takeover agenda.