Boardroom Baby Surprise

Moisture had gathered at the corners of her closed eyes. It leaked down her temples now, blending into her perspiration-dampened hair. Weakness, he thought, once again drawn by her vulnerability. Before he realized what he was doing, he reached out and dried her tears.

Morgan’s eyes flicked open at the contact. Green, he realized. A rich and vivid green. Like precious twin emeralds. He pulled back his hand and cleared his throat. “Your parents’ number?”

“They’re gone.”

“Where can we reach them?” he asked.

“You can’t.” Bryan experienced an unfamiliar ache in his chest when Morgan whispered brokenly, “I have no one. No one at all.”

CHAPTER TWO

SEVEN hours later, Bryan paced the length of the waiting room, sipping tepid coffee from a disposable cup while his gaze strayed to the large clock on the wall. It was after six, but Morgan remained in labor. So much for the EMT’s assertion that the delivery would be accomplished quickly.

What was he doing at the hospital? He didn’t have an exact answer, though duty ranked high on his list of choices. Given Morgan’s claims, he felt a certain sense of obligation to follow up on the situation. Of course, that didn’t explain why the minute the EMTs had wheeled her into the elevator he’d told Britney to clear his schedule for the afternoon, then he’d hopped in his Lexus, arriving at the hospital in record time. The entire way, he’d recalled Morgan’s pinched features and heart-tugging vulnerability.

She needed someone. Bryan was the only someone available.

He finished the remainder of the coffee and tossed the cup into the receptacle. If he’d known the birth was going to take this long, he would have lingered at the office or at the very least brought his laptop with him. Duty, he thought again. As Windy City Industries’ Vice President of Operations and soon to be CEO, he had plenty of work to keep him busy.

“Mr. Caliborn?”

He turned expectantly at the sound of the nurse’s voice. The woman stood in the doorway, a smile lurking around her lips, which he took as a good sign. He hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until she said, “The baby is a boy.”

Another Caliborn boy. Was this one the real thing? He pushed aside that question and asked, “Is everything…okay?”

“Fine. The baby is perfectly healthy and a respectable seven pounds, eleven ounces.”

He cleared his throat. “And Morgan?”

“She’s doing well, all things considered. It was a difficult labor, especially toward the end. For a while the doctor thought he might have to take the baby by caesarean section, but it all worked out.”

Because he didn’t know what else to say—a rare occurrence for him and not an entirely pleasant one—he offered a curt nod. Then he went to collect his suit coat from the back of one of the chairs. If he hurried, he could catch a couple of members of his management team before they left their offices for the day and maybe go over some of the plans for the company’s overseas expansion. But even as he was shoving his arm into a coat sleeve, he was changing his mind. Leaving seemed wrong.

“Excuse me!” he called out to stop the nurse. “I know it’s late, but would it be possible for me to see…the baby?”

That’s all he wanted, a glimpse at this child who might very well be his brother’s legacy and the sole Caliborn heir, as Bryan certainly had no desire to put his heart on the line ever again. For him, marriage and fatherhood were a closed chapter.

“I think that can be arranged.” The nurse smiled again before slipping out of the room.

Unfortunately, seeing the baby wasn’t as simple as taking a quick peek in a nursery window so Bryan could assuage his curiosity while maintaining his distance. The newborn was with its mother, the nurse told him when, forty-five minutes later, she led him down the corridor to Morgan’s room.

“Don’t stay too long,” she advised. “Morgan really needs her rest.”

He raised his hand to knock. Even as his knuckles grazed the door he wondered what he would say. In a business setting he could hold his own, but he’d never been good at casual conversation with virtual strangers. That had been Dill’s specialty.

After his knock, he waited for Morgan to call for him to come in. Instead, the door was flung wide by a bleary-eyed man decked out in wrinkled green scrubs and wearing a sappy grin.

“Have a cigar,” the man said, thrusting a cellophane-wrapped stogie into Bryan’s hand.

Bryan pegged him to be about thirty, and, given his attire, he’d been at the hospital for some time. So much for Morgan’s Oscar-worthy claim that she had “no one.” Disgusted with himself for falling once again for a woman’s lies, he turned to leave.

