San Francisco, Present Day
Working Lauren Presley out of his system had turned out to
be tougher than Jason Reagert thought when he'd left New
York. But up until sixty seconds ago, he'd been giving it a
damn good try.
Clinking glasses, frenetic conversation and blaring eighties
music in the high-end bar swelled more tightly around him.
He looked up from the photo on his Black-Berry to the woman
he'd been flirting with for the past half hour, then back
down at the just-in image of Lauren Presley celebrating New
Year's Day.
An unmistakably
pregnant Lauren Presley.
He wasn't often at a loss for words—he was considered
a major player in the advertising business, after all.
But right now? His mind blanked. Maybe because his brain was
suddenly filled with visions of that impulsive encounter in
her office. Had that surprise—mind-blowing—night
produced a baby? He hadn't spoken to Lauren since then, but
she hadn't called, either. Certainly not with any pregnancy
news. He blinked twice fast, the bar coming into focus again.
Pink mirrored walls cast a rosy glow as he studied the
shocker image just sent by an NYC pal. He schooled his face
to remain neutral while he figured out the best way to make
contact with Lauren. She'd sure shown him the door fast
enough the last time they'd seen each other.
Some guy gyrating to overloud music jostled him from behind
and Jason angled to shield the BlackBerry screen from the
packed clientele at the local martini bar on Stockton
Street. Rosa Lounge was small and quaint and very expensive,
pretty dim on the inside but still classy, with green glass
tables and black-lacquered chairs.
A white marble bar took up the majority of one wall with
bottles suspended overhead, while tall tables lined the
other wall, dark wood floors stretching between. Since Rosa
Lounge was just a block away from Maddox Communications,
right on the park, MC employees tended to gather here when
they closed a big deal or finished a major presentation.
His grip tightened on the BlackBerry. This gathering had
been called in honor of him. What rotten timing to be the
center of attention.
"Hello?" Celia Taylor snapped her manicured fingers
in front of his face twice, her Key Lime Martini sparkling
through the crystal glass in her other hand. "Hello?
Earth to Jason."
He forced his thoughts and focus to Celia, another ad agent
at Maddox Communications. Thank God he hadn't even started
drinking his Sapporo. He didn't need the top-shelf brew
messing with his head. "Right. I'm here. Sorry to zone
out on you like that." He tucked the BlackBerry into his
suit jacket. The stored photo damn near seared through his
Armani jacket and shirt. "Can I get you a refill?"
He'd been about to offer her more—a date—but
then the photo had buzzed through. Technology sure did have
an ironic sense of timing.
"I'm good." Celia tapped her painted nail against
her martini glass. "That must be one hefty work e-mail.
I could get insulted by the fact I'm not warranting your
full attention, except I'm just jealous my cell phone isn't
buzzing."
Celia flicked her bright red hair over her shoulder and
perched a hand on her slender hip.
Red hair.
Green eyes.
Like Lauren. Damn. Realization kicked him in the conscience.
He'd deluded himself into thinking he was putting Lauren
behind him this evening, only to try to pick up the lone
redhead in the room. Of course, Lauren had darker, auburn
hair and softer curves that had driven him crazy
exploring….
Jason set his bottle on the bar and eyed the door, mind made
up. Delaying wasn't an option. He had to know. But he also
didn't want to alienate Celia.
She was a genuinely nice woman who tried to put on a tough
facade in order to be taken seriously in the workplace. She
deserved better than to be seen as a substitute for another
woman. "Sorry to cut out, but I really need to return a
call."
Celia cocked her head to the side, her nose scrunched in
confusion before she shrugged. "Sure, whatever. Catch
you later." She fanned a wave and pivoted on her spiky
heel toward fellow ad exec Gavin.
Jason shouldered sideways through the crush of people in
power suits, looking for the best way to duck out so he
could place a few phone calls. And find answers.
A hand slid from the press of bodies and clapped him on the
shoulder. He turned to find both Maddox brothers, the heads
of Maddox Communications—CEO Brock and VP Flynn.
Flynn waved other MC employees nearby to join in and then
lifted his drink in toast. "To the man of the hour,
Jason Reagert! Congratulations on landing the Prentice
account. You've done Madd Comm proud."
"To the wonderboy," CFO Asher Williams called.
"Reagert rules," Gavin cheered.
