His Brand of Passion. Кейт Хьюит
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and gossip magazines for a glimpse of his name. She saw a photograph of him at a movie premier with a gorgeous B-list actress and felt something inside her tighten, twist. Surely not jealousy? she asked herself. It would be incredibly, criminally stupid to be jealous. Aaron Bryant meant nothing to her, and she obviously meant nothing to him. Their one night, fantastic as it had been, was over.
Resolutely she went to work at The Daisy Café, a funky, independent coffee shop in Greenwich Village where she worked part-time as a barista. She went to the community centre where she worked afternoons as an art therapist, and tried to keep away from the tabloids.
One afternoon in early September she was working at the café when the smell of the coffee beans nearly made her lose her breakfast.
‘I must be coming down with something,’ she told Violet, her co-worker, a young woman of nineteen who had multiple piercings and hair dyed like her name. ‘The smell of coffee is making me sick.’
Violet raised her eyebrows. ‘If I don’t know better, I’d think you were pregnant.’ Zoe just stared at her, all the blood draining from her face, and Violet pursed her lips. ‘Uh-oh.’
As soon as her shift ended Zoe bought a pregnancy test, telling herself she was being ridiculous. Aaron had used protection, after all. She probably just had some kind of stomach flu, but just to be safe…
She took the test in the tiny bathroom of her studio apartment, sitting on the edge of the tub while she watched two pink lines blaze across the little screen.
Pregnant.
She sat there, the test in hand, utterly in shock and completely numb. Yet as that blankness wore off she probed the emotion underneath like a sore tooth or a fresh scar and realised, to her surprise, it wasn’t dismay or fear that she felt. It was almost…excitement. Happiness.
She shook her head, incredulous at her own emotions. A baby. The baby of a man she barely knew, didn’t even like. And yet…a baby. A child, her child, already nestled inside her, starting to grow. She pressed one hand against her still-flat tummy in a kind of dazed incredulity.
She wanted this baby. Despite all the challenges and difficulties of being a single mother on a small salary, she wanted to have this child. She was thirty-one years old, and a happy-ever-after wasn’t likely to be in her future. This was her chance to be a mother, a chance to find her own kind of happiness. And, even though the baby was no more than the size of a bean, it was there. And she wanted to nurture that tiny life, that part of her.
Over the next few days she wished she had someone to talk to, but none of her friends were remotely interested in pregnancy or babies, and ever since Millie had lost her husband and young daughter three years ago Zoe hadn’t felt like she could burden her with her problems—and certainly not this. Children were still a no-go area for Millie.
There was, Zoe knew, at least one person she needed to talk to. Aaron, no matter how hands-off he intended to be—and, frankly, she hoped that was considerable—still needed to know he was going to be a father. Zoe didn’t relish that conversation, but it didn’t appear to be one she was going to have any time soon, for every time she called Bryant Enterprises and asked for Aaron she was put off by a prissy-sounding secretary.
She left message after message with her name and number, but a week went by of her calling every day and he never phoned back. Annoyed, she considered not telling him at all, but she knew she could never keep such a devastating secret. And, in any case, that kind of lie of omission would likely come back and bite her. Which left one other option, she decided grimly.
It didn’t take too much effort to get Aaron’s mobile number from Chase on a rather flimsy pretext of needing sponsors for a charity event she was supposed to be coordinating for the community centre, but when she tried his mobile he didn’t answer that either. Jerk.
Ten days after she’d first taken the test Zoe resorted to a text message, which seemed appropriate, considering how a phone had figured in their first encounter.
Grimly she typed in the four words she’d decided would convey her situation to her baby’s father:
I’m pregnant, you ass.
CHAPTER THREE
AARON STARED AT the text message in disbelief. He knew who it was from, even though the number wasn’t one he recognised. Rather unusually, he’d only slept with one woman in the last month and, more significantly, he knew only one woman who would text him such a provocative message.
Zoe.
Pregnant?
Impossible. He’d used protection every time. Aaron stared at the text message, his eyes narrowing. He hadn’t thought Zoe Parker a grasping gold-digger, but he supposed anything was possible. He’d certainly known women to reach for flimsy pretexts in an attempt to ensnare him.
In any case, this was something he could nip in the bud very easily. Frowning, he tossed his phone aside and turned to his laptop. It shouldn’t be too difficult to find out where Zoe worked and lived.
Late that morning Aaron was standing in front of The Daisy Café, patrons spilling out into the September sunshine, holding their vente lattes and chai teas. Aaron could see Zoe behind the curved counter, working the espresso machine. Her hair was back in a neat ponytail, and she wore a tight black T-shirt that reminded him rather uncomfortably of what she’d looked and felt like underneath.
Pushing that unhelpful thought away with an impatient sigh, he headed inside. Heads turned as soon as he entered. At six feet four with the shoulders of a linebacker, Aaron often caught stares. Some people recognised him, and a woman he didn’t know started to shimmy towards him, a calculating hope in her eyes. Aaron headed for the counter.
‘Zoe.’
She looked up, her grey eyes widening as she took in his presence in the little café. Then her mouth twisted in a sardonic smile and she put her hands on her hips.
‘Well, well, you finally got my message.’
‘Finally?’
‘I’ve only been trying to call you for a week.’
Aaron just shrugged. As far as he was concerned their one night had ended at dawn, when she’d snuck out of bed before he could show her the door. He didn’t do repeats.
‘Is there somewhere private where we can talk?’ he asked and she lifted her chin.
‘I’m working.’
Aaron folded his arms. ‘You’ve been trying to get in touch with me, and now I’m here. What more do you want?’
She glared at him, clearly unwilling to relinquish her anger at his ignoring her messages for the last week. Then she nodded, her jaw set stubbornly. The woman was impossible, yet some contrary part of him admired her spirit. ‘Fine.’
She turned to the other woman behind the counter, a twenty-something woman with purple hair and too many piercings, and said a few words. Then she stalked out of the shop, leaving Aaron, irritatingly, with no choice but to follow her.
‘Well?’ she said once they were out in the street, hands on her hips, pedestrians streaming by in an indifferent blur.
‘I’m not about to conduct this conversation in the middle of a city street,’ Aaron answered tautly. ‘And I’d imagine you don’t want to either.’
The fight seemed to leave her then and she sagged a little bit, looking, Aaron thought, suddenly very tired. ‘No, I don’t. But I have to get back to work.’
‘As do I.’ Every minute spent arguing with this woman was costing him in far too many ways. He simply wanted it dealt with and done. ‘My limo is waiting. Let’s at least conduct this conversation in the privacy of my car.’
With a shrug Zoe followed him to the sleek car idling by the kerb. Aaron jerked open the door and ushered her in, sliding in across from her. He pressed the intercom for the driver.