Chapter Eight
Siobhan had a restless night. She tossed and turned, reliving how Joaquin had been so antagonistic about Ramon. Jealous?
That was what she’d thought when he’d declared so angrily, I care.
He had startled her enough that she’d spilled her guts over how badly she’d misjudged Gilbert and his feelings toward her.
Joaquin had seemed so kind, then. He’d sounded as though he really did care.
Flowing into his embrace had felt as natural as it had every other time. And she ought to know by now that an explosion of passion would happen, but it had caught her off guard, being even more powerful than she expected. She would have made love with him in his office! Anyone could have walked in on them.
She covered her hot face thinking of her abandonment and the way that he had put such a cold stop to it, as though he was barely affected at all.
He didn’t care. Not really. Not the way she longed for someone to care about her.
Once again, she was fooling herself into seeing what she wanted to see.
To hell with him, she resolved as she dressed for work. She had tried to make it clear to him that she needed to support herself financially because she didn’t feel right leaning on people she’d let down. She resented how he was making her ability to do so seem impossible.
She jerked her brush through her hair hard enough to bring tears to her eyes, gathering it in a low ponytail as if it was Casual Friday when it was only Tuesday.
She had a plan. A few weeks from the end of this mat cover, she would start looking for an entry-level management position. Maybe in Miami, she thought spitefully, even though her sister’s life there was very WAG-centric with lots of hours devoted to hair and nails and parties as she kept up with the trends set by the other wives and girlfriends of the athletes.
Those athletes had a lot of money, though, and there were a lot of contracts for sponsorships that needed a sharp eye to dot i’s and cross t’s.
Alternately, she could move back to London and find something in banking or insurance. Or try San Francisco again. Programmers were a dime a dozen, but a lot of them worked on contract. There was a ton of opportunity for her there.
Now that she was gaining experience in acquisition at this tech company, she would be an even stronger candidate there.
So yes, Joaquin, I need this job, she silently shouted across the city at him.
She refused, absolutely refused, to let him jeopardize it.
Not that she brought her best game to the office when she finally got there. She felt hungover, nursing a vague nausea that she blamed on her lack of sleep.
When are you arriving? her sister texted midmorning. The children are asking.
She ignored Cinnia’s message, feeling too overwhelmed to think about Christmas when she still needed to get through the week.
And the staff party, she was reminded when someone came around collecting final numbers.
“Are you bringing a date?” they asked.
A wicked vision of Joaquin flashed in her mind. Would he ask her to dance? Oh, stop it, she scolded herself. What was she? Twelve? Ugh.
“I haven’t even found something to wear,” she replied, wishing she could bow out altogether, but these sorts of events were valuable networking opportunities. She would push through.
“We’re needed upstairs,” Oladele said, arriving at her desk to interrupt them.
Siobhan smiled a weak apology and gathered her things, accompanying Oladele to the elevator.
“You seem pale today,” Oladele noted. “Are you unwell?”
“It’s this color.” She plucked at the mustard-toned pullover. “I should give it away because it washes me out, but it’s one of my comfort wears.” The thick, soft knit felt like a hug.
“I have a cardigan like that. It’s full of holes. I can’t leave the house in it, but I refuse to throw it away.”
They continued joking about their reluctance to break up with favorite clothing until they walked into the boardroom.
Joaquin was already there with several other people. His gaze swept over her in a way that scraped at her composure.
Siobhan sobered and averted her eyes, heart squeezed by the vise of her behavior yesterday.
No more, she resolved as she took her seat behind Oladele and opened her laptop, preparing to take notes. She might respond to him physically, but that was a trick of chemistry that meant nothing. She was setting higher standards for herself.
They were over.
Joaquin had steeled himself against so much as looking at Siobhan when she arrived for the meeting, but his damned inner radar had heard her voice approaching and turned his head.
Now, as he quickly ran through the agenda, making swift decisions around reallocating resources, all he could see was lipstick the color of pink gelato against a pale complexion, a chunky yellow knit clinging to narrow shoulders, and breasts he’d caressed as recently as yesterday.
