The Baby Deal Read online

  Sales? he silently shrieked to himself. They wanted him to be a salesman? To sell advertising? He didn't know squat about selling or advertising. Or about having an office he had to show up at every day. In a suit and tie.

  He voiced another, even more colorful expletive under his breath.

  This was the last thing he'd figured he was coming home to. He'd thought Jack and David might have wanted to liquidate portions of the company's holdings, or consolidate things, or that maybe they'd wanted to fill him in on legalities that had arisen out of the porn scandal. He'd figured that there was just something they wanted him to pretend an interest in, to lend his support to. Some kind of family-unity thing or something.

  But putting him to work? He hadn't even considered that that was a possibility. Hell, he'd never worked for the company. Or for anyone else. All his life Hanson Media Group had just done its thing and he'd done his, thrilled to have his share of the proceeds deposited in his account every month.

  And now those days were over.

  He didn't like it.

  But whether he liked it or not, whether he liked the idea of being an advertising salesman or not, whether he could do it or not, apparently didn't make a difference. Jack and David were set on this and clearly he didn't have a choice in the matter. Not if he wanted to continue to have an income. And what would he do without an income?

  He was stuck. And he knew it. With nothing to do but comply.

  For now, anyway.

  Because maybe those good old days weren't really over. Maybe they were just suspended for the time being. Maybe before too long things would turn around. The scandal would blow over. Business would pick up. Former employees could be rehired. And he could just go back to the life he'd been living.

  It helped to think that that might be a possibility—even if there hadn't been anything in any of what his brother or his uncle had said to lead him to believe it. It helped to think that this wasn't permanent. It made it all the more easy to accept that way. In fact, it was the only way he could accept it at that moment.

  So he sighed, hung on to the notion that this would have a limited run, and finally conceded that he was going to have to sell advertising. At least for a while. And he reached for the files on the table, bringing them to his lap.

  Files.

  This was so not him….

  But still he opened the one on top, knowing only when he did which file he was looking at first.

  Meals Like Mom's—it was the background information on the company he was supposed to recruit tonight.

  Just below the name of the company was the owner's name—Delia McCray.

  Andrew took a closer look at that, thinking his eyes and his overwhelmed brain were playing tricks on him.

  But no, he'd read it right the first time—the name was Delia.

  “Huh,” he mused.

  Delia wasn't a common name. And now here he was, encountering it twice—three months ago in Tahiti and again today.

  Maybe the universe was toying with him, he thought. Because the Delia he'd met in Tahiti had sort of haunted him, and just when he was regretting the fact that he'd heeded Jack's and David's e-mails and left the island, he was reminded of Tahiti and Tahiti Delia all over again.

  Tahiti Delia…

  Oh, yeah, Tahiti Delia had definitely stuck with him even after she'd left him on the beach at sunrise the morning after they'd spent the night together.

  Flaxen hair that was so pale a blond it was like lemons diluted with cream. Flawless porcelain skin that could have been the envy of newborn babies. A small nose that was a little pointed at the end where it gracefully curved up just the slightest. High, high cheekbones that gave her beautiful face a fragile look. Lips that were thin but coy and sexy, too. And oh, man, what eyes she'd had—eyes the color of crystal-clear ocean waves just before they broke against the shore. Eyes that were a blue like no other. Glistening and shimmering and capable of sweeping a person right off his feet.

  Top it all off with long, lanky legs that had seemed to go on forever despite the fact that she hadn't been too tall, a tight rear end and just enough up front, and Tahiti Delia had been something dreams were made of.

  And he'd had plenty of dreams of her and their tryst under the stars, there was no mistake about that. Plenty of dreams that had let him relive their encounter, that had left him aching to do it all over again. That had made him sorry that they'd had only that one night…

  “Ready to see your new digs?”

  Andrew had been so lost in thoughts of Tahiti Delia he hadn't heard his uncle return to the conference room door to poke his head in.

