and three—and then picked up again as people slipped in to get a container to take home for dinner. So this was when Mel took her break and Cally took to the shop floor—if she hadn’t already. She could have one of the kitchen staff do it, but she liked keeping an eye on the customers. Seeing firsthand which soups were most popular. Talking to the customers about what they liked, what they didn’t.
Thankfully today the quiet hour was really quiet and after a few late-lunching customers Cally was able to sit on the stool behind the counter and listlessly flick through the latest addition to Mel’s pile of bridal mags. Over two thousand pages of powder-puff or meringuey dresses to choke over.
She couldn’t seem to stop thinking about Blake. She was getting so bad she’d decided to make a soup in his honour. Something with even more texture and bite—because he certainly had both—and one taste would never be enough. It would be so divine the customers would be beating down the door to get more. If only she could distil and bottle the essence of him she’d be a billionaire businesswoman and not merely a millionaire heiress.
She really needed to stop thinking about him, because she was not going to beat down his door. Not going to be another statistic along his highway of conquests. She’d taken her leave early and wasn’t going back. But, hell, she couldn’t stop the fantasies.
She channelled the desire and debated the bite—chilli, definitely chilli, in a big, thick soup to satisfy the hungriest of appetites. She knew what it was to be hungry and she knew how well he could fill her.
She glanced again at the clock and saw with relief the hands had finally moved and Mel should be back any moment so she could slither to her office, or maybe home. This damn bug was taking for ever to work its way out of her system. Lovesick, she mocked bitterly, that was what she was—or lust-sick.
The door opened and Cally dragged herself to her feet, not wanting to look such a layabout in front of a customer.
The blonde was pretty and as pregnant as it was possible to be. She looked puffy in the face and hot and Cally was amazed she wanted soup at all. She looked at the fridge and gave Cally a conspiratorial grin.
‘Do you have any cold soups?’
‘Like gazpacho?’
As Cally moved the nausea rose and the walls started wobbling. Oh, hell, she wasn’t going to faint again, was she?
‘Are you OK?’ Curious concern was clear in her customer’s gaze and Cally lowered hers to avoid it. She stared at the round belly. A sudden suspicion gripped her. She felt warmth flooding into her cheeks. She managed to ask.
‘When are you due?’
‘Just over a month.’
And the thoughts swirling in her head were so dizzying, so impossible and yet so true. She couldn’t believe it. Could hardly dare to think it. Excitement and hope and incredulity flooded her and in the craziness her brain decided it couldn’t cope—it needed to descend into darkness to meditate on the idea a while.
She came round and stared into Mel’s concerned face.
‘Cally, not again!’ Mel was on her knees beside her, clutching at Cally’s upper arms, rubbing them as if she were cold.
Cally threw her a ‘settle down’ look.
Mel wasn’t having it. ‘You have to go home. See a doctor. This has gone on too long to be some bug.’
Cally looked over to see if the customer had left. No. The pregnant woman was looking right back at her. For a suspended moment their gazes met and meshed. Recognition flowed between the two. A shared knowledge.
Cally grinned, the first huge, natural beam in three weeks. Unstoppable delight. And the curious question in the customer’s eye settled into certainty.
‘Mel, I’m fine. Really. I’m absolutely fine. In fact, I’m fantastic.’
‘I’ve got that info you wanted.’
It was first thing the day after he’d asked her. Judith could always be relied upon to deliver the goods. He’d hired her immediately on application. She had drive, dedication and was completely and utterly competent. And she was thoroughly in love with her husband, which meant there wasn’t any risk of unwanted attraction or distraction. He wasn’t looking forward to having to replace her. She also had a social networking system like no one else he’d ever encountered. Which was why she’d been the one to hit up unsuspecting males for the bachelor auction.
Today he could see she looked agitated. Usually her eyes sparkled and good humour shone from her—even when he was being demanding. But now she looked troubled and, yes, apprehensive. He sat very still and braced himself. Whatever it was, she didn’t want to tell him and that gave him the feeling he didn’t want to hear it.
‘Tell all.’
‘You know the state of the business already—you can see from the sales sheet there. I’ve pulled the most recent mentions in the paper—social stories as well as business. Seems she’s pretty active in the charity scene although not obviously so. No significant male interest. In fact you could say she’s conspicuously single. She’s known as a workaholic.’
‘What else?’ He gripped the pencil that little bit tighter. ‘Spit it out, Judith.’
His secretary sighed and looked him straight in the eye. ‘I think she might be pregnant.’
‘What?’
‘I think she’s pregnant.’
Blake picked up the two pieces of the pencil and tossed them into the rubbish bin by his desk, leaned back in his chair and tried, vainly, for a relaxed pose. ‘What makes you say that?’
The uncomfortable look increased. ‘I have no concrete evidence. But I do have intuition, Blake, and she was fainting and she looked at me, looked at my tummy and I just know it, Blake. I know it.’
Judith did not get things wrong. He knew to trust her judgment. If she thought there was good reason to suspect anything, then he’d suspect it.
‘Early on, I’d say. She’s not showing or anything. In fact, I think she’s still getting used to it herself. Certainly keeping it to herself—she hasn’t told her staff.’
Blake stared into middle distance. Judith’s voice faded as he thought about the possibilities. The implications. Then he remembered what she’d said—that she was never having children, that nothing was more important to her than her business. He’d assumed she meant she was covered contraception-wise. A career girl through and through. Just like Paola.
She’d better not be just like Paola.
He swore—short, sharp and loud. He was not going to be shut out again. He was not going to be robbed of all power. He’d get in there and make damn sure his baby was all right. Nothing would happen to another child of his. He wouldn’t let it—not this time.
She’d been so adamant about her business being her priority. His eyes narrowed, as did his concentration. This was the business about whose future she was unsure—how unsure? Exactly how honest had she been with him? What the hell kind of game was she playing?
He