“Hey, wait!” The man grabbed his arm. “I take it you’re here to see the other new mom.”

Other new mom? Bryan shifted back and glanced into the room. A brunette, presumably the man’s wife, was holding a blanket-wrapped infant in the first bed. Beyond her, a drawn curtain partitioned the room.

“Maybe I should come back,” Bryan said. He already felt awkward and now he was going to have an audience.

“Nah. Come in,” the man coaxed, tugging on Bryan’s arm. Lowering his voice, he added, “I think she could use some company. The nurses said she went through labor alone and I overheard them say she doesn’t have a husband or anything.” His cheeks turned red. “You’re not the baby’s—”

“No.”

Bryan shook off the man’s hand and walked to the far end of the room. When he peeked around the curtain, Morgan’s eyes were closed. He used the opportunity to study her in a way that would have been rude if she were awake. Matted blond hair and a blotchy complexion offered proof of the hours she’d spent in labor…all alone. It wasn’t guilt he felt. He had no reason for that. But something else nudged him. Admiration? She’d certainly shown a lot of grit when she’d burst into the conference room, demanding to see him. As she slept, her brow wrinkled and what he was experiencing shifted, softened. Once again he felt the odd desire to touch her and offer comfort.

From the other side of the curtain, he heard the man talking softly to his wife. Though Bryan couldn’t hear the actual words, the tone was intimate. He recalled seeing a bouquet of fragrant flowers and a congratulatory helium balloon bobbing toward the ceiling. When Bryan’s wife had given birth, he’d bought out the hospital’s floral shop and had lavished her with gifts, including a diamond pendant necklace and matching earrings.

Morgan’s side of the room was stark. No flowers, no balloons. No man whispering soft words of love and encouragement. No expensive gifts from a proud father. Bryan swallowed. He tried to picture Dill in the role of new dad. He tried to picture his brother being supportive and taking responsibility. But he couldn’t. Even in a situation like this.

What was it Dillon had said upon learning Bryan was to become a father? After offering his congratulations, he’d added, “Better you than me.”

How bitterly ironic.

From the bassinette beside the bed came a faint sound, more like a mewling than a proper cry. Morgan might have been exhausted but her eyes opened immediately at the sound and a smile tugged at her lips.

“I’m here,” she crooned softly as she shifted somewhat awkwardly to sit on the edge of the bed. “Mommy’s here.”

It was then that she noticed Bryan.

He cleared his throat, feeling as if he should apologize for intruding. Instead, he said, “Hello.”

“Hi. I didn’t realize you were here. I must have dozed off for a minute.” She attempted to run her fingers through her hair, only to have them snag in a knotted clump of pale gold. Her cheeks grew pink.

“I won’t stay. If I’d known you were asleep…” He shrugged. “I just stopped in to see the baby and… Do you need anything?”

“No.” Then she shrugged. “Well, the little suitcase I had packed and ready for the hospital would be nice. I have a hairbrush in it, among other things.” Her smile turned wry.

“Where is it? I’ll send someone for it.”

“At my hotel.” When she mentioned the hotel’s name Bryan’s lips must have twisted in distaste, because she said dryly, “Apparently it’s not up to your high standards.”

No, it wasn’t. The place was little more than a flophouse. He kept that opinion to himself, though the idea of her and the baby—of any young, single woman and helpless infant—staying there bothered him tremendously.

“I’ll have Britney bring it by first thing in the morning.”

“Thank you.” When he backed up a step, she said, “Don’t you want a closer look?”

He did. That was why he’d come to her room when good sense had told him to be on his way. Yet he hesitated, oddly more afraid of what he might not see than what he might.

The baby was lying on its back. Bryan remembered from Caden’s infancy that doctors recommended the position to prevent Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. When Caden had learned to roll over onto his stomach, Bryan had woken up at all hours of the night to check on him, watching his tiny back rise and fall in the low light of the nursery.

“He has hair under the cap,” Morgan said.

Bryan spied a few dark brown wisps poking out. Puffy eyes, that deep sea-blue ubiquitous to newborns, were wide open, and though the baby probably was merely trying to focus, he seemed to be regarding Bryan. Finally, one side of his tiny mouth crooked up in a fair imitation of a smile.

Dillon.

