The Heiress's Pregnancy Surprise Page 3

She looked up, her eyes wide. “Oh, no! This is delicious. I just... Okay, so here’s the thing. I don’t really want people to know I have a bodyguard, and I’m not sure how else to explain your presence, unless...”

  Her cheeks turned pink.

  Ah.

  “You can say I’m your driver.”

  “My driver wouldn’t sit next to me at a show.”

  “Distant cousin?”

  She sent him a withering look and he laughed. “I see where you’re going. People are going to think I’m your date. And a serious one, because I’ll be everywhere you are.”

  “If you’re my bodyguard, they’ll ask why. If you’re my date, they’ll ask who. And then why.”

  “Why do you have to explain anything at all?”

  She paused. “I don’t. You know, sometimes I really do have to balance which is better. No response or stepping up and controlling the narrative. I’m one hundred percent sure, though, that sometime in the next week, a photographer will get a shot and the question of your identity will be out there. To be honest, that’s a big reason why I fought against having you along at all. Our family is just getting over one scandal.”

  Jacob sat back a bit and grinned. “Oh, so I’d be a scandal? Exciting.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Don’t sound like you’d enjoy it. You’d hate it. The paparazzi are relentless.”

  And she had to deal with it every day in her line of work. Fame and success came with a price, he supposed. And as much as he joked about being a scandal, he knew she was right. He wouldn’t like it. He was a private man used to being in the background and that was how he wanted it to stay.

  “If push comes to shove, you can simply say I’m a family friend who happens to be in town.” He understood why she wouldn’t want to pretend he was her date. He wasn’t exactly up to Pemberton standards. There was absolutely no blue blood in his family tree at all.

  “Please understand, it’s not that I’d be ashamed or anything.” Her cheeks colored again. “You’re a really good-looking guy, and...” Her voice trailed off, as if she didn’t know what to say next.

  “I get it, so don’t worry. I’m your employee.”

  “No, that’s not it at all!” She put down her fork with a clatter. “It’s more... It’s not about you at all. It’s the speculation I hate. My brothers were just dragged through the tabloids. I don’t want to do the same to the family or the company.” She sighed. “I’m in PR and, no matter how I spin this, I see someone digging and finding out you’re private protection and fabricating some wild story.”

  He met her gaze squarely. “I always say when in doubt, go with the truth. I’m private security for the trip. And if it doesn’t come up at all, don’t worry about it. A good rule of thumb is to only explain what you must.”

  She let out a sigh and her shoulders relaxed. “All right. That’s what we’ll do, then.”

  “Tomorrow,” he added, “we can look at alternatives. I might not have to sit beside you, for example. I can be nearby at the restaurant where you’re doing your interview.”

  “I’ve restricted most of my activities to ones that are not open to the public,” she admitted. “Thinking it would help.”

  He’d made the recommendation. “I know. It does help.”

  “I really don’t think anyone wants to hurt me, Jacob. This is so unnecessary.”

  She looked so unhappy that he took pity on her. “Your family cares about you and wants you safe. Not everyone has that, Charlotte. Just look at it that way.”

  She nodded and picked at her dinner. “I know that. Sometimes we fight like cats and dogs, but in the end, we all love each other very much.”

  “All right, then. Let me clean up this mess and you can do whatever it is you need to do tonight. I see there’s a gym in the building. I’d like to work out in the morning, but it’ll be early. Just please don’t leave the building without me, all right?”

  She nodded. “All right.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  WHEN CHARLOTTE WOKE up at five thirty, she tiptoed out of her room to see if Jacob was up. His bedroom door was open, and his bed neatly made. A quick check of the rest of the apartment told her he was at the building’s gym.

  Her stomach growled.

  It was ridiculous how she could even be hungry after last night’s dinner. Jacob was indeed a good cook, and the spicy-sweet stir-fry had hit the spot. Now that she’d somewhat got her body back on a schedule—even though it was much later in Paris—she was craving something entirely different, and something she got only when she was in New York. Bagels. And very possibly blintzes.

