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

by Zee Monodee

  He watched her go up the stairs. One day, she’d trip and hurt herself. Concern filled him when he contemplated the possible consequences.

  But then another feeling crept to the forefront of his mind, and he paused.

  Why on Earth had he wanted to sock that bloke one when Jane had touched him?

  Had he been … jealous?

  Chapter Twelve

  By the middle of the following week, all of England, Scotland, Wales, and the British Isles appeared to be on a first name basis with Jane. Wherever she looked, the headlines were about her and Michael. Every chat show on TV had only one topic to discuss—Jane Smithers. Why did she hide for so long? How did she meet Nitro Mike? Was she putting on weight? Would she get fat? Why wasn’t she even showing, for God’s sake? How would she lose the baby fat once she delivered?

  Not even the Duchess of Cambridge had faced such a barrage of public scrutiny. One would think the royal happenings would keep the media occupied, but no, they needed more fodder. She wanted to scream, but that would bring no relief.

  In fact, the more she bothered, the more her blood pressure would shoot up, and that wouldn’t be good at all for the baby. Gayle was being even more vigilant with her, making sure the stress didn’t get to her. The doctor had even enlisted Michael’s help, and he didn’t waste any opportunity to make sure she was okay.

  She pressed her back in her chair and stared across the waiting room in her office.

  It felt good to be pampered. She couldn’t deny that. The attention was novel, and welcome. Michael was so gentle with her, treating her as if she were made of the finest porcelain.

  Everyone was concerned about her. Even her mother had called to enquire about her health. She had a feeling Marenka had been pushed to the task by Damian. Now he called Michael every other day to get the latest update about her. She’d known Damian was a nice man, but she’d never have guessed he was such a sweetheart. Too bad he had fallen into the clutches of her mother. She hoped he could stand his ground and not let Marenka walk all over him.

  Speaking of calls, her thoughts went back to another call, and she winced. Her grandmother had telephoned the evening before. In a rapid barrage of Spanish, she had bombarded Jane with questions.

  How come Jane hadn’t said anything? Manuela, her seventeen-year-old cousin, had come across the article in an online tabloid. Who was Jane frolicking with? Veronica Arana was outraged that her granddaughter lived in sin even when expecting a baby. When did she and the baby’s father plan to get married?

  Jane had had a hard time making her understand marriage wasn’t in the plans. She’d had to add “yet” to her discourse, but that had only been a ploy to soothe her grandma.

  Finally, her abuela had let her off the hook, but not without threatening that she would be calling for an update every week.

  Jane sighed. Why did people with Latin blood give in to theatrics? Thank goodness she’d inherited more of the British blood that had flowed in her father’s veins.

  The lift dinged, and she sat up straighter. A quick glance at the desktop clock showed noon.

  She smiled. Michael. He brought her lunch every day, sandwiches he ordered from a health bar on Canary Wharf. She barely went out now, what with the paparazzi following her every move, but Michael said that if she couldn’t go to lunch, lunch would come to her.

  The smell of honey-roasted turkey fluttered to her nostrils. Her favourite. She’d developed an insane craze for the sandwich, and he brought it every time it came up on the menu at the health bar.

  However, she frowned when he stepped before her. His eyes blazed with fury.

  What now? Michael hadn’t flown into a temper lately, but the emotions had simply been simmering beneath the surface, waiting for an opportunity to erupt at the first given chance.

  The growl of her stomach tore through her, and, unashamed, she reached out for the paper-wrapped sandwich in his hand, unwrapping it and then sinking her teeth into the savoury concoction with a sigh of bliss.

  He stood in front of her desk while she quelled her hunger. Halfway through the meal, she looked up.

  “What?”

  His jaw clenched.

  “This.” He threw a thick, cream-colored envelope on the table.

  She glanced at it. It looked familiar, but she couldn’t for the life of her figure out what it was. Maybe she needed to finish her food first, and then her brain would start cooperating again.

