The Great Baby Caper (8 page)

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“Courtney, please, won’t you lis—”

“Sorry, Mark. Please don’t call me
again.

Mark Billingham winced at the
clicking sound of the phone as Courtney hung up on him for the third time that
morning. Pocketing his cell, he turned irately to his grandfather, who lounged
nearby in a leather wingback chair, nonchalantly sipping his coffee. How dare
the old codger appear so blasé in the face of the worst disaster in Mark’s
life.

After Mark and Courtney had parted
company back at his hotel, Mark had hastened over here, to his grandfather’s
suite at the hotel on Canal. He’d come partly to seek his grandfather’s help,
and partly to upbraid him. Of course he’d been discreet as far as Courtney’s
reputation was concerned, for he was too much the honorable Englishman to do
any less. Although he’d admitted to his grandfather that he and Courtney had had
dinner together last night, he’d concluded his account simply by stating that
they’d parted company with nothing resolved. He hadn’t told the old guy about
their spending the night together.

At least the old guy had given him
Courtney’s cell number, not that it was any help. Even as he prepared to give
his grandfather his third dressing down of the morning, the old man held up a
hand. “Don’t start up again with me, Mark. I’ve a convention to run, and I
don’t have time for this.”

“You haven’t the time? Well,
you’ve had ample time to turn my life into a living hell with your
machinations.”

“You mean Courtney Kelly has.”

“After you provoked her beyond
reason.”

“Well, if she can’t take the heat,
then she’d best get out of the executive suite kitchen.”

Mark flung a hand outward. “There
you go with more of your sexists remarks. You know she’s going to take us both
to the cleaners once she files her lawsuits, which I’m sure will be too
numerous and devastating to even contemplate.”

“Spare me your melodramatics
regarding Courtney’s alleged legal tactics,” M. Billingham scoffed. “She won’t
risk becoming a pariah in our industry.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it,” Mark
retorted. “Courtney has ample courage, and you deserve to bear the brunt of
it.”

M. Billingham waved off his
grandson. “If she’s smart, she’ll be back with her tail between her legs before
we both know it.”

Mark was incredulous, his eyes
imploring the heavens. “Grandfather, if that’s what you really think, all I can
say is that you’ve been running a baby company for too long. You’re living in a
fairy tale.”

M. Billingham only chuckled. “On
the contrary, grandson, I know human nature and I know Courtney. She’ll be
back.”

“She won’t. And it’s all your
fault.”

“Now don’t go acting pure as the
driven snow. You had a hand in this, too.”

“I played along with your scheme,
never intending to force her hand.”

“Well, her hand is forced, whether
she likes it or not.”

“She won’t stand for it,
Grandfather.”

The old man merely chuckled. “Ah,
but she will. You see, Courtney’s very ambitious, and she wants that promotion
in the worst way. I’m betting her ambitions will win out in the end and she’ll
be back to assume her place as CEO—and as my grandson’s wife.”

Mark’s jaw dropped open. “You
actually think I’d want her on that basis?”

M. Billingham gave a shrug. “It’s
a beginning. Some of the best marriages start out as hostile takeovers.”

“I can’t believe you would say
that!” Mark ranted. “Hostile takeovers, indeed. Well, my marriage won’t start
out that way. You don’t understand anything, Grandfather. I really care for
Courtney. Now you’ve killed my chances with her.”

“There you go being melodramatic
again, just like your moth—”

“Don’t you dare speak ill of my
mother again,” Mark cut in heatedly. “As if you’re some paragon of familial
virtue.”

Now at last he got a rise out of
the old man, who surged to his feet with fire in his eyes. “Mark, I always
wanted what was best for you—”

“You wanted what was best for
you
.
You’re a puppeteer who expects the entire world to dance to his demands. Well
this puppet has broken its strings—and so has Courtney.”

Mark strode out of the room,
leaving his grandfather to scowl after him.

***

Hands shoved in his pockets, Mark
marched along the levee, the churning waters below matching his turbulent state
of mind. What was he to do? He’d spent last night with the most incredible,
beautiful woman. He was all but convinced he loved Courtney Kelly. But he’d
lost any chance with her due to his grandfather’s intrigues. And he hadn’t
helped his own cause by so rashly proposing marriage this morning. Why hadn’t
he practiced a modicum of caution and kept his damn mouth shut?

Now Courtney distrusted his
motives, and he couldn’t blame her. Now she believed his “seducing” her had
been only part of his grandfather’s scheme, when nothing could be further from
the truth.

