The Baby Plan

Mission: the pitter-patter of tiny feet

Amanda Fleming is young, super-successful… and has a biological clock that couldn’t be ticking louder if it tried. Meeting gorgeous blue-eyed Daniel Redford just sends it into total overdrive! With his charm and movie-star good looks, if she was looking for dad-material, he’d be her number one choice!

It was only a fun daydream, but then Daniel asks her out. Getting to know the man behind the smile is an irresistibly delicious temptation, but it turns out single dad Daniel has family responsibilities of his own already. So how will he react when Amanda must tell him he’s going to be a dad again…?

The Baby Plan

Liz Fielding

Table of Contents

Cover

Blurb

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

‘A BABY? You’ve decided to have a baby?’ Amanda Garland Fleming said nothing, merely waited for her Business Manager to retrieve her chin from the office floor. ‘Excuse me?’ Beth’s laugh was definitely of the ‘hold on—you’re kidding me’ variety. ‘Have I missed something here? Something basic. Like a husband? Or a live-in partner? I didn’t even know you were seeing someone. Not that seriously, anyway.’ She glanced at the calendar. ‘It’s not April Fool’s day, is it?’

Straight to the point. No messing. That was Beth.

Since the early autumn sunshine slanting through the window suggested that the question was purely rhetorical, Amanda ignored it. ‘Could you ask Jane to pop out and pick up these books for me, when she has a moment?’

Beth’s eyebrows rose sharply as she skimmed the list that contained every childcare book from Dr Spock to Penelope Leach. ‘A little light … er … bedtime reading?’

‘Research. I like to have a thorough grasp of the subject.’

‘Then let’s hope a ‘‘thorough grasp of the subject’’ is sufficient to bring you to your senses. You might even notice the flaw in your plan. Making a baby takes two, darling; not even the legendary organisational talent of Amanda Garland can manage that particular miracle single-handed.’

‘On the contrary. The wonders of science ensure that a man—at least, the kind of man that requires nurturing, feeding and an endless supply of clean shirts—is now redundant.’

Beth’s eyes sparked with mischief. ‘Fun, though.’

Amanda knew better than to be drawn along that path. ‘The books,’ she repeated. ‘And some folic acid.’

‘Folic acid?’

‘Vital for the healthy development of the neural tube. My doctor advised starting to take it before I get pregnant.’

‘You’ve talked to your doctor about this? What did she say?’

‘She said, ‘‘Start taking folic acid.’’’

Beth waited a moment, clearly hoping that she was going to laugh, say, just kidding. When it didn’t happen she said, ‘This isn’t a joke is it? You’re going to have a baby?’

Amanda had been in total control of her life since she was eighteen years old and had never once doubted a decision taken or looked back with regret. Now, a successful businesswoman on the cusp of her thirtieth year, she had taken stock of her life, considered where she wanted to be when the big four zero beckoned. She had already decided on changes to her business, on expansion into new areas, taking the Garland name out of the office and into the home. But that hadn’t been enough.

‘Well, it’s still in the planning stage—’

‘Planning stage!’

It was Amanda’s turn to smile. ‘You’ve heard of family planning, haven’t you?’ It was all going to be very simple. She wanted a child of her own, and with her thirtieth birthday looming on the horizon and her biological clock ticking with increasing urgency it was time to do what she was particularly good at. Make a plan, carry it through and achieve her goal. She had never needed a man to hold her hand before, and the advancement of science ensured that she could manage without one now.

Beth’s expression, however, suggested that she didn’t see it that way. ‘You’re talking about having a baby as if it’s just another business deal. Have you any idea what motherhood will do to your life?’

‘Well, yes. That’s why I’m planning ahead. I’ve been giving a lot of thought to the problem of getting the right nanny.’

‘Nanny?’ Beth’s voice rose a notch.

‘Have you any idea how big the demand is? My sister-in-law’s baby isn’t due until the end of January, but Jilly has already started interviewing. It seems to me that it’s an area crying out for the Garland touch.’

