No Ring Required: Millionaire's Calculated Baby Bid

Four

Mary sat in Little Bo and Peep’s baby shop, up to her eyeballs in terry cloth, stretch cotton, bouncy seats and black and white mobiles. For the past twenty minutes, she hadn’t been able to pick out a single thing for the nursery. She knew exactly what clothes she loved, what crib and bassinet she wanted, she even knew the drawer pulls she would pick out if this were all real. But designing a nursery for a child that didn’t exist was next to impossible. She felt like a total fraud and she wanted to give up.

The doorbell over the shop entrance jangled merrily, and Mary watched a young couple come through the door with excited grins. They oohed and aahed as they moved from one quaint set of nursery furniture set to the next, hands clasped tightly, the woman’s round stomach looking like a sweet watermelon. She wanted that. A real relationship, a real baby…something impossible to have with Ethan Curtis. Mary’s mind rolled back to the party and how it had ended. For the past two days she’d thought of nothing but him and that blonde, and her own irrational need to be with him again. She’d wondered what had happened after she’d left. Had Ethan met her by the pool? Did they go for a swim together? Allisonn—two Ls, two Ns—hadn’t seemed like the kind of woman who thought swimsuits were all that important.

Beside her, the young mother pointed at a tiny Minnesota Twins baseball cap and squealed with delight, catching Mary’s eye in the process. Mary forced a smile, then moved on to look at bathtubs and safety accessories. Why the hell did she care what Ethan did? Or who he did, for that matter? She had to get over this.

The saleswoman walked by her again with that look all salespeople give a person when they think you’re lingering without purpose.

Are you stealing or just indecisive?

“Right, I get it,” Mary grumbled under her breath as she abandoned the bath supplies and headed to the front of the store. Nothing was going to happen today. She wasn’t about to do any work on the nursery in her state of mind. If Ethan asked her how she was progressing, she’d just have to stall and—

“Mary?”

Coming into the shop just as Mary was exiting was a very elegant woman in her midseventies, dressed in a thin crepe navy blue suit, her white hair swept off her mildly wrinkled face in a tightly pinned chignon.

“Grandmother? What are you doing here?”

Grace Harrington surveyed her granddaughter, her perfectly arched brows lifting at the sight of Mary’s plain black pantsuit and slightly scuffed heels. To Grace Harrington, clothes were like Ziplock baggies, only good for one use.

“Pearl Edicott’s granddaughter is expecting twins,” her grandmother said in a pinched tone. “Pearl has the most horrific taste. It’s a very good thing she knows it.”

“Very good thing,” Mary repeated, smiling in spite of herself. Grace Harrington was an over-the-top snob, and if Mary had any sense, she’d probably detest her. After all, Grace wasn’t all that warm either, more days than not she found something wrong with Mary’s clothing or hairstyle, and she treated her help like they didn’t breathe the same air as she did. And then there was the fact that she had cut Mary’s mother out of her life when she’d married Hugh.

Yet, with all of that, Mary felt a connection with her, a strange admiration that went far beyond her wealth. Grace was smart, well-read and a stickler for speaking her mind. Mary could really respect that. She and her grandparents were rarely simpatico, but they were her blood, and had always wanted to be a part of her life, and strangely Mary’s mother had never discouraged her from seeing them.

Grace picked up two twin chenille baby robes that cost a hundred dollars each and eyed them closely. “And what are you doing here, my dear?”

“Designing a nursery for a client.”

“Ah, yes, your business. How is that going?”

“Great.”

Grace forgot about the robes for a moment and focused on Mary, her lips pursed. “This isn’t for one of those two-father homes, is it?”

“Not this time.”

“A couple, then?” She didn’t give Mary a chance to answer as she clucked her tongue disapprovingly. “A mother who doesn’t want to create her own child’s room. How modern.”

Mary was about to ask her grandmother if she herself had actually designed her own daughter’s nursery or if she’d hired three or four interior designers to make it happen, but she knew she’d probably get an answer that resembled something like, “It was my vision. As usual, the help was only there to execute it.”

“The nursery is for a single father actually,” Mary told her.

“Anyone I know?”

