Chapter 3 #2
“Fantastic,” she said, sounding so unenthusiastic that he hung up before she heard him snort in amusement.
Mandy dragged herself up the two flights of stairs to her apartment, wondering if her body realized that according to The Everything Guide to Pregnancy, she was supposed to have left first trimester fatigue behind. Someone hadn’t got the message, because she still felt like hell.
It was probably the stress of her new job.
She had been working hard to make a good impression on Damien Sharpton, worrying that any minute he’d fire her without notice or just cause.
Besides, she was expending a lot of energy dodging him, popping into the restroom or behind a cubicle wall when he came out of his office, so she wouldn’t come face-to-face with him.
In the eight weeks since she’d started as his assistant, she’d stuck to that pattern of hide and never seek, but lately she realized her reasons for it were changing.
First it had been because she’d thought he was a beast, capable of making her work environment hell, and because she had seen the wisdom of keeping her pregnancy from him until it was no longer possible.
But to her surprise, she was finding that while Damien was arrogant and impatient, he wasn’t a bad sort at all.
He was demanding, but he also had a sharp wit and an intelligence that astounded her.
It was obvious why he was good at his job—he was aggressive and a perfectionist, but she had expected that.
What she hadn’t anticipated was the sense of humor that was lurking somewhere in that stodgy exterior.
It showed up randomly in his messages when she was least expecting it and intrigued her.
The truth was she actually enjoyed the rapport they shared via technology.
And to her horror she’d been having incredibly vivid dreams featuring his blue eyes gazing at her as he performed all manner of sexual acts. To her. With her. Under her. Over her. In her.
The Everything Guide said intense dreaming was common and expected in pregnant women, with dreams about the baby and sex topping the list. She’d had a couple of dreams about holding the solid weight of her child in her arms, but mostly, undersexed woman that she was, she was dreaming about her boss getting her off.
It was phenomenally embarrassing.
And a good cause for staying away from him. Any time in his presence might either fuel the fire of her lusty dreams or have her stammering, convinced he could read her mind.
Or worst of all, make her want him during waking hours, too.
That’s why this little trip to the Caribbean was nothing short of a major catastrophe.
Mandy grabbed the railing and took a deep breath, wishing for a little air circulation in the hallway. She was burning up. “Just two more steps, then we’re home. I can do this.” She heaved herself up toward her front door and took a minute to rest while searching out her key.
Maybe it was time to read that Yoga for Mothers book Jamie had pressed on her about two minutes after the stick had turned pink. She felt like an anemic turtle.
The door opened, and Allison walked out, wearing a hot pink sundress and heels that sent her over six feet tall. Her long brown hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail, and she looked cool, classy, put together.
Mandy remembered feeling like that a long time ago. Well, she’d never rivaled Allison for that supermodel look, but she had been cute in a casual prep school kind of way, with a good complexion and high metabolism. Now she had dry skin and under-eye circles.
Allison jumped. “Jesus, what are you doing lying on the wall? If you lost your key, you should have buzzed us.”
“I was just taking a minute to rest. I think I’m having triplets or something.
There’s no reason why I should feel this tired.
” Fifteen weeks into this gig and she already sucked at it.
Other women were bouncing around looking adorable at this point—pink cheeks, shiny hair, showing off their little bubbles with tight T-shirts.
She, on the other hand, was becoming really familiar with loose, concealing clothes since the morning sickness had hit her hard and fast. Elastic was her friend. When she wasn’t working she lived in men’s joggers.
“You do look kind of bad.” Allison leaned over and peered at her. “Maybe you should take a nap. But hey, at least you’re not puking all the time anymore.”
“Yippee, lucky me.” Mandy tried to peel herself off the wall, feeling emotional and cranky.
It was the idea of going to the Caribbean with Damien Sharpton, spending days and days in his company in the hot sun, blue sky and ocean waves lulling her, music wafting over the sand.
