Читать книгу Expecting at Christmas - Charlotte Maclay, Charlotte Maclay - Страница 9

Chapter One

Getting a job was always difficult. Landing one when you were eight months pregnant counted as a miracle.

Loretta Santana smoothed her hair back as she heard her new employer’s car cross the narrow wooden bridge at the bottom of Topanga Canyon Road and navigate the circular drive in front of his house.

She’d never actually been a butler before, though she’d taken an accelerated class at the Westside Butler Academy just last week in order to qualify for this position. And, true, her black suit, which she wore with a neat little bow tie, might have been a bit odd to order in a maternity size. But she was determined she’d keep this job until she became eligible for insurance benefits with the temporary agency that had hired her. She only needed one hundred and twenty more hours to her credit—three weeks—and she could sign up. Her baby wasn’t due for another four weeks and one day, the week after Christmas.

Instinctively she slid her hand across her distended belly. Both she and Isabella’s baby would need the medical benefits.

Anxiety had her gnawing at her lower lip as she opened the front door, standing back so Griffin Jones wouldn’t get a full-length look at her right off. Her nerves were certainly frazzled. When she got past this hurdle, she’d have to take a megadose of vitamin E to stabilize her ions and get her yin and yang back in balance.

With the easy strides of an athlete, Griffin mounted the steps two at a time. His suit jacket hung open and his power tie was loose around his collar. He came to an abrupt halt at the front door.

“Well, well, well,” he drawled. A wicked smile curled amazingly sensual lips. “What have we got here?”

“Loretta Santana, sir. Your temporary butler.”

He glanced past her into the rustic entry with its warm wood paneling and subdued lighting. “What did you do with Rodgers, sweetheart?”

“I believe he’s en route to London, sir.”

“Oh, I forgot that he had some sort of a family crisis back home.” Frowning, he cocked his head to the right, causing a lock of tobacco-brown hair to slide across his forehead at a rakish angle. “And you’re somebody’s idea of a joke butler?”

She flushed. “No, sir. I’m fully qualified to—”

“I’ll just bet you are.” He stepped across the threshold, his gaze raking over her with swift, masculine interest until it landed right smack on her midsection. “My God, you’re pregnant!” He choked and began coughing.

“Oh, you poor thing. You must have a terrible cold.” Automatically she placed the back of her hand to his forehead. “A fever, too. You’d better come inside. I’ll brew you a nice herbal toddy and give you some of my rejuvenative hydration pills. You’ll be right as rain in no time, sir.” Hooking her arm through his, Loretta tried to hustle him toward the master bedroom where he could get the rest he obviously needed—and forget he had a pregnant butler working for him. “Winter colds can be so dreadful. Would you like me to draw a nice hot bath for you, sir? Or can you manage for yourself?”

He put on the brakes. “I don’t have a cold, just a little sore throat, and I don’t appreciate my buddies playing a practical joke on me. They know damn well I wouldn’t sleep with a pregnant woman.”

Shock drove her back against the nearest wall. “Sleep? I wouldn‘t—That’s not why—The agency wouldn’t—” Good grief, what had she gotten herself into?

“That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? Ol’ Brainerd set you up, didn’t he? Thought it would be funny to—”

“The employment agency sent me. I needed the job. They didn’t say you’d try to ravish me.”

“I’m not going to do any such—”

Without waiting for his explanation, she made a dash for the kitchen and the connecting servants’ quarters. She’d lock herself in, call the police—

“Wait! What the hell—”

She didn’t stop. But given her portly figure, her fastest run was more like a slow waddle. He caught up with her at the butcher-block island counter in the kitchen and snared her by the arm.

“Don’t hurt the baby. Please don’t—”

“For God’s sake, I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to know what’s going on.”

Her chin trembled. He was a really big man, his shoulders broad beneath his suit jacket, and his penetrating eyes so light a shade of blue they flashed like swords of silver. Loretta would not want to sit across a negotiating table from Griffin Jones. He would intimidate the staunchest foe.

