A Baby for the Boss (12 page)

He waited, for her to smile at him, go up on her toes and kiss him. He wanted the taste of her in his mouth again. It had been days and he felt as if it had been years. All she had to do was say yes.

“No.”

She was screwing up a perfectly good plan. Staring down at her, he blurted, “Why the hell not? You’re pregnant, remember?”

She laughed shortly. “Yes, I remember. And I won’t marry you because you don’t love me. You don’t trust me. Passion isn’t enough to build a marriage on, Mike. And I won’t risk my baby’s happiness on a marriage doomed to failure.”

“It’s not doomed.”

“Without love it is,” she said, shaking her head. Laying one hand on his forearm, Jenny continued. “It’s
our
baby, Mike. I would never try to keep you from him. Or her. But I won’t marry a man who doesn’t trust me.”

Then she kissed him.

And left.

Ten

J
enny had a stalker.

For the next few days, every time she turned around, Mike was there. He carried her paints and insisted on getting her a chair if she so much as yawned. Only that morning, when she climbed a step ladder to add a few silvery cobwebs to a naked tree on an elevator door, he’d snatched her off the darn thing and carried her to her room. In spite of her loud protests. The man had appointed himself her caretaker whether she wanted one or not. It was annoying and endearing at the same time.

She didn’t want to get used to this kind of treatment, though. Firstly because she was perfectly healthy and able to take care of herself. But mainly because she knew it was all for show. He was trying to schmooze her into marrying him on his terms.

But she couldn’t do it. Couldn’t give up her fantasies of a loving husband and settle for a man who didn’t trust her, didn’t love her. Passion was a poor substitute for real love.

“Jen, what do you think of this?”

Jenny popped out of her thoughts and focused instead on the job at hand. “What’ve you got, Christa?”

The other artist was tall and thin, with black hair cut close to her scalp and a penchant for wearing eye-searing colors. She was also fast, talented and eager to please.

“I was thinking about adding in a few of the Death Flowers among the vines here at the windows.”

“Death Flowers?” Jenny repeated with a smile.

Christa shrugged. “I admit, I love the ‘River Haunt’ game. I play it with my fiancé all the time.”

“Do you win?”

“Not so far,” she admitted, “but I keep trying. Anyway, you know the bloodred flowers that have fangs? I thought if it’s okay with you, I’d add a few of them here on these vines. I mean, they’re not on the original design so I wanted to run it by you before I did anything.”

The dining room was nearly finished. The far wall was complete and the forest scene was spectacular. Though she’d had a few problems with one of the artists, she couldn’t fault the work. Jenny looked up at what Christa had done so far. The vines were thick and lush, wrapped around the edges of the windows and down to the bottom of the wall where a few of them even pooled on the floor. “You’ve done a great job here, Christa.”

“Thanks,” she said, stepping back to check out her own work. “I’m really grateful for the opportunity.”

Jenny looked up at her. As short as she was, she pretty much looked up at
everyone
. “The flowers are a fabulous idea. I love it.”

Christa grinned.

“Use your own eye for placement. Seeing your work, I trust your judgment.”

“That is so cool. Thank you, Jenny.” Christa’s features lit up in pleasure.

“You know, when this project’s finished, if you’re interested, I’ll talk to Dave Cooper, he’s the head of the graphic arts department for Celtic Knot. I’m sure he could use an artist like you.” She paused. “If you’re interested.”

“Seriously? Interested?” Christa laughed, then scooped Jenny up for a tight hug. “That would be like my dream job.”

When she was on her feet again, Jenny grinned at the other woman’s enthusiasm. “You could probably work from here, but Dave might ask you to move to California.”

“Not a problem,” Christa swore, lifting one hand as if taking an oath.

“What about your fiancé? Would he be willing to move for your job?”

Christa smiled. “He loves me, so sure. Of course. Plus, he’s a writer, so he can work anywhere.”

“Then I’ll talk to Dave and let you know what he says.”

“Thank you, Jenny. I mean it. This is just the ultimate thing that could have happened.”

“You’re welcome. But for right now, concentrate on the Death Flowers.”

“They’ll be the most bloodthirsty blossoms in the universe when I’m done with them,” Christa vowed, and immediately bent to her paint palette.

Sure what she was feeling was etched on her features, Jenny was grateful that the other woman had turned away. She heard Christa’s words echoing in her mind.
He loves me. So sure. Of course.
Envy whipped through her like a lash, leaving a stinging pain behind. Christa was so certain of her fiancé. So confident in his love and support. And Jenny yearned to know what that feeling was like.

