Читать книгу The Improperly Pregnant Princess - Jacqueline Diamond - Страница 12

“Congratulations,” the doctor said. “You’re pregnant.”

“I’m what?” Sitting on the edge of the examining table, CeCe Carradigne wished that, by some miracle, she would suddenly see that another woman had slipped in to the examining room and was now hearing the happy news.

A married woman. A woman who wanted children.

There was, however, no one else in the well-appointed examining room. Just unmarried CeCe, who didn’t have a maternal instinct in her body, and Dr. Elizabeth Loesser, known to her patients as Dr. Beth.

“I take it this pregnancy wasn’t planned,” the doctor said.

“That’s an understatement.” CeCe struggled to maintain her composure. It was no use. “How did this happen?” she wailed. “Wait. Don’t answer that.”

Dr. Beth smiled. “I’m sure you know the facts of life, Miss Carradigne…or should I call you Princess?”

“I wish people would forget about that royalty business,” CeCe said. “I haven’t felt like a princess since my father died.”

“A pregnancy is something to be welcomed, especially when the mother is in good health, as you are,” her physician continued. “Of course, if you want to consider adoption, I’d be happy to make a referral.”

A Carradigne, give up a baby for adoption? The tabloids would splash the story across every newsstand in America. Royal Baby to Be Given Away.

The paparazzi were the bane of CeCe’s life. Even without an adoption to ignite their interest, she shuddered to think what they would do if they learned of her out-of-wedlock condition. “Princess Pregnant, But Where’s the Prince?” they’d trumpet.

Not to mention the snide remarks that would pass among the executives who reported to her at DeLacey Shipping. They’d already nicknamed her “the barracuda” after she reorganized their departments to increase efficiency.

“I’m afraid adoption is unacceptable,” she said. “Just give me the vitamins and the prenatal pamphlets.”

“I’ll send in the nurse with some information,” said the doctor. “You don’t have to go through this alone, you know. I’m sure the father will take responsibility.”

“The father?” CeCe repeated. Oh, heavens. She’d been so stunned by the news that until this moment she hadn’t given any thought to Shane O’Connell. “As far as I’m concerned, he’s out of the picture.”

“Oh, dear.” Judging by Dr. Beth’s expression, she assumed the man was married.

“‘Oh, dear’ is right.” CeCe decided there was no need to fill in the blanks.

Blast Shane O’Connell! How like that ruffian to try to stamp a claim on her.

Well, she had nothing in common with the other women he dated, judging by their descriptions in Krissy Katwell’s Manhattan Chronicle gossip column. CeCe Carradigne didn’t hang on anyone’s arm or gaze adoringly into any man’s eyes.

No, all she’d done was to jump impulsively into bed with that dark-haired, dark-eyed stallion, she thought sarcastically.

It had been an amazing experience, though. The memory of Shane’s lean hips and probing mouth stirred flames deep within CeCe.

Annoyed at herself, she finished the conversation with the doctor, only half paying attention. All she could think was, What am I going to do?

After meeting with the nurse and scheduling her next appointment, CeCe called to summon her driver from a nearby parking garage. Her briefcase stuffed with vitamins and pamphlets, she marched out through the waiting room with the sense of running a gauntlet.

Heads turned as the waiting patients followed her progress, and she could hear the buzz of conversation even before the door closed. “Isn’t that Cecelia Carradigne?” “She really does look like a princess, doesn’t she?” “It isn’t fair to be so rich and so…”

It wasn’t fair, all right. It wasn’t fair that CeCe Carradigne, who never quite lived up to her mother’s expectations, should find herself in this mess.

Pregnant! And by Shane O’Connell, of all men!

It had been CeCe’s idea to forge an alliance between his package delivery service and DeLacey Shipping, to better compete for international shipping contracts. Although their business interests dovetailed, the negotiations had proved tempestuous.

Both of them were hard-driving, no-holds-barred people, she supposed. Whenever they found themselves in the same room, they clashed. Except for one night.

She and Shane had agreed to meet at his apartment, which was more private than the two-story penthouse unit she shared with her mother, one of her sisters and assorted staff. CeCe hadn’t even considered the implications of spending an evening alone with a man at his place, because she didn’t think of Shane O’Connell as a man. He was more of an unavoidable irritant.

They’d talked business, quarreling as usual while sharing a few drinks. Suddenly, they were all over each other. What on earth had happened?

They’d both been hideously embarrassed afterward. At least, she had. She’d fled with the briefest of goodbyes.

When she realized they’d forgotten to use contraception, CeCe had persuaded herself that nothing would result from a single encounter. Half of New York was pursuing infertility treatments, it seemed. Why should she be any different?

When her period failed to arrive on time, she’d rationalized. Hard work and excuses had kept her fears at bay for a few weeks. Then she’d made this doctor’s appointment.

