The Boss's Baby

“Tell me one good reason. why you and I can’t continue to be lovers.” She’s sexy, successful... and PREGNANT! Title Page CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN CHAPTER TWELVE CHAPTER THIRTEEN CHAPTER FOURTEEN CHAPTER FIFTEEN CHAPTER SIXTEEN CHAPTER SEVENTEEN Copyright

“Tell me one good reason. why you and I can’t continue to be lovers.”

Fury ignited along her veins. Sex! Was that all he ever wanted from her? Was that all he ever wanted from any woman whom he didn’t rate as a perfect ten?

“Very well,” she bit out. “I’ll give you one very good reason. Soon, you won’t want me as your lover. Soon, that wonderful chemistry you spoke of will fail to spark, because I’ll be too big and fat to inspire much in you except revulsion. Yes, Lewis, I see the penny’s beginning to drop. Yes, that’s right. I’m going to have a baby!”

She’s sexy, successful... and PREGNANT!

Relax and enjoy our fabulous series about

spirited women and gorgeous men, whose

passion results in pregnancies...sometimes

unexpected! Of course, the birth of a baby is

always a joyful event, and we can guarantee that

our characters will become besotted moms and

dads—but what happened in those nine

months before?

Share the surprises, emotions, dramas and

suspense as our parents-to-be come to terms

with the prospect of bringing a new little life into

the world.... All will discover that the business of

making babies brings with it the most special

love of all...

Look out next month for our final arrival—

a Christmas baby—in

The Yuletide Child (#2070)

by Charlotte Lamb

The Boss’s Baby

Miranda Lee

CHAPTER ONE

‘IS THERE anything wrong, Olivia?’

Olivia glanced up to find her boss frowning down at her from his considerable height. With great difficulty, she pushed aside her whirling thoughts and smiled one of those small plastic smiles she used round the office.

‘Not at all,’ she said, but the smile felt like cement. ‘Everything’s fine. I’m fine.’ Dropping her eyes from his probing gaze, Olivia busied herself, mindlessly tidying her desk top. She wasn’t about to confide her personal problems to her boss. They didn’t have that kind of relationship.

When she’d been hired eighteen months before, Lewis had warned her that his wife had not been happy with his previous secretary’s far too familiar manner, and far too glamorous mode of dressing.

Olivia had been only too happy to present the reserved and conservative image which found favour with the boss’s wife. She was a reserved type of girl anyway, and had always been a conservative dresser. Years before she’d settled on always wearing basic black to work, with the odd white or cream blouse thrown in. That way, the only accessories she needed were black.

Her wardrobe was very economical, as was the simple hairstyle which saw her long straight dark auburn hair swept back from her face and secured in a big loop at the nape of her neck, the anchoring band always covered by a plain black clip or bow. Economical too was the minimal amount of make-up and jewellery which adorned the rest of her.

On her rare visits to the office, the boss’s wife had never had any reason to be suspicious or jealous of her husband’s new private secretary. Olivia made sure she never crossed the line where Lewis was concerned. She had no reason to. Tall, dark and handsome her boss might be, but she was very much in love with the man she was going to marry.

Ironically, Lewis and his wife had still broken up six months back, an event which had propelled the boss into a permanently morose and introverted mood. His noticing Olivia’s own wretched and distracted state of mind was unusual to say the least, and quite irritating. Why couldn’t he have stayed buried in his laboratory all morning, as had become his habit lately? Why did he have to come out and pry into her own private misery?

‘You don’t look fine,’ he persisted.

‘Oh?’ Her hands automatically lifted to check her hair.

‘I’m not talking about how you look,’ Lewis snapped, ‘but how you’re acting. Ever since you got in this morning you’ve been just sitting there, staring into space.’

Space. Now that was a word Olivia wasn’t too thrilled with this morning. Space! Nicholas, her fiancé, had told her last night that he needed more space. It was one of his excuses for opting out of their relationship. That and about a million others!

‘You haven’t even turned on your computer,’ Lewis added, as though that were the crime of the century.