She wasn’t feeling very staunch at the moment

“Look, don’t cry,” he pleaded, loosening his grip on her arm. “I can’t stand a weepy woman.”

“I’m not weepy.” She sniffed.

“Are you saying the employment agency sent you?”

She nodded.

“You sure you didn’t just happen to see the article in Inside Business about me being one of the ten top eligible bachelors, and you thought you’d claim I was your baby’s father—”

“I’d never do such a thing,” she gasped. “Isabella never would have wanted to have your baby.”

He blinked. “Who’s Isabella? I thought your name was Lor—”

“She’s my aunt, or she was. My mother’s youngest sister. I’m having her baby.”

With a shake of his head, Griffin stepped back. Maybe he did have a fever, after all. This woman wasn’t making any sense. “Where’s your husband?”

“I don’t exactly have a husband.”

“Okay, then, your boyfriend.”

“I don’t exactly have one of those, either, not since I got pregnant.”

“You figured you’d get pregnant and your boyfriend would have to marry you, huh?” A woman had tried to do that to Griffin not so long ago. He’d been willing to do the right thing. He’d had to. The death of Griffin’s mother in childbirth had always haunted him. He’d been nagging his parents for a baby brother, and when it turned out she was pregnant with a girl, he hadn’t wanted her. Then, suddenly, his mother was gone and so was his sister. He’d felt guilty ever since and somehow responsible.

And so years later he’d naturally felt responsible for the woman he’d slept with, Amanda Cook—until he discovered she wasn’t pregnant at all. She was nothing more than a gold digger anxious to get her hands on the substantial fortune he’d earned running one of the biggest chains of electronic stores in the country. He wouldn’t fall for a trick like that again anytime soon; he’d sworn off relationships that even hinted at commitment.

“Oh, no, this isn’t Rudy’s baby. It’s Wayne’s.”

Wayne? She definitely had an active love life, more than Griffin had managed lately. “So why didn’t he marry you?”

“He was married to Isabella.”

Now he could see exactly what had happened. “So Isabella caught you playing around with her husband.”

“No, of course not.” She looked honestly offended he’d suggested that possibility. “I wouldn’t do a thing like that. I loved Wayne just like he was my blood uncle.”

“And that’s why you’re having his kid?” Griffin had definitely lost the drift here somewhere.

“Well, Isabella couldn’t do it. Somebody had to help them out. So I said I would. Rudy didn’t like that. He said it made me ‘used goods,’ just because I was having their baby.” Her chin began to tremble again and her doe eyes started to fill with tears. “That wasn’t a very nice thing for him to say, was it?”

Griffin wasn’t sure.

“And that’s why I really, really need this job, Mr. Jones. But there’s no way I’m going to go to bed with you, so you can just forget that idea right now.”

“It wasn’t my idea. I thought—” Ah, hell, he didn’t know what he’d been thinking. “Look, why don’t we just sit down and talk a minute. We can start from the beginning, have a nice cup of coffee—”

“Herbal tea would be much better for your cold.”

“I don’t have a cold.”

“Of course you do. Everybody gets colds during the winter, especially during the holiday season. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. But I can get your ions back in shape in no time at all, if you’ll just give me the chance.”

How could a man argue with a woman whose eyes reminded him of hot chocolate? Particularly a pregnant woman. “Okay, we’ll do tea and you’ll tell me all about Isabella and Rudy—”

“I don’t want to talk about Rudy anymore. I wouldn’t marry him now even if he begged me.”

She scurried to the opposite side of the counter, opened a cupboard and pulled out a can of what Griffin assumed was her magical herbal tea. He hoped he’d be able to gag it down. He suspected Loretta Santana would get that bruised look in her dark eyes if he didn’t drink every last drop. To his everlasting dismay, he’d always been a sucker for a woman with tears in her eyes. Someday he’d learn his lesson.

“So you can start with Wayne and Isabella,” he suggested.