There was no more room for doubt. She was carrying Shane O’Connell’s child.

CeCe descended in the elevator, uncomfortably aware that people were staring at her here, too. The problem with standing five foot eight and having blond hair and green eyes was that people immediately noticed you, and it didn’t take long for them to connect you to the photographs that ran far too often in the newspapers.

CeCe wished she were an anonymous shipping executive whose problems concerned no one but herself. She also wished, more than anything, that she hadn’t spent that night at Shane’s apartment.

Outside, traffic jammed the street and pedestrians scurried by, bundled against the February chill. Cold nipped at CeCe’s legs through the front opening in her long coat.

She would have preferred to wear pantsuits in winter, but her mother insisted that skirts were more ladylike. And what Charlotte wanted, Charlotte got.

From a nearby vendor’s stand, CeCe caught the scent of hot dogs roasting. She was starved. Absolutely ravenous.

She didn’t understand why, because normally she kept so focused on work that she often forgot to eat. It must be the hormones.

Were hot dogs bad for babies? She didn’t have time to read the pamphlets before making a decision about lunch, so CeCe bought one. As she finished paying, the Mercedes stopped at the curb. She had to rush and fold herself inside, briefcase, wiener and all.

“Where to, Miss Carradigne?” asked Paulo, the family’s chauffeur.

“The office, please.” CeCe checked her watch. It was after one o’clock, and she had a one-thirty meeting with Shane. “I’m afraid I’m running late.”

Paulo zipped through tiny openings in traffic with a race-car driver’s skill. If anyone could get her to work on time, it would be him.

Shane had no patience for being kept waiting. The last thing CeCe wanted was to arrive late and find herself already at a disadvantage.

They’d concluded arrangements for their alliance a week after that indiscreet evening. Since then, the pair of them had maintained contact by fax and e-mail. However, now that they planned to seek a joint shipping contract with a Chinese toy company, they were meeting to discuss strategy.

Should she tell him about the pregnancy? CeCe supposed Shane had a right to know. Yet she couldn’t see herself blurting out the bald fact of impending parenthood to the intense, self-made millionaire.

Shane’s meteoric rise had put him on Top Ten lists at Forbes, Fortune and Newsweek. His rough-hewn good looks and reputation for dating around had put him on some very different Top Ten lists at Cosmopolitan and Redbook.

Darn it, CeCe was not going to let the man intimidate her. As far as she was concerned, this was her baby, not his.

After finishing the hot dog, she started to stuff the wrappings into a rubbish container, then realized her mother would notice them later. She stuck them in her briefcase instead, even though she knew her papers would smell like wiener for days. That was preferable to a lecture from Charlotte about nutrition.

The thought of lectures from Charlotte inspired a question: Was there one for unplanned pregnancies? If so, CeCe wondered how long it lasted and whether she could arrange to have her secretary page her with an urgent call in the middle of it.

At 1:29 p.m., they reached the nineteen-story DeLacey Shipping building on Broad Street, near the East River and, of course, the DeLacey Shipping terminal. CeCe scurried out of the car, thanked Paulo and raced for the lobby.

Employees scattered from her path. A couple of clerical workers, whose medical benefits and holiday bonuses CeCe had increased last year, offered smiles and greetings. Several executives, having been threatened with demotions after she audited their departments, glowered.

On the nineteenth floor, CeCe burst through double glass doors labeled Executive Vice President. Her secretary, Linzy Lamar, jumped up from the computer. A pleasant-looking divorcee´e in her thirties, she blended seamlessly into her role.

“Mr. O’Connell is waiting in your office,” she said. “Also, your mother stopped by.”

That was hardly big news, since Charlotte’s even larger office suite lay at the opposite end of the corridor. “Did she say why?”

“No, Miss Carradigne.” The secretary, although a reserved woman, talked fast because she’d learned that otherwise she’d never get to finish her spiel. “She said she’ll drop by again when she has time. I put the new traffic study on your desk.” That was a compilation of data by DeLacey executives regarding potential problem areas, including trade routes and competitors.

“Thank you,” CeCe said as she breezed past.

She flung open the broad, polished-wood door into her office. Even in February, light flooded the expansive room overlooking the harbor.

A large silhouette blocked one window. “I’ll get back to you,” Shane said into his cell phone, and clicked off. Frowning, he turned to face CeCe.

Time stopped. Even the adrenaline rushing through her arteries slammed to a halt as their gazes met.

The man’s fierce brown eyes pinned her with such force that CeCe could hardly breathe. In the two months since they’d seen each other, she’d forgotten the impact of Shane’s presence.

His husky build and broad shoulders made most other men look scrawny. Even more impressive was the masculine confidence that showed in every movement.

He tapped his watch. “You’re five minutes late. I have a busy schedule.”