The tension in his abdomen, and lower, came out in his voice.
“Where are we at with the defamation charges?” he asked Oladele, stubbornly keeping his gaze on her, not the stony, downcast face behind her.
“I was going to chase that this morning, but was sidetracked by a complaint lodged against me at the General Council’s office,” Oladele said.
“By who?” he bit out.
“It was anonymous,” Oladele said with an annoyed shake of her head. “But I’m sure we can guess who’s behind it.”
“He does not come after my staff,” Joaquin gritted out, infuriated by how petty Lorenzo was. He had no compunction against destroying innocent people if he could score a point against his son.
See? he wanted to say to Siobhan. This is what I’m shielding you from.
“Stay behind after this,” he ordered Oladele and quickly wrapped up the rest.
“Do you need me?” Siobhan asked Oladele, gathering her laptop and notebook into her arms as everyone else filed out.
“No,” Joaquin answered.
Siobhan flinched at his tone and flashed him a glance then haughtily turned her gaze on Oladele.
He kicked himself, especially when Oladele sent him a look of surprise as well before she answered Siobhan. “Head back to your desk. I’ll be down shortly.”
Siobhan nodded and moved to the door.
Joaquin took a single long stride to get it for her, feeling like a heel, wanting to at least catch her eye and let her know he hadn’t meant to be so rude.
If he hadn’t been right there, staring at her profile, he would have missed the way the rigidity left it and her eyelashes fluttered. He would have missed how her color leached away and her knees buckled. He wouldn’t have been close enough to catch her before she hit the floor.
“Wha—?” His heart lodged itself in his mouth as her dead weight slumped in his arms. Her laptop hit the carpet and her notebook splashed open.
Oladele gasped.
“Call first aid,” he barked.
Since he’d caught her and knew she wasn’t injured, Joaquin gathered Siobhan against his chest. “Get the door. I’ll put her on the sofa in my office.”
Seconds later, he eased her onto the cushions, heart crashing against the walls of his rib cage. Her eyes were already blinking open.
“What—?”
“You fainted.” He had rudimentary first aid knowledge and pulled her eyelids up to ensure her pupils were even, then pressed his fingertips to the pulse in her throat.
“First aid is on their way,” Oladele said from the door. “Do we need an ambulance?”
“No. I just stood up too fast.” Siobhan brushed his hands off her and sat up, forcing him to rise so she could set her feet on the floor.
He touched her shoulder to keep her seated, ready to catch her if she slumped forward.
“I don’t need first aid,” she said impatiently. “That’s embarrassing. I’m fine.”
“You are not. You were dizzy the other day.” Joaquin had let himself believe her when she had said it was a bug, even though a tiny seed of suspicion had arrived in his brain at the time, one he had dismissed before he allowed it to take root. It was too perilous. It would consume his thoughts if he let it, so he had brushed it away.
It was quickly growing too big to ignore, though. Or would. Over the next nine months.
No. He pinched the bridge of his nose, still wanting to believe it was something else.
“Do you have a headache?” He didn’t want her to be genuinely ill, but it was the only other explanation. “A cough? Other symptoms?”
“No.”
“I wish you had told me you weren’t feeling well.” Oladele flicked Joaquin a look of speculation that only landed on him long enough to blow up his shell of denial before she returned her concerned frown on Siobhan. She suspected the same thing, but she was too circumspect to say it aloud. “I don’t fire people for being ill, even if they’re new on the job.”
“I didn’t think you would. But I’m not sick,” Siobhan insisted. “This is self-induced. I’ve been burning the candle at both ends.”
“Did you miss lunch again?” Oladele asked.
“You’ve been skipping lunch?” Joaquin snapped before she could answer.
“A couple of times on those first days. Things were busy. You’re both overreacting.”
On the contrary, he’d been underreacting. Refusing to see what was blatantly obvious.
Damn it, he was starting to feel faint. There was a buzz in his ears and he couldn’t find any oxygen in this damned dungeon of an office.