  Except Jacob had told her, in no uncertain terms, that she wasn’t to leave the apartment.

  This whole thing was dumb. Someone had sent her a few emails and she couldn’t go out for bagels? She didn’t have security in Paris, so why here? The deli was maybe a five-minute walk. She could be there and back before Jacob even knew she’d been gone.

  She hurried into a pair of yoga pants, put on a hoodie over her pajama tank and hoped the weather wasn’t too cold. At the door, she paused again, knowing she was going against Jacob’s orders. And yet he’d already agreed to loosen things a bit during the runway shows. She set her chin and pulled a knitted hat over her head. Ten minutes. That was all she’d be gone, and then she’d be back with breakfast, and they could get on with their day.

  The weather had warmed slightly from the previous day, but the wind still held a bite that cut through her hoodie and sliced into her skin. She hurried down the street feeling as if she were in a wind tunnel, then turned left and had a few moments of respite. Then, there it was. A plain, ordinary deli that looked like a thousand other delis in New York. She grinned. She loved this city. It was energetic and brash and unapologetic, with such a different feel from any other city in the world. She stepped inside the door, out of the cold, and let the warmth seep in.

  Even at 6:00 a.m. the foot traffic was brisk. Half the seats were full and there was a line about six deep for takeaway bagels. When it was her turn, she ordered a half dozen with a variety of cream cheeses and a small bit of lox, just in case Jacob liked it. Then cheese blintzes, her personal favorite, because she had a sweet tooth and couldn’t resist the blueberry compote that came with them. Finally she ordered a coffee, because the walk back was surely going to be just as cold.

  * * *

  She was humming something rather tunelessly when she opened the door to the apartment and came face-to-face with an irate Jacob.

  Busted.

  His eyes were that flinty gray that she was quickly coming to understand meant he was displeased. Displeased was putting it mildly. A tick in his jaw told her he was furious.

  “You left the apartment. After I explicitly told you not to.”

  She tried a disarming smile and lifted the paper bag. “You were working out. I got bagels.”

  The fire in his eyes made her lower her arm, because he looked like he wanted to rip the bag from her fingers and throw it across the room. He didn’t, though. He remained perfectly steady. She wasn’t afraid of his anger, she realized. It was his job to protect her. She lifted her chin. “I was gone ten minutes. Maybe fifteen. There was a small line. And look! Nothing happened.”

  He let out a slow breath. It appeared as if he was counting to ten.

  When he finally spoke, his voice was measured, but with a hard edge that told her he was, indeed, furious with her. “Since I can’t trust you to follow my instructions, now I’m going to be on your six every damned minute. And I’m not giving up my workouts while I’m here, so that means tomorrow morning you’re up at five and going to the gym with me.”

  Her mouth dropped open. Five a.m. gym times were Bella’s thing, not hers. She preferred an extra hour or so of sleep, and then coffee. Lots of coffee.

  “You seem to be forgetting that you work for me, not the ot
her way around.”

  He smiled then, and she wondered if she was being forgiven. “No, love. I work for your mother. I’ll be happy to send her a report after the first twenty-four hours letting her know that we didn’t even make it one day without you going off on your own.”

  “You’re going to tell on me to my mother.”

  “I’m obligated to, as per my contract.”

  He was immovable. She knew that as sure as she knew she was breathing. She realized he’d given her a test and she’d failed spectacularly because she’d thought a quick trip out wouldn’t hurt. And it hadn’t! But it did have consequences. Jacob Wolfe was now going to be with her all the time.

  “The press will pick up on this for sure. You truly don’t have to be on me like...like a barnacle.”

  He stepped back and his shoulders relaxed. “Respectfully, that sounds like a you problem. And since you’re running PR, it shouldn’t be that hard to spin.”

  “You’re insufferable!”