She rejected the idea of blaming her tardiness on traffic. “I was unavoidably delayed,” she said, and clapped her briefcase onto her broad desk.

That was a mistake, because it forced out some air. Shane caught a whiff. “You stopped for lunch, I gather.”

“I didn’t stop. I ate on the run.” CeCe grabbed the hot dog wrappers and dumped them in a wastebasket.

“You’ll get indigestion.”

I’m going to have indigestion for about seven more months, so what the heck? No, she scolded herself, that was not the best way to break her earth-shattering news. “That’s my problem.”

Shane gave her a crooked grin, revealing a devastating dent in one cheek that sent heat flooding through CeCe’s body. Annoyed with herself, she unbuttoned her coat and tossed it onto a chair.

“If you don’t want to discuss your eating habits, let’s get down to work.” He set his laptop computer on her conference table and flipped it open. “To date, Wuhan Novelty has cobbled together a variety of carriers to transport toys down the Yangtze River, across the Pacific and on to warehouses and stores. Add the fact that they’ve also begun selling directly on-line, and you’ve got a complicated mess.”

“Which we can uncomplicate,” CeCe said.

“Absolutely.” Swiftly, he outlined his plan for combining DeLacey’s shipping capacity with his fleet of trucks and planes to provide door-to-door service to North America.

Sitting beside him at the conference table, CeCe felt the energy pulsing through Shane as he talked. If there were a bed in her office, she might be tempted to fall into it.

Hadn’t she learned anything?

“Your eyes are glazing over,” he said. “Am I boring you?”

“Not at all,” CeCe said. “It’s a brilliant plan.”

What she needed, she realized abruptly, was a brilliant plan of her own. Not to win the contract with Wuhan, but to introduce the subject of children.

“Do you have anything to add?” Shane asked.

“Toys!” she said.

“Excuse me?”

“They make toys.” It was the perfect lead-in.

“I’m aware of that,” he said.

As usual when CeCe’s mind was racing a mile a minute, an idea popped into it. “We’re going to do more than transport their product,” she said. “We’re going to give them free publicity and get some for ourselves.”

“How do you propose to do that?” From the glint in his eye and the way he leaned forward, it was clear she’d engaged Shane’s interest.

“As you know, if we get the contract, DeLacey will be buying a couple of new container ships,” CeCe said. “We’ll paint them—what are Wuhan’s corporate colors?”

“Yellow and red,” Shane said.

She should have known that, CeCe thought, hating to be caught short in even the smallest detail. “Great. Also, we’ll put their logo alongside ours and fly their flag right below ours. We’ll paint some of your planes and trucks, too. We want everybody to notice that DeLacey and O’Connell are bringing them toys.”

“Like Santa Claus,” he suggested.

“Yes!” The more she expanded on it, the more CeCe loved her idea. “We’ll design an ad campaign. Not just for trade publications, but TV commercials and billboards.”

“We don’t ship for the general public. We only serve corporate customers,” Shane pointed out.

“Corporations are run by people who have children,” CeCe said. “We’ll make them love us. When we pitch them our services, it’ll give us an edge over our competitors.”

“It could work,” Shane agreed. “Personality is one thing most freight companies lack.”

“Speaking of children,” CeCe said, and stopped, unable to figure out how to finish the sentence.

“Yes?” His face, close to hers, was manly. A strong jaw. An expressive mouth…

“Do you like them?” she asked.

“Do I like kids?” he echoed. “I’m not sure I follow your point.”

“You might…act as a spokesman. In the ads,” she improvised. “You could talk about how having children humanizes corporate executives. About how you can’t wait to have children yourself.”

“Me?” he said.

“Who better?” CeCe asked. “I mean, I’m a woman, so it wouldn’t make people sit up and pay attention if they heard me talking about children.” Unless they knew me, of course. “But if you said a few words about how much fatherhood meant—or might mean—to you, or was something you looked forward to…”

He leaned back, disconnecting. “Sorry, CeCe, but I’m not the type.”

“What type is that?” She hoped her sinking feelings didn’t show on her face.

“I’m not cut out to have kids.” Shane’s voice had a tight quality that hadn’t been there before. “I don’t have the time or the interest. I don’t even like them.”

“We’re talking theoretically,” CeCe said. “About how you might feel someday, not right now.”

“Children make me feel trapped,” he said. “My childhood was pretty miserable. Not that I use that as an excuse for anything. The whole family thing just doesn’t work for me.”

“That’s so—so—1980s of you!” she flared, hopping up because she couldn’t bear to sit next to this man for another instant. “You’ve heard of the ‘me generation’? We’re supposed to be past that! Men today march in picket lines for fathers’ rights. How’d you get stuck in the past?”

“Wait a minute.” Shane, too, got to his feet, apparently unwilling to have CeCe tower over him. In this position, his six-feet-one-inch frame would have dwarfed hers had she not been wearing three-inch heels. “We’re talking about an ad campaign, for heaven’s sake. Don’t take it personally.”