"Unstoppable," Brock declared, his executive
assistant echoing the toast.
Jason pulled a smile for appearances. Bringing in the
Prentice Group was undoubtedly a coup, although timing had
certainly come into play in winning over the country's
largest clothing manufacturing company. Landing Prentice was
the next best thing to nabbing Procter & Gamble. Jason
had only just moved to California in the fall when Walter
Prentice dumped his other PR firm for moral-clause violations.
The ultraconservative Prentice had a rep for ditching firms
for anything from hearing that the account exec had visited
a local nude beach to realizing an exec was dating two women
at once. Jason's eyes flicked to Celia.
Brock dipped a wedge of pork quesadilla in mango sauce. The
workaholic had most likely missed lunch. "Spoke with
Prentice today and he made a point of singing your praises.
Good move sharing those war stories with him."
Jason's feet itched to get to the door. And damn it, he
hadn't shared the war stories as a schmooze move. He'd
simply discovered a connection there since Prentice's nephew
had done a tour about the same time as he had. "Only
making polite conversation with the client."
Flynn lifted his glass again. "You're a hero, man. The
way you and that SEAL team took out those pirates back in
the day…epic."
He'd served his six years in the Navy after college
graduation. He'd been a dive officer with a specialty in
explosive ordinance disposal, attached to a SEAL team. Sure,
he'd helped take out some pirates, saved a few lives, but so
had the others around him. "I was only doing my job,
same as anyone else."
Brock finished off his dinner with a final bite. "You're
definitely on Prentice's radar. Keep your nose clean and
you'll go far with his influence. Landing Prentice's
clothing line couldn't be better timed, especially with
Golden Gate Promotions breathing down our necks."
Golden Gate was their main rival, another family-owned
advertising agency with quite a pedigree and still helmed by
its original founder, Athos Koteas. Jason understood well
the specter that rival cast. This job at Maddox—this
chance in California—was everything to him. He
wouldn't let anything screw it up.
His BlackBerry buzzed again from inside his jacket. More
pictures? Was the guy sending him an ultrasound photo, for
crying out loud? His gut pitched. He liked kids, sure,
wanted some of his own.
Someday.
Flynn ducked in closer. "We consider it quite a coup,
you charging in with a winning pitch after that lame ass was
fired."
Brock smiled sardonically. "Lame ass? Sunburned ass
maybe, after hanging out on that beach au naturel."
Low laughter rumbled up from the clustered bunch of MC
employees. Jason slid his finger along the neck of his
shirt. What a time to remember that Walter Prentice had
reportedly disowned his own granddaughter for refusing to
marry the father of her kid. Prentice lived by his motto
Family Is Everything.
Performance on the job should be all that mattered, damn it.
He'd already been dubbed the golden boy at Maddox
Communications, a title he'd worked hard to achieve and
would do anything to keep. The key word?
Worked.
He'd earned his way to the top, determined to shed the
trust-fund label that had dogged him growing up. He wouldn't
allow an impulsive move from four months ago to wreck his
chances for the success he'd damn well paid for.
He'd walked away from the carrot of joining his old man's
advertising company and took a Navy ROTC scholarship to
college instead. After serving his six years, he'd launched
out on his own in the ad world. While he'd tackled the New
York City job, he could still feel his father's influence
breathing down his neck. The offer from San Francisco-based
MC had put a whole country between him and the old man's
far-reaching shadow.
And just that fast, inspiration hit.
As soon as he finished up here at Rosa Lounge, Jason would
be on the red-eye to New York. By morning, he would be on
Lauren Presley's doorstep for a face-to-face with her. If
that baby was his, she would simply have to come to California.
Any possible rumors would be taken care of when he
introduced her as his fiancΓ©e.
The icy January wind kept most people indoors. Normally
Lauren would have been in her apartment in warm wooly socks,
tending her plants. But the cold helped calm her nausea. So
she worked on the roof, checking the winterizing on the
community garden she'd started a couple of years ago.
Kneeling, she tucked the plastic tighter along the edges of
the rooftop planter while roaring engines and horns
announced that the Big Apple was waking up. The city in
winter wore the neutral palette of an Andrew Wyeth painting,
a world reduced to blacks and whites, grays and browns.