Sighing, she watched for a few minutes as Christa laid out quick sketches for placement of the flowers. It was nice to be able to help someone so talented. Someone who’d already proven herself to be a team player. Jenny was sure that Dave would jump at the chance to bring aboard such a skilled artist. Especially since he’d be needing someone to take Jenny’s place once she turned in her resignation. Oh, that thought hurt. She loved her job. Loved being a part of the magic of imagination. But she had to give it up. For the sake of her own sanity.

Jenny left the main floor and took the stairs to the third. She couldn’t take the elevators, since they were shut down temporarily so the paintings on the doors could be completed. Wanting to take a quick look at the hallway up here, Jenny walked slowly, checking the progress of the artwork.

On the third floor, there were werewolves sprinting along the wall, muscled bodies ripping through ribbons of fog as they gazed out at the hall as if staring at those who walked past. Jenny admired the art even as she shivered at the images. Not exactly the kind of thing designed to promote an easy night’s sleep. But then again, the gamers who would flock to this hotel would love the imagery. Then they would slip into their hotel rooms and play the games on the top-of-the-line gaming systems.

She smiled to herself, then gave a quick glance to the antiqued brass wall sconces, shaped to give the illusion of torches. A dark blue carpet runner stretched the length of the hallway, covering the center of the wood-grain ceramic tiles. It was a good idea, she thought, for the flooring. Giving the feel of wood while offering the much-easier-to-care-for tile.

She headed back to the staircase and then walked down to the second floor to peek at what the other two artists were doing with the banshee/ghost halls. When she found them, the artists were in a heated discussion and didn’t even notice her approach.

“The banshees all have white hair,” Lena shouted. “Have you ever played the game?”

“I’m an artist, I don’t waste my time playing video games,” Tony argued. “And what difference does it make if a banshee has black hair? They’re not
real
, you know.”

“No,” Jenny said loudly enough to interrupt their argument. “Banshees aren’t real, but they are integral to the game you’re supposed to be replicating here.”

He sighed heavily, dramatically, as if to let her know how put-upon he was to be questioned by anyone about his artistic decisions. Jenny had known when she hired the man that he was going to be difficult. But the sad truth was, his talent had won him the job. She’d run out of names of local artists and had had to take a chance on him being willing to play by the rules stated. It looked as though she’d made a bad call.

“Artistically speaking, a black-haired banshee will pop more from the cream colored walls,” he argued.

“You jerk,” the other artist countered. “If you knew anything about shadows and highlighting, you’d know how to make that white hair stand out. It’s supposed to be otherworldly, not like a photo shoot for a fashion magazine.”

“What you know about art,” he shouted, “could be printed on a business card with room left over for a Chinese menu.”

“I know enough to do what I’ve been contracted to do,” she said.

Jenny’s head ached. They’d had the same problems with Tony while finishing the mural in the dining room. He wanted things done his way—too bad for him, he wasn’t in charge. Holding her hands up for quiet, Jenny felt as if she were refereeing a fight between second-graders. “That’s it. Lena, thanks, you’re doing a great job. Just get back to it, okay?”

With muttered agreement, the woman did go back to work, throwing one last fulminating glare at the man smirking at her.

Jenny lowered her voice when she spoke again. There was no need to humiliate the man, but she wasn’t going to be ignored, either. “Tony, you agreed when you signed on to this project to follow the planned art designs.”

“Yes, but—”

“And,” Jenny said, a little more loudly, “whatever you think of video games, the guests who will be coming to this hotel know these games like the backs of their hands.”

Tony sighed heavily again. “If you’ll only let me show you what I mean—”

“So,” she said, overriding him again, “you will either do what you agreed to do, or you can pack up your paints and leave.”

Insulted, he jerked his head back and glared at her. “You can’t fire me.”

“Oh, yes,” a deep voice sounded from behind her. “She can.”

Jenny looked over her shoulder, unsurprised to see Mike coming up behind her. The man was always close at hand these days.

“Mr. Ryan...”

Mike shook his head and continued speaking to the artist. “But allow me to repeat it so you’ll understand. Either follow the planned design, or leave and we’ll send you your last check.”

“I’m an artist,” Tony said hotly, lifting his chin with its wispy goatee. “If all you want is someone to fill in the lines with color, you don’t need an artist. You need a child with a box of crayons.”