A glance up at the wall clock showed Olivia it was almost nine-thirty. She’d been sitting at her desk doing nothing for over an hour. Wearily, she reached forward to snap on the screen, muttering, ‘Sorry,’ as she did so.

Lewis’s sigh was full of male frustration. ‘For pity’s sake, Olivia, you don’t have to apologise! I don’t give a damn whether you work or not. I’m concerned about you; can’t you see that?’

‘Concerned?’ she repeated disbelievingly as her eyes lifted back to his.

It had been a long time since anyone had expressed concern about her, possibly because she always portrayed such a coolly efficient image. Her parents always thought she had it all together, as did her two younger sisters. It was she who usually handed out the advice, happily lecturing her family on matters of budgeting and goal-setting.

She’d had her life totally mapped out ... till last night, when Nicholas had packed his bags and stormed out of their flat, leaving her alone with the person he’d nastily described at length during the previous sixty minutes, that controlling, stingy, boring bitch who’d been ruining his life for the past two years, ruling his every waking moment, smothering his personality and turning him into a spineless, mindless wimp.

He was tired of saving money, tired of eating in and very tired of only having sex in a bed!

He was younger than she was, he’d reminded her scathingly. He wanted some fun before he settled down. Some fun and some space. He didn’t want to get married just yet. He didn’t want the responsibility of a mortgage and kids. He certainly didn’t want to buy a family car. He wanted to drive a Porsche. He wanted to travel. He wanted other women, women who knew that oral was not just a brand of toothbrush!

His dumping on their sex life really stung, because she’d never imagined their love life had been inadequate, or that Nicholas was so discontent in that area. For one thing, he’d always told her he fully understood her distaste for certain forms of foreplay. In fact, he’d claimed to share her feelings on the matter.

‘There’s not a spontaneous sexual bone in your body, Olivia,’ he’d flung at her in parting. ‘You have no idea how to make a man happy. No bloody idea!’

At the time she’d thought he was mad. Now, suddenly, crushingly, she believed him.

‘Olivia? What is it?’ her boss demanded to know.

Valiantly, she fought back the tears.

‘Is it Nicholas?’

All she could do was nod, her eyes dropping lest she lose the battle.

‘Is he ill?’

She shook her head from side to side.

‘Don’t tell me you two have split up!’

Olivia winced at the note of disbelief in his voice. ‘Twenty-four hours ago she would have been just as sceptical over such a thing happening. She’d been so sure they were right for each other; that they’d wanted the same things. Marriage next year. A house the year after that, then their first baby before she turned thirty.

Now, the only thing Olivia could see for herself by thirty was loneliness. It had taken her years of looking to find Nicholas. She was already twenty-seven...

‘Please, Lewis,’ she said, stiffening her shoulders and her quavering bottom lip while she brought up the correspondence file on the computer. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

She felt his eyes hard upon her, but simply refused to meet them. She stared straight ahead at the screen and began tapping on the keyboard.

‘Don’t worry too much, Olivia,’ Lewis said. ‘Give him a day or two and he’ll come to his senses. I’ll bet he comes crawling back before the week is out.’

Olivia’s head jerked up, hope flooding her heart.

‘Do you think so?’

‘No sane man would leave a girl like you, Olivia,’ her boss pronounced firmly. ‘Trust me.’

Nicholas did come back the following weekend, but he wasn’t crawling, and he didn’t stay. He merely collected a few personal things he’d left behind—some toiletries and his CD collection. As he strode out the door with hurtful nonchalance, he sarcastically told Olivia she could keep the wonderful furniture they’d been sharing.

From her front window, she watched him drive off in a brand-new black Porsche on which he must have wasted his entire savings, money which was to have been half of the deposit on the perfectly planned home they’d been going to build together, and in which they’d been going to rear their two perfectly planned children.

Olivia was left to weep over the thrift-shop bargains which she’d bought for a song then painstakingly stripped back and painted, thinking she was saving money for their future together. She wept on and off for another week, her depression increased by the closeness of Christmas. People were supposed to be happy at Christmas!