  “Is he in?” Michael nodded at the door.

  “Who? Umberto?”

  He nodded.

  “No. He left for a luncheon a little while ago. Why?”

  “Good.” He leaned forward and placed his palms flat on the table. “Here’s what you will do. This—” he tapped the envelope, “—is an invitation to the annual charity gala for the children’s hospital.”

  She nodded. Now that he mentioned it, one such envelope had been in the mail earlier today for her boss.

  “He’ll receive one, too.” Another tap on the creamy paper. “And so will my mother.”

  “So?”

  He threw his hands up and paced. “Don’t you see? I don’t want him asking her to accompany him.”

  “Oh.”

  How could she have forgotten that he was still intent on keeping his parents apart? That was the reason they’d met in the first place. Somehow, she’d thought with all the turmoil happening in their lives, he would’ve forgotten about this insane idea.

  Seemed she’d been wrong.

  Finishing the last bite of her sandwich, she reached out for a tissue and wiped her mouth. “And what can I do there?”

  “Well, it’s obvious. Don’t give him the invitation. That way, he can’t attend.”

  Wow, brilliant plan. “And if she asks him? I seem to recall the invite is for the person and a plus one.”

  “Jane, I know my mother. She’s old school. She’ll wait for a man to ask her out.”

  “So, your logic is, if he doesn’t know he’s invited, he can’t ask her.”

  “Exactly.”

  And they said he was an ace at strategy. Just went to show how much he was a bloke. There was no cunning there, just a simple, linear approach that would bear no result in the game of twisted dating logic.

  “Michael, Umberto attends this gala every year. Won’t he realize if I don’t give him the invitation?”

  He cursed then looked straight at her. “Well, then think of something if you’re so good at working out all the scenarios.”

  She sighed and closed her eyes. “Michael, I want no part in this business. They’re grown adults. Let them decide what they want to do with their life.”

  “You think I can allow that?”

  She popped her eyes open at the sardonic tinge in his words. He came over and clasped her elbow to make her stand up.

  “Come here.” He led her to one of the plush sofas of the waiting area.

  After making her sit down, he settled beside her, his body angled towards hers.

  “Let me tell you something. And just listen, don’t interrupt.”

  She nodded.

  “My mother was seventeen when she met him. He was the first man she fell in love with. They had a whirlwind courtship and were married a few months after. Then she became pregnant with me. When she left the hospital after my birth, she didn’t go home. She went back to her family house in Salisbury. Why? Because he had left her in the meantime.

  “She was eighteen years old at the time, and for much of my first year in this world, she wasn’t there. The reason? She’d started drinking a little too much and had had to have that issue taken care of. I grew up watching my mother apparently happy, but a light was missing in her eyes. I never had a father. The most I knew about him came from reading pieces on him in magazines.

  “I was thirteen when I first met him. He came around the house after the death of my grandmother. My mother was alone at the time, and we started seeing more of him. And then, he left, again. Result on her? Another t
rip to the sanatorium, this time for depression.”

  Jane gulped when he stopped talking. Pain was etched on his face, and she wanted to reach out and brush the suffering from his features. But all she did was clasp her hands in her lap. It must’ve cost a man as proud as he a lot already to have told her all this. To show him compassion now would be mistaken for pity.

  She bit her lip. “You can’t let that happen again, right?”

  She didn’t need him to answer. His silence spoke legions already.

  She knew he hurt. Otherwise, he wouldn’t bother. Oh, yes, he said he was doing it for his mother, but an equal measure was to protect himself again. She didn’t see the grown man right then. No, she saw the fragile preemie and the quiet, angry teenager older than his years.

  “I’ll think of something. In the meantime, I’ll withhold the invitation.”

  He gave a slight nod, which she knew meant silent thanks.

  Then he stood, already making his way to the elevator.

  “By the way—” he turned to face her, “—you’re coming to the gala with me. And my mother called. She wants to have lunch with you on Saturday. I told her you’d call her to confirm.”