Beth grabbed the change of subject with both hands and ran with it. ‘We have more work than we can handle just keeping up with the demand for our secretaries.’ She paused. Amanda said nothing. ‘Domestics, maybe,’ she conceded, doubtfully. ‘We’d need more staff, bigger offices, of course—’

‘The ground-floor offices are becoming vacant shortly. They will be perfect.’

Beth opened her mouth, closed it again, then said, ‘It’s a specialised market, Amanda.’

The intercom buzzed from Reception. ‘The driver wants to know how much longer he’s going to have to wait, Miss Garland. The traffic warden is getting restive.’

‘I’m coming now,’ she said, rising to her feet, gathering her document case and her laptop.

‘Amanda! You can’t just leave …’

‘We’ll talk on Monday. I only mentioned it now because I want you to do a couple of things for me. Walk me down to the street.’ She headed for the door. ‘First, I want you to contact the Department of Employment and find out what, if any, regulations there are relating to the employment of nannies. And find out what you can about training, qualifications, that sort of thing.’

‘And the second thing?’

Amanda pulled open the heavy glass street door. ‘Give my doctor’s office a call and ask her receptionist to make an appointment with the clinic for me.’

Daniel Redford, leaning against the bulk of the Mercedes, checked his watch impatiently and glanced up at the first-floor offices of the Garland Secretarial Agency. So much for the fabulous Garland Girls. They were reputed to be the classiest, best-qualified temps in town, but punctuality clearly wasn’t one of their virtues.

‘You going to be there much longer?’ The traffic warden had already passed him once. Before he could answer, the door to the agency opened and his passenger emerged, all apologies.

‘I’m so sorry to keep you waiting.’ Daniel had a swift impression of gloss. Sleek, dark hair, a gleaming mouth, a pair of silvery grey eyes that included the traffic warden in a sunburst smile that would have won his dilatory passenger forgiveness for anything. ‘I had a few loose ends to tie up.’ Low and husky, her voice stroked against his skin like fur, and as she looked up at him Dan felt as if the ground was shifting dangerously beneath his feet.

She could tie him up any time. Hell, he’d have himself gift-wrapped and delivered …

Then, as Dan moved swiftly to open the car door, still reeling from the stunning effect of so much classy womanhood, he took the knock-out blow of her legs as she stepped up into the rear of the car. Legs clad in sheer black nylon beneath a skirt that did little more than peep from beneath the long line of her dark grey jacket—legs stretched almost to infinity by a pair of very high, very slender heels. The traffic warden saw them too, flashed him a grin that said ‘lucky devil’ before he shrugged and moved on.

Dan cleared his throat. ‘No problem. We’re all over the place ourselves this morning.’

‘Are you?’ Amanda, still enjoying the shocked look on Beth’s face as she’d let the door swing shut, leaned across to put her laptop and document case on the seat. Then she realised that the driver still had the door open. She glanced up into a pair of smoky-blue eyes that for just a moment made her heart miss a beat; smoky-blue eyes that shone out of the kind of sun-weathered face that a man gets when he spends as much of his time as possible out of doors.

And that was before he smiled. It wasn’t exactly a textbook smile. It was a lop-sided, conspiratorial affair, a lift at one corner of his mouth that pulled the deep lines etched down his cheeks into sharp relief. For some reason it made her think of a pirate with a cutlass between his teeth.

‘Yes?’ Her mouth felt as if she’d been chewing blotting paper.

‘You won’t forget your seat belt?’ he prompted, before closing the door.

‘What?’ Then, ‘Oh, yes.’ A deeply caring pirate. She gave herself a firm, mental shake and clicked the seat belt into place. ‘Why?’ she asked as he eased himself into the driving seat and started the powerful engine before glancing over his shoulder at the traffic.

‘Why what?’

‘Why are you all over the place?’ She found such details interesting. It was paying attention to those kind of details that had made her so successful. And she wanted to keep him talking.

‘We’re a man short,’ he explained, as he waited for a gap in the traffic. ‘The driver booked for this job had to rush off to the hospital.’

‘An accident?’

‘I wouldn’t care to comment on that.’ He grinned. ‘His wife is having a baby.’

