The Best Man for the Job

EIGHT


Pregnant.

Hmm.

The following morning, after what had—strangely enough, given the events of the past twelve hours—been the best night’s sleep she’d had in weeks, Celia sat at the little square table in her kitchen and stared at the pile of pregnancy tests she’d bought just in case the one last night had been as faulty as the condom they’d used.

As proven by the half a dozen pairs of blue lines dancing in front of her eyes it hadn’t, and so now she was going to have to face facts.

Heaven only knew how, but overnight she’d managed to block it out. Most probably she’d been in too great a state of shock, too overwhelmed by the enormity of the news and too knackered to process it. This morning, however, she felt refreshed. A bit calmer, at least with regards to her health. Her headache had gone, and the pain and palpitations were dwindling, as if discovering the reason for them—coupled with the sheer relief she hadn’t been suffering any of the things that Marcus had suggested—had alleviated them.

Not that she was feeling all that calm about the fact that she was pregnant. No. That was making her insides churn, the coffee she’d drunk earlier and the toast and marmalade she’d just rustled up rolling around in her stomach and from time to time threatening to reappear.

What a bloody mess.

The emotional side of her was livid at the situation. At bad luck, statistics that left room for failure, and most of all with herself for not being stronger willed in that damn vegetable garden.


The rational side of her thought there was little point in being angry or trying to apportion the blame. What was done was done and she just had to deal with it. She had to put all that to one side and figure out what the hell she was going to do about it, which meant that she now had to face options she’d never expected to have. Had never wanted to have.

She could keep it. Or she could not keep it.

What a choice.

A tiny piece of her wished she didn’t have to make it. That the law, society, religion or even her own moral stance on the subject dictated what she had to do and the decision would be out of her hands.

But she squashed that piece of her because she was lucky to live somewhere where she had the choice. The same somewhere that gave her the opportunity to have a career, independence, freedom of thought and speech and deed.

If she gave her options the kind of logical consideration she gave everything—with the exception of that one crazy afternoon of hot sex with Marcus bloody Black—she’d come to the right decision. She trusted in her ability to do that. She was intelligent, confident and had a whole world of information at her fingertips. She’d research. Weigh up the pros and cons and search the depths of her heart and soul, if necessary. And then she’d make up her mind, and know that whatever she chose it would be the right thing to do.

For her, at least.

What Marcus’ opinion on the subject would be she had no idea. But while he was many things he wasn’t a fool and she had no doubt that he’d make up his mind about how he’d like to proceed, just as she would. If their wishes coincided, great. If they didn’t... Well, she’d cross that bridge if and when they came to it.

* * *

Ever since Celia had rung at the crack of dawn this Monday morning, Marcus had been pacing, his nerves as frayed as the carpet he was wearing to death. The past twenty-four hours hadn’t been easy for him, although he was under no illusion that they’d been anywhere near as tough as Celia’s.

After knocking his monster hangover on the head and updating Lily on Celia’s state—omitting the news of her pregnancy, naturally—he’d gone to the gym, where first he’d ploughed up and down the pool for a good couple of hours and after that had run for miles on the treadmill. When he’d got home he’d tried to work. Then he’d eyed the piles of paperwork on his desk and thought about filing. Ten minutes later he’d made an omelette and stuck a film on.

But no matter how hard he’d tried to distract himself he’d still spent every single agonisingly slow second of the day battling the desire to ring her. She’d said she’d wanted to be left alone and he had to respect that, but it had been hard. So when she’d called this morning he’d nearly fallen to his knees in gratitude because he didn’t think he would have been able to hold out much longer.

Wasn’t sure how much he—or his carpet—could, because by his reckoning an hour and a half went way beyond the ‘about an hour’ she’d told him she’d be.

Just as he was shooting a quick frustrated glance at the clock on the mantelpiece and wondering if he shouldn’t call her, the peal of the doorbell burst through the house and he stopped mid-pace, whipped round and strode to the front door. He opened it, drew it back and at the sight of her felt a great wave of relief rock through him.

She looked so much better than she had on Saturday night. Her complexion was pink instead of grey, her eyes bright instead of dull, and even though she was still way too thin, of course, she seemed to have her energy back.

And totally unexpectedly, the overwhelming urge to pull her into his arms and kiss the life out of her slammed into him.

He curled his fingers around the edge of the door to stop himself from reaching for her and concentrated on keeping his feet planted on the floor instead of moving towards her, because taking her into his arms and kissing her was so inappropriate given the circumstances it filled him with self-disgust.

‘Good morning,’ she said, smiling faintly, with any luck completely unaware of what was going through his head.

‘Hi,’ he said, his voice so hoarse it sounded as if he hadn’t used it for months. He cleared his throat, flashed her a quick smile of his own and then stepped back. ‘Come in.’

‘Thanks.’

She walked past him, looking up and around, at the pictures on the walls, at the furniture in the hall. Even though he’d been intending to take her straight into the kitchen and offer her a drink, when she veered into the sitting room he let her because something deep inside him, something he wasn’t keen on analysing too closely, wanted her to like what she saw.

