though Jenny’s lawyer had insisted it was the only thing she could do. You don’t have a case. You’ll hurt the child more if you fight for her—let her think she’s going to stay—and then lose her anyway. If Kathy really hadn’t wanted Mitch Oliver to be Crystal’s guardian, she would have changed her will. The lawyer had reminded Jenny—as if she’d needed any reminders—that she had enough to worry about in her own life.
Jenny’s stomach gave another quick heave, and she pressed a hand to it. At any moment one of the other women who worked at Kyle Development might walk through that door, and it wouldn’t do for the polished-up and buttoned-down Jenny Litton to be standing in front of a mirror watching herself cry.
She pasted on a smile and headed out the door.
“Oh, there you are.” Her secretary, Yvonne Rolland, looked up from her desk as Jenny passed. “It’s eight o’clock. I thought maybe you weren’t in yet. That would be strange, non?” Yvonne had a French mother and was given to sprinkling in a little of the language.
Jenny nodded, taking a stack of mail Yvonne handed her, wondering when Yvonne would notice how much time she was spending in the ladies’ room. In a few weeks it wouldn’t matter anyway; everyone would know her secret.
She’d told Kathy. Kathy, I’m pregnant and I’m scared. Delane doesn’t want the baby. Kathy had looked shocked for less than a second and then she’d hugged her friend. Well, I never thought this would happen to you. Okay, I know how much you loved Delane. It’s going to be tough seeing him at the office, but you’ll be okay. Women have babies on their own these days.
Well, maybe other women made those kinds of mistakes, but Jennifer Litton didn’t, and the shame of it washed over her.
She’d slept with her boss.
She bit her lip, took a few steps away and pretended to sort through her mail. As office manager, Jenny supervised a relatively small staff—just a couple of secretaries, the payroll clerk and the eight-person sales crew that sold upscale properties in Hilton Head. Her co-workers knew she’d broken up with Delane a month ago, but not why.
“Uh, Jenny?” Yvonne hesitated, then said, “I thought you’d like to know. Delane is back in town. He’s coming by the office today at ten. He wants to have a meeting with everyone. It’s important, he said. You’ll need to be there, too.”
She squeezed her eyes shut for a second. Not today, she thought.
“I’m sorry,” her secretary said softly.
“It’s all right.” She’d fallen out of love with Delane Kyle for good the day he’d offered to pay for an abortion, but not offered to take any responsibility for their baby. Reflexively, she put a light hand on her belly. Don’t worry, baby, I want you very, very much.
“Well, I’m glad you’re not mooning over him. I know it’ll be awkward.” Yvonne averted her eyes.
Jenny put her chin up. “I can handle it.” She’d known that if she kept her job at Kyle Development, she’d certainly see Delane from time to time.
She wanted more than anything to turn tail and run, to go someplace where nobody would ever need to know about the circumstances of her pregnancy.
But she was hanging on to her job. Overseeing the Hilton Head office was a respectable job, one with good pay and benefits. Benefits the baby would need.
Besides, she wasn’t the only one who ought to be ashamed. Let Delane Kyle feel the good hot scald of it. Let him watch her belly grow and go home and try to sleep at night!
The thought of his discomfort gave her some satisfaction, and by the time she and her co-workers gathered in the large conference room, Jenny felt more in control.
“Wonder what’s up?” That was Rick Caldwell, one of Kyle’s best salespeople. He poured himself a cup of coffee and took his seat at the shiny conference table facing Jenny. “I mean besides the obvious.”
Sales of the expensive condominiums ringing Hilton Head’s newest golf course had hit a bit of a snag.
Rick stroked his mustache. “I can’t understand it. The economy’s good, and the population’s aging and playing more golf. Hilton Head’s been overbuilt, but hell, when hasn’t it been?”
No one answered. People stirred their coffee or shuffled papers. Jenny finally spoke up. “Things will work out. I really think this slump is just a hiccup.”
Rick gave her a thumbs-up. “Yeah, you’re right. Not like me to be so down, and really, I do think with some more time, some more advertising in the bigger newspapers…Hell, maybe if Delane would stop being such a playboy in Charleston and pay a little more attention to what’s going on down here—” He stopped abruptly.
“That’s all right,” Jenny said quickly. She looked around the room, and realized people were watching her while pretending not to. “Don’t worry about it. I told you, Delane and I aren’t seeing each other anymore.” She swallowed. She was respected at the office, but she knew what people thought—she was a good manager, fair and organized, but a little cool, a little unapproachable. Even though she’d got used to it, the realization sometimes hurt.
One of the sales staff, an older man, cleared his throat. “I wish Delane didn’t have so much on his plate. So many projects going forward so fast, we could use him here…”
There was some generalized grumbling, and Jenny was grateful she was no longer the center of attention. She checked her watch. Ten after ten. Delane was late as usual. The conference room was glass on three sides, bright with a nice view. But the sun streaming in made it warm. That was the reason she had perspiration on her lip again. She took a quick swipe with her finger and her eye caught the portrait that hung on the one solid wall.
Delane Kyle, the youngest son of one of Charleston, South Carolina’s, premier families. He’d apparently been considered a bit wild in his younger days, but when he’d come into his trust fund, he’d turned into quite a businessman, with holdings here and at Myrtle Beach to the north. Kyle Development, the company he’d founded, had grown very fast.
Delane Kyle was handsome in a lean, smooth kind of way.
Not like Mitch Oliver.
Jenny’s mind conjured Mitch. He was not smooth. He was tall, with shoulders as wide as the island, and everything about him was big. Dark hair, a little shaggy, an emphatic wedge of a nose, a faint scar below his eye. Though his features were blunt, they were as regular as if they’d been carved by a sculptor who’d really known what he was doing. She pictured his unmanicured, competent-looking hands, that masculine, barest stubble of a dark beard—
For heaven’s sake! She’d been thinking about Mitch Oliver for two weeks. Didn’t she have enough on her plate without mooning over a man she barely knew? She pulled out the schedule of the week’s sales presentations and made herself concentrate.
At ten twenty-five, Yvonne opened the door and stuck her head in. “Sorry, folks. I just got word. Delane isn’t coming.”
There was some low-key grumbling before Yvonne continued, “His lawyer’s here.”
At that moment, Timothy Suddington stepped around Yvonne and into the room.
The staff exchanged glances as Suddington went to