Icy-cold concrete stung through her jeans as she knelt, a
bitter breeze whipping off the East River. She huddled
deeper into her wool coat. She flexed her numbed fingers
inside her gardening gloves.
Her stomach fluttered from more than the baby.
She'd gotten a panicked call from her friend Stephanie
informing her that her husband had let Jason know about the
pregnancy via a photo taken at last week's New Year's party.
And now Jason was on his way to NYC.
No amount of cold air or gardening would stem the tide of
nausea this time. Her world was totally falling apart. Jason
was on his way to confront her about the baby she hadn't
gotten around to informing him was due in five months, and
oh, by the way, her business was all but in ruins.
Lauren sagged back against the concrete fountain, water
frozen in the base, icicles dripping from the stone lion's
mane. A week ago she'd learned her bookkeeper, Dave, had
used her sick leave as an opportunity to embezzle half a
million dollars from her fledgling graphic-design business.
She'd only found out when she hired a temp bookkeeper to
take over while Dave went "on vacation." Now they
all knew he wouldn't be returning from whatever island haven
he'd taken up residence at using her money. Authorities
didn't hold out much hope of finding him—or her funds.
She rubbed a hand over the growing curve of her belly. A
child completely dependent on her and she'd royally screwed
up her life. What kind of mother would she make? A total
coward, up here hiding.
Things had changed so much in a few months. She missed the
color palette of spring and summer, but her artistic eye
still appreciated the monochromatic stark-ness of a winter
landscape.
The rooftop door creaked a second before a long shadow
stretched over her. She knew before she looked. Jason had
found her anyway. There was no more delaying this confrontation.
Lauren glanced over her shoulder and… She felt a
shiver of awareness.
Jason's lean, looming presence added the final touch to the
stark skyline, his swimmer's build, dark hair cut short,
thicker along the top and just lifting in the harsh wind. He
stood tall, immovable, uncompromising— physically and
emotionally.
She turned away and tucked her gardening tools back in her
bag. "Hello, Jason."
His footsteps grew louder, closer, and still he didn't speak.
"I guess the doorman told you I was up here," she
babbled, her hands frantically busy.
He knelt beside her. "You should be more careful."
She inched away. "You shouldn't sneak up on people."
"What if it hadn't been me coming up here? That door
creaks mighty damn loud and you were in another world."
"Okay, you're right. I was, uh, distracted." By his
impending arrival, the baby on the way, and oh, yeah, she
had an embezzler on her payroll. So much for her insistence
she was ready to take on the world.
She could almost hear her parents' disapproval about
everything in her life. Except for Jason. He was exactly the
sort of man her socialite mother would pick for her, with
his blue-blood lineage, fat bank account and good looks.
Hell, most any mom would be happy to have Jason Reagert as a
son-in-law. But he was also stubborn and controlling and
she'd fought too hard for her independence to risk it in a
relationship with this man. No doubt that was why she'd
succeeded in ignoring the attraction for the past months.
She clutched her bag to her chest. "What are you doing
here? You could have just called."
"And
you could have called." He looked at
her stomach and back up again. "When I spoke with a
friend of mine back here last night, he told me you've been
working from home because you're not feeling well. Are you
all right? Is the baby all right?"
And there it was. Her pregnancy news out there with a simple
statement. No huge confrontation or shouting match like her
parents would have had before—and after—their
divorce. All the same, her fingers shook, so she hitched her
bag over her shoulder and stood.
"Only morning sickness." She stuffed her hands in
her pockets. "The doctor says I'm fine. I'm just more
productive if I work from home. The worst is past."
"I'm glad to hear that."
The nausea had been debilitating for a couple of months.
Entrusting so much of the office routine to others had been
nerve-racking, but there hadn't been any other choice. Too
bad it had cost her so much. "I made it back up to half
days in the office last week."
"Are you sure you're ready? You look like you've lost
weight." A protective gleam lit his eyes. He grabbed an
iron chair and hauled it over to her.
Lauren glanced at him warily before sitting. "How much
do you know about the pregnancy?"
"Does it matter?" He shrugged out of his trench coat
and draped it over her shoulders.
The familiar scent of his aftershave mingled with his body
warmth clinging to the fabric. Too tempting. She passed his
coat back because she couldn't handle even one more obstacle
in her life. Not now. "I guess not, as long as you do
know."
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