Baby. The word triggered that gooey feeling that had been with her for weeks. She’d put on that high-powered, organised career woman faćade this morning because it was the only way she knew how to handle it. Beth was the gooey one. The one who fell in love at the drop of a hat, who sighed over babies. She’d thought she was immune.

Then her brother had announced that his new wife was pregnant.

Her mother had been so thrilled at the prospect of finally becoming a grandmother after giving up hope of either of her children doing the decent thing. She’d been delighted, too. After brushing aside that infinitesimal moment of chilling emptiness, of something that might just have been envy.

Brushed it aside, but not away. It had refused to leave her, which was probably why she had found herself in the baby department of a nearby department store a few days later, looking for a suitable gift for her first niece or nephew. Something pretty to decorate the nursery being prepared for the new baby.

She had only intended to spend ten minutes picking out some fluffy toy. Then she’d seen this tiny pair of velvet baby boots. White. Soft as down. With the littlest turn-back cuff.

A baby. ‘Her first?’ Amanda asked, on an odd little catch of breath, in a voice she scarcely recognised as her own.

‘Her fourth.’

Four babies. Amanda immediately found herself assailed by the image of four little bundles wrapped in white with blue ribbons, each one with smoky-blue eyes and a lop-sided smile. That was how it had been for weeks. Just the word was enough to trigger all kinds of fantasies.

‘She’s done it three times and she still needs her husband to hold her hand? How pathetic,’ she said, her tongue firmly in her cheek. How romantic, the unexpectedly soft centre whispered.

Daniel turned his head a little further and saw that his lovely passenger was smiling. Encouraged, he said, ‘To be honest, I think it’s more a case of her holding his.’ An hour ago Dan had been cursing the woman for going into labour early when they were so busy, forcing him to cancel a meeting and take out one of the cars himself. Quite suddenly he was prepared to take the philosophical view. ‘Men are such wimps.’

‘I’ll take your word for it.’ Not that she believed he was a wimp. Not for a minute. Not even the crisply efficient Miss Garland thought that. And her soft centre was absolutely certain that he would be a tower of strength, holding her hand, wiping her brow, reminding her when to breathe, when to pant. Stop it, right now! she ordered her hyperactive imagination. Then, as he waited for an opening in the seemingly endless string of traffic, she made a determined effort to pull herself together, concentrate on the matter in hand. ‘How long will it take to get to The Beeches? Can we make it by ten?’

‘I’ll do my best, but I’m running short of miracles for this week.’

Her groan was heartfelt. She should have left the minute the car had arrived, but she’d needed to sound out Beth. Without her support the whole thing would be a lot more complicated. She was going to need someone to mop her brow and hold her hand. Modern science might offer the perfect solution to her needs, but it wouldn’t be there to offer any of those extras, any of those tender touches.

‘Relax. If Miss Garland gives you a hard time for being late just suggest she tries driving through Knightsbridge at this time in the morning.’ His eyes crinkled in another of those killer smiles.

Miss Garland? He didn’t know? Didn’t realise who she was? It was her turn to smile.

‘And who shall I say sent the message?’

There was a hint of laughter in her voice and Dan glanced again at the mirror to check out what that mouth was doing. Actually, her mouth was worth looking at just for itself. Scarlet red and sexy as hell. ‘Daniel Redford. At your service, ma’am.’

‘I’ll be sure to tell her, Daniel Redford. In the meantime, since you’re at my service, will you please do your best to get me there on time?’

‘I’ll certainly try,’ he said, and, glancing over his shoulder, edged the car away from the kerb, forcing a cab driver to give way to him. The cab driver did not like it and expressed his feelings forcefully. Dan merely smiled and raised a hand in a gesture of thanks, as if the cabbie had given way politely. ‘I’ve heard she’s a bit of an old tartar,’ he said. ‘Your Miss Garland.’

‘Have you?’ The lady with the beautiful mouth seemed surprised. ‘Who told you that?’

‘She’s famous for it. Efficiency with a capital E. Are you a new girl?’

‘Er … no.’ The tartar in question wondered briefly what he would say if she told him the truth. She resisted the temptation. This was far more entertaining. ‘I’ve been with the agency since the very beginning.’