  As if he were guilty of something, Andrew yanked his feet off the chair and stood, fumbling with the files he'd forgotten about and nearly dropped, before he snatched them up to take with him.

  “Yeah. Sure,” he muttered, sounding as distracted as he felt and trying hard to get himself out of that daydream and back to reality.

  Trying, too, to find some kind of work mindset and wondering—when a wave of what felt like claustrophobia hit him—whether he was actually going to be able to pull off holding this job.

  Especially when it took so little to carry him back to Tahiti.

  And to Tahiti Delia.

  Chapter Three

  “We'll give him five more minutes and then if he isn't here, we'll go on without him. And again, I can't apologize enough. But as I said, he was just back from vacation today, I dumped a whole lot on him that he hadn't expected, he was jet-lagged, hadn't slept and—”

  “Honestly,” Delia assured Jack Hanson, “we understand. Your brother is only ten minutes late. It's not a problem.”

  The tight smile that the acting head of Hanson Media Group gave to Delia, Marta and Gwen—the ad agent handling their account—was enough to let Delia know that regardless of what Jack Hanson said, his brother was in for it when he got him alone after this dinner meeting.

  But just then Jack Hanson's expression eased and he said, “Here he is.”

  They had already been seated at a round table in the restaurant Gwen had suggested and since Delia's back was to the door, she took Jack Hanson's word for it and didn't crane around to see for herself. Neither did Marta—also sitting without easy access. But Gwen obviously saw the approach of the other Hanson brother and seemed to like what she saw, because the smile that had begun as businesslike became something else entirely. At the same time her eyes widened and she sat up taller in her chair, drawing her shoulders back in a way that pushed out her ample chest.

  And then Jack Hanson's brother came around the table to the vacant chair that had been left for him. Where Delia and Marta could both see him.

  “Oh!” Marta exclaimed as Delia merely peered up in sudden shock.

  “Andrew!” Marta added then. “It's Andrew! From Tahiti.”

  “Delia?” he said, his focus omitting Marta and everyone else at the table as his espresso eyes honed in on Delia. “I saw your name in the file but… You're Delia McCray?”

  “You all know each other?” Jack asked.

  “Sort of,” Delia answered, struggling to find her voice and some aplomb to go with it. “We just met—briefly—in Tahiti. When Marta and I and the rest of our family were there. A few months ago.”

  A million things were popping into Delia's mind suddenly. This was not a situation or a scenario she'd ever imagined. And in the last month and a half she'd imagined many.

  To her rapidly increasing dismay, rather than taking his chair, Andrew came back around the table to press a kiss to her cheek. A kiss that was nothing, considering the night they'd spent together. But a kiss that unnerved her even further. A kiss she barely tilted her head to receive.

  “It's great to see you!” Andrew said. Then, raising his chin to Marta, he added, “You, too, Marta. I just can't believe it.”

  “Small world,” Gwen contributed as if to remind them of her presence.

  “And this is Gwen Davis, the account executive from DeWit and Sh
eldon—the ad agency handling Meals Like Mom's,” Jack said to include the other woman.

  “Oh, I'm sorry, Gwen,” Delia apologized. “Of course. This is Gwen. Gwen, this is Andrew…Hanson?” Since Delia was only assuming that was Andrew's last name she had to add a questioning inflection at the end of that.

  “That's me, Andrew Hanson,” Andrew confirmed, holding out a hand to Gwen before he returned to take his seat. And to staring at Delia. “Delia. I still can't believe this.”

  The waiter arrived with the wine Jack had ordered and after getting his approval for the selection, the waiter began pouring glasses of the ruby-hued brew. Delia's mind was spinning in a private panic and when the waiter reached her it was Marta who snatched Delia's glass out of the way.

  “No wine for our mom-to—” Marta cut her own words short, gasping as if that might reclaim them.

  And Delia cringed inside, hoping and praying that no one would finish Marta's phrase.