And her trying to pretend she wasn’t pregnant and alone.
“Remind me never to get pregnant,” Allison said, shifting her clutch from one hand to the other.
Suddenly, without warning, Mandy felt tears well up in her eyes. “It’s not like I did this on purpose, you know! Ben was using protection and yet I still got pregnant, and now this poor baby is stuck with a mother who doesn’t know what she’s doing and can’t even walk up the damn stairs!”
Allison’s eyes widened as Mandy sobbed, swiping at her cheeks.
She didn’t know why she was crying except that it just seemed as though there had been so little in her life she’d been successful at that the odds were against her being a stellar mother as well.
“Oh, shit, Mandy, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean...” Allison stuck her head in the open door of the apartment. “Jamie, come fix this! I made Mandy cry.”
“I’m fine,” she said, even as her eyes swelled up and her cheeks went damp with tears.
But she didn’t protest when Jamie came and put her arm around her and led her into the apartment, clucking and cooing. “What’s the matter, honey? Did that nasty boss of yours do something horrible to you?”
She nodded, plopping onto the couch and hugging a velvet sage green pillow when Jamie gave her a gentle push down. “He’s making me go to the Caribbean with him for a week.”
“The bastard!” Allison said, then pressed her lips together when Jamie shot her a dirty look.
“What? I would kill to go to the beach and get a real tan instead of paying to get sprayed with fake color. What’s wrong with going to the Caribbean?
It’s been a lousy spring. It’s May, and most days it doesn’t even crack fifty degrees. ”
“It doesn’t stop you from wearing a sundress, though,” Jamie remarked, bundled up in a chocolate brown hoodie and jeans.
“I have to show off this fake tan.”
Mandy tucked the pillow under her chin. “I know it sounds stupid, but the thing is, he doesn’t know I’m pregnant. I’m not sure I can hide it for a whole week.”
“But you’re barely showing at all. A man is never going to notice that, and you’re not getting sick anymore.” Allison shrugged her shoulder. “I say you go and relax, soak up some rays and hit the spa. Pamper yourself a little—you deserve it.”
“Do you think so? I mean, he has to find out sooner or later that I’m pregnant, but I’d rather it be later.” Preferably after the baby was born and she was in the hospital. “I actually like working for him, you know, but keeping this a secret is stressing me out.”
“Stress is not good for the baby.” Jamie had moved around the back of the couch and was massaging Mandy’s shoulders.
Jamie’s light fingers kneaded the knots in her muscles, and Mandy whimpered, “I feel completely overwhelmed. There is so much I’m supposed to know. Fetal development, what to ask the doctor, what foods to avoid, how to know when you’re in labor...I can’t keep up.”
“So take all your reading material with you on this trip and just kind of take stock. It’s a lot to learn, but some of it is just common sense. And what’s important is that you be relaxed and stress-free, not whether you know which kind of bottle to buy. That stuff is trial and error.”
“Listen to Jamie,” Allison said, perching on the coffee table, her long legs crossed. “She’s the only one of us who knows a damn thing about babies.”
“I know you shouldn’t swear in front of a baby,” Jamie said.
“The kid’s not even born yet! And damn isn’t a swear word, it’s a pejorative.”
Mandy’s eyes were half closed, and she rubbed the last of the tears off her cheeks. Jamie’s slow and steady massage was lulling her, relaxing her. Maybe she could do this.
Motherhood was common sense, that’s all.
She knew not to swear in front of a child, just like she knew babies could drown in mop buckets.
She knew babies needed powder so their bums didn’t get sore, and she knew a fever in an infant meant a visit to the pediatrician.
She could handle this, one day, one diaper at a time.
She wanted her baby with a fierceness that surprised her. She wanted to love this child unconditionally and guide it to be a responsible, ethical, confident person.
It was scary, but exciting.
Now if she could just stop having sex dreams about Damien Sharpton giving her multiple orgasms, she would really have a handle on things.