‘Oh, well, you’ll know all about her. What’s she like?’

‘I thought you knew all about her.’

He shrugged. ‘Only gossip.’

‘And the gossips say that she’s a tartar? No, wait, an efficient tartar.’

‘A very rich, efficient tartar I would imagine, if she charges the kind of fees that include chauffeur driven cars for her secretaries.’

He was making it up as he went along, she decided. Just to keep her talking. The thought made her want to smile. She tried very hard not to. ‘Her standards are certainly very high.’

‘I don’t suppose she’d approve of one her ‘‘girls’’ chatting with a common chauffeur, then?’

As long as they looked the part and did a good job, her ‘girls’ could chatter to whomsoever they wished, in their own time. ‘Are you common?’ she asked.

Amanda didn’t think so for a minute. His accent was pure London, but the streets had been pretty effectively scrubbed from it. And from the brief impression she’d had of him as he’d opened the door, waited for her to fasten her seat belt, she knew that few men of her acquaintance could have matched him for physical presence. He topped her by a head, with shoulders that could have borne the troubles of the world and the kind of bone structure that gave a face character. She catalogued his attributes and found none of them wanting. And there had been something distinctly uncommon about those eyes.

It occurred to Amanda that if she had been looking for a man, rather than a sperm donation, she would be hard pressed to find a more attractive proposition. The thought settled low in her abdomen and lingered there.

Was he common? It wasn’t the answer Daniel had expected, but it was certainly the one he deserved. He’d made the kind of remark that would leave a girl appearing snobbish, feeling uncomfortable if she didn’t answer, chose not to engage in conversation. Hardly the way to treat a paying customer, even if someone else was doing the paying.

He was pleased that she hadn’t fallen for it, but then his passenger was hardly a girl. She was a self-assured and very beautiful woman, far too mature to be taken in by that kind of line—by any kind of line for that matter. Looking the way she did, she was bound to have heard them all before. It would take originality to catch this lady’s attention, to hold it. It occurred to him that it was a long time since he’d met a woman capable of holding his.

‘I was a docklands brat,’ he said, leaving it for her to decide. ‘In the days when there were still docks worthy of the name.’ He still was, he realised, and smiled at the thought. He hadn’t moved very far from his roots.

‘In the days before the warehouses were bought by developers and converted into luxury homes for the seriously rich?’ He had been direct, assuming that the truth would put a brake on the conversation, but her mouth widened in another of those smiles. ‘A bit of a tearaway, were you?’

Got it in one. ‘I’m a model citizen these days,’ he assured her.

‘Mmm.’

The sound portrayed a world of doubt and Daniel laughed. Flirting was a bit like riding a bicycle; there might be a bit of a wobble when you hadn’t done it for a while, but it soon came back.

‘What about you?’ he asked.

Nice teeth, Amanda thought, looking at his smile reflected in the rear view mirror. Then gave herself a mental slap for checking him out feature by feature. As if she were looking over a stud horse. Nice mouth. ‘Am I a model citizen?’

‘That’s a given; after all you’re a Garland Girl. Highly trained, beautifully groomed and guaranteed trustworthy.’

Her shoulders lifted half a centimetre. The public relations image was still in place and doing the job, she was happy to note. It was the quality image she intended to exploit to the full with her plans for expansion. ‘I told you, Miss Garland has very high standards.’

‘Bad-tempered old tartars always use that excuse.’ Stuck fast in rush hour traffic, with nothing to do but look in his mirror at his passenger, he saw her mouth begin to form a protest, then give a little half-smile as if she were secretly amused by his less than flattering description of her boss, but she refused to join in. ‘How did you get to be one of the famous Garlands Girls?’ he prompted.

She’d been born to it, that was how. Garland had been her mother’s maiden name and she’d suggested that Amanda use it when she started the agency, rather than the family name of Fleming, just in case it had all gone pear-shaped. She’d been irritated at the time by this apparent lack of faith, but then a journalist doing a feature on secretarial agencies had coined the phrase ‘Garland Girls’ to describe her particular brand of educated, classy temps and it had stuck—become a brand-name almost. She was seriously thinking of trademarking it.