Olivia functioned at work on automatic pilot but wasn’t able to force herself to do much at home, even eat. Lunchtimes were spent wandering aimlessly through Parramatta Mall. She told Lewis she had Christmas shopping to do, but in fact just wanted to get away from his gently probing eyes. Her boss in sympathetic mode was not one she was used to, or comfortable with.

It was testimony to Olivia’s distracted state that her last day at work for the year was suddenly upon her and she hadn’t even bought Lewis a Christmas card, let alone a gift. Guilt consumed her as she picked up the lovely gold-embossed card Lewis had given her, not to mention the huge box of chocolates, which she’d slipped into her bottom drawer for low blood sugar emergencies.

She would have to slip out later and buy him something. She doubted she’d be missed. The entire staff of Altman Industries would be busy celebrating the annual five-week shutdown with a Christmas party to end all company Christmas parties. There would be a marquee set up on the lawn, dancing on the factory floor, food to tempt even the most stringent dieter, beer by the keg and cases of first-class champagne.

It would cost Lewis a fortune, Olivia knew.

But it was a tradition, and he could afford it. Altman Industries might be a relatively small company, but its profits rose every year, even more so after they’d gone international three years ago.

Lewis had started the company in a backyard garage over a decade back. An industrial chemist by training but a naturalist by inclination, he’d combined science and nature to produce a simple range of skin care products for men, starting with a shaving cream and a combination aftershave-lotion-cum moisturiser. A soap swiftly followed, then a shower gel, shampoo and conditioner. Three years back, a hugely successful cologne had been added to the range.

Lewis had been smart enough to employ a good advertising agency from the beginning and they’d come up with the catchy brand name of All Man, a derivation of Lewis’s surname of Altman. Using famous Australian sportsmen to endorse the products had brought instant success.

Lewis had swiftly moved from the limiting garage into a modern factory and office complex site in the centrally located industrial park at Ermington. Expansion had initially meant a huge overdraft at the bank, but it wasn’t long before Altman Industries were back in the black and posting profits that were the envy of its larger competitors.

Next year, Lewis planned to expand production to include an All Woman line. He’d already created the basic skin and hair care range and was now working on the perfume.

Olivia didn’t know all these facts from private conversations with Lewis, although she naturally gleaned some of the information in her position as private secretary to the owner of the company. She’d read a recent article written about him in Good Business magazine which had done a series on successful Sydney companies, and their owners.

She’d also learned that Lewis was thirty-four years old, an only child whose father had died when he was five. He’d been well educated due to his mother’s working up to three jobs, for which he was eternally grateful. There’d been an accompanying photograph of an elegant grey-haired lady who looked around sixty. One of the reasons for his focused ambition had been a desire to repay his mother for all the sacrifices she’d made for him. He wanted to give her everything she’d never had.

Olivia had never actually met Lewis’s mother, but had spoken to her often on the phone. Mrs Altman senior didn’t live with her son, even now that he’d separated from his wife. She had her own address in Drummoyne, an inner-city suburb which hugged the harbour.

Olivia had always sensed that Mrs Altman hadn’t liked her son’s choice of wife. Given the closeness of their relationship, maybe Lewis’s mother would not have liked any woman Lewis married. The article had only briefly mentioned Lewis’s marriage of two years, saying his estranged wife was ‘in fashion’ and their separation was amicable.

Olivia had laughed over that at the time. Amicable, my foot!

She didn’t feel like laughing this Friday morning. Only now could she fully understand Lewis’s devastation when Dinah left him. Olivia had never felt so low in her whole life. The thought of attending the Christmas party was unpalatable. How could she possibly enjoy herself? All that eating and drinking, not to mention dancing. The only dancing Olivia cared for was the old-fashioned kind.

If last year’s Christmas party was anything to go by, that was not the kind of dancing with which the factory floor would resonate. Discoing would be the order of the day. Olivia didn’t like gyrating around virtually on her own. She wasn’t uninhibited enough to enjoy making a public exhibition of herself.

She wasn’t uninhibited enough to make a private exhibition of herself, either. Nicholas’s parting barb about being bored with always having sex in a bed had been haunting her. Because he was so right. She’d never made love with him anywhere else but in bed. She’d never even made love on top of the bed!

