Heatwave. Jamie Denton Ann
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needs? The last time she’d looked, relationships were based on matters of the heart.
Charlie, now unaffectionately known as Cheatin’ Charlie, hadn’t even had the decency to end their relationship in private, but in the passenger check-in area of JFK Airport, of all places. Correction, he’d ended their relationship and informed her he would have her stuff moved into storage while she was in L.A. Considering she’d just been handed a pink slip the day before, along with twenty percent of the work force at Anderson and McIntyre Advertising because of corporate downsizing, she hadn’t put up much of a fight. Yep, she’d gone from smart and savvy all right…straight to doormat.
Perhaps she’d just been too stunned to feel anything. With one striking blow after another, who could blame her? Even now, a dozen or so hours later, she still had a hard time mustering up anything close to an emotional outburst, angry, hurt or otherwise where Cheatin’ Charlie Pruitt was concerned. Well, other than the fact that she’d decided to swear off men for a good long while. And for good reason, too.
Charlie wasn’t the first bad choice she’d made in the relationship department. According to her small group of women friends, she was practically famous for her lousy choices. If she wanted to examine her twenty-seven-year history of relationships truthfully, which she most certainly did not, even she knew they were right. When it came to the opposite sex, she had a radar for men that were wrong for her, and the track record to substantiate the claim.
High school had been a series of dating disasters she’d tried hard to forget once she went away to college. She hadn’t dated much her first couple of years, but her junior year she’d met and fallen head over heels for Rick Murdoch. He’d been premed, an all-American track star and vice president of the junior class. He’d also been stunningly gorgeous, just the kind of guy women spent hours drooling over in magazine ads. They’d had a lot in common, more than she’d ever imagined. Unfortunately, Rick turned out to be gay, something he decided right after she’d lost her virginity to him. How was she supposed to know the one thing they both really had in common was their attraction to men?
When she’d first moved to New York, after landing the account-rep job at Anderson and McIntyre, she’d actually met a wonderful guy who she was sure would make her forget about Rick. Jake was an actor, good-looking in a smooth pretty-boy sense. Attentive. A wicked sense of humor. And an absolutely incredible lover, which went a very long way in restoring the level of her battered sensuality-ego after the disaster of Rick.
She wasn’t a perfectionist, not by a long shot. She understood people weren’t perfect and came with quirks and baggage. Only there were some quirks she simply could not overlook. Jake turned out to have a taste for pornography she found a little too distasteful—like him being cast in the starring role of several X-rated films.
Then there’d been the guy who could never make a decision about anything unless he conferred with his mother first, followed by the borderline obsessive-compulsive who carried his own set of plastic ware to restaurants, something the maître d’ at the Tavern on the Green had found so offensive, he’d asked them to leave. Alan Fontaine had had a few other idiosyncrasies regarding the physical aspect of relationships, as well, but she thought wearing surgical gloves while making love was taking things just a bit too far.
Finally a little over a year ago, she’d thought she’d finally found Mr. Right with Charles Pruitt, III. Tall, slender, with preppy Ken-doll good looks, he had a mesmerizing gaze filled with intelligence. He was a brilliant research attorney. Not a skin flick or latex glove in sight—that made him a plus. He had lacked any real sense of humor, but he had goals similar to her own, which made them work well together.
Turned out Cheatin’ Charlie was really Mr. Not-A-Chance and the father of her baby.
Well, she thought resolutely, she wasn’t the first woman to find herself pregnant and alone. As sure as the sun rose at dawn, she wouldn’t be the last, either.
She shook her head, still trying to wrap her mind around the fact she was going to have a baby. It wasn’t that she didn’t want children, she was just…well, stunned. Starting a family had been part of her most recent five-year plan, but she’d hoped to have a husband, a home and a job first. She still had another couple of years before she figured she was ready to purchase a house, but she did have enough money saved that it wouldn’t be a problem readjusting the real-estate portion of her plan. Provided she found another job first. The husband part, however, had just become moot. Good grief, she hadn’t even realized she and Charlie were having problems.
She sat up straight and slid her hand over her tummy. A baby. Boy or girl? she wondered. Would her child look like her, or like Charlie? She had to admit, other than his rotten sense of timing and the fact that he’d apparently been cheating on her with Ms. Junior Partner, Charles Pruitt, III, wasn’t all bad. A little too self-absorbed obviously, but not completely narcissistic. And they’d had a good time together. At least until she’d been assigned to lead the team of advertisers for the large ad campaign. She’d been keeping long hours for the last couple of months, and Charlie hadn’t seemed to mind. Of course, she hadn’t known he’d been otherwise occupied.
She hadn’t even realized she was pregnant, and she couldn’t help wondering what that said about her. When she’d become increasingly tired, she’d first suspected the long hours spent on the ad campaign had her run-down. She’d caught that wicked cold, followed by the flu, and had just never seemed to regain her usual verve. With her hectic and demanding work schedule, there hadn’t been time to take off work to see a doctor for antibiotics, so Charlie had stocked her up on over-the-counter cold relievers. She’d managed to muddle through the cold, but the flu had left her feeling weak and tired much of the time.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. That was it! That was the how—the antihistamines in all those over-the-counter flu and cold medications she’d been taking must have counteracted her birth-control pills.
A hysterical laugh bubbled up inside her, but she tamped it down lest she wake Grandy’s roomy and the poor woman thought a lunatic was loose in the room. It might take two to tango, as the centuries-old saying went, but it looked as if Charlie was even more responsible for her newly acquired status as mother-to-be than she’d originally believed.
Cheatin’ Charlie might have a skewed version of the meaning of monogamy, but he did know about responsibility. Of course, she couldn’t tell him. He might be the father and he did deserve to know, but not now. Later, when he wouldn’t dream of accusing her of stooping low enough to make a desperate attempt to hang on to a relationship that had gone south.
As for a place to live and finding gainful employment, she knew all she had to do was ask and she could temporarily room with either of her two dearest friends, Susan or Annie, until she found a job. She and Susan Carlson had been roommates in college, so it really wouldn’t be much of an adjustment for either of them, especially since Susan traveled a great deal, thanks to her recent promotion in the public relations firm where she worked. Annie Pickett, on the other hand, a struggling actress who waited tables in between plays to pay the rent, would no doubt appreciate the financial assistance of a roommate.
Emily wasn’t exactly destitute, but finding a job that paid as well as Anderson’s would be difficult in the current job market. And an employer willing to hire a pregnant woman would be virtually nonexistent. Equal opportunities and discriminatory laws aside, when it came down to a final decision, why would someone hire her when she’d be taking a couple of months off for maternity leave within six or seven months of being hired?
She had a lot of thinking and planning to do. A natural list-maker, she reached into her purse for the small pad and pen she always carried with her and started making notes.
She was out of her home, out of a job and her man had dumped her.
Home, she wrote, followed by, Call Annie.
Job…Call headhunters.
Man. She made a noise and crossed that one off her list.
Baby. She tapped her pen, staring at the word, not having a clue where to begin.
A small smile curved