Mary’s brow lifted. “Now how many single fathers do you socialize with, Grandmother?”

Grace gave her a blank look. “None…that I know of.” Spotting a beautiful pink-and-blue blanket draped over one of the handcrafted armchairs, Grace turned her back on Mary. “Well, this chenille is lovely. It reminds me of the very one your mother carried around for years. If the maid even spoke of washing it, she would…” Grace stopped abruptly and cleared her throat.

Mary was grateful not to have to see the woman’s face in that moment. Turning toward a row of onesies, she quickly changed the subject. “Babies are really no bigger than dolls, are they?”

“For a short time, yes,” Grace replied softly. “But before you even realize it they are grown and deciding what they will wear and who they will marry without any input from you.”

“There you are.” A booming male voice broke through all the femininity. “I called your office and Olivia said you’d be—”

“Ethan?” In the heaviness of her conversation with Grace, Mary hadn’t heard the bell over the door. If she had heard—and seen—who was about to enter the shop, she would’ve been out the door in a matter of seconds. This was not good.

Ethan spotted Grace and changed instantly from casual guy to cynical business mogul. “Mrs. Harrington. What a pleasant surprise.”

“I doubt that,” the older woman said dryly.

Before her grandmother could connect the single father with Ethan, Mary said quickly, “I’m organizing several functions for Mr. Curtis.”

“Is that so?” Grace said, pursing her lips as if she’d just gotten a whiff of rotting fish, or as if the thought of her blue-blooded granddaughter working for the upstart who had basically stolen her family’s company made her want to throw up. “When did he hire you?”

In other words, how long has this been going on and why was I not informed?

“Just a few weeks ago,” Mary replied.

“And he has a meeting with you in a baby boutique?”

“No.”

No doubt sensing that Mary was floundering, Ethan jumped in to save her. “We were supposed to meet at the restaurant next door, but I saw your granddaughter in here and wanted to start early. As you know, Mrs. Harrington, I have little patience and zero time. I was in the neighborhood seeing a client and there was something I needed to discuss with Miss Kelley that couldn’t wait. Luckily she agreed to meet with me.”

“Luckily for you she agreed to take you on as a client, Mr. Curtis,” Grace said frigidly.

He nodded. “Your granddaughter is very talented.”

“A fact of which I am well aware.”

“Knowing that your granddaughter is planning the event, maybe you’ll reconsider the brunch on Saturday.”

“Perhaps,” she said tightly, then turned to Mary. “I have to run, my dear.”

“But the gift for the twins…”

“This shop is a little too new money for my taste, and you know how I despise that.” She didn’t have to look at Ethan to get her point across. “Your father is out of harm’s way now, I hear.”

“Yes,” Mary said, surprised her grandmother would bring something like that up, much less care.

“Nasty business, that. But we were in no position to help, unfortunately.” After two air kisses to Mary’s cheeks and nothing whatever for Ethan, she left them.

“That woman couldn’t hate me more if I spit on her shoe,” Ethan muttered.

“Oh, yes she could, but I wouldn’t advise trying it.”

“You’d think I stole the company right out from under their noses.”

“Didn’t you?”

He gave her a haughty look. “Harrington Corp. was in trouble. Your grandfather was really slipping. Clients weren’t getting serviced the way they had in the past and many were threatening to walk. I didn’t steal anything. If anything I saved that damn company.”

“Pretty much the same as stealing it, to my grandparents.” Mary took her cell phone out of her pocket and showed it to him. “Now, you have my phone number, right?”

“Yes.”

“Couldn’t you have called me instead of tracking me down?”

“Why? Did I embarrass you?” he asked coldly.

“Don’t be so thick, Curtis. I’m in a baby shop. I had to dance fast with my grandmother about why I was here, then why you were here—”

“I danced fast on that one,” he interrupted.

She ignored him. “You know I want to keep this quiet. I thought we both did.”

“I never said I wanted to keep anything quiet—”

“Hello, there.” The saleswoman who had been watching Mary for the past thirty minutes in annoyance joined them, completely smiley-faced and enthusiastic at the sight of Ethan. “Daddy’s here.”

