He glanced down at his phone and frowned. It was half past four. A flicker of apprehension ran down his spine.
‘By the way, did you call Ms Mason?’ he asked casually.
She nodded. ‘Yes, and she said she’d be up in a bit.’
He nodded. ‘Good. Excellent.’
He felt stupidly elated at her words, and suddenly so restless that he couldn’t stay sitting at his desk a moment longer.
‘Actually, I might just go and stretch my legs, Jenny. If Ms Mason turns up, ask her to wait in my office, please.’
The idea of Nola having to wait for him was strangely satisfying and, grabbing his jacket, he walked out through the door and began wandering down the corridor. Most of his staff were at their desks, but as he turned the corner into the large open-plan reception area he saw a group of people waiting for the lift.
Walking towards them, he felt a thrill of anticipation at the thought of finally seeing her again—and then abruptly he stopped dead, his eyes freezing with shock and disbelief. For there, standing slightly apart from the rest, her jacket folded over her arm, was Nola.
He watched, transfixed, as she stepped into the lift. Her long dark hair was coiled at the nape of her neck, and a tiny part of his brain registered that he’d never seen her wear it like that before.
But the bigger part was concentrating not on her hair but on the small, rounded, unmistakable bump of her stomach.
He heard his own sharp intake of breath as though from a long way away.
She was pregnant.
Pregnant.
A vice seemed to be closing around his throat. He felt like a drowning man watching his life play out in front of his eyes. A life that had just been derailed, knocked off course by a single night of passion.
And then, just as his legs overrode his brain, the lift doors closed and she was gone.
He stood gazing across the office, his head spinning, his breath scrabbling inside his chest like an animal trying to get out.
She was pregnant—several months pregnant at least—and frantically he rewound back through the calendar. But even before he reached the date when they’d slept together he knew that the baby could be his.
The blood seemed to drain from his body.
So why hadn’t she said anything to him?
She’d been in the office for days. Yes, he’d been in New York when she arrived, but Jenny had spoken to her earlier. Nola knew he was in the building. Knew that he wanted to see her—
Remembering his remark about unfinished business, he almost laughed out loud.
Unfinished business.
You could say that again.
So why hadn’t she said anything to him?
The question looped inside his head, each time growing louder and louder, like a car alarm. The obvious and most logical answer was that he was not the father.
Instantly he felt his chest tighten. The thought of Nola giving herself to another man
made him want to smash his fists into the wall.
Surely she wouldn’t—she couldn’t have.
A memory rose up inside him, stark and unfiltered, of Nola, her body melting into his. She had been like fire under his skin. For that one night she had been his.
But was that baby his too?