Bryan felt as if he’d taken a sledgehammer to the solar plexus. He saw his brother in that little face, not in obvious ways, for the baby’s features were too small. But taken in total, they reflected familiarity. Bryan’s heart ached again, this pain bittersweet because he couldn’t be completely sure he was seeing things as they were or as he wished them to be.

That had been the case once before. And how it had cost him to believe and later find out he’d been deceived.

“What will you name him?” he asked stiffly.

“Brice Dillon Stevens.”

He nodded, not surprised that she’d worked his brother’s name in somehow. But he wondered if Morgan had chosen to give the child her surname because she was unmarried or because she knew the baby wasn’t really a Caliborn. Of course, that hadn’t stopped Bryan’s ex-wife. She’d tossed the child’s paternity in his face when their marriage had splintered apart. She’d stayed with Bryan for all the months it took her to convince the oil tycoon he was the biological father.

Bryan’s lips twisted at the memory.

“I suppose you listed my brother as the father on the birth certificate?”

“I did. Is that a problem for you?” Morgan’s voice held an edge that belied her otherwise fragile appearance. She looked so young and vulnerable in that hideous hospital-issue gown that snapped closed at the shoulders. Yet her direct gaze and even more direct query hinted at steel.

He ignored her question. “I’ll be going. You need your rest.” Before he did, though, he removed a business card from his wallet and handed it to her. “If you require anything else, my private number is on the back.”

“Thanks, but I won’t be calling. I’m…” She glanced down at the baby, her expression softening in a way that tugged at him. “We’re going to be just fine.”

After Bryan’s departure the doubts Morgan had been experiencing for the past several months once again began circling like vultures, picking away at her usual optimism and determination.

We’re going to be just fine.

Were they?

What had she been thinking, packing up and crossing state lines without a firm plan in place? That wasn’t like her. Of course, nothing about her current situation fell within her personal range of normal. What was she going to do for a job, a place to live?

She hadn’t come to Chicago expecting Bryan—er, Dillon—to help out financially, though their child certainly was entitled legally and morally to monetary support. But she had hoped he would offer to pitch in on some expenses, such as the hospital bill. After that, she’d planned to leave up to him how much or how little he wanted to be involved in his son’s life both physically and financially. Morgan wasn’t a charity case. She had a small settlement from her parents’ estate. Unfortunately, the higher cost of living in Chicago was chewing through it more quickly than she’d anticipated.

And now she’d discovered that Dillon not only had lied to her about his identity, but he had been killed in an accident every bit as unforeseeable as the one that had claimed her parents. Gazing at the son they had created together in Aruba, she wasn’t quite sure how to feel. Being angry over his betrayal served no purpose. He was gone. She wanted to mourn the man she had known as Bryan, and she did, in the abstract way one mourns any life that is snatched away too soon. And, of course, she mourned him as her baby’s father. Morgan had been lucky enough to enjoy a close relationship with both of her parents, but she’d been especially tight with her dad. She’d wanted the same for Brice. God knew her son had precious few relatives as it was, with her parents gone.

As for mourning Dillon as someone significant to her, she didn’t. She couldn’t. It simply wasn’t possible since she hadn’t known him well. Indeed, beyond physically, she hadn’t known him at all, she realized again, and experienced another wave of shame. She wasn’t the sort of woman who engaged in a vacation fling, which perhaps explained why she’d gotten pregnant the one and only time she’d been foolish enough to throw caution to the wind. Or maybe subconsciously she had wanted a child, someone to love and nurture and to help fill up the yawning emptiness she’d felt since her parents’ deaths.

Whatever the reason, looking at her newborn son now she had no regrets.

“I love you,” she whispered, leaning over to stroke his cheek.

Indeed, Morgan had loved him from the time she’d learned he was growing inside her. But love, even a love this grand and expansive, wasn’t capable of obliterating her concerns. And she had plenty of those.

From the other side of the curtain, she could hear the couple discussing who they wanted to act as their newborn’s godparents. Judging from the number of names they tossed around, they had a lot of people to choose from. Morgan wasn’t completely without relatives, though none lived in the midwest. She did have a small circle of friends back in Wisconsin. A couple of them had urged her to stay in town even after she’d lost her job.