  He shrugged. “I’ve definitely been called worse.” He looked down at his watch. “And your time would be better spent getting ready and having one of those bagels if you actually eat breakfast. We’re leaving at eight ten sharp.”

  She glared at him. He really could not be moved. Then again, he was former SAS. She supposed he’d stared down people a lot tougher than her.

  She took the bag to the counter, put all the blintzes on a plate, took the compote, a napkin and a fork and knife, glared at him, and marched to her room.

  He couldn’t have any of the good pastries. And fine. She’d get dressed and they’d do their thing and she’d ignore him. That was what he wanted anyway, wasn’t it?

  She sat at the small table in her room and ate every single blintz, determined to enjoy every last bite. When she was done she instantly regretted it; it was too much food and definitely too much pastry and now she had to dress for the day and—worse—for the cameras. She pulled out the outfit for today and sighed. If she had any bloating at all she was going to be hugely uncomfortable. But she had gone over all her wardrobe choices with Amelie as well as the head stylist at Aurora. This was perfect for her interview today, in Aurora colors, and so she pulled on the black lace skirt and then added the white blouse with lace accents, a small peplum that accented her trim waist, and a scoop neckline that was just daring enough to show the smallest shadow of cleavage.

  The skirt felt tight, dammit.

  Then it was the shoes, classic black stilettos that would put her maybe two inches shorter than Jacob. Not that she cared.

  She hoped he realized that yesterday’s jeans and sweater wasn’t going to cut it when they were in public.

  Her makeup regime was down to a science. She sat at the makeup table with the beautiful lighting and began, taking comfort in the steps. Oddly enough, it soothed her. She never went in for dramatic makeup. Oh, for evening events she sometimes went for a bolder eye or lip, but most days she opted for something low-key and classic. She sorted through her lip colors and found the one they’d picked out for the shoot. She’d take a kit with her to freshen her look before the interview. No photos from the interview would be published without her signing off on them first, so she wasn’t overly worried.

  The only thing she was remotely worried about this morning was Jacob. She’d angered him and now there were consequences. She felt like a chastised child, but had to push those feelings away. They weren’t...helpful. Instead she had to deal with what was right in front of her.

  * * *

  Jacob tried to tune out whatever Amelie and Charlotte were talking about and focused instead on the day’s itinerary. Their driver wound his way through the streets to Tribeca, where they’d take in a few of the shows and then Charlotte would leave for her interview. Every night there were parties, and tonight was no exception. He glanced over at Charlotte and pondered. He’d never heard any rumors of her being a party girl, but that didn’t mean much. Tonight he’d stick close to her side and hope he didn’t end up being the babysitter he’d first feared. Today’s bagel incident didn’t give him much hope in that regard. She definitely didn’t like to be told what to do.

  When they arrived, Jacob got out and held the door, and then Amelie gave a small wave and disappeared.

  “Where’s she going?”

  “Oh, here and there. She’ll see most of the shows today, network... She has her own seating.”

  “Not with you?”

  Charlotte looked up at him. “No. You get her VIP seat.”

  He felt momentarily guilty about it, since clearly this was important to Amelie, too. But then, if Charlotte hadn’t ignored his directions, he might have compromised.

  “Lucky me.” He supposed he’d have to sit next to her and look at least a little bit interested. It might be the toughest part of this job.

  Charlotte huffed out a sigh. “Are you going to be this annoying all the time?”

  “Sorry,” he said brusquely. “My job isn’t to make conversation. I’ll be quiet.”

  And then he was, and he suspected that drove her even crazier.

  Charlotte stopped several times to say hello, and the few times questioning glances were sent Jacob’s way, she simply introduced him as Jacob, in keeping with the decision to not offer more information than necessary. He dutifully smiled and then kept eyes on the entire room as she circulated, slowly making her way toward their seats, which he realized were right in the front row. The closer they got, the more people he recognized. Like famous actresses and... He blinked and tried not to stare. A former president’s daughter. One he’d actually met a few years earlier while providing security for a UK dignitary at an event. He doubted she’d recognize him. People didn’t tend to, because he was in the background.