Ethan looked pleased with the comment and nodded. “He is.”

“Would you and your wife like some lemonade before you get started?”

Mary snorted derisively and said, “I’m not his—”

“Yes, we would,” Ethan said, cutting her off before following the saleswoman to a small refreshment area.

For the next twenty minutes Mary sat beside Ethan and watched as the saleswoman laid blankets and rugs, hats and booties, washtubs and soothing lullaby CDs at Ethan’s feet as though he were the sultan of Bruni.

Feeling close to exploding if she stayed in the shop one more minute, Mary leaned in and whispered to Ethan, “I have to get back to the office,” then grabbed her purse and headed for the door.

He caught up with her, placing his hand on her arm. “We need to talk.”

“About?” she asked, trying to ignore the heat of his fingers searing into her skin.

“The brunch.”

“Call my office and we’ll set something up for tomorrow—”

“No, I’m the client. You can come to my office.” His jaw hardened, letting her know there was no denying his command. “Today, four-thirty.”

As she struggled to maintain her calm exterior, Mary fought the desire that simmered beneath. “Fine. Four-thirty.”

“You look exhausted.”

Not exactly the first thing a woman wants to hear when the man she finds overwhelmingly attractive opens his office door.

“Thanks,” Mary uttered sarcastically.

Ethan grinned, gestured toward the chocolate brown leather couch. “Sit down.”

“I’m fine.”

“We’re not going to discuss the brunch while you stand. This could take a while.”

“How long are you estimating?”

“Why? Do you have a date or something?”

Standing on either side of the coffee table, like two gunslingers, they stared at each other.

“Not the best joke I’ve made this week.”

“No.”

“Come on, have a seat,” Ethan said, dropping onto the plush leather and grinning.

On a weary sigh, she plunked down on the couch. “Okay, I’m sitting, now let’s start with the menu. I think we should go for a southern theme. Olivia has this New Mexican menu—Wait, what are you doing?”

Before Mary could stop him, Ethan had taken off her shoes and placed her feet in his lap. “I’m helping you to relax.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“I’ll tell you why not. I’m here for business not for pl—” She came to screeching halt, which made Ethan’s eyes glitter even more wickedly.

“If this helps,” he began. “Rubbing your aching feet is business. echnically.”

“I can’t wait to hear this.”

“It’s my job, my duty—my business, if you will. Or so I’ve read.”

She looked surprised. “You’ve been reading books on…”

“Pregnancy? Yep.”

“Seriously?”

He nodded. “Pregnancy, baby care, labor, postpartum, breastfeeding—”

“Okay, that’s enough,” she said, relaxing back into the couch as Ethan’s strong hands worked the tired knots in her arches. “Five minutes max.”

He laughed. “I’ve learned many useful things.”

“Like?” she asked, trying to keep her eyes open and the soft, cozy sound out of her voice.

“Like nausea and strange cravings are very normal in the first trimester.”

“Uh-huh.”

“So are leg cramps and exhaustion.”

“Yep.”

“And an unusually high sex drive.”

Her eyes flew open and she sat up, swung her legs to the floor. It took her a moment to tamp down the tremors of need running through her. She felt the urge so strongly, all she wanted him to do was continue touching her. She wanted his mouth on hers, nudging her lips apart with his tongue…“All right,” she said breathlessly. “Southern food, maybe Southwest or Cajun. What about having an autumn-barn-dance theme for your brunch?”

“A heavy sex drive is nothing to be ashamed of, Mary.”

She tilted her chin up. “I’ve never been ashamed of it.”

What she was saying dawned on him almost immediately, and his eyes lit with mischief, his lips parted sensuously.

“Now, can we get back to this?” she asked coolly.

He wouldn’t allow her to look away. “Nothing happened with Allisonn.”

Her heart skipped and she swallowed nervously. She wanted to tell him that she couldn’t care less about blondie, but he wouldn’t believe her. “This doesn’t sound like brunch discussion.”

“Mary…” he began, his voice the husky baritone she remembered from those nights at the lake.

“Listen, Curtis, what you do in your house, bedroom, pool, etcetera is your business. Let’s just get on with this.”