“I insist you take better care of yourself,” Oladele was saying. “I’ll fetch your things. I want you to start your Christmas break immediately. See a doctor as soon as you can, then let me know if you need more time off. Otherwise, I’ll see you in the New Year, back in fighting form.” Oladele opened the door. “Ah. Here’s first aid.” She let in a young man wearing a red cross on his sleeve. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
Oladele left and the young man asked permission to check Siobhan’s vitals before he applied a blood pressure cuff to her arm and used a stethoscope against her inner elbow.
“This is very unnecessary,” she complained to Joaquin.
He pointed at the phone against his ear. The receptionist at the clinic had just picked up. He advised her that he was bringing his colleague for an assessment.
“We’ll be there in thirty minutes,” he said before ending the call.
“I can book my own doctor,” Siobhan said with annoyance. “No, I’m not diabetic,” she replied to the first aid attendant who was running through a checklist. “No, no, no,” she continued.
“Pregnant?”
“N—oh.” Her reply came out a lot less certain. Her voice actually cracked. She began to blush. Deeply. She shot a stark look at Joaquin.
She really hadn’t suspected? Because in his mind it had become as impossible to miss as a five-alarm fire. He was already down the road of how he would shield her from his father’s machinations while questioning his own fitness as a father. He had never wanted to face these sorts of dilemmas. That was why he used common sense and condoms.
“I apologize.” The attendant misinterpreted her embarrassment. “These are personal questions. I shouldn’t be asking them in front of anyone else. Would you excuse us, señor?”
“The clinic is holding a spot for her,” Joaquin said crisply. “You can cut this short. I’ll take her there myself.”
“I can do that if—” the young man started to offer.
“No,” Joaquin said.
“Of course.” The young man kept his speculations to himself as he repacked his bag, telling Siobhan, “Your vitals are normal, but shall I bring the wheelchair?”
“No. Thank you.” She still sounded strangled.
She refused to look at Joaquin, remaining stoic as Oladele arrived with her things.
Joaquin helped her put on her coat, then took her bag. Her expression remained stiff and unreadable as they left his office.
He heard her thoughts all the same. They echoed his own.
This can’t happen.
No, no, no. There were a million reasons she couldn’t be pregnant, especially by Joaquin. He was her boss. They barely knew each other. They had only had sex once. He had worn a condom.
There was no way she could be pregnant.
She accompanied him to the elevator anyway, blaming the roil in her stomach on nerves. It had to be nerves. But why was she nervous if there was nothing to worry about?
“Have you been with anyone else?” he asked when the doors of the elevator enclosed them into privacy.
“No.” Her heart lurched as though the car was freefalling. “Have you?”
“No,” he said coolly. “And I didn’t think you had, but I thought I should ask.”
For some reason, his question made it more real. More likely. Her eyes grew hot. It became impossible to draw a full breath.
“What will we do if—” Her voice broke.
“Let’s wait to see if there’s anything to talk about before we talk,” he said in that same grave, detached tone.
She caught back a panicked sob and nodded, for once bolstered by his air of cool command. She let him escort her across the lobby, ignoring the stares from the handful of employees who recognized them. She must look like death. She felt as though she walked through sticky molasses.
They were both quiet in the car. She didn’t know what he might be thinking behind his remote expression. She didn’t have room in her turmoiled thoughts to imagine it. She just kept trying to blame these symptoms on all the stress she’d been under. It was flu season. Sometimes she felt off when she was expecting her cycle. That was all this was. It had to be!
She knew it wasn’t, though. She knew.
The moment they entered the reception lounge, before she even saw the doctor, she asked for a sample cup and took it to the toilet.
She went into the examination room alone and the doctor came in a few minutes later to introduce himself.
“Your suspicion is correct,” he said with calm professionalism.
“But I had a period.” She barely got the words out, her mouth was so dry.
“Typical? Or lighter than normal?”
“Light.” Barely spotting, but it had been right on time. She had blamed all the travel and time changes for it finishing before it had properly started.