He thrust his hands into the pockets of his jeans, watched as she peered at photos, ran her gaze over his bookshelves and took in the furnishings, and he had to bite back the urge to ask her what she thought because he was pretty sure that she wasn’t here to discuss his interior design.

‘You have a nice house, Marcus,’ she said, once they’d made it into the kitchen and he’d handed her the glass of water she’d requested when he’d offered her something to drink.

‘You sound surprised,’ he said, the gratification that she liked it overriding the irritation that despite everything she still harboured some of the old impressions she’d had of him.

‘I am a bit, I guess. It’s big but somehow it feels cosy. Lived in.’ She lifted the glass and took a sip. ‘It’s unexpected.’

‘Why, what did you expect?’

She shrugged and shot him a smile. ‘I don’t know, really. Something more along the lines of a shag pad, I suppose.’

‘You haven’t seen the bedroom.’

The minute the words left his mouth he wished he could scoop them up and stuff them back in because that had sounded an awful lot like flirting, and what the hell he thought he was doing flirting with Celia, now, he had no idea.

She snapped her gaze to his, her eyes widening and her breath catching. ‘No,’ she said softly. ‘I haven’t.’

Marcus ignored the temptation to suggest that she go with him and check it out, and told himself to get a grip. He had to pull himself together. He really did. Before he made even more of a fool of himself.

‘So how are you feeling?’ he asked, folding his arms, leaning back against the granite counter and deciding that whatever it was that was affecting his ability to think straight it might be safer if he stuck to the likely reason she was here.

‘Better after a couple of good nights’ sleep,’ she said dryly, ‘but strange.’

‘Strange’ he could understand. He was feeling very strange indeed. A bit baffled by the way she was affecting him given the situation they were in. On edge and horribly awkward, which was a new one when it came to the things he felt around her. A new one for him generally, come to think of it. ‘How’s the headache?’

‘Gone.’

‘The palpitations?’

‘Receding.’

Thank goodness for that. ‘Nausea?’

‘No.’

He ran his gaze over her figure, taking in the summery dress that hung off her a bit too loosely, and frowned. ‘Are you eating?’

She nodded. ‘I am.’

‘Properly?’

‘Properly. I went to the supermarket this morning and everything. Scout’s honour.’

Good. ‘So no work today, then?’ he said, remembering it was Monday.

‘I took the day off.’


‘That must be a first.’

‘The first in two years.’ She shot him a quick wry smile. ‘Stuff on my mind, you know?’

He did. On his mind too, actually, and frankly he’d had enough of skirting around the issue with small talk and edginess. ‘So I imagine you’re here to talk about the pregnancy.’

‘I haven’t been able to think about anything else for the last twenty-four hours.’

‘No, well, it’s kind of all-consuming, isn’t it?’

‘What’s your take on it?’

He didn’t have one. At least not until he knew what hers was. ‘I’d rather hear yours.’

She tilted her head and looked at him steadily, a frown appearing on her forehead. ‘Have you actually thought at all about what you think we should do?’

‘Of course I have,’ he said, because he had thought about it. Sort of. Not that he’d really come to a conclusion one way or another. What would have been the point of that when, as it wasn’t his decision to make, any opinion he had would only be irrelevant?

‘Because you do realise that the only way we can work through this is if we’re honest.’

‘I do.’ And he would be honest, because he wanted what she wanted. ‘Want to sit down?’

‘Sure.’

She pulled out the nearest chair and sat down and he walked round the table to take a seat opposite her.

‘OK. Right. Well. Here goes.’ She put her glass on the table, leaned forwards to rest her elbows on the table and took a deep breath. ‘As you can probably imagine I’ve given it a lot of thought and the way I see it we have three options. One, I keep it. Two, I have it and give it up for adoption. Or three, I have an abortion.’

Even though he could feel his heartbeat speeding up Marcus didn’t move a muscle. ‘Go on.’

‘As far as I’m concerned option number two isn’t viable. I have no moral grounds for going through the whole nine months of pregnancy only to give the baby away at the end.’

‘So that leaves options one and three.’

She nodded. ‘It does.’

‘And which have you decided on?’

‘Option number three.’

* * *

There. It was done.

Celia held her breath as she waited for Marcus’ reaction to the conclusion she’d spent so many heart-wrenching hours coming to. So many thoughts going round and round in her head. So many scenarios playing out over and over again. So much turmoil churning around inside her.

She hadn’t come to the decision easily. She’d never given anything more consideration. She’d applied logic, practicality and emotion, looking at it from every angle she could think of. And then she’d looked at it from what she thought might be Marcus’ angle, even though she was becoming increasingly aware that he may have angles and depths she’d never considered before.

Given what she knew for certain of him, though, she’d assumed that he’d be on board with her decision. That he wouldn’t want the disruption to his life any more than she did.

But right now his face was so totally unreadable she couldn’t tell what he was thinking and it was disconcerting to say the least.