  With that parting shot, he stepped into the open lift carriage, and the doors closed.

  In her stunned state of surprise, she hardly registered that. She wouldn’t be any more defeated if she had sagged into a heap in her seat, never able to get up again.

  She had to go to a gala? With him as escort? And Olivia Rinaldi wanted them to lunch together?

  Why did she ever think her life couldn’t get any more complicated?

  ***

  Olivia waited for her at a table at Jasper’s in Belgravia when Jane walked into the posh restaurant at noon the following Saturday.

  The maître d’ escorted her to meet her host, who stood when she drew near. The older woman embraced her and kissed her on both cheeks before they both sat down.

  “And how are you doing, luv?”

  Jane was a bit thrown off by the solicitude. Somehow, she had expected the Inquisition.

  Olivia must’ve picked up on her unease, because she reached out and clasped Jane’s hand.

  “Forgive me for the other day. I was still in shock, and I realize I came down on you a bit hard.”

  She was trying to rectify the wrong footing of their initial meeting? Jane gave a small smile. “I admit I was caught by surprise, too.”

  Olivia smiled back. “Let’s start afresh, shall we?”

  The waiter came, and they placed their order. Now that her nausea was letting up, Jane found she was under the control of a raging appetite. She, however, tried to track her portions and eat healthily. Like the tabloids feared, she, too, didn’t want to end up resembling a cow in a few months.

  “How’s your health?”

  “I was just thinking that I’ve got my appetite back.”

  Olivia grimaced. “The morning sickness is awful, isn’t it? There were days with Mike when I couldn’t even get up.”

  Jane felt a sudden irrepressible urge to know more about Michael. Who better to ask than his mother? “He was born a preemie?”

  “He told you that?”

  She winced. “Actually, no. Umberto did.”

  “Yes, so you mentioned the other day, too.” The other woman grew silent. “He remembered I had anaemia?”

  She acquiesced. “He said maybe that’s why Michael was born before term.”

  “I didn’t know he spoke about that part of his life.” Olivia sounded pensive. “You work with him?”

  “I’m his personal assistant.”

  “I bet he runs you ragged.” The older woman smiled.

  Jane laughed. “Yes, he does, on most days.”

  “He’s a good man at heart.”

  “How can you say that, after all he—” She caught herself and quelled her outburst, then lowered her eyes, not wanting to face her lunch partner.

  “After all he did to me?” Olivia smiled. “He isn’t a man you can tie down, Jane. In that respect, I hope Michael is not like him.”

  Jane glanced up again. “I don’t think he is.”

  “Good. Not everyone can understand Umberto. I made my peace with this a long time ago.”

  Michael will never understand. Somehow, his mother had come to the same conclusion, too.

  “But, enough of this.” Olivia reached for a napkin. “Tell me. Is Michael taking you to the children’s hospital gala?”

  “He did ask.”

  “Splendid. You’ll dazzle them all.”

  Their food came then, and they both paused to eat a few bites before Olivia continued.

  “So, have you decided what you will wear?”

  Jane wanted to let her fork clatter down. No, she hadn’t thought, and she didn’t want to think of it, either. Not only would they have to appear as a ‘couple,’ but she was sure all the press’ focus would be on them, too.

  “Oh, Jane, I know this designer in Notting Hill who does wonders with her creations. Why don’t we go there later today? I’m sure she’ll have something wonderful for you.”

  She didn’t know if she needed to smile in agreement or ward away the invitation.

  “Don’t say no.” The older woman reached for Jane’s hand on the table. “I know you must probably be tired with shopping right now—”

  “What do you mean?” She was piqued by the implication. Did Olivia think she had nothing better to do than run the boutiques in her spare time?

  “Well, shopping for the baby, of course. And for clothes for you.”

  “Oh.”

  Olivia dropped her fork. “You mean you haven’t started the baby’s layette?”

  She hadn’t thought so far. Jane shook her head.