With surprising efficiency, she whipped out a teakettle, filled it with water and placed it on the stove, then retrieved cups and saucers from another cupboard. She wasn’t a large woman, Griffin realized, maybe five foot two. Her features were delicate, her cheeks beautifully sculpted. He’d heard pregnant women took on a special glow. With Loretta, he could believe that. Oddly, he didn’t want to think about the process that had gotten her pregnant or the man who’d had the privilege. Or the risks a small woman ran by carrying a baby, those same risks that had killed his mother.

“I made you a chicken casserole, if you’re hungry. Rodgers wasn’t sure you’d be home for dinner.”

“You talked to Rodgers?”

“He gave me a full orientation. What time you get up in the mornings, what you like for breakfast—”

“Did he know you were a woman?”

She glanced over her shoulder. “I think he probably noticed.”

He grimaced. Dumb question, Jonesy. You’re usually a little smoother with the ladies. “I just thought it was strange Rodgers would agree to hire a woman as his replacement.”

“I told him I could type.”

Griffin hoped she’d get the tea ready in a hurry. Maybe it would clear his head. “Why would Rodgers care whether or not you can type?”

Turning, she planted her fists where her waist used to be. “He made it very clear he was not only your butler but also your personal secretary, screening phone calls, keeping your appointment schedule, that sort of thing. I assured him I was quite capable of handling secretarial chores of that very minor sort.”

Choking, Griffin began to cough again. As a part of his job, Rodgers made sure Griffin wasn’t interrupted when he was entertaining a lady, keeping phone calls and unexpected guests at bay, particularly when they were other women.

“Oh, my sakes, that cold of yours is just awful. I think I’d better whip up some chicken soup. You know, there’s nothing better—”

“No,” he croaked.

“Really, Mr. Jones, I think—”

“Sit down!” he bellowed.

She crumpled into the nearest chair at the oak breakfast table, her eyes as wide as flying saucers.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said.

She nodded vigorously, like one of those dolls you see in the back window of souped-up cars.

“I’m just going to explain to you why this isn’t going to work, you being my butler and all. It’s not personal, you understand. It’s that you’re a woman.” And pregnant.

Trying to gather himself, Griffin shoved his hands in his pants pockets. His jacket sleeves bunched up and he decided to get rid of the coat, shrugging it off. He took a deep breath. “Miss Santana, there are various occasions when I have young ladies visiting me. Attractive young ladies. Ladies with whom I sometimes have an intimate relationship.”

A rosy glow crept up her slender neck and stained her dramatically sculpted cheeks. “I’m not one to judge other people’s actions, Mr. Jones.”

“Yes, well—” he cleared his throat “—these young ladies, if and when they do visit, might not take kindly to me having a lovely young woman like yourself in my, er, employ.” Particularly a sexy, pregnant woman, he suspected. And he most assuredly didn’t like the idea. He didn’t want to be responsible. What if she fell...or went into early labor? A thousand things could go wrong.

“I wouldn’t think of interfering in your personal life, Mr. Jones. They’d never even see me, if that’s what you wanted. I’d be still as a mouse.” The color on her cheeks went from rose to scarlet, and she raised her chin to a stubborn angle. “Besides, you can’t discriminate against me because I’m a woman. The government doesn’t allow that anymore. A woman has certain recourses now.”

He frowned. He’d had a long day, the competition was gaining the upper hand, and now he had some pregnant woman issuing a veiled threat that she would sue. He didn’t like that one damn bit!

“Furthermore, if you’re considering discriminating because I happen to be pregnant, you should know forty-two out of the fifty states have laws that prevent discrimination solely for that reason. California is included in that list.”

It took him a moment to realize the shrill whistle in his head was the kettle boiling. Scowling, he gestured for her to get the tea.

She hopped up out of her chair like she’d been goosed. At the counter, she fussed with a teapot and bags of herbal tea while Griffin considered his options. Physically throwing Loretta Santana out of the house wasn’t one of them, though he might wish it were. But he just couldn’t do that to a pregnant woman—or any other woman, for that matter.