Jen Woolworth, another teacher, one with more seniority who had weathered the latest round of cuts, had been particularly vocal against Morgan leaving the state.

“Hon, you’re due soon. You shouldn’t be traveling, let alone moving. Stay here with us,” she’d urged.

The offer had been tempting. Jen was a dear friend and the two of them often grabbed a cup of coffee after school or hooked up on the weekends for a little shopping and girl talk. But Jen shared a small bungalow-style home with her husband, two rambunctious prepubescent boys and an incontinent miniature poodle they had named Puddles for obvious reasons.

They had enough chaos and no room for another adult, let alone an adult and an infant, even if Jen claimed it would be no big deal to make her boys bunk together in one of the small bedrooms, freeing up the other ten-by-eleven-foot space to serve as Morgan’s living quarters and nursery.

The baby fussed. Morgan pulled down her gown, recalling the instructions she’d received in her prenatal classes. Nursing should have been easy. It was the most natural thing in the world, right? But Brice seemed as baffled by it as she was, and he grew fussier by the minute. Finally, he all-out wailed. It was a pitiful sound, heartbreaking. As tears brimmed in Morgan’s eyes, she felt demoralized.

We’re going to be fine.

The words mocked her now. Had she really said them to Bryan less than half an hour ago? Had she, even for a moment, really believed it herself?

She wanted to join Brice in crying, but she didn’t. She’d never been a quitter and she wasn’t about to become one now. Her son needed her. He was depending on her. She couldn’t let him down. The luxury of tears would have to wait.

“Let’s try this again,” she murmured resolutely.

He finally latched on after a couple more false starts.

The flowers—a huge vase full of festive daisies, lilies and delicate irises—arrived as Morgan was putting Brice back in the bassinet. She couldn’t imagine who would have sent her such an expensive bouquet. No one back in Wisconsin knew Morgan had given birth and she didn’t know anyone in Chicago. Well, no one except for… No way.

She plucked the little white envelope from its holder among the blooms and tore it open. Sure enough, written in slashing bold cursive under the card’s pre-printed congratulatory message was the name Bryan Caliborn.

The real Bryan Caliborn.

She blinked. Who would have guessed that hard, brooding man could be so thoughtful? An hour later, when a couple of orderlies came to move her and the baby to a private room down the hall, Morgan added the word accommodating to his attributes. This room was far more spacious and included amenities such as a plush rocking chair, cable television, a padded window seat and framed reproductions of museum-quality art on the walls.

Just about the time Morgan was beginning to think she’d completely misjudged him, Bryan ruined it with his edict.

That’s what the typewritten missive amounted to. It was delivered the morning she was to be released from the hospital by the same snooty receptionist who’d brought Morgan’s suitcase by the day before: Britney. The young woman arrived just as Morgan finished dressing in a shapeless, oversize dress. Of course, Britney looked slender and runway chic in a fitted jacket, flirty skirt and peep-toe high heels.

“This is for you.” Britney set a large shopping bag on the bed and handed Morgan a note. It was from his highness.

Though Morgan was curious about the contents of the bag, she was even more so about the note.

Morgan,

I have sent a car to deliver you and the baby to new accommodations that you may use for the rest of your stay in Chicago. Your bill at the hotel has been settled in full and I’ve taken the liberty of having your belongings collected and moved.

I have asked Britney to accompany you. I will be in contact later this evening to ensure you have everything you need.

Bryan

Relief came first. This was the answer to her prayers. Just the thought of taking Brice to that dingy hotel room that reeked of stale cigarette smoke made her nauseated. And housekeeping and laundry services were included. What new mother wouldn’t appreciate help with those time-consuming chores? But Bryan’s motive puzzled her. Was he doing this because he believed her or was he merely interested in keeping a closer eye on her? She read the note again, but still was unable to decipher any clues. This time, however, relief wasn’t all she felt. It chafed her pride that he’d made the arrangements and moved her things without at least running his plan by her first. She didn’t like being told what to do.

Nor what to wear, she added, when Britney scooted the bag closer and said, “Mr. Caliborn told me to pick up an outfit suitable for your trip home from the hospital.”

“I have clothes,” Morgan objected.