“It’s a great ad campaign!” CeCe could hear her tone rising. “Or it was until you loused it up!”

“I never claimed to be an actor.” He regarded her thoughtfully. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing! Everything! Isn’t it obvious?”

“I guess we should talk about what happened between us,” Shane said.

“Nothing happened,” CeCe said. “Didn’t we agree on that?”

“If nothing happened,” came her mother’s voice, “why are you shouting about it?”

Shocked, CeCe came to a dead stop. How much had Charlotte heard?

The president of DeLacey Shipping glided into the room. The Duchess of Avion—who had received the title upon her marriage, although no one called her that outside of Krissy Katwell’s gossip column in the Manhattan Chronicle—moved with natural grace.

“Good to see you, Shane,” she said.

“It’s a pleasure, Lady Charlotte.” As they shook hands, Shane’s manner became subtly more polite and restrained. Like everyone in New York except Charlotte’s own daughters, he was a little in awe of her.

She could do things that nobody else got away with. Take, for instance, her short hair, which had turned completely white as she approached her fiftieth birthday. The unfashionable hue looked so attractive that a lot of people assumed she’d bleached it, and hairdressers had hurried to follow the trend.

As for her clothing and grooming, they were always immaculate and perfect for the occasion. Today she wore a blue wool jacket that brought out the color of her eyes, over a gray silk blouse and winter-white skirt.

“Discussing the Wuhan account?” Charlotte asked. “What have you decided?”

She didn’t sit down, so Shane and CeCe kept their recital brief. The company president nodded approval when they finished. “Let me know when you’ve finalized the presentation.”

“Before we submit anything formally, a trade representative has invited CeCe and me for brunch day after tomorrow,” Shane said. “He seems thrilled at the idea of meeting a princess.”

“Good. She’ll be there.” Charlotte didn’t bother to ask CeCe whether the engagement fit her schedule. “Now, if you’ll excuse us?”

“Of course.” Shane closed his laptop. CeCe felt his gaze linger on her as he said goodbye.

After closing the door behind him, Charlotte said briskly, “Well, well. That man likes you.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not his type, of course,” her mother continued with maddening certainty. “A man like him needs a lady who builds her life around him. Someone compliant, which no one has ever accused you of being.”

Although she didn’t consider Shane O’Connell to be her type, either, CeCe bristled at her mother’s words. She knew better than to say anything, though. Revealing one’s feelings to Charlotte meant turning them over for inspection and rearrangement.

“Linzy said you dropped by earlier. What’s going on?” she asked.

“Your grandfather is coming to visit,” said Charlotte. “How’s that for a bombshell? Arriving tomorrow, no less. I suppose it’s a royal prerogative not to give much advance notice.”

To CeCe, who hadn’t seen King Easton of Korosol since she was nine, the king was both a stranger and a legendary figure. A thrill of excitement ran through her.

“Why?” she asked. “He never travels this far.”

“He refused to say anything except that the trip is secret,” Charlotte said. “He’ll be staying with us. The rest of his staff will reside at the embassy, except for the bodyguards. As it turns out, the apartment below ours is vacant, so they’ll be housed there.”

CeCe’s head spun. She wasn’t sure she could deal with a royal visit while her personal life was in such an uproar. Still, what choice was there? “What can I do to help?”

“He’s expressed a desire to spend time with you,” said her mother. “You’ll accommodate anything he requests. The king expects to get his way, and he shall.”

“But my work—”

“If you need to take time off, then do it,” her mother said. “You’ll attend that brunch with Shane. There’s nothing like a princess to impress the customers. Otherwise, I’ve run this business since your father died and I can handle it without you just fine.”

Her words hit CeCe like a slap in the face. Since earning her master’s degree in business five years earlier, she had worked long hours to reorganize and modernize DeLacey Shipping’s corporate structure. It appeared none of that meant anything to her mother.

She had to speak up on her own behalf. She didn’t, however, want to sound like a little girl whining to an all-powerful parent, so CeCe chose her words carefully. “I’m sorry you don’t value my contributions more than that.”

“Don’t get all worked up over nothing.” Charlotte waved her hand dismissively. “You’re a big help, most of the time. Now, remember, the king is arriving tomorrow afternoon, so you’ll need to leave the office early. We’ll discuss the rest of the arrangements at home.”

Then she was gone, leaving CeCe steaming. Sometimes it was hard to tell who infuriated her most, Shane or her mother.

A roiling sensation in her stomach brought her back to reality. The delicate matter of her pregnancy would have to be kept secret, even within the family, until the king departed.

Thank goodness she hadn’t told Shane. No one must know and there must be no risk of scandal in front of King Easton, or CeCe would never be able to face her mother again.