‘I see,’ he said, his voice devoid of any emotion whatsoever. ‘You want an abortion.’

‘I wouldn’t exactly say I want one, but I think it would be for the best.’

‘Right.’

There was still nothing in his expression to let her know what he thought, and she felt a flutter of alarm. What if she’d been wrong in her assumption he’d think the same? What if he wasn’t on board with this? What if he wanted the baby while she didn’t? What would happen then?

‘Look, Marcus,’ she said, bracing herself for the possibility of having to negotiate or compromise or who knew what, ‘while I don’t rule out having children at some point in the future, the timing of this one couldn’t be worse. My career is very important to me. I travel a lot. I work horrendous hours. I’m up for partnership, and after everything I’ve worked for I can’t jeopardise that. This pregnancy was an accident and I—’

‘You don’t have to justify your decision, Celia,’ he cut in, thankfully putting an end to her rambling, which was in danger of becoming faintly hysterical.

‘Don’t I?’

‘No. Because I happen to agree with you.’

She blinked. Sat back. A little bit stunned and a whole lot relieved. ‘You do? Really?’

He nodded. Once. ‘Really.’ He leaned forwards and looked at her, his gaze intense and unwavering. ‘You wanted to know my take on it? Well, this is my take on it. I don’t want a child either. It’s not something I’ve ever wanted. While the timing is neither here nor there for me I think we’re both well aware I’m hardly father material. We’re not in a relationship. And when it comes down to it I’m not sure we really even like each other.’

Oh. That took her aback, although she didn’t really know why, because he was right. She might still be fiercely and annoyingly attracted to him but did that constitute like? She didn’t think so.

‘So what kind of people would we be bringing a child into that situation?’ he continued.

‘My thoughts exactly,’ she murmured, and wondered if he’d somehow been able to read her mind because so many of his arguments were hers.

‘We’d both end up miserable and God only knows what effect that would have on a child.’

‘Not a good one, and I should know.’

‘So that’s it, then,’ he said briskly. ‘Decision made.’

Thank goodness for that. Celia blew out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding because this conversation had gone a lot more smoothly than she’d dared to hope. ‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m as sure as you are.’

And she was one hundred per cent sure. She’d employed every resource she had and had thought about it for so long and hard that how could she be anything but? ‘I’m sure,’ she said firmly, then she sat back, every single one of her muscles sagging in relief. ‘You know, for a moment there I was really worried you’d want it,’ she said with a faint smile.

‘And have to curb my lifestyle?’ he said dryly.

‘Well, quite,’ she said, her smile faltering for a second as it struck her that, while much of his behaviour recently had surprised her, some things were still the same. Such as his love of chasing after anything in a skirt. Or bikini, if those press reports of his antics over the past month, complete with photos, were anything to go by.

But she pushed aside whatever it was that was needling her—disapproval, most probably—because what did she care what he got up to, and instead focused on the tiny arrow of guilt that was suddenly stabbing at her conscience. ‘Are we being terribly selfish?’ she said, suspecting they were, but if they were at least they were in it together.

Marcus shook his head. ‘I’d say we’re being sensible. Realistic. Responsible.’

‘That sounds more palatable.’

‘It’s true. You know it is.’

He was right. She did. ‘I know.’

‘So what happens next?’ he asked after a moment.

‘I’m going to take the rest of this week off.’

‘Can you do that at such short notice?’

She shrugged, for the first time in her career not giving a toss what her boss would think. ‘They’ll just have to live with it. I nearly killed myself pushing that deal through. They can spare me for a week.’


‘Are you serious?’

‘Deadly.’

He shot her a quick grin that flipped her stomach. ‘I’m staggered.’

‘I know,’ she said dryly, reminding herself that her stomach had no business flipping since he’d clearly moved on to pastures new. ‘A temporary shift to my work-life balance. Who’d have thought? But seeing as how I’ve made an appointment to see my GP this afternoon—and presumably there’ll be others—it makes sense. Having my boss wonder what’s wrong with me is not something I’d want to encourage.’

‘Want me to come along?’

She shook her head. ‘I should be fine this afternoon,’ she said and then, trying not to think too much about why she wanted or needed his support, added, ‘But maybe you could come with me to the clinic or wherever I have to go.’

‘Of course.’

‘I’ll call you with dates.’

Celia got to her feet and picked up her bag, and as Marcus walked her to the door she found herself wondering if he really was as on board with this as he claimed. There was something about his lack of emotion, the way he’d agreed with her so swiftly, that didn’t feel quite right. She’d have thought he’d question her thought process a bit more, and the fact that he hadn’t made her faintly uneasy.

He opened the door and she stopped. Turned to him and, dismissing the little voice inside her head questioning why she’d want to challenge him when his agreement suited her so well, said, ‘Marcus?’

‘What?’

‘Do you really think we’re doing the right thing?’

The look he gave her was firm and resolute and wiped away all her doubts, even before he nodded and said, ‘Absolutely.’