But could he tell Courtney the
truth—that until twelve months ago, he’d been a wretchedly lonely man, immersed
in his own business? That he’d seen that first video of her at the board
meeting and had become fascinated?

Of course she knew he’d become
acquainted with her that way. But could he tell her how obsessed he’d truly
become? How he’d endlessly replayed the videos, studying her every unique
facial expression, her every move, the mystery of her smile, the confident yet
provocative way she walked? The softness yet quiet authority of her voice?

Could he admit she was everything
he had ever dreamed of in a woman—and a wife? Could he tell her he’d fallen in
love with an image flickering on a screen? And that when his grandfather had
proposed his insane scheme, he’d rashly gone along, just to have a chance with
her?

Could he tell her that the
real
Courtney was so much beyond his wildest dreams that he was still reeling from
his moments alone with her? Could he tell her that making love with her was the
grandest bliss he had ever known, that he had lost himself in the depths of her
warm, tight body, the hot eroticism of her mouth, the tender warmth of her
breasts, the gorgeous depths of her eyes, the soft comfort of her arms? That he
could make love with her until time itself ceased to exist, and still never get
enough of her?

Could he ever tell her, much less
hope for her forgiveness?

How could he convince her his motives
were sincere? How could he win her back? Somehow he must. He simply must, or
he’d lose his mind.

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“What do you mean,
none
of
the Christmas merchandise has been ordered?” Mark bellowed.

In late June, he stood in his posh
office at Billingham’s company headquarters in London. He was shouting at his
assistant, Riggs, a fair-haired young man with glasses who stood trembling
across from him, holding a sheaf of papers.

“Sir,” Riggs replied in quivering
tones, “these special purchase orders have been sitting in your in box for
months now, awaiting your signature.”

“Then why did you never direct my
attention to them?”

“Sir, I tried to, but you either
ignored me or cut me off.”

“It was your job to make sure I
took notice.”

Riggs gulped. “Yes, sir.”

Mark began to pace. “I can’t
believe this. We can’t have Christmas at Billingham’s without having our
special Christmas robes and sweats for the entire family, as well as the
exclusive table linens we feature for the holidays. My father must be rolling
in his grave.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is there no way we can get the
stock in time?”

“The Birmingham factory said it
can still produce the order, at a twenty percent surcharge.”

“Twenty percent!”

Riggs all but cringed. “That’s
their standard rate on a holiday rush order.”

“It’s highway robbery, and by all
rights should come out of your salary.”

Riggs went pale. “But, sir, you
know I tried to warn you—”

Mark shook a finger at him. “I
don’t want to hear any more of your lame excuses. You are undoubtedly the worst
executive assistant I’ve ever had. One more incident like this, and you’re
discharged.”

Mark realized he had gone too far
when he saw Riggs begin blinking rapidly. His voice shook badly as he replied,
“I’ll save you the trouble, sir. I’ve tried to be patient with you, but even I
have my limits. I—I resign . . . and consider that effective immediately.”

To emphasize his point, he tossed
the papers at Mark’s feet. Then he spun about and exited the office.

Mark started to go after him, then
collapsed into his leather chair with a groan. Perhaps it would be best to wait
until tomorrow, give Riggs a chance to cool down, then try to bribe him back
with an apology and a hefty bonus.

Damn, he’d acted like such a
jackass, much like his grandfather, whose abrasive attitude toward employees
had always made him cringe. He hadn’t meant to be so sharp with Riggs,
especially over something that was technically his own fault.

But he’d been hell to live with
ever since his last trip to America in April. His staff avoided him like the
plague, and he was seriously off his game. He kept forgetting things—like
approving the Christmas purchase orders for Billingham’s—and his latest planned
acquisition of a telecom company was going down the tube as well due to several
tactless remarks he’d made during the negotiations.

All because of her. Courtney
Kelly. His life had been utter chaos since the day he’d met her. Worse yet,
only weeks after their encounter in New Orleans, she had disappeared, fallen
off the face of the earth. On top of missing her, he was worried sick about
her.

One day he’d feel desperate to
find her and win her back, so his life could return to normal. The next, he would
think, damn her anyway for doing this to him. Endlessly he wondered: Was he
more miserable with or without her?

He had his answer as his desk
phone rang and he tensed. “Riggs!” he called. “Answer the damn—” Then,
remembering his assistant had just quit, he snatched up the receiver. “Hello?”

