Gray Quinn's Baby(28)

'Is this the kitchen?' He pressed open a door. 'You go and change while I make some coffee. Do you want something more to eat?'

'No!' She laughed.

He was pleased to see it.

'You?' she said.

He felt a jolt when their eyes met. 'Maybe … ' He was hungry.

'There are eggs in the fridge.'

'That's good for me. Go.'

He got busy in her neat, attractive kitchen, finding the eggs, a bowl,  some cheese and plenty of seasoning. He thought about Magenta as he  whisked the eggs. She concerned him on several levels. Her friend Tess  had been at pains to tell him how hard she worked. She'd been holding  everything together single-handed for months now, apparently, fending  off her father's creditors whilst still managing to energise her team  and come up with a host of brilliant ideas. She'd drawn him in.

'You're back,' he said, feeling a bolt of something warm and steady when  she walked into the room. She was slender but womanly, tall, but not  too tall. She was beautiful, quirky and under-appreciated-at least by a  man. It was strange where his senses took him-sixth sense, his mother  had called it. 'Omelette good for you?' he said on a lighter note.

'You are joking?' she protested with a laugh.

'Well, I've made an extra one. You should eat more.'

'I have eaten.' She held up her squeaky-clean hands to remind him.

'Eat,' he said, taking in the dark circles beneath her eyes.                       
       
           



       

She perched at the breakfast bar, crossing her silk-clad legs one over  the other-slender legs, sexy heels, sheer stockings. He could see the  outline of her suspender button beneath the fine wool skirt. 'So you're  not coming back with me?' he enquired.

'I've called a cab. I hope you're not offended. It's just that it's hard  to arrive on a motorcycle ready for a meeting-apart from the fact that  bike-riding sends my heart-rate soaring, I didn't want to be late this  time.'

She smiled faintly and he smiled too. 'Good thinking. You should look  after yourself better, Magenta,' he said, noticing how in spite of all  her protests she was wolfing down the omelette.

'Are you like this with all your employees, Quinn?'

'If you mean do I cook for them? No. Do I want them in peak condition producing their best work for me? That would be yes.'

'And that will be my taxi,' she said, forking up the last mouthful on  her plate as the door-bell rang. 'And that was a delicious omelette.  Thank you, Quinn.'

'See you back at the office.'

'You can count on it,' she said.



Magenta Steele was the consummate professional as well as a good-looking  woman-though she was elusive, Quinn thought as he brought their meeting  to a close. He could pin her down in business-having heard her pitch,  he could be fairly certain they'd win an industry award for her sixties  campaign, for example-but when it came to knowing what made Magenta the  woman tick, that was a whole different ball-game.

'Dinner tonight,' he said as she packed up her briefcase. 'That wasn't a  question, Magenta,' he added when she looked at him with surprise. 'If  we're going to take this company where it needs to go, you and I have to  embark on a crash course of familiarisation so we can do more than work  together. We have to be able to read each other's minds.'

'Talking of which,' she said, a faint smile creeping onto her lips as  she busied herself sorting documents, 'is the theme I suggested for the  party okay with you-or do you think it too predictable?'

'Sixties?'

'Medallions, flares and lots of chest hair?' She looked at him now, looked him long, hard and straight in the eyes.

'I think I can come up with something.'

'I'm sure you can.'

But it wouldn't wait until the party, Quinn thought as Magenta left the room.



'You're impossible,' Tess told Magenta when she heard Magenta had booked  a table for supper with Quinn for six o' clock that evening. 'What sort  of dating time is that? And why a steak house? Haven't you heard of  sexy venues and subdued lighting?'

'Not when I'm holding a business meeting-this isn't a date. Quinn and I have important things to discuss.'

'Like what? Your place or mine?'

'Like where we're going with the business. I'm only pleased that he's involving me.'

'Magenta, are you blind? First off, you're the heart of Steele  Design-you're the major reason people come to us for ideas. Quinn is  never going to get rid of you. And, secondly, perhaps most important of  all, Quinn is one hot-looking man.'

