Practice Makes Pregnant. Lois Faye DyerЧитать онлайн книгу.
my goodness!” The janitor’s hand flew to his heart and he audibly caught his breath. “I’m sorry, ma’am—I didn’t know anyone was here. I’ll come back later….”
“No.” Allison curved her lips upward in a stiff smile. “No, I’m finished.”
She edged her way past the elderly man and his cart of cleaning supplies and walked back down the hall to her office. Leaving the door open wide, she sat at her desk and turned on her computer, staring blindly at the glowing screen. The minutes seemed to crawl by. At last she heard the rattle of the cart as the janitor left the rest room and moved off down the hall. Allison forced herself to wait until the sound of wastebaskets clattering against the trash can ceased, until the music from the portable radio clipped to the wheeled cart faded, until the outer door to the offices clicked shut. Silence reigned once more.
Allison picked up her purse and crossed to the doorway, peering cautiously out into the hall. Nothing stirred. For the second time, she left her office and moved quickly down the hall to the rest room. She flipped on the lights, crossed to the vanity and pulled out the test kit.
Scant moments later she stared at the stick. There were two little windows, one a little circle, the other a little square. Both of them had a pink line. The test result was positive.
I’m pregnant.
She couldn’t stop staring at the pink lines in their small windows. In an unconsciously protective gesture, her hand lifted to rest on the flat plane of her abdomen.
Her gaze followed the movement of her hand, searching for any change in her body beneath her fingers.
Nothing. She looked just as she always did.
She wondered frantically if she could ignore the pregnancy.
Oh, right. That’s a great plan. The functioning, practical side of her brain scoffed at the ridiculous idea.
Her gaze lifted and she stared at her reflection, dazed, her stunned mind struggling to grasp the fact that in eight months she would give birth.
She had to have a plan. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, overwhelmed by the concept of the tiny life growing inside her. How would she cope with a baby? She didn’t know anything about being a mother. And how could she work at the office all day, go to school at night and still have time to care for a child? But how would she support them if she didn’t finish law school? The barrage of scattered, panicked questions hit her like a tidal wave until she felt light-headed.
She braced her palms on the vanity edge and bent forward to lower her head. Her hair swung forward to brush against her cheeks, and she closed her eyes until the dizziness passed.
At last she opened her eyes and cautiously lifted her head, eyeing her reflection in the mirror. The soft lighting was kind, but there was no denying that her cheeks were pale, her eyes dark and bruised looking. Feeling faintly nauseated, Allison ran trembling fingers through her hair, pushing it back from her face.
I can’t make decisions now, she acknowledged. The only thing she knew for sure was that she was keeping this baby. Determination firmed her chin and once again, she smoothed her palm over her flat tummy. She’d give herself a few days to think about all the probabilities, then make choices and plans.
In the meantime, she thought, she’d have to conceal her worry from her darling, but very snoopy, boss. Eloise had sharp eyes and was genuinely interested in the well-being of all her employees at Manhattan Multiples. Allison knew that she would have to be very good at hiding her distraction. She only hoped that she would have a few weeks before her growing tummy became so obvious that Eloise guessed her secret.
The same day that Allison was struggling to come to terms with the shocking confirmation of her pregnancy, Jorge worked late at the office and returned to his apartment after 10:00 p.m.
He stopped in the kitchen and pulled open the refrigerator door to grab a bottle of water before heading down the dark hall to the second bedroom that he’d converted into an office. Dropping his briefcase and suit jacket on the leather recliner, he crossed to the desk, switched on the lamp, and pushed the on button for the laptop computer sitting atop the polished mahogany. While he waited for it to boot up, he opened the water bottle and drank as he picked up messages from the fax machine. Halfway through the small stack of paper, he halted, his attention captured by the distinctive letterhead of the Bretton Detective Agency. He dropped the rest of the papers back into the fax machine tray, a fierce surge of anticipation flooding him as he quickly read the body of the message.
The Bretton detective had found her. The black-and-white copy of the faxed photo attached to the letter was grainy, but there was no question that the woman glancing over her shoulder as she entered a shop was Allison Baker. And she not only lived across town, she worked in the city.
Jorge glanced at the clock and muttered a curse. It was too late to appear on her doorstep.
But he had her work address. He’d see her tomorrow.
“Manhattan Multiples.” He wondered briefly what the company did. The detective’s report listed the company name and Allison’s job title as personal assistant, but there was no indication as to what type of business Manhattan Multiples was engaged in.
He jotted a quick note to the detective agency confirming that the photo was indeed the Allison Baker he wanted to find and requested a final bill.
He knew the search was going to be expensive, but finding Allison was worth whatever it cost. He could have asked the police detective assigned to the district attorney’s office to run a search for her, but to do so would have required him to explain why he wanted her located. And he wasn’t willing to tell anyone that spending one night with the elusive redhead had left him craving her so badly that he was willing to turn the city upside down in order to see her again.
And when I see her, he thought grimly, she’s going to explain why she ran away and left me alone in that damn hotel room without saying goodbye or leaving me a note. How the hell did she think he was going to see her again?
Probably because she didn’t want to see me again.
The knowledge ate at him, corrosive as acid. Despite the likelihood that Allison hadn’t planned to ever contact him, Jorge couldn’t let it go. He’d felt something rare and powerful that night. Until she told him face-to-face that she hadn’t felt it, too, he wasn’t giving up.
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