The connection sounded rather
fuzzy. A female voice inquired, “Mr. Billingham?”

“Yes.”

“Moody and Moody calling from Denver. Can you hold?”

At last! The call he’d been
waiting for from the States. “Yes,” he tersely replied. “And tell your boss he
can’t possibly be any more
moody
than am I at the moment. This had
better be good.”

The woman laughed nervously. “Yes,
sir. I’ll get Mr. Moody right on the line.”

Mark waited in an agony of
expectation as the seconds ticked past . . .

***

“What do you mean, the shopping
court won’t be ready in time?” Courtney demanded.

In downtown Detroit, Courtney, in
business suit and hard hat, was standing inside the unfinished retail corridor
of a massive new downtown casino complex. She was talking with the construction
project manager and his foreman.

Two months ago she’d accepted a
job in Detroit as retail liaison for a new casino. She’d left Denver in a hurry
and was tackling her job here with her usual “hands on” attitude. Unfortunately
things weren’t going well at the moment. One of her duties was to oversee the
construction itself, and it looked as if the shopping corridor would never be
finished in time for the gala opening, which was scheduled shortly. Indeed, the
covered expanse still appeared to be little more than an unfinished steel,
glass, and concrete shell. All around them in the long wing stretched
construction debris—sawhorses, tarps, cans of paint, scaffolding. Dust and
noise filled the air as workers hammered, sawed, and painted. Courtney scooted
out of the way as two men passed carrying a huge white lighting fixture.

The project manager gestured at
the bare concrete floor. “As you can see, we’ll be ready to start laying the
terrazzo on the center walkway next week. But it’ll still be a good six weeks
before all the plumbing, writing, and central-air systems will be completed and
the tenants can start moving in.”

“Six weeks!” Courtney gasped. “My
vendors are ready to go now. Many of them are hoping to open by July 4 when the
casino itself launches, and your deadline on this project was June 10. You’re
way behind schedule and over budget.”

The foreman gave a shrug. “Sorry,
ma’am, but there’s just no way we’ll make it by the fourth. The concrete in
some of the units isn’t even fully cured yet.”

Courtney cursed under her breath.
“Well, the two of you had best find a way, because I intend to keep the
promises I made to our retail vendors. We’ve got all sorts of lucrative deals
hanging in the balance here. Furthermore, you’re in breach of contract on
this.”

The manager pulled off his hard
hat and glowered at Courtney. “Ma’am, there’s no need to get nasty about this.
We do our best, but sometimes our subs get backed up or don’t show up for work.
There’s been a sheetrock shortage too. Plus, we can’t control the weather, and
we’ve had lots of rain lately. Our contract states that we’re not responsible
for acts of God.”

“I don’t care what your contract
says,” Courtney retorted. “And I don’t want to hear any more lame excuses. I
expect you to finish by the fourth.”

“Oh yeah?” he scoffed. “What am I
supposed to do, haul in portable toilets and use sparklers for electricity?
Bribe some building inspectors?”

“No. Get the job done, and do it
right.”

The man’s face reddened. “Look,
lady, you’ve said your piece but you’re not my boss. Why don’t you just get the
hell out of here, before a can of paint falls off a scaffolding or something
and knocks some sense into you?”

Courtney was fuming. “That remark
was uncalled for. You’ll be hearing from me.”

“Yeah. Sure I will.”

She spun about to leave, then
heard the manager mutter to the foreman, “A bitch in a hard hat.”

She whirled to face him, pulling
off her hard hat and tossing it at him. He caught it with a grunt.

“I heard that. And if you think
for one moment that this
bitch
can’t get you fired, think again.”

This time as Courtney turned and
walked away, there was dead silence.

Leaving the building, she seethed.
Great, they wouldn’t make the opening. Now her boss would haul her onto the
carpet because these construction guys couldn’t get their act together.

Men. They were the bane of her
existence. If a man had taken to task those two hard hats, he only would have
been doing his job. Have a woman do it, and she was a bitch.

Well, maybe she was acting just a
wee bit testy these days. Men again. It was all
his
fault, anyway. Mark
Billingham. Her having to flee Denver and take a job here. Her having to
think
about him all the time, too. Of course her grouchiness had nothing to do with
missing him. Nothing at all.

She sighed. Thank heaven her
friend Vanessa Fox would arrive for a visit later today. Vanessa was Courtney’s
sanity, and she needed a little peace in her life right now.