COBURN HAD JUST left a meeting in midtown and was standing on the street, an espresso and his briefcase in one hand while he unlocked the door of his Jaguar with the other, when his mobile rang.
It never stopped ringing these days. He had a newfound respect for Harrison spending that many years under siege as CEO with every matter of crisis or political ripple that seemed to run through the company at regular intervals.
Cursing as the phone pealed again, he set his espresso down on the roof of the car, dropped his briefcase and pulled his phone out of his pocket. Dr. Joanne Gibson, said the caller ID. Who? He filed through his brain. Diana’s doctor. Why would she be calling him? He almost ignored it, then remembered he was listed as an emergency contact for his wife.
“Coburn here.”
“Coburn?” The voice sounded confused. “Oh, hi. Sorry, Mr. Grant, Rebecca from Joanne Gibson’s office here. I was trying to reach Diana. Your number’s listed right below hers.”
“No worries. You might have trouble getting her, though. She’s out of the country as of today.”
“I thought I might catch her before she left. Has she left?”
“I wouldn’t know,” he said pleasantly.
A pause. “Oh. Okay. I have some test results I need to give to her. Do you know if she took her usual mobile with her or if she’s switching over?”
“I wouldn’t know that, either.” He started to mutter a polite kiss-off, then frowned and tucked the phone closer to his ear. “What test?”
“I can’t really say. It’s just a routine check with her preg—” The woman broke off as someone said something to her in the background. “Just a routine test,” she repeated. “I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
His blood ran cold. “Just one second,” he ordered. “Were you about to say pregnancy? Is my wife pregnant?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Grant, I really can’t tell you—”
“Put Dr. Gibson on the phone.”
“What? I can’t do that. She’s with a patient.”
“Then, unpatient her now or I will get in my car, drive over there and do it myself.”
A pause. “Just one minute.”
He drummed his fingers on the midnight blue paint of his car, a complete sense of unreality enveloping him as he digested what he knew the receptionist had been about to say. This could not be happening. He’d worn a condom that night. He’d very definitely worn a condom that night. But condoms weren’t foolproof...
Cars whizzed by him, the height of Manhattan rush-hour traffic jamming itself onto the streets. The voice of an older female finally came on the line. “Coburn?”
“Yes,” he said tersely. “Your receptionist just called me by mistake, as I’m sure she told you, and mentioned in passing my wife is pregnant. My wife who is now on a plane bound for Africa. Could you confirm this rather important piece of information?”
“Coburn...” He heard the hesitation in her voice. “Rebecca should not have given that information out. It breaches doctor-patient confidentiality laws.”
“I understand that. But since the cat’s out of the bag, I suggest you confirm it right now so I don’t have to spend all my money suing you for the information.”
Joanne sighed. “I am so sorry this happened. I truly am. But Diana really needs to be the one to tell you this.”
He held the phone away from his ear and stared at it as if it was a toy he would like to crush. Rage zigzagged through him, singeing his skin. She had just told him everything he needed to know.
“You know what, Dr. Gibson?” he bit out, pulling the phone back to his ear. “Forget it.”
He disconnected the call, picked up his briefcase, tossed it into the car and headed uptown to Diana’s parents’ place. He was two blocks into the journey before he remembered he’d left his espresso on the roof of the car. An expletive flew from his lips. He wasn’t a violent man, but the urge to slowly strangle his wife was profound.
Traffic was filthy. He spent the first fifteen minutes crawling at a snail’s pace behind cabs that wove in and out of his lane, not helping his temper. By the time he got stuck a few blocks from the Taylors’ penthouse, his head was in total disarray. He leaned back against the seat and attempted to take it all in. Could Diana have been pregnant the night she’d been with him? Was it someone else’s baby? The shattered look on her face after he’d taken her that night sliced through his head. No way. There was no way she was dating someone else and had been with him like that. He knew his wife. It wasn’t in her DNA. Which left him with the mind-numbing conclusion that this baby was his. He was going to be a father.