  But her hopes and prayers were for naught.

  “Mom-to-be?” Gwen asked. “Is that what you were going to say, Marta?” But before Marta could respond, Gwen looked to Delia and said, “Are you pregnant?”

  It crossed Delia's mind to say no, she wasn't pregnant. To try to connect her sister's comment to the name of her business somehow. But not only couldn't she come up with a way to do that, it also occurred to her that it was futile, that she'd be working with Gwen and possibly with the Hansons, and that there wouldn't be any concealing the pregnancy before long, that it would seem silly that she'd denied it when it was true. So she opted for forging ahead.

  “Yes,” she answered quietly.

  Marta leaned over and whispered, “Go ahead, shoot me now.”

  But Delia merely forced a semblance of a smile. She couldn't blame her sister for something that had happened naturally. Delia, Marta and Kyle had always been watchdogs for each other, and since Delia had discovered that she was pregnant, Marta had been doing things like that whenever she and Delia were together. Delia knew it was a reflex by now. It was just that ordinarily they were in private when it happened and for this to be the first public announcement couldn't have been worse timing.

  “Well, congratulations!” Gwen said as if the news pleased her more than there was any reason for it to.

  “So Meals Like Mom's is really going to have a mom,” Jack pointed out. “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you. All around,” Delia said, fighting mortification and wishing Andrew would stop boring into her with the gaze she was trying not to return.

  “Pregnant?”

  Andrew muttered so quietly it was barely audible. Which was good because it left Delia hoping no one else had picked up on the personal note she could have sworn she heard in his voice.

  Just when she didn't think this could get any worse, Gwen said, “When are you due?”

  Now that she'd come this far in the forging-ahead department, she could hardly stop by refusing to answer a perfectly common question. Even if it did feel as if she were exposing herself even more. But the best she could do was a barely audible, “Six months.”

  Her sister jumped in. “But that isn't what we came here to talk about tonight, is it?” Marta said, her own voice a touch too bright and an octave higher than it should have been. “We came to discuss advertising and we've put it off long enough.”

  “My fault,” Andrew said.

  Delia's glance went involuntarily to him at that, unsure for a split second what he was confessing to.

  But then he continued. “I promise to make amends for keeping you all waiting.”

  “Waiting. Right,” Delia said in relief. “Well, let's not wait any longer,” she said and ushered them into talking business, counting on Marta to pay close attention because just making it through this dinner was going to be about as much as Delia could pull off. She knew she wasn't going to retain a word that was said about anything from then on.

  Not now that the cat was out of the bag.

  To a man she'd been absolutely sure she'd never see again.

  “Why don't you and I discuss a few more things over a drink at the bar?”

  It was Gwen Davis's suggestion to Andrew when the dinner meeting was concluded and everyone had stood to leave. Gwen had been less than subtle all through the meal, making it clear that she wanted to get to know Andrew better. On a personal level.

  Delia had repeatedly reminded herself that there was no reason for her to feel anything whatsoever about that. That she had no hold over Andrew. That he'd been nothing but a vacation fling for her. She'd also told herself that it shouldn't matter to her under any circumstances. Not even her current ones.

  But Gwen's interest in Andrew still irked Delia to no end.

  So it was satisfying when Andrew rejected the advance.

  But it was less satisfying and far more stress inducing when he then hung back, took Delia's arm to draw her nearer, and said close to her ear, “Actually, I was hoping to persuade you to have a cup of coffee with me. Alone. I thought we could catch up. Talk…”

  Feeling as if she couldn't refuse, Delia said a reluctant, “All right.”

  Marta had overheard the exchange and with the same apologetic expression that had been on her face every time she'd looked at Delia since the comment that had revealed Delia's pregnancy, she said, “Shall I stay?”

  Delia knew her half sister was offering moral support and although Delia really could have used it she couldn't accept it. For whatever reason fate had arranged this that she'd never thought would happen, she was going to have to face it—and Andrew—on her own.