Damn, why had Rodgers’s aging mother decided to take a turn for the worse now? She’d been teetering on the edge of whatever for as long as Griffin could remember.

The only reason Griffin had a butler at all was because Rodgers had been with Griffin’s father since forever. When his dad died a couple of years ago, Griffin inherited the butler along with a multimillion-dollar company. Bequests like that weren’t something a man could turn down.

Loretta slid a cup and saucer onto the table near him. To his amazement it smelled pretty good—a combination of a pine forest and the scent of roses in spring. He sat down and took a sip. He didn’t think it would kill him, and maybe it might do something about the raspy throat that had been niggling at him all day.

“So tell me why you want to be my butler.”

She eased back into the chair opposite him. In a world of waifs, she’d be a winner. Fragile. Vulnerable. Yet something about the way she held her head suggested a stubborn streak a man would be wise not to challenge.

“It was the only job the agency would send me out on.” Her slender shoulders lifted in a shrug.

“Butlers are hard to find nowadays. The pay’s not especially good, you know. And I really needed the job so I could get medical coverage for myself and Isabelia’s baby.”

His gaze slid toward her midsection, now hidden by the edge of the table. “You’re having somebody else’s kid?”

“My aunt tried for years to get pregnant. When she turned forty, she got desperate. They decided to try a surrogate, and I volunteered.”

Ah, Isabella and Wayne. The herbal tea was definitely clearing his muddled brain. “You didn’t, ah, get that way—” he eyed her hidden belly again “—in the usual way?”

“Oh, my, no. That’s an awful thing to even think about Uncle Wayne.”

“There wasn’t anyone else who could do the job? I mean, as a surrogate.”

“My other aunts are mostly too old, and my cousins already have children, and their husbands weren’t keen on the idea. Besides, most of them didn’t have really easy pregnancies.”

He clenched a little. Maybe difficult pregnancies ran in her family—high-risk pregnancies. “Couldn’t Wayne hire somebody? It couldn’t cost much more than—”

“We’re family, Mr. Jones. When family’s involved, you do what needs to be done.”

“I wouldn’t give my uncle the time of day, much less get pregnant for him,” Griffin grumbled. Besides, Uncle Matt was the competition, the head of the electronic outlet stores that were giving his company fits.

A lyrical giggle erupted from Loretta. “I don’t think your uncle is likely to ask you to get pregnant.”

“Probably not,” he agreed, smiling wryly. He also couldn’t imagine his aunt, who looked as dry as a mesquite bush, asking him to impregnate her. He shuddered at the thought. “So why do you need medical insurance? I’d think your aunt and uncle would pay your expenses.”

“They died in a car accident.”

“I’m sorry. But didn’t they leave you something—”

“They weren’t rich, Mr. Jones. Not like you. And they never even thought about a will, I’m sure. Even if they had, there wasn’t enough left after the double funeral for my medical bills...or the baby’s.”

God, how he hated sob stories, particularly when they sounded legitimate. “Haven’t you been seeing a doctor?”

“Oh, sure. They prepaid my prenatal care, and the doctor’s been really good about not charging me for anything extra. But the delivery’s a whole different ball game, plus the hospital and pediatric care. So I’m going to need medical insurance.” Her eyes started to sparkle again, like diamonds in a pool of hot chocolate.

“Even if I let you work for me until you qualify—and I’m not saying I will,” he hastily added when he saw hope spring into her eyes, “wouldn’t the insurance company say you’ve got a pre-existing condition? They won’t cover—”

“It works a little differently with temp agencies. If I last long enough, I’m covered since the day I started work for them. It’s a carrot they hold out to keep employees around longer.”

“You’ve worked for these people before, then?”

Nodding, she sipped her tea. “Lots of times. I work when I’m not going to college.”

“College?”

She lifted her chin again at that determined angle. At some point the dark hair she’d pulled back into a bun had come loose, and feathery strands kissed the slender column of her neck. “I’m going to be the first person in my whole family who’s ever graduated from a university. I’ve completed 136 units at Cal State L.A.”

