His Baby. Muriel Jensen

The look was completely false and there was laughter in his eyes.

      “The ladies like me better than either of you, anyway,” Campbell said, getting to his feet. “Four or five of them have me lined up for their daughters.”

      Sawyer smiled at Killian. “That could work. We’d still get rid of him.” Then he looked puzzled. “I thought Mom was just gone for the weekend.”

      “Tante Bijou’s under the weather. She’s staying to take care of her for a while. She sends both of you her love.”

      “Well, you’re getting rid of me right now.” Campbell stretched and Sawyer moved his head aside theatrically, evading the fork in his right hand. “Selling my good qualities has been more exhausting than I realized.”

      “Mmm,” Sawyer said. “All that stuff you had to make up, probably.” He had to shout the last few words as Campbell left the room.

      Sawyer stood up to pour himself a cup of coffee, then sat down again and picked up his cake. “Does he think he aced the interview?” he asked Killian, suddenly seriously.

      Killian shrugged. “He didn’t say. He got defensive about why he wanted to leave, and I tried to tell him he was valuable here, and we got into it like we always do. So, I don’t know.”

      Sawyer nodded, familiar with Campbell’s attitude. “He just needs to get away and realize we don’t make him feel he doesn’t belong—he does it to himself.”

      Killian couldn’t help a laugh. “You just told him we’ve been plotting to get rid of him for years.”

      Sawyer laughed, too. “Yeah. But he knows I’m kidding. Doesn’t he?”

      “I’m sure he does.”

      “What’d the two of you fight about?”

      Killian said intrepidly, “Which one of us Mom loves the most.”

      Sawyer made a scornful noise. “That’s easy. Me.”

      KILLIAN RODE to work Monday morning in the back seat of the limo, checking stock-market quotes on his laptop, grateful that his calendar showed a relatively easy day. He’d had a good weekend, but he feared he was losing what little ability he had to relax. Not that he understood why he was worried about it. He’d been a workaholic since college, when his father had given him a part-time job keeping statistics on production costs for every business within the corporation, sales figures and every other recordable process in between.

      Once in the city, he thanked Daniel and wished him a good day, then took his private elevator to the twenty-third floor. He responded with a smile to all the polite “Good morning, Mr. Abbott’s” directed at him. His mail was on his desk, along with a steaming cup of coffee and a brioche Barbara had bought from the Montmartre Bakery on her way in from the subway.

      Life was good at the office, he thought as he remembered his pleasant but very quiet weekend at home. There, he’d had to work to fill the time. Of course, Chloe had been gone, and his brothers hadn’t returned until Sunday night. But was he so unused to his own company that he was now lonely by himself?

      The notion surprised him.

      He took a sip of coffee, bit into the freshly baked roll and went through the mail and e-mail messages.

      He noticed a memo from human resources, asking him to call Jack regarding the sudden revelation of confidential information about an employee. He was about to put the memo aside until after he’d handled a few things he thought had priority, when he saw that the employee in question was Cordelia Magnolia Hyatt.

      He called Jack.

      CORDIE READ the current issue of InStyle while eating a bagel and drinking a cup of tea at a little deli across the street from Abbott’s. She’d worked all day Sunday, taking advantage of the quiet of the closed store to put out new stock and fill a sales rack, so she could afford a few moments to herself this morning. The staff knew where she was if there was a problem.

      Not that she was enjoying her solitude. The sesame-and-asiago bagel that had looked so appealing when she’d ordered it didn’t want to go down, and she was having second thoughts about her decision to work at Abbott’s and try to reclaim her marriage. The idea had seemed like such a good one, until she’d come face-to-face with Killian’s hostility on Friday. In her absence from him, she’d managed to forget how completely disgusted he’d been with her when he’d found her in Brian’s bed, and how serious he’d been when he’d told her their marriage was over.

      She tried to brace herself with a sip of peppermint tea. “Come on,” she told herself. “You knew this would be hard. Did you think the circumstances were going to change and make it easier for you just because you dreamed of Killian welcoming you back with open arms? You knew there was no real chance of that. You analyzed this from all angles and decided you loved him enough to try it. Buck up! You’re not going to weasel out at the first roadblock. You’re just discouraged because you feel a little puny this morning.”

      She took another sip of tea.

      Her mind in a muddle, she didn’t even notice Killian walk into the deli until he stood directly across from her.

      His eyes were dark but unreadable. She didn’t quite see anger in their depths, but some other black emotion she couldn’t analyze.

      “You’re pregnant,” he said in a tone that was more of an accusation than an announcement.

      She closed her eyes and accepted that this day was not going to improve anytime soon.

      When they’d gotten married, she’d fantasized about announcing a pregnancy to him one day, but in her dreams that moment had never taken place in a deli buzzing with conversation. And he’d been proud and happy, not…whatever that dark look was in his eye.

      He took the chair opposite her.

      “How far along are you?” he asked tersely.

      She knew what the question really asked. “Yes, it’s your baby,” she replied. “Even if you don’t believe me, the hotel incident was three months ago and I’m four months along. I can provide proof, if that’s necessary.”

      “It isn’t necessary. The report from your doctor said so.”

      “But that’s not why I’m back. I don’t have some plan to prove your paternity and secure an Abbott inheritance for him or her. I just want to work, I love fashion retail and Abbott’s is the best there is.” She drew a breath and made herself look him in the eye. His dark expression was darkening further, but she refused to be intimidated. “You were pretty clear the other day about any hope of reconciliation, so I’ve given up on that.” She willed herself to appear clear-eyed and honest rather than like the big fat liar she really was. “But I want to keep the job.”