  “No, it's okay. Go on home to Henry. I'll see you tomorrow,” Delia told her, forcing herself to appear more confident than she felt.

  “You're sure?”

  “I'm sure. It'll be okay.”

  Marta looked from Delia to Andrew and back again, then she leaned in to whisper to Delia, “I'm so sorry.”

  “It's okay,” Delia repeated.

  Jack Hanson, Gwen and Marta left then and Andrew motioned to the restaurant's bar. “How about in there? It looks quiet.”

  Delia nodded and, for the third time, said weakly, “Okay.”

  Andrew ushered her to a small round table in a dimly lit corner of the bar. As he seated her, he said, “I know, no sour-apple martinis. So what will it be? Coffee? Tea? Milk?”

  Delia nearly flinched at the mention of the sour-apple martinis that had gotten her into trouble in Tahiti. “Coffee is fine. Decaf.”

  Andrew called the order to the waitress who had begun to approach them and then sat across from Delia.

  Not too far across, though. The table was very small and the chairs were positioned so that when Andrew took the other one his knees were only inches from touching Delia's.

  It was something she was more aware of than she wanted to be. Just as she was suddenly more aware of how fantastic he looked in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit, and matching dove-gray shirt and tie.

  And all she could think was that she was glad it was too early for her to be showing or to have put on weight anywhere but in her breasts. Breasts that somehow seemed to be jutting forward a bit more now…

  “You look great,” Andrew said after a moment of studying her, as well. “I still can't believe I'm here with you. I've thought about you more than I want to admit. Tahiti wasn't the same after you left.”

  His handsome face erupted into a smile that was a little lopsided to let her know he was joking. Or at least that he was joking to the extent that not much could diminish how incredible Tahiti was whether she was there or not. But the mention of the island offered Delia a way to delay the inevitable and she seized it.

  “Your brother said you just got back from vacation today. Does that mean you were in Tahiti three months ago and took another trip now?”

  The quirk of Andrew's lopsided smile increased. “No, I was in Tahiti all along.”

  “Really?” Delia said, unable to keep the surprise out of her voice. “Hanson Media G
roup must have a liberal vacation benefit.”

  That made the smile waver and dim somewhat. “To be honest, today is my first day working for the company.”

  The waitress brought their coffees then, and when she'd left, Andrew said, “But we don't want to talk about that. I've had enough of business for one day. I want to talk about you. And what you've been doing since Tahiti.”

  There was a quizzical note to his voice, as if he were wondering about a secret romance she might have had.

  “I've just been working since Tahiti,” she said as if that should have gone without saying.

  Andrew nodded but Delia had the impression that he was still on a fact-finding mission, even when he said, “I didn't get to congratulate you before. About the baby.”

  “Thank you?” she said, forming a question with her inflection because she wasn't sure how she was supposed to respond.

  “So, when we were in Tahiti you told me you weren't involved with anyone and hadn't been in a long, long while,” he said then. “Were you fudging the truth? Or considering yourself technically free because you were on vacation?”

  He was definitely testing her.

  “I wasn't fudging anything,” Delia said. “I wasn't involved with anyone and hadn't been.”

  “Then you must have met someone as soon as you got back?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The baby—it's due in six months, if my math is right, that makes you three months pregnant.”

  Delia stared at him, searching those traffic-stopping features for some sign of what was going on with him.

  She'd been certain that Marta's comment had spilled the beans. So either Andrew hadn't put two and two together, or he was playing some kind of cat-and-mouse game. Was he feeling her out in hopes that he would learn that someone else was the father?

  As she studied him it struck her that Jack Hanson had referred to Andrew as his younger brother. And since Jack Hanson seemed to be about Delia's age, she began to wonder just how old Andrew was. If he was young enough to be that naive.

  “Are you all right?” he asked when she'd let silence lapse for too long.