She wanted to fold in on herself for being so naive. For not understanding that was why she was so tired. She’d been around dozens of pregnancies over the years. She should have recognized when it happened to her.
It hadn’t occurred to her because she wasn’t ready to be a mother. She didn’t even have the sense to notice she was about to become one!
Was she really going to be a mother? Her heart was beating so fast, she had to wonder if she was going to make it through the end of the day. She tried to imagine what her life would look like with a baby and all she saw was a white void where her job and apartment and career ambitions had been.
Distantly, she heard the doctor prescribe prenatal vitamins and mention the need for a physical and a scan and ongoing prenatal checkups “if you choose to continue to term.”
Her heart lurched. She had always planned to have a family, just not yet. Not alone.
What would Joaquin even say?
Let’s wait to see if there’s anything to talk about before we talk.
Reason one million that I don’t want children.
Her hands were icy as she gathered her handbag and returned to the waiting area.
Joaquin was still on his feet and turned from the window. He flinched when he saw her expression and wordlessly held her coat.
In the elevator, she said, “We have something to talk about.”
He nodded curtly and escorted her into his car.
She didn’t pay attention to where he took her, not until they arrived at an unfamiliar building.
“Where are we?” she asked numbly as he helped her step onto the sidewalk.
“My apartment. The security is excellent and my father has a town house in Salamanca. You don’t have to worry he’ll turn up here.”
Lorenzo was the last thing she was worried about. Joaquin hadn’t beamed with joy and hugged her when she gave him the news. He had retreated another thousand miles inside himself.
She had an impression of marble columns and a polite door staff as they entered. Like many public spaces this time of year, the lobby was decked with twinkling lights and scalloped ribbons interspersed with bells. A beautiful nativity scene with hand-painted figurines stood on a table between a pair of elevators.
Joaquin used his thumbprint to access a panel. Seconds later, they entered a penthouse that had been modernized while keeping much of the building’s heritage charm.
He waved her into the living room where a tree sparkled with white lights. Flames danced in the gas fireplace.
“This is Marta, my housekeeper,” he said of the middle-aged woman who emerged from the kitchen to smile in greeting. “Thank you for staying late, Marta. This is Ms. Upton.”
“Buenas—um, noches?” Siobhan had lost track of time. There was still a glimmer of fading dusk beyond the windows, but she felt as though a week had passed since she’d fainted at work.
“Welcome,” Marta said in warm Spanish. “May I take your coats? I’ve prepared a light meal if you’d like me to serve it?”
“I texted her that you missed lunch.” Joaquin seated her at the dining table where freshly baked buns gave off a heavenly aroma. Candles wreathed in holly sat on the table, lending a gentle festive atmosphere.
“That’s not why I fainted,” Siobhan said when Marta was in the kitchen. “The doctor said it’s not uncommon for blood pressure to fall in—” she had to clear her throat, still wrapping her head around it. “—in early pregnancy. He said he’d test my iron levels when I go back for bloodwork, to be sure I’m not anemic.”
Marta brought out bowls of pescado en blanco. It was a light soup that Siobhan already knew would sit gently in her unsettled stomach.
“I’ve kept you late enough,” Joaquin said when Marta asked if she could bring them anything else. “We’ll manage. Enjoy your evening.”
“Gracias, señor. I’ll clean the dishes in the morning.” Marta wished them good-night and left.
“I feel like all you do is feed me,” Siobhan said as she tucked into her soup.
“If you would feed yourself, I wouldn’t have to, would I?”
She was so on edge, she flinched.
They ate in subdued silence.
“So, um…” Siobhan couldn’t stand the suspense any longer. “Still a skeptic about fate?”
It was a terrible joke. He didn’t reveal one glimmer of amusement.
“We both have free will here. Your choices will affect mine so, ladies first.”
Her veins stung with heightened emotion. This was sooner than she had planned to start her family and she had always imagined she would be in a loving, committed relationship when she did, but “I’m having the baby.”
