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She had to admit that, in this particular scenario, she might not know best.
As the hours blurred, Maxie learned more than she ever wanted to know about the stages of labor and dilation and epidurals. The latter seemed to provide immediate relief to Addy, who looked up at her for the first time in hours and asked for the final score of the Cubs game. Sarah, who was three doors down the hall, had waved off the epidural and was still powering through her labor pains, pacing slowly back and forth across the linoleum floor.
Toward the end, when matters were unfolding with an astonishing rapidity and teams of people were sweeping in and out of rooms with drill-like precision, Maxie found herself mostly holding hands: Addy’s, Sarah’s, Addy’s husband Spencer’s, her mother’s. Sarah’s husband, J.D., didn’t do handholding but his calm-under-pressure attitude kept them all from getting too overwhelmed. Watching from the sidelines as her sisters found their way without much help from anyone, she felt at once useless and amazed. Addy cursed when she heard that Sarah had already delivered, giving a last enormous push that sent a squalling, sloppy baby into her doctor’s waiting hands.
Maxie burst out of the hospital doors at 3:00 a.m., hugging herself and wondering how it wasn’t broad daylight. There should be a parade and confetti. Maybe even fireworks.
The street outside the Galter Pavilion of Northwestern was empty. The rest of her family had left an hour ago, but she hadn’t been able to tear herself away from the quiet rooms where her sisters were resting with their new families. She wondered how she was going to find a taxi. Or, for that matter, get her truck back.
While she was debating the likelihood that Nick would answer her call in the middle of the night so she could pick up her truck, a familiar black Lincoln Town Car slid to a halt in front of her. Seconds later, the friendly face of Tommy the driver popped up to smile at her across the roof of the car.
“Mr. Drake thought you might need a ride.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, and then gave up and climbed into the backseat of the car, muttering all the way.
“It’s enough to make you suspicious, how that man thinks of everything.”
“He doesn’t miss much, no, ma’am.”
“And you’ve just been, what, waiting here?”
“Nah. He asked your brother to let us know when the babies came.”
Which still meant that he’d been parked outside for an hour while she was lingering upstairs. She felt guilty about that for a moment and then reminded herself that there wasn’t any way she could have known.
The cellophane-wrapped bouquet of roses on the seat should have charmed her, especially since it was pinned with a card that read, “Congratulations, Auntie.”
For some reason, she was just annoyed. Being outmaneuvered, even when it was to her benefit, made her cranky.
Enough so that when Tommy reeled off her address and asked if that was where she wanted him to drop her off, she had a better idea. Conveniently enough, her destination was not at all far from the Gold Coast hospital complex.
* * *
The insistent electrical trill of his cell phone tugged Nick from the depths of sleep even as he buried his head under a pillow and tried to ignore it.
Unsuccessful, he slid a hand across the bedside table, groping in the dark. Once he found it, he dragged it back under the pillow, tapping blindly until something connected.
“What?”
“James Robinson and Elizabeth Ann.”
“Wrong number.”
“Personally I was rooting for Esmerelda and Diego. I love how sexy that name sounds. Diego—you know what I mean? But I suppose the parents know best.”
He shoved the pillow off his head and sat up in the dark.
“Maxie?”
“You said to call with the good news.” Her laughter rumbled through the phone. She sounded so close, whispering in his ear in the silence of his room. He glanced at the digital glow of the clock next to his bed.
“It’s three o’clock in the morning. Where are you?”
“Downstairs, having a chat with your doorman.”
After calling the desk to okay his late-night visitor, Nick managed to drag on a pair of dark jeans and a gray T-shirt. In his kitchen, he set a coffee mug, a water glass and a wine goblet on the counter.
That’s when the solid knock landed on his door.
He pulled open the heavy wooden door and then stepped back, looking at her framed in the light from the bright hallway. Her clothes were wrinkled and her eyes were tired, but she was bouncing on the balls of her feet, probably still riding an adrenaline high that would have her crashing any minute. He turned to the side, motioning her in.
She didn’t move.
Chin lifted, she stared at him, an almost visible shimmer of energy rising off her skin.
“I don’t sleep with people I work with. Or for.”
An interesting opening line.
“You know, you don’t really work for me.” He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and leaned one shoulder against the doorway. He’d thought about this quite a bit in the week during which he’d kept himself away from the project. “I’m more of an outside consultant.”
Her slow grin slid over him like tiny, licking flames.
“See, that’s just what I was thinking.” She stepped inside and closed the door.
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