“That’s a lot of units.” More than Griffin had, and he had a degree.

“I would have graduated already but I keep changing my major. And they keep changing the requirements.”

“That can set you back, all right.”

“So I’ve still got a year or so to go. And now with the baby—” she shrugged “—it may take me a little longer.”

Maybe she should have thought about that before she agreed to have some other woman’s baby. Gritfin didn’t want anything to do with Loretta and her sob story. He certainly didn’t want her as his butler. But he couldn’t exactly throw her out on her ear in the middle of the night.

“Look, Miss Santana—”

“You can call me Loretta, if you like. They said in my accelerated butler’s class that was okay, if my employer found it easier.”

“Yeah, well...” Damn, he really hated firing people even when they were incompetent. So far, at least, Loretta hadn’t done anything wrong. “The truth is, I don’t actually need a butler.”

“Of course you do. Rodgers assured me—in confidence, you understand—that there are days when you wouldn’t be able to manage without him. You’re not terribly well organized, I gather.”

Griffin scowled. “Rodgers said that?”

“Oh, yes. But you mustn’t worry that I’ll let you down. I’m the most organized person I know.” She appeared quite confident.

He wasn’t convinced. “I still don’t think—”

The doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it.” Loretta hopped up, bumping the table in the process with her oversize belly and tipping over her cup of tea. “Oh, dear, I’ll wipe that up in a minute. You leave it for me.”

“Why don’t I answer the door while you take care of—”

“No, no. Answering the door is my job. They taught me just what to do.”

Taught her to answer a door? If that’s what she learned in the accelerated class, Griffin could barely imagine what a slow course might include.

He heard the door open and Loretta greet his visitor.

“I’m truly sorry you didn’t call first, miss,” Loretta said. “Mr. Jones has a dreadful cold, and I don’t think it would be wise for him to have guests this evening.”

A feminine voice he couldn’t quite make out responded.

“Now, wait a minute,” he muttered, heading for the front of the house. His cold, such as it was, wasn’t that bad.

“I’m sure you understand Mr. Jones is only thinking of your well-being. He wouldn’t want to expose you to a virus that might take weeks for your immune system to throw off.”

Griffin spotted a willowy redhead at the door, a soap opera starlet who was making a big splash on the social scene. He’d been trying for weeks to date her.

“Aileen, hi, there. It’s good to see you. Come on in.” He tried to ease Loretta aside. She didn’t budge from her post at the door.

Aileen eyed him with regal disdain before sending Loretta a cutting look intended to cause a mere mortal to bleed profusely. “I don’t recall ever getting such an interesting brush-off before, Griffin.”

“No, you don’t understand. She’s my butler.”

“Really? How terribly convenient for you.” Turning, she floated back down the steps, gracefully exiting the scene.

Griffin swore under his breath and followed her to her flashy Porsche. He tried to talk to Aileen, to make her understand, but the best he got was “By all means, call me when your butler returns from England. If he ever does.”

The car roared off down the driveway, rattling across the planks of the twenty-foot-long bridge over the creek at the bottom of the hill.

Griffin fumed and marched back up the steps.

He glared at Loretta. “Do you know what you just did? I’ve been trying to date that woman for weeks.”

“Well, you certainly wouldn’t want to make a bad impression on her, then, by giving her your cold. That’d be terrible. She’d be overwhelmed by all those nasty little oxidants, her yin and yang would have a terrible battle, and then where would you be?”

He didn’t have a good answer for that as she breezily went back to the kitchen to clean up the spilled tea and make him some chicken soup.

Having Loretta Santana as his butler was definitely going to be hard on his love life.

Damn, he’d vowed years ago—at his mother’s funeral—that he’d never put a woman at risk by getting her pregnant. Irrational as it might seem to someone else, that’s how he felt. And he’d been especially careful. He’d always played the field, with women who understood marriage and having kids weren’t in the cards if they hung around with him.

Now, to his dismay, he had a pregnant woman on his hands. He didn’t want to be responsible. But he damn well didn’t know how to get rid of her.