Wanted by the Boss. Maureen ChildЧитать онлайн книгу.
were the glass refrigerator cases, where the roses, orchids and other more fragile flowers stood waiting their chance to be admired.
She hit the overhead light switch and a bank of fluorescent lights flickered to life, dropping shadows around the room. Eileen walked into the back room where the florist supplies were kept. Glass vases in varied shapes and sizes and colors were stacked on a series of shelves. Nearby, there was florists tape and shears and green foam and everything else required to build the fantasy flower arrangements Larkspur was known for.
Everything was neat as a pin. The floor was freshly swept and the cuttings from the day had been carried out to the trash can behind the shop.
Flipping on the radio, Eileen listened to a slow, sad song about love and loss. Then she shrugged out of her sweatshirt and reached for one of the vases. Working with the flowers always relaxed her, gave her a chance to think. To let her mind wander while her hands were busy.
And boy, did she need to think.
Rick’s apartment was dark. Empty. He stood with his back to the room, staring out a bank of windows at the ocean below. Off shore, oil derrick islands were lit up like a tropical paradise and a few boats bobbed in the harbor, their running lights twinkling on the dark surface of the water.
The quiet was starting to get to him. But he was used to being alone and he couldn’t remember it bothering him much before this past week and a half.
Now, whenever he was in this place, all he could think about was leaving it. Going to work, where he’d see Eileen—or better yet, going to her house, where he could be with her. Being there, in her house, he felt…alive. There was warmth there. And laughter. There were long hours cuddled together on her couch watching old movies. There was music, drifting from her neighbor’s backyard and the sound of kids playing hoops down the street.
Here…he turned from the windows and raked his gaze across the narrow, sparsely furnished room. After his divorce, he’d moved into this apartment, thinking it was a temporary thing. Then the days and weeks and months had slipped past and he’d stopped thinking about moving. Stopped living—beyond his work. Until Eileen.
Fear chewed at his insides, though he didn’t want to admit it even to himself. When she left, as he knew she would, she’d not only be taking the warmth he’d only just discovered—she’d be taking his child.
He couldn’t allow that.
Taking a sip of his twelve-year-old Scotch, he felt the fiery liquid spill heat throughout his body and knew it wouldn’t last. The chill gripping him since leaving Eileen was bone deep.
And it was only going to get worse.
The ball whizzed past his opponent’s ear and Rick winced as the man ducked. ‘‘Sorry.’’
‘‘Man, who’re you trying to kill?’’ Mike Taylor asked. ‘‘Me? Or just a poor innocent ball?’’
‘‘Neither,’’ Rick said, and stalked to the sidelines where he’d dropped his towel and a quart-sized bottle of water.
The early morning game of racquetball wasn’t going so well. He’d thought that a quick game would clear his head. That working up a sweat would somehow help him clear things in his mind. But it wasn’t working. Hell, he wasn’t even winning. Usually he was way ahead of Mike by now. Instead, he was six points behind and fading fast.
Wiping his face with the towel, he slung it over his left shoulder and watched his friend approach. He and Mike had been college roommates. And that was the only thing they had in common. Rick studied the market and Mike built custom motorcycles for the idle rich. He was so damn good at it, he’d become rich himself—though far from idle. He still built the bikes himself, preferring to stay in the ‘‘pit’’ as he called it.
‘‘So what’s goin’ on?’’ Mike reached out for his bottle of water and unscrewed the cap.
‘‘Nothing.’’
‘‘Sure.’’ Mike took a long drink, then capped the bottle again. ‘‘You never play this bad, man. Something’s on your mind.’’
Rick looked at his old friend for a long minute. ‘‘I asked Eileen Ryan to marry me.’’
Mike was so damn impassive, Rick wasn’t really sure his friend had heard him. Until he said, ‘‘Are you nuts?’’
‘‘Entirely possible,’’ Rick muttered.
‘‘Thought you swore off marriage after Allison left you bloody and broke.’’
‘‘I did.’’
Mike snorted a laugh and slung his towel around his neck. ‘‘Proposing’s a weird way to avoid marriage, man.’’
‘‘She’s pregnant.’’
Mike’s blue eyes went wide as he scraped one hand across his jaw. ‘‘You sure it’s yours?’’
That was the one worry that had never crossed his mind. Eileen was too honest and outspoken to lie about something like this.
‘‘Yeah, I’m sure.’’
Mike nodded. ‘‘Is she keeping the baby?’’
‘‘Don’t know.’’ Rick shifted his gaze toward the plate-glass wall that divided this racquetball court from the one beside it. The gym was crowded, with everyone trying to get in a workout before heading off to their jobs. But he wasn’t paying attention to the people surrounding him. Instead, his mind was focused, as it had been all during the sleepless night, on Eileen. And his child.
He’d never wanted to be a father, but now that the baby existed, he couldn’t stand the idea of losing it. And if she decided to end this pregnancy, there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. His hands fisted helplessly at his sides.
He didn’t want a wife.
But he damn sure wanted his child.
By the end of the week, Rick was holding on to his unraveling temper with a tight fist. Somehow or other, Eileen had managed to avoid him for the last few days. Oh, she showed up for work every morning, right on time. She was polite, efficient, and completely shut him out anytime he tried to talk to her about what was happening. About the baby. About them. Hell. About anything other than work.
Rick had tried to give her space. He’d swallowed his impatience and buried his concerns. He looked into her soft green eyes and read no welcome there, so he didn’t force the issue. He hadn’t stopped by her place after work, even though it was killing him to stay away. He missed her, damn it. He’d driven down her street and paused long enough to look at her lamp-lit windows, but he hadn’t stopped, not sure if he’d be welcome or not. And to be honest, he didn’t think he’d be able to stand it if she opened the door and told him to leave.
But he’d waited as long as he could. Today was the last day she’d be working for him. By Monday, he’d have some anonymous temp in the outer office and Eileen would be back in her flower shop—as far away from his world as if she were on Saturn.
So it was now or never. Standing up from behind his desk, he crossed the room and stood in the open doorway leading to the outer office. Eileen had been here only two short weeks, but her presence had been made known. There were sweet-smelling flowers in a glass bowl on her desk, colorful throw pillows on the plain, dark blue couch and a small watercolor in a pale yellow frame hung near the file cabinets. With just a few minor changes, she’d lightened up his reception room—made it more welcoming for clients.
Just as, simply by being her, she’d made changes in his life.
He used to be content to spend his evenings alone, mapping out the next day’s work. He’d focused all of his energies on the business that had been his whole life. Now, when he wasn’t with Eileen, he was thinking about her. He couldn’t sleep at night because her image kept him awake. His bed felt empty and the quiet was deafening. He’d never considered having