  “And what about maternity clothes? Your pre-baby things won’t be suitable in a short while, luv.”

  Already, the waistbands of her skirts were biting into her flesh.

  “That’s settled, then. We’re going shopping when we leave here.”

  Now she also knew where Michael earned his bossy streak. Olivia could run down a whole herd in her enthusiasm.

  A male voice came from behind them. “Excuse me, ladies.”

  Jane turned, and a wide smile spread across her face. “Charles!”

  “Hello, Princess. Thought it was you.” He bent and kissed her forehead.

  She then noticed Olivia watching them with a frown. “Olivia, this is Sir Charles Carlton, my former stepfather. And Charles, this is—”

  “Olivia Whitmore.” He chuckled.

  Olivia’s face broke into a smile, too, and she stood. “Oh, dear me. Sir Charles.”

  Jane watched with bewilderment as the two of them embraced.

  Charles drew away. “You haven’t changed at all.”

  Olivia laughed, a clear, merry sound.

  “Always the charmer. You haven’t fared so bad, either.” She turned to Jane. “Jane, luv, would you believe this man here escorted me to my debutante’s ball?”

  No, she couldn’t, and shook her head with raised eyebrows. It really was a small world, indeed.

  “You were sweet sixteen, and all the young men lost their heart to you.” Charles sighed with exaggeration.

  Olivia giggled. “Forget about me. What happened to you?”

  Jane tuned out their conversation then. It felt like eavesdropping. She twirled some salad greens around her fork, appetite gone.

  “I’m sorry, but I have to leave you now.” Charles placed his hands on Jane’s shoulders.

  “Do keep in touch now that you’re back.” Olivia settled into her seat once again.

  “I sure will.” He bent to kiss Jane again. “You take care, Princess.”

  “It really is a small world.” Olivia picked up her cutlery. “And you say he’s your former stepfather?”

  “Yes. He and my mother were married for a few years.”

  “A shame they divorced.”

  Yes, indeed, for Marenka. She had lost a terrific
man when she’d left him.

  They finished their lunch, then took a cab to Notting Hill.

  The shop Olivia took her to was called Greta’s Garb. As Jane suspected, the designer’s name was Greta. She recognized Jane immediately. Who wouldn’t, when her picture was on every paper and screen lately?

  Finding a suitable dress, especially in her condition, wasn’t easy. All the formfitting cocktail affairs were too tight for her expanding body.

  Finally, they came across a dress that could work. Olivia gave a gasp of pleasure when she saw it.

  The confection was made of flowing silk of a deep blue colour that changed hues where the light hit it. The neckline dipped in a cowl. The long sleeves were slit, and the separated lapels tied at the elbows and at the wrists with small silver chains. The dress hung loose on her body, the hemline falling just above her knees. Greta then tied the finishing touch—a long, silver chain that she twisted twice just above Jane’s hips to give definition to the garment.

  Somehow, the chain suggested her developing belly and made it look like a ripening womb was sexy.

  Jane couldn’t take her eyes off the reflection in the mirror. Without any hesitation, she took out her credit card.

  Suddenly, she wanted to attend this gala, because it would mean Michael would see her in the dress. Maybe he’d see her in a different light then, and maybe he ...

  Maybe he what, you idiot? He’ll be dazzled by the bling you aren’t and fall for you?

  She wanted him, no doubt, but that didn’t mean he had to feel the same way, too. After all, he wasn’t under the influence of raging hormones. She shook all these notions aside and grabbed hold of the bag Greta handed her.

  When they exited the shop, Olivia took her arm. “Now we head to Mothercare on Oxford Street.”

  She paused with a frown on her face. Olivia wanted her to shop there? Somehow, she’d thought the boutiques of Bond and Regent Street were more her type of thing.

  The older woman laughed when she saw her puzzled expression. “The key to maternity wear is comfort. You won’t find much of that in the designer maternity lines, which are more for show and less about wearability. For this, you need to go shop where every expecting woman goes.”