'And my employer. I never mix business with pleasure.'

'Never say never-and by the way, you with serious frown lines sprouting like weeds on your face, you're coming with me.'

Shaking her head in bemusement, Magenta allowed Tess to drag her out of  the office. It was their lunch hour and she had been neglecting her  friends recently. Calm down-go with the flow for once, she told herself  firmly.

'A hairdresser's?' Magenta said, gazing up at what seemed to be a vaguely familiar door.

'Bed-head to beauty queen,' Tess promised, chivvying her inside. 'I  bring you my friend,' she told the young man with floppy hair. 'You'd  better look after her, Justin. I hold you personally responsible for the  safe return of this woman. She must look refreshed and years younger by  the time you've finished with her-like she's never done a day's work in  her life.'

'Miracles take a little longer,' Justin opined, studying Magenta critically.

'If I'm a lost cause … ' Magenta was already leaving.

'Lost, you may be,' Justin declaimed in stentorian tones. 'But now I have found you all will be well again.'

'Oh, well, that's okay then,' Magenta said uncertainly, noticing Tess was blocking her only escape route to the door.                       
       
           



       

'And see she gets her nails done, will you?' Tess added in an aside.  'Something Jackie Kennedy-French manicure, perhaps? She might look like  she works down a coal mine, but she's actually a creative.'

'I know the type,' Justin assured her in a theatrical whisper.

'Just make sure she's ready to play her role in a very important sixties  party tomorrow night. Oh, and she's got a date tonight, so make it  sexy.'

'Got it.'

'You've gone too far this time,' Magenta complained, but Tess was already pulling faces at her from the wrong side of the door.



Magenta caught sight of her reflection in one of the many mirrors on the  way out of the salon. Justin had given her a new look all right. Her  hair was long, sleek and shiny, as opposed to the notorious bed-head  frizz-top, as diagnosed by Tess.

Trust a friend to tell you the truth, Magenta thought wryly, brushing  her long fringe out of her eyes. Justin had modelled her on one of his  favourite sixties icons, he had explained, a model called Jean Shrimpton  who had already appeared on the cover of Vogue at the age of eighteen.  'But I'm twenty-eight,' Magenta had protested.

'And don't look a day over forty,' Justin had told her reassuringly.  'That's how you will continue to look unless you allow me to work a  little magic.'

It was when Justin talked about magic that the dream started coming back  to her-bits and pieces to begin with, and then rushing in on her like a  tidal wave she couldn't escape. Not that it had anything to do with  real magic; she knew that. Dreams were the work of an over-active mind.  All she had to do was slow down a bit and she'd sleep soundly at night  again.

Slowing down meant walking through the park instead of powering along  the pavements, but slowing down allowed more thoughts to crowd in. There  had been a pregnancy, she remembered-yes, a pregnancy in a dream, but  the baby had seemed very real to her. It still did …

Silent tears crept down her icy cheeks.

She wanted a baby.

Having a baby had never crossed her mind before. She hadn't realised  there was anything missing in her life. She hadn't had time to realise  anything was missing; work took up every minute. Slowing to a halt in  front of a park bench, she sank down onto the cold wooden slats.  Stretching out her legs in front of her, she gazed across the placid  surface of the boating lake. She'd made a baby with Quinn? Well, that  should have brought a smile to her face.

It didn't.

Picking up a pebble, she stood up and skimmed it across the surface of  the lake. Ripples spread outwards, unstoppable ripples. There was  nothing she could do to change the direction of those ripples any more  than she could change the direction of her life to match the dream.

There was no baby.

Wrapping her arms around her empty belly, she mourned the dream-child in  wistful silence until a spike of cold wind reminded her she should be  getting back. She turned reluctantly. Dreams, Magenta reflected as she  hurried back to the office-who knew what secret lives people lived in  their dreams?

Sometimes dreams weren't just longings, they were premonitions.

And that was crazy thinking. She shouldn't be greedy. She should think  about all the things she had instead and be grateful. Wasn't that enough  for her?