“Why are you so hard?”

“Bad genes,” she responded succinctly which made him laugh. “Not from my parents. They were angels. But they say attitude skips a generation.”

Shaking his head, he stared at her for a moment, then he stood up and reached for her. “Dance with me?”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“We’ll make it business related. Show me what you’re talking about with this barn concept. There’s got to be some dancing involved on my deck, right?”

“Yes, but there’s no music.”

“I could turn some on, but I don’t think we need it,” He touched his temple with his index finger. “It’s all in here.”

Laughing, she took his hand and let him pull her to her feet and into his arms. “You have country music playing up there?”

He pretended to be insulted by her query. “Blues, baby. Only the blues for me.”

Her toes sank into the plush carpet and she sank into Ethan’s embrace. His hand gripped her waist, then slid to her back to pull her closer. She felt feminine and unsure, but she didn’t want him to release her.

“I don’t know how to dance,” she admitted.

“I’m not that great at it, either,” he said. “But I can manage a few turns and the side-to-side swaying.”

His eyes were so expressive, so full of life. They could leap from anger to lust to boredom to amusement in mere moments, but it was these times that made her toes curl, the times when he stared at her with unabashed longing.

As he rocked back and forth, as his hips brushed hers and his palm pressed possessively against her hand, Mary experienced a feeling so powerful, so new it made her heart thump painfully in her chest. She was enjoying herself, with Ethan Curtis, the man who had forced her into—A man she should never enjoy herself with.

Her thoughts dropped away suddenly as Ethan quickened his pace, twirling her first to the right, then the left. With a sinful grin, he grasped both of her hands and gave her a gentle push back, then he turned her and pulled her into his body, so her back was pressed against his chest.

She glanced over her shoulder at him and smiled at the amusement in his eyes. “Tell anyone about this and I’m never dancing with you again.”

Laughing with delight, Mary let him sway them both to the right and left, then squealed when he dipped her. When he rolled her out toward the couch, she released him and dropped back on the brown leather cushions. Chuckling along with her, Ethan did, too. For a moment neither of them spoke, then they both turned to look at each other.

“We’d better be careful,” Ethan said.

“Why?” Mary asked breathlessly. “What do you mean?”

He reached over and brushed a strand of honey-colored hair from her cheek. “If we don’t watch our step we might have fun together—or worse, actually start liking each other.”

To Mary’s delight, the brunch fell on a glorious late-August day. The trees were starting to contemplate change, their green leaves making room for rich golds, ruby reds and pumpkin oranges. Mary had nixed the Cajun idea, but the pre-autumn Southern barn theme was there and looking fabulous. As she meandered through the guests, who had almost doubled in size since the last party, she took in her handiwork with a proud grin. The deck and surrounding land was decorated with an odd but interesting, contemporary rustic charm; hay bales in glass troughs like funky centerpieces, scarecrows dressed like runway models, Tom Sawyer-style rafts in the water, and on and on. Then there was the food. Pumpkin and sage soup in miniature pumpkins, fried catfish with a spicy green tomato relish, mustard greens with pancetta, watermelon and pecan pie tartlets.

Everyone seemed relaxed, the stuffy atmosphere of this crowd’s customary Saturday cocktail party forgotten. Diamonds still sparkled from ears, wrists and fingers, but the backdrop was denim and Ralph Lauren plaid.

Mary spotted five-star-inns’ Isaac and Emily Underwood coming toward her and smiled welcomingly. She knew that, as of last Monday, the couple were now Ethan’s clients. “Well, hello, there. Are you two enjoying yourselves?”

“Your creativity is astounding, Mary,” Isaac said, gesturing to the backyard.

“Thank you.”

“Yes, amazing,” Emily added.

Isaac dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “Even though we don’t have to work, the feeling of success can bring great rewards, don’t you think?”

Mary’s brows drew together. Contrary to what the Underwoods believed was reality, Mary had to work for every penny. The Harringtons didn’t help her one bit, never had, nor had she ever asked them to.

“This is a great success,” Emily said, two-carat diamond studs sparkling in her ears. “Especially for Ethan. Invitations to his parties will be sought-after now.”