Being on top in any shape or form was not in her limited résumé of sexual experiences. Neither were any of the other more exotic foreplays and positions. When she’d met Nicholas at twenty-five, she’d still been a virgin. Nicholas was too, surprisingly, although he had only been twenty-two at the time. They’d muddled along together and sex hadn’t been a great success for a while. But they’d finally mastered the basics, and she’d honestly thought Nicholas was happy in bed. She’d never refused him and he’d always come, even when she hadn’t. It seemed now she’d overestimated his pleasure and satisfaction in her body, not to mention her less than adventurous technique.

The telephone ringing snapped her out of her broodingly introspective mood for a moment.

‘Mr Altman’s office,’ came her automatic response. ‘Olivia Johnson speaking. May I help you?’

‘You certainly may, my dear. I’d like to speak to that son of mine, if he’s not too busy. I realise it’s party day.’

‘He’s still in his laboratory, Mrs Altman. I’ll put you through.’

‘Before you do, my dear, I just wanted to wish you a happy Christmas and to thank you for always being so nice to me on the phone.’

‘Why, thank you, Mrs Altman. And a happy Christmas to you too.’

‘What are you doing for Christmas?’

‘I’m going home to my parents’ place.’

‘And where’s that?’

‘They live near Morisset.’

‘Morisset? That’s up on the central coast, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, between Gosford and Newcastle. It’s about a two-hour train trip from Sydney. Less from Hornsby where I catch it.’

‘I see. Well, we’ll have to go to lunch together one day next year, dear. I’d love to put a face and figure to the voice. I asked Lewis once what you looked like and all he said was you were a brunette with intelligent brown eyes. When I asked what kind of figure you had, he looked perplexed for a moment, and then said, “short of medium.”’

Although piqued, Olivia couldn’t really blame Lewis. The tailored black suits she favoured in the office were not designed to stand out, or display her body. Her skirts were never too short or too tight. Any deep Vs in her jackets were always filled in with a simple top or shirt-style blouse. Today’s outfit was no exception. If she’d remembered the Christmas party Olivia might have worn something a little brighter. But she hadn’t and that was that!

‘You know, I haven’t been into the office since that other awful girl was ensconced behind your desk,’ Mrs Altman senior was saying. ‘The last time I visited, she was wearing a dress cut down to her navel. Not to mention very little underwear. As for perfume... I think she must have bathed in it. Poor Lewis. I finally understood why his ex-wife used to complain he smelt like the cosmetics counter in David Jones every time he came home at night.’

Olivia didn’t go perfumeless. But the small spray of Eternity she allowed herself every morning was very discreet.

‘Unfortunately, it’s very difficult to get rid of employees these days,’ the boss’s mother rattled on. ‘If Lewis had sacked the infernal girl, he’d have found himself in court before he knew it, trying to explain to a judge why he’d fired this suddenly prim and proper creature dressed in pin-tucks and a Peter Pan collar.’

Olivia felt the corners of her mouth crinkling with amusement. ‘I gathered Lewis was very relieved when she left to go overseas.’

‘More than relieved, I can tell you. But he’s been very happy with you, dear. You haven’t given him a moment’s worry or trouble!’

Olivia wasn’t sure if she liked the sound of that, or not.

‘Although he did express some concern the other night about your having had a lovers’ tiff with your boyfriend. He said you were very down in the mouth about it.’

‘Yes, well...’ Her voice trailed off. She really didn’t want to discuss Nicholas with Mrs Altman any more than Lewis.

‘Don’t let pride get in your way, dear,’ came the unwanted advice. ‘Call him. Say you’re sorry, even if it was his fault. After all, what’s a bit of grovelling when all’s said and done?’

Olivia’s eyebrows shot up. She’d never grovelled to anyone in her life and she wasn’t about to start now. Still... Mrs Altman did have a point. Pride did sometimes get in the way of reconciliations. She reasoned there was a huge difference between grovelling and giving Nicholas a call. She could use the excuse of wishing him a happy Christmas. He would be in his office right now. She could be talking to him in seconds. Her heart raced as hope reformed.

