The Boss's Baby Surprise

Or would he think she was as crazy as she feared she might be?

“Well, we’re going there next week.” He frowned. “We have the art museum opening.”

“That’s right. I’d forgotten.”

As part of its corporate philanthropy, Delaney’s was sponsoring a major sculpture exhibition, which would be seen in only four U.S. cities during its world tour. Cleveland was one of them. Celie had been extensively involved in liaising with the Great Lakes Museum of Art during the planning stages of the tour, but most of the details had been finalized months ago.

With her mother’s accident, she’d forgotten the opening was so close. Nick had meetings in Cleveland that day, and she’d already booked hotel rooms for an overnight stay after the event. She’d been looking forward to the glamorous occasion, and had bought a new dress—simple, black, appropriate but glamorous all the same. Now she wondered, with a sick, sinking feeling, if she ought to be dreading the evening instead.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Nick said. “Here take a sip of your drink. No, hang on…”

He slid out from his side of the booth and came to hers. Resting his upturned hand on the table, he coaxed her head forward and down so that his palm cradled her forehead. His other hand stroked the nape of her neck for a moment, then slid lower, to rest on her back.

“Take some deep breaths,” he said. “Are you going to get sick?”

“No.”

“When you can sit up, take a drink and then tell me what’s wrong. This is the second time I’ve seen you like this in a week.”

He stroked her back. His touch was firm enough that she could feel the weight and warmth of his hand, but light enough that it caressed her skin through the thin knit fabric of her top like running water. It wove a net of sensation all around her—a net that she could have cocooned herself in for the rest of her life.

When she sat up, a little too soon, his face blurred in her vision but she could still perceive the depth of his concern, and it disturbed her.

She’d never needed him in this way before, and now, as he’d said, it had happened twice in a week. She didn’t want to need him, didn’t want to have a reason to need him. She wanted her life fully under control, and she was sure he’d feel the same. They both took pride in their professional boundaries, and in how much they could handle on their own.

“It’s okay,” she told him. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, right,” he drawled. “Sure you’re fine.” He brushed her hair behind her ear, touched her shoulder lightly, frowned at her. He narrowed his eyes, and his lips parted. Celie stared down, and heard the hiss of his breath, very close. “Are you still worried about your mother, Celie? Did you come back to work too soon? You look like you’re falling apart.”

“I keep having dreams with messages in them,” she told him, pressing her hands together in her lap. “Last week, I dreamed about my mom breaking her leg. I have cameras flashing in my face as if they’re telling me something. I hear your—I hear a baby crying, and the crying is a message.”

“I’m not sure that I believe in dreams like that,” Nick answered slowly. “In fact, I know I don’t.”

“I never used to, either.” She looked up at him again and tried to smile. “Until I started having them. I don’t want to believe in them. But how can I help it, when they come true? If you could talk me out of believing them, Nick, trust me, I’d be grateful.”

She reached to pick up her glass, and gulped a mouthful of her drink. The dry fizz stung in her mouth. A loud burst of laughter came from a nearby booth, and a party of new arrivals trooped past to the group of low chairs in the far corner. Delaney’s was filling up, and getting noisier.

“Let’s get out of here,” Nick said. “I want to put a good meal into you, and I want to talk about this. But not here, where I’m thinking about Delaney’s and trends and the next advertising campaign. Let’s go somewhere quiet, where nothing else is going to impinge.”

Celie didn’t argue.

Nick flung some cash on the table and they left immediately. Celie paid no attention to where they were going until he parked in front of one of the city’s most exclusive restaurants. Salt was the kind of place where most people needed a reservation, even on a weeknight. Nick Delaney didn’t, because unlike the college-student waitress at his own restaurant, the deferential maitre d’ at this establishment knew at once exactly who he was.

“Better?” Nick said, as soon as they were seated.

Only a few tables were filled as yet, and the clientele was well-dressed and very well-behaved. So were the staff. The waiters skimmed back and forth on silent feet, and even the sounds that came occasionally from the kitchen were muted against a background of soft, smoky music.

With effort, Celie created a smile. “Are you saying you don’t like your own restaurants?”

“I love our restaurants. Tonight, this place seemed like a better idea. Somewhere more discreet, where we can relax. With staff who’ll protect our privacy. I want to hear about the dreams, Celie.”

She told him about the image of her mother lying on the kitchen floor, and the image of cameras flashing, somehow telling her Cleveland. She didn’t tell him what she knew about the crying baby yet, but she did tell him about the hat pin, the woman in front of the mirror and the scrap of torn broderie anglaise.

Since she still had the hat pin in her purse, she took it out and showed it to him.

“You’re right. It has to be the renovations upstairs,” Nick said. He ran a fingertip along the gray metal toward the point, and for half a second Celie could almost feel the touch of his finger on her own skin.

His confident tone reassured her, but she pushed at the issue, all the same. “Renovations give people dreams that come true?”

“Renovations could give someone a hat pin on their windowsill.” He looked up. “Isn’t that what you thought, yourself?”

“I’m not so sure, anymore.”

“And, yes, renovations are stressful and unsettling. People dream more when they’re unsettled. The dreams themselves can be explained.”

“Then do it, Nick, please. I want explanations for this.”

“You were already concerned about your mother, right?”

“She’s elderly. Her bones aren’t strong, and she takes risks without thinking about them. I’ve been responsible for her since my father died, eleven years ago, and she’s never regained the ground she lost when she lost him. Part of her just…left…and I’ve had to pick up the slack.”

“You don’t talk much about all that.”

“There’s no need. It’s under control and it’s not your concern. I love Mom, and I’m happy to help her. But, yes, I do worry.”

“So there you go. Both your conscious and your subconscious mind feared an accident, and it happened.”

“And the flashing cameras? What do they mean? Why are they saying Cleveland to me?”

“The exhibition opening next Tuesday night is a big deal. You know that. The press will be there. No surprise if we get cameras flashing in our faces. Subconsciously, you must be a little nervous about it.”

Celie pretended that he’d convinced her. She wanted him to have convinced her, but he hadn’t. Not really. The dreams remained too vivid in her mind for that. They threatened her own sense of who she was.

As she’d just told Nick she’d run her mother’s life, and her own, from the age of seventeen. She didn’t have a mystic, intuitive streak. She had responsibilities. She couldn’t afford to have dreams that competed with reality in her mind.

Their waiter brought menus and they both ordered. Celie chose a fennel bisque soup and grilled chicken, while Nick decided on shrimp and beef. “Would you like some wine?” he asked.

“Just a glass.”

Even one glass turned out to be a mistake. It loosened her tongue just that little bit more, and as they ate she found herself telling him, “There’s another dream I’ve been having, too, Nick, repeated night after night. It makes even less sense than the others.”

“More predictions? Do I want to hear this? I’m trying to help you get your feet back on the ground, Celie.”

“Are you?”

“For the best of reasons. You’re getting too stressed over this. It’s eating at you more than it should. Look at the way you’re frowning at me.”

“You’re right. I am.” She squeezed out a smile and touched her forehead with her fingers, trying to smooth the frown away. “I—I don’t know if the dream is a prediction. But it gets a little clearer, each time. Maybe you can tell me, because I do think that there’s a message in it, and the message is for you.”