“Now?”

Heat spread across Emily’s face and she stumbled to explain. “Well, what I mean to say is…”

Isaac quickly covered for her. “Curtis is brilliant, and he has the client list to prove it, but as far as socializing…well, he’s not really one of us, you understand.”

She certainly did, and she had to resist the urge to grab the pumpkin out of Isaac’s hand and dump the contents over his head. Lucky for her and for them, the Underwoods spotted another group of snotty elitists over by the bar and excused themselves. Why did Ethan want to be a part of this world? she wondered, heading inside the house. She scanned the room looking for him, expecting to find him in the center of a group of wealthy people who were looking for free advice, but he wasn’t there. She sidled up to one of the waitstaff. “Have you seen Mr. Curtis?”

“I think he’s in the kitchen.”

“Alone?”

“No, there’s a full kitchen staff in there, Ms. Kelley.”

“I mean, was he with anyone? A guest?” she asked tightly. Like maybe a Tiffany—one F, two Ys?

The man shook his head. “Not that I saw.”

As she walked toward the kitchen, the sound of clanging pots and hustling staff was interspersed with a shrill, critical voice that Mary instantly recognized as her grandmother’s.

The door opened and as a mortified-looking waitress rushed out with a plate of food, Mary heard the older woman’s voice again. “You can take my family’s company, hire my granddaughter to act as your wife at parties and invite the top shelf as your guests, but that will never make you one of us.”

Interrupting the conversation didn’t sound like a good plan. She didn’t want to embarrass Ethan any further. So Mary watched through a crack in the door. The room was busy with waitstaff, chefs and to Mary’s horror, not only her grandmother, but two of her grandmother’s closest friends. Grace Harrington stood a few feet from Ethan, who had his back to the sleek Wolf range, her friends behind her like a scene from one of those movies about exclusive high school cliques.

“Breeding cannot be bought,” Grace continued, her tone spiteful and cruel. “Where and who you come from is in every movement you make. Make no mistake about it, Mr. Curtis, you wear your trailer-park upbringing like a second skin.”

The room stilled. The chefs stopped chopping, the waitstaff looked horrified as they tried to stare at anything but Ethan.

White-hot fury burned in Ethan’s eyes. “I know exactly where I come from, Mrs. Harrington, and I’m proud of it.”

“Is that so? Then why try so hard to impress us all?”

“My work makes enough of an impression to satisfy me. These events are a way to gain more clients. After all,” he said with a slow smile, “before I came along, Harrington Corp. was not only hemorrhaging money but about to lose seventy percent of their client base as well.”

Grace’s jaw dropped, and she looked as though she couldn’t breathe. Ditto with the geriatric sentinels behind her. Mary had never seen her grandmother bested before, and she felt oddly sorry for her, but knew the older woman had it coming to her. Grace Harrington could dish it out, and maybe now she would learn to take it.

Mary watched Ethan grab a beer from the counter and tip it toward the three some. “Good afternoon, ladies. I have every confidence that you can find the front door from here.”

And then he was coming her way, in ten seconds he’d bump right into her. Mary dropped back into a small alcove off the hallway and waited for him to leave the kitchen and pass by her. His jaw tight, his stride purposeful, he walked past her and in the opposite direction of the party. After waiting a moment for her grandmother and her friends to leave, Mary followed Ethan. She had a good idea where he’d be.

She climbed the stairs and walked down the hall, unsure of what she was going to say to him when she found him. The door to the nursery was closed, but that didn’t dissuade her.

Without knocking, she entered the room. Ethan was lying on his back on the floor, staring out the enormous bay window. Sunlight splashed over his handsome face, illuminating his pensive expression.

Mary sat beside him. Maybe he’d been right that day in his office, after their musicless dance, maybe they were becoming friends. God only knew why, after their history. But the fact was she understood him a little better now, understood what drove him. Her mother had felt some of the same feelings of not being good enough, not knowing where she belonged or who really cared about her for herself and not how much money she had.

“She’s right.”

Ethan’s words jarred her, brought her back to the present. “Who’s right?”

“Your grandmother. I’m not worth much more than the trailer I was born in.”