Bossman's Baby Scandal / Executive's Pregnancy Ultimatum. Catherine Mann

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 fiancée.

      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,