"Shit," Lauren said, perched on the edge of the bed.
"Whassamatter?" Mike asked into the pillow.
She took a moment to appreciate the geography of his back muscles before answering. "More top secret dealings at the office tower. There goes my idea to ask Nate for a day off so I could fly out to see game five."
He lifted his chin and squinted at her. "Bummer, honey. I'll miss you, but you gotta do what you gotta do." That handsome face dropped into the pillow again.
She crawled onto the bed and kissed the back of his neck. "It's been fun to be your fan girl again."
"I'd love to see your pretty face in Dallas. But I have a weird job, babe. It's not always going to be convenient." He reached out and took her hand in his warm one. "I'll take what you can give me and be happy."
She lay down beside him again, if only for another minute.
He rolled and curved his body around hers. "When are you going to tell Nate you'll need a maternity leave?"
"I don't know. Soon, I guess?"
"Are you worried about his reaction?"
"Not at all. I just want to be sure the pregnancy takes before I talk about it. Telling Nate will be fine. He'll stop trying to transfer me to California."
"What's that?" Mike lifted his head off the pillow.
"Nate offered me a pretty cool job in Silicon Valley. I keep putting him off."
"Are you thinking about taking it?"
"No! Not happening."
"Is that a problem, though?"
She shook her head. "I was never going to California. I want to be here. There's you, there's the pretty damned good job I already have. And my family, not that they're at the top of my list. But even when I was planning to have a baby without you, I knew I'd need my family nearby."
He was quiet for a moment. "You never told me about the California job."
"That's because it's not interesting to me unless I'm both single and childless."
Mike kicked a leg over her hip, pulling her closer. "I don't want you to be either of those things."
"Me neither, then."
• • •
She had a long day at work, which stretched into the evening. Lauren had been assigned the task of "bullshit-proofing" the new bidder's claims about its company.
"Didn't the bankers do their due diligence?" she asked Nate.
"Yeah, up to a point. But they want the fee, right? I want you to go over their claims of market dominance and see if anything looks too good to be true. I'm going to take a look at their technical specs."
"All right. Sure." It was the second time in as many weeks that she'd been asked to perform a task above her pay grade. She was glad Nate had begun to trust her with more interesting work, but the timing was a little dicey. If he wanted to talk about the California job again soon, she'd have to spill her secret.
There had been many nights when Lauren worked late, assisting Nate and an analyst or two. This time she was the analyst. They didn't leave the office until ten, and Lauren went in at seven thirty the next morning because she knew Nate had to leave early.
He took several meetings that morning, then sat following up with Lauren in his office. "Let's go over the financials before I go. I called a car to take me to the airport at two thirty."
"Okay." Lauren felt a pang of jealousy. A big one. Nate was flying out on his Gulfstream just in time to see game five, and coming home again in the morning. And she wasn't. Her tentative plan to surprise Mike in Dallas had been sidelined by the new bidder.
"If we can't get through it all now, we could talk on the phone before the game starts. Or we could Skype tomorrow morning," her boss suggested.
"Or . . ." She spoke before she could second-guess herself. ". . . on the jet. I could ride along to Dallas."
Nate's eyes widened.
"Never mind," she said quickly. "We can Skype." She and Nate were close but it was a little audacious to invite herself along on his charter jet.
"No," he said, rising from his chair. "I love this idea. I'm just surprised. Didn't think you were still watching hockey. I haven't seen you in the box lately."
"What? You mean you don't know every gossipy detail about my personal life?" she teased. "I flew to Detroit for game seven with Mike's daughter. And I've been watching from his comp seats."
This drew a Nate smirk from her boss. "Reallly."
"Go ahead and gloat."
"Oh, I will. You don't have a change of clothes for Dallas, though. I know how that goes against every fiber of your being."
"It will be fine."
He snapped his laptop shut and shoved it into its case. "Let's go now. We'll swing by your place and then hop onto the FDR."
"You really don't have to . . ."
"I know. But this gives me even more time to gloat. Let's go, hockey lover. Don't forget to bring some face paint. I could help you put Beacon's jersey number on each cheek."
"That is not happening."
"You want a lift to Dallas or not?"
"Fine, but you're getting painted, too."
"Am not."
"Are so."
They argued all the way to the elevators.
• • •
When they reached the charter terminal, Lauren was astonished to see Becca waiting there. "Hey! If we're both here, who's minding the team in Dallas?"
Becca gave an oddly self-conscious shrug. "The intern Nate stapled to my hip is surprisingly competent. We sent her ahead because I had a therapy session this morning."
"How's that going, anyway?"
Becca dropped her voice. "Really well, honestly. I feel so much better. I don't tire as easily, and my headaches have stopped. These new doctors are amazing, but don't tell Nate I said so."
"He'll gloat."
"Exactly."
"Ladies? Shall we?" Their fearless leader escorted them onto the sleek little jet. There were only a few seats, as well as a conference table.
"Where shall I set up?" Lauren asked. "You want to finish our debrief, right?"
Nate frowned. "Sure. Let's take the table." Lauren sat down on one side, with Nate opposite.
Becca set herself up in one of the plush chairs and pulled out a copy of Vanity Fair. Lauren didn't quite understand the purpose of Becca's trip to Dallas. But, hey, it made her own hitchhiking a little less weird.
She and Nate worked for a good hour and a half until the lone flight attendant announced that she would serve dinner soon. Lauren had been smelling food for the past half hour, and it was strangely unappealing. Her stomach felt sour, which was odd. Flying had never bothered her before.
"To start I can offer you Caesar salad or gazpacho," the flight attendant said. "Then, would you prefer the crab cakes, the chicken parmesan, or the Thai beef?"
Nate and Becca ordered, but Lauren tried to wave her off. "I'm really not hungry this evening. Thank you."
"We won't get to the rink until it's ten P.M. New York time," Becca pointed out. She and Nate were staring at her.
"Um, I'd love a roll with butter," Lauren said slowly. Bread was the only thing that appealed to her at the moment. Even the salad sounded wrong. "And maybe I'll try the gazpacho."
"Certainly."
Becca sat down at the table beside Nate, who put away his computer. The flight attendant offered everyone wine, and nobody accepted. Lauren was glad that she rarely drank at work functions. It would make her pregnancy-induced sobriety seem less peculiar.
Unfortunately, when the food was delivered, Lauren's queasiness did not improve.
Nate had asked for the Thai beef. It looked beautiful-slices of meat over a bed of noodles, bright green snow peas mixed in. But the scent just hit Lauren all wrong. She broke off a bite of bread and buttered it. She put it in her mouth and chewed.
A moment later, the flight attendant opened the door to the little galley kitchen and all the food smells intensified.
Suddenly there was too much saliva in Lauren's mouth. With shaking hands she shoved her seatbelt off. Bile began to climb her throat as she slid out of the seat and dove toward the jet's bathroom.
She made it just in time, slamming the little door and sliding the lock which activated the lights. Miraculously, she hit the toilet dead center, vomiting up what little was in her stomach.
Holy crap. What a wretched time for morning sickness to announce itself.
Lauren wiped her mouth on a paper towel and tried to think. Her pregnancy book had warned that nausea often hit during week six, or four weeks after conception. Standing there over the toilet, trying to decide whether or not she was going to puke again, she did the math.