  Except today. Today he was sitting front and center with Charlotte Pemberton.

  She leaned over and whispered, “If you feel conspicuous, you can always trade with Amelie.”

  He turned his head and met her eyes, their heads close together. “I’m fine here. Then I know where you are.”

  She sat back and pasted on a generic smile that belied her annoyance. “You’re still angry about this morning.”

  “No. I’m just doing my job, remember?”

  She crossed her legs and his mouth went dry. It was impossible to ignore her long legs. She was so damned classy. The lace skirt came to just below her knee, utterly modest, but fit every curve perfectly. She didn’t wear any jewelry around her neck, nothing to distract from the neckline of her blouse, and that delectable shadow just above the top button. It was sexy as hell and still, with the ruffly thing at her waist and the lace accents on her sleeves, it was elegant and subdued. Was she? So far he’d seen her working, incessantly tapping on her laptop, and always perfectly dressed. For someone he assumed was a party girl, Charlotte Pemberton was actually a bit...uptight.

  And stubborn. He’d seen her pile her plate with pastries and she’d eaten them all. Just to spite him. He smiled to himself, remembering.

  “What are you smiling at?”

  He lifted his head and looked into her eyes. “Just thinking that this is almost as good as a few weeks in Tenerife.”

  She opened her mouth to ask him more, but then the show started and conversation came to a halt. Jacob braced himself. All he had to do was sit here and look interested, keep his eye on Charlotte. She was focused intently on the models walking the runway at the moment, and he could see her mind working. Always working.

  No, he rather suspected Charlotte wasn’t a spoiled party girl at all. If anything, he thought she might be a bit of a workaholic. And that made them more alike than she knew.

  * * *

  His impression of her was reinforced several times during the day. There were two hours of shows, then they exited, just the two of them, and went to the car to be transported to a restaurant for the interview. He watched, fa
scinated, as Charlotte pulled out a bag full of cosmetics and a lighted mirror, which she handed to him to hold.

  “You’re going to fix your makeup in a moving car,” he said, a bit amazed.

  “Lips and eyes only get done while we’re stopped,” she said, and then grinned. “Though I always have a horrible premonition I’m going to do that and then end up looking like Bridget Jones when she goes to the law dinner do.”

  “I’m not familiar.”

  “No, I suppose not. It’s a movie. Well, based on a book. Anyway, poor Bridget, she’s awkward as ass and a total fish out of water going to her boyfriend’s work thing, and she does her makeup in the taxi and goes in looking red as a fire hydrant.”

  All this time Charlotte was blotting her face with some sort of sponge. They stopped at a light and she whipped out her lipstick. A few swipes and her lips were plump and pink again...perfect. His gaze dropped to them and he swallowed tightly. It wouldn’t do to be attracted to her, would it? Total dereliction of his duty... Well, if he acted on it. Which he wouldn’t. Getting involved on a mission could have dire consequences, as he well knew. Even now, the twinge of guilt darted through him, leaving the bitter taste of regret in his mouth.

  He had no idea what movie she was talking about, but it clearly amused her, and her eyes twinkled at him over the rim of the mirror, lightening his dark thoughts. “Do I look all right?”

  “You’ll do,” he answered, looking away. She wasn’t all right; she was perfect. He was surprised when she laughed.

  “High praise indeed.”

  “Sorry.” He let his gaze catch hers. “You’re a beautiful woman, Charlotte, with or without makeup.” He’d seen her without this morning and that same punch-to-the-gut feeling had happened, even when he’d been furious. “So don’t worry about the interview.”

  Her lips dropped open a little in surprise. “Thank you. For the compliment and the boost of confidence. Apparently you’re more than a simple bodyguard. You’re the cheerleading section, too.”