“Your choice,” Mike said. “Thanks for your time.”

Clearly outraged, the man flushed darkly, then spun around to pack up his supplies, muttering all the while. From the corner of her eye, Jenny saw Lena do a little hip-shaking happy dance at the other artist’s exit and she smiled.

“Well, that was fun.” Jenny looked up at Mike. “I was handling it, you know.”

“I saw and you were doing a great job.” He smiled at her and Jenny’s foolish heart gave a hard thump in response. “Any reason why I shouldn’t help out when I can?”

“I suppose not,” she said, but inside, she whispered that it wasn’t a good idea for her to learn to depend on his help. Because it wouldn’t always be there.

“Lena, are you all right here on your own?” Jenny asked.

“Are you kidding?” She laughed. “With Tony gone, it’ll be like a vacation.”

“Great. I’ll send Christa up to help you when she finishes in the dining room.”

“Fab, thanks. Oh, boss?”

Jenny and Mike both answered, “Yes?” Then Mike waved one hand as if telling Jenny to take it.

“I had an idea I wanted to run by you.”

“Shoot.”

Another grin from Lena. “I was thinking, what if I drew out one or two of the banshees so that their arms are stretched across the door—you know, so their clawed hands look like they’re reaching for the guest opening their door...” She bit her lip and waited for a decision. She didn’t have to wait long.

“That’s a great idea,” Jenny said and glanced at Mike. “What do you think?”

Nodding, he said, “I love it. Good thinking, Lena.”

“Thanks.”

“And your banshees look like they stepped right out of the game, I appreciate that,” Mike added.

“Hey,” Lena said, “I love that game!” When she turned to go back to work, humming to herself, Jenny and Mike headed back down the hall.

“The elevators are turned off, so we have to take the stairs.”

“Yeah,” Mike said, “I know. But I don’t like you climbing up and down those stairs every day. What if you tripped and fell?”

“What am I, ninety?” Jenny shook her head and laughed to herself. “You’re being ridiculous, Mike.”

“I’m being concerned, Jenny,” he said, pulling her to a stop just inside the stairwell. “I care about you. About our baby.”

Care
was such a pale word. It was pastel when what she wanted was bold, primary colors.

“I appreciate it, but we’re both fine and I’ve got to get downstairs to finish the main-floor elevator doors. We’re one artist short now.” She started for the stairs, but Mike was too quick for her. He scooped her up into his arms and Jenny huffed out a breath of exasperation.

He was smiling at her, holding her, and though she wanted nothing more than to hook her arms around his neck and hold on, she knew she couldn’t. “You’re not playing fair, Mike.”

“Damn right, I’m not,” he agreed, walking down the stairs with her held close to his chest. “I’ve told you how it’s going to be between us, Jenny. I’m just giving you time to get used to the idea.”

* * *

Later that night, the construction crew was gone for the day and most everyone else had headed into Laughlin for dinner and some fun. In the quiet darkness, Jenny went out onto the pool deck by herself, eager for a little solitude. It had been days now since Mike showed up at the hotel and it looked as though he had no intention of leaving anytime soon. Didn’t he know that by staying, he was making this whole situation so much harder on her?

“Of course he does,” she whispered wryly. “That’s his plan, Jenny. He’s trying to make you crazy enough that you’ll agree to marry him, even though you know it would be a mistake.”

Oh, God, she was so tempted to make that mistake.

Shaking her head at her own foolishness, Jenny sat down on the edge of the pool, took off her shoes and dangled her feet in the warm water. It was still cool in the desert at night, so she enjoyed the mix of a cold wind brushing over her arms and the warm water lapping at her legs. Lazily kicking her feet through the water, she leaned back on her hands and stared up at the night sky.

“Beautiful,” she said to no one. With no light pollution here, the stars were brilliant and there were so many of them. It was like a painting, she thought and instantly, her mind drifted to just how she would capture that scene on canvas, though she knew she would never be able to do it justice.

“It is, isn’t it?”

Jenny sighed and tipped her head down to watch Mike come toward her. Her time alone was over and though she knew that spending time with Mike was only prolonging the inevitable, she relished the hard thump of her heart at the sight of him. She’d thought he went into town with the others, but she should have known better, she told herself now.

He took a seat beside her, dropped his bare feet into the water and looked up at the sky. “Being in the city, you never see this many stars,” he said, voice low, deep, intimate. “You forget how big the sky really is.”