As soon as Olivia put Mrs Altman through to Lewis she dialled before she could think better of it. Nicholas’s telephone rang several times before being picked up.

‘Nickie’s desk,’ breathed a female voice.

Olivia was taken aback. ‘Renee?’ she asked hesitantly. ‘Is that you?’ Renee was a colleague of Nicholas who sometimes answered his phone when he was away from his desk.

‘Renee resigned some time back,’ came the husky reply. ‘I’m Yvette. Her replacement.’

Renee’s replacement. Named Yvette. And she called Nicholas Nickie.

Olivia began to feel sick. ‘Could I speak to Nicholas, please?’

There was a small silence on the other end of the phone, then a melodramatic sigh. ‘Is that Olivia, by any chance?’

‘Put Nicholas on, please.’

‘I can’t. He’s not here. He’s gone to the little men’s room. You’re wasting your time, anyway. He doesn’t want to see or talk to you ever again. He has me now and I’m all he wants.’

Olivia sucked in a shaky breath. With a great effort of will, she kept her voice quite calm. ‘And just how long have you been everything Nicholas wants?’

‘Longer than you think. Face it, honey,’ Yvette purred down the line. ‘You haven’t got what it takes to keep a man. It’s not a female’s organisational and management abilities which win the day. Nickie could get that from a computer. Or a cleaner. What he wants is passion. And spontaneity. And fun.’

‘Sex, you mean,’ Olivia shot back, knowing now where Nicholas had got most of his verbal armoury during their final argument.

‘Same thing.’

‘You think he didn’t get sex from me?’ she threw at this heartless creature who thought nothing of taking someone else’s man.

‘Not the kind he wanted, honey. Gotta go. We’re all off down the pub for Chrissie drinks. Bye bye. Oh, and happy Christmas!’

Olivia was left listening to a dead line.

Suddenly, a rage began to simmer deep within her, a dark rebellious rage. Slamming the phone down, she jumped up from behind her desk, hot blood racing through her veins.

Going for Chrissie drinks, were they? Well, good for them. But she was going one better. She was going to a Chrissie party and by God she was going to party. She was going to party all day and she was going to forget. Forget Nicholas and Yvette. Forget that her future had been cruelly smashed. Forget everything but having fun!

Olivia stripped off her jacket and dropped it over the back of her chair. Having fun shouldn’t be too hard. Not once she got a few glasses of champagne into her.

She was a happy drunk. Or she thought she would be. She’d never actually been drunk before. But a couple of glasses of wine always made her feel good.

And, dear God, she needed to feel good. She needed to feel good very, very badly!

Tugging the anchoring bow from the nape of her neck, she shook her head till her hair spilled halfway down her back. Flicking open the top two buttons of her blouse, she gave another defiant toss of her head, then marched determinedly in the direction of the music.

CHAPTER TWO

BY TWO that afternoon, Olivia felt more than good. She felt fantastic. If she’d known champagne was such a great antidepressant she’d have tried it earlier. From her third glass, everything had begun to improve. Her mood. The music. The men.

By the time she’d consumed her first bottle of bubbly, one of the sales reps, a thirtyish womaniser named Phil, whom she wouldn’t normally have given the time of day, started to seem genuinely charming. He’d been chatting away to her for over half an hour when Olivia first became aware of Lewis frowning at her. He was standing with a group from marketing near one of the trestles laden with food, a glass of beer in one hand and a slice of Christmas cake in the other.

Her boss’s near scowl evoked a dark defiance in Olivia. Lewis wasn’t her keeper. She had every right to have some harmless fun if she wanted to. Anyone would think she was doing something wrong instead of what every other single, unattached female here was doing: flirting and having a generally good time!

When Phil asked her to dance, Olivia didn’t hesitate. Putting down her near empty glass and placing her hand in his outstretched fingers, she allowed him to draw her into the centre of the factory floor. The music switched from a softer number to a heady, throbbing beat which stirred her blood, and her general feeling of rebellion, ensuring that she smiled at Phil a little more widely, and danced a lot more provocatively.