Britney eyed her dubiously before going on. “Yes, well, I brought a couple of selections for you to choose from. I had to guess your size, but I went with loose-fitting styles,” she added, her gaze straying to Morgan’s midsection.

Morgan knew she still looked pregnant. Not the ready-to-pop balloon she’d appeared to be at her first encounter with the svelte Britney, but a good four or five months gone.

“I have clothes,” she said a second time. The words came out forcefully, causing the baby to rouse from his slumber.

“Mr. Caliborn felt you would be more comfortable in fresh things,” Britney clarified.

“You can tell Mr. Caliborn—” Morgan began, fully intending to decline the offer, but that was as far as she got before Britney pulled a subtly printed dress from the bag. Then Morgan’s only concern was, “God, I hope that fits.”

Britney’s brows arched. “I can tell Mr. Caliborn what?”

“That I said thank you. And that I will reimburse him.”

It did fit. Morgan had to hand it to Britney. The woman not only had a good eye for fashion, she had a good eye for what would look best on Morgan’s post-pregnancy body. While nothing could completely camouflage her tummy, the dress Britney had picked certainly minimized it, while accentuating a couple of assets that also had been enhanced by pregnancy. She just hoped Brice wouldn’t need to nurse between now and the time they reached wherever it was they were going, because the dress, which zipped in the back, wasn’t made for that function.

“Much better,” Britney said when she saw Morgan.

Her tone bordered on astonished, but it was hard for Morgan to be offended when she agreed.

“Thank you.”

With a curt nod, Britney glanced at her watch. “I’ve called for an orderly to bring a wheelchair. You’ve signed your discharge papers, right?”

“I did that before you arrived.”

She nodded again and pulled out her cell phone. “Noah, it’s Britney. Have the car waiting at the main entrance in fifteen minutes.”

Morgan might have felt a bit like Cinderella then, except Britney was hardly fairy-godmother material and, of course, she had no Prince Charming.

Then Britney said into the phone, “If you see any photographers, call me back immediately and we’ll go to plan B.”

“Photographers?” Morgan asked as soon as the other woman hung up.

“Paparazzi. Every effort has been made to keep news of you and your son under wraps, but it pays to be cautious.”

“I’m afraid I still don’t understand.”

Britney huffed out a breath. “The Caliborns are a big deal in this city. They’re in the headlines regularly for business and philanthropic reasons, but scandals always sell more papers than straight news.”

Great. Morgan was a scandal, her son’s birth fodder for the tabloids. No wonder Bryan had been eager to find her “alternative accommodations.”

CHAPTER THREE

MORGAN stepped into the apartment foyer behind Britney and gasped. She certainly hadn’t expected her new place to be a penthouse that offered views of Lake Michigan and the famous Navy Pier from windows that ran the length of the exterior wall.

In the large living room the color scheme was heavy on beige and other neutrals with nary a punch of color. The furniture was tasteful and obviously top quality, and included a baby grand piano that had Morgan’s fingertips tingling to play just looking at it, but the place didn’t look lived-in. Indeed, every last inch of it seemed as cold as the foyer’s Italian marble floor.

“Who owns this place?” Morgan asked. She swore the question echoed.

“Mr. Caliborn. It’s his home,” Britney replied with a roll of her eyes.

“He lives here?” That came as a surprise. He had such an imposing personality she’d expected to see it stamped on his belongings.

“Since his divorce three years ago.” The secretary arched a brow then and asked sarcastically, “What? It’s not up to your standards?”

“It’s not that. It just seems a little…impersonal.” Yes, that was the word. It looked more like a showroom in a high-end furniture store than a home. “There aren’t even any photographs.”

“Mr. Caliborn isn’t the sentimental sort.”

Morgan wasn’t sure she agreed. He kept a picture of Dillon in his office. And she also recalled seeing one of an older couple, most likely his parents. And then there were the flowers he’d sent to her hospital room. She said as much to Britney.

“Don’t be so naive, Miss Stevens. Appearances are important to someone in his position. Precautions have been taken just in case the press ever gets wind of you and your…situation. Hence the flowers.” Her gaze lowered. “And the new frock he had me select in case some industrious photographer managed to snap a shot of you leaving the hospital. Think of it as damage control.”