But she wasn’t about to tell this flirtatious chauffeur any of that. No matter how attractive his mouth, or uncommon his eyes. Or wicked his smile. ‘I took a secretarial course so that I could help my father. When he didn’t need me any more, I looked around for something else to do.’ Well, it was the truth, as far as it went.

‘I suppose if you’re going to be a temp, you might as well work for the best,’ he agreed.

‘Even if the boss is a bad-tempered old tartar?’ She saw his eyes reflected in the rearview mirror. He was looking straight at her and for just a moment she thought he knew, that he had simply been teasing her. Then the traffic began to move and he looked away as he eased the car forward.

‘Don’t you have any ambitions beyond temping?’

More than ambitions. Plans. Business plans and personal plans. And today she had put them into action. ‘Is all you ever wanted to be a driver?’ she countered.

Well, he’d asked for that, Daniel reflected. And when you came right down to it they both worked for other people by the hour. ‘I get to meet some interesting people that way,’ he said. And meant it.

‘So do I.’

There was something about that voice, something soft and warm that curled around his gut and settled there like a warm puppy. He looked again in the mirror, couldn’t stop himself, but all he could see was her mouth, full and shining and very kissable.

Kissable? This was getting out of hand. He readjusted the mirror, slipped on a pair of dark glasses and decided it would be a whole lot more sensible to keep his entire attention fixed on the rear of the car in front. His mouth couldn’t have been wired up to the sensible part of his brain, though. ‘Sometimes I even get to know their names,’ he said, encouragingly.

‘Do you?’ Amanda had wondered how long it would be before he got around to asking her name and she had looked forward to telling him. Looked forward to saying, I’m Amanda Garland. The old tartar. How d’you do? Watch him flinch. Instead she found herself saying, ‘I’m Mandy Fleming.’

Well, so she was. Her father had called her Mandy. Her brother still did. And Garland, after all, was just her professional name. Her company name. The old tartar’s name.

‘Isn’t that the old tartar’s name?’

His words echoed the ones in her head, mocking her. He had known all along … Who was going to look the idiot now?

‘Isn’t that your boss’s name?’ he repeated, when she didn’t reply. ‘Amanda Garland? Mandy’s short for Amanda isn’t it?’

Amanda released the breath she had been holding a touch too long. Why else would she feel breathless? ‘No one ever calls her anything but Miss Garland when I’m around,’ she said, with feeling. Except Beth, but they had been together since the beginning. She’d been the first temp she taken on her books and within a week had been running the office for her.

‘Definitely not a Mandy, eh?’

He had put on a pair of dark glasses and his eyes were hidden. ‘Not in the office,’ she agreed.

He stopped talking then, as the traffic began to move, and gave the business of getting out of London his full attention. For a moment she watched his hands as he manoeuvred the big car through the busy morning streets, then with a start she dragged her attention away, opened her laptop, switched it on, began to make some notes. But she found concentration tougher than usual. It had been so long since her heart-rate had picked up for anything except a workout at the gym that she’d almost forgotten how it felt.

She glanced out of the window at the relentless tedium of grey concrete office buildings as they sped along the Chiswick flyover. Nothing to distract her there, so she gave up trying to avoid staring at the back of Daniel Redford’s neck. He didn’t wear a cap, or uniform of any kind. The car hire company he worked for apparently dressed their drivers in wellcut grey double-breasted suits, a white shirt and burgundy tie with the company logo. Smart but unobtrusive. She made a note to think about what Garland nannies might wear.

Daniel’s bulk filled his suit to perfection. His light brown hair was skilfully cut, not too short, layered into his neck and brightened by the sun. Nice profile, too, what she could see of it from this angle. He had a good jaw line, hard cheekbones, and she remembered the kind of nose that looked as if it had lived life head-on. Not particularly pretty, but strong, like his big hands, with their long, square-tipped fingers, neatly trimmed nails. They held the wheel lightly, but he was a man in complete control of his environment, a man who would be in complete control of anything he touched …