Confidential: Expecting! (9 page)

“Nothing five-star.”

“You’re too casual an establishment for that,” Logan agreed, thinking of the Grill’s comfortable interior. It boasted no linen tablecloths, chandeliers or fancy flatware, but with its framed vintage posters and brightly colored stoneware plates it was hardly on a par with a fast-food stop.

“Exactly. I have a few pasta dishes that I think would enjoy broad appeal, and I’m toying with the idea of a catch-of-the-day fish special to play off our proximity to the lake.”

“That sounds like a good idea. What about chicken or beef?”

“I put smothered chicken on the dinner special board
last week and it did pretty well. Beef?” Luke blew out a breath. “Other than my burgers I’m undecided.”

“I’ve got a couple ideas.”

“That’s what I was hoping. So, do you think you could sample a few recipes and give me some advice?” Luke asked.

“Sure. Glad to. Just say when and where.”

“Tonight at the restaurant. Say around eight. The dinner rush will be done by then.”

“Tonight?” Logan’s heart sank. He and Mallory had reservations at an exclusive, celebrity chef—owned restaurant. It had taken nearly two weeks to secure them. “I already have plans.”

“That’s all right,” Luke said. No disappointment was audible in his brother’s voice.

“I’m glad you understand.”

“Oh, sure. No problem. I don’t mind if you bring her along. Just make sure she’s hungry.”

“Luke,” Logan began, but he was already talking to a dial tone.

Mallory opened her apartment door that evening wearing a strapless black dress. The satin ribbon spanning her waist made her look like a present—one Logan was eager to unwrap.

After sucking in a breath, he said, “Look at you.”

“And look at
you.”
Her gaze meandered down. Logan had forgotten all about the jeans and T-shirt he’d thrown on. “It would appear one of us didn’t get the memo. The last I heard formal attire was required at Romeo’s.”

“It is.” He winced. “There’s been a change in plans. I should have called, but…” He let the words trail off.

Her gaze skittered just to the left of his shoulder. “You’re canceling our date,” she guessed.

That had been his plan, and he could still do it. Mallory was giving him the out, already expecting him to disappoint her. Had he really thought their trust issues were all one-sided?

“Not exactly.”

The line appeared between her eyes as she continued to study the wall. She looked a little pale, he thought. And the vulnerability she tried to hide made an appearance. “What does that mean?”

“I promised my brother I’d come by his restaurant tonight. He’s thinking about adding a few new items to his dinner menu and he wants my input.” He swallowed hard. Once the invitation was tendered, there would be no going back. Is that what he wanted, for her to meet a member of his family? He answered the question by asking one of her. “Will you come with me?”

Mallory’s gaze veered back to his. “Are you sure? I’ll understand if you want to go alone.”

She would, too. She would understand his defection, because she was so damned used to it. Logan forgot about guarding his own heart. It was hers that required protection.

“Come with me tonight, Mallory.” He reached for her hand. “Please. I want you there.”

The smile that bloomed on her face was almost his undoing. “Okay. Just let me change my clothes.”

T
HE
Berkley Grill was in a prime location just blocks from Navy Pier. Logan managed to find a parking spot on the street just up from the restaurant. As he escorted Mallory to the door, his nerves jangled. He was anxious about introducing her to his brother. Luke would like her and vice versa, but he hoped neither would read too much into tonight.

One step inside the bustling restaurant and Logan knew his brother had. The Grill was sparse on square footage, sporting no more than twenty tables and half a dozen booths that lined the walls. Almost every seat was filled with diners, including the one just outside the kitchen doors. At it sat his mother, father and sister, Laurel.

God help him. God help him and Mallory both.

He might have been tempted to grab her hand and head back through the door, but his mom was already rising to her feet and waving her arms.

“Logan, over here.” Her voice could be heard over the din of conversation and background music.

Mallory glanced at him in question. “It looks like my folks came tonight, too.” He had to clear his throat before he could add, “And my sister.”

“Apparently your brother wants them to sample some recipes, too.”

But her tight smile said she knew better. The Bartholomew clan had gathered to form and offer opinions, but none of them had to do with the Grill’s new menu plans.

“If you’d rather not stay, I’ll understand,” Logan began. “We can stop somewhere else for dinner.”

“I have no problem meeting your parents.” The line reappeared between her brows then. “But maybe that’s not what you mean. Maybe you don’t want them to meet me.”

“Generally speaking, I don’t bring my dates around my family,” he admitted, and watched the line deepen into a groove.

“Okay.” She started to back toward the door, but he grabbed her hand, tugged her to his side.

“You didn’t let me finish. I said, generally speaking I don’t introduce the women I date to my family, but I want them to meet you, Mallory.”

He watched her swallow. “You do?”

It scared him a bit that he meant it when he replied, “Yes.”

The groove disappeared and a smile lit up her eyes. She looked so beautiful just then it was all he could do not to pull her into his arms and kiss her. “I want to meet them, too.”

“Good.” He squeezed her hand, grinned. “Later, when they’re still picking over your bones, remember that I offered you a way out.”

“I don’t mind questions. I’m a reporter.”

“Take notes, then. My mother will make you look like an amateur.”

Mallory walked hand in hand with Logan through the restaurant. Outwardly, she knew she looked composed. Inside, she was a quivering bundle of nerves. Logan’s family. Was she ready for this? She could only imagine what they were going to think of her.

She swallowed and recalled the photograph of Logan and Felicia. Even in grainy black-and-white the other woman’s classical beauty had been undeniable. And her background had been much more in line with the Bartholomews’ social standing. Logan insisted that he found Mallory gorgeous, a fact that went a long way toward buoying her confidence now, but she knew she was a diamond in the rough compared to Felicia’s highly polished gem. What’s more, even though logically she knew no one could tell she was pregnant, Mallory still felt like she had a flashing neon sign on her forehead that read: Expecting.

Mallory had been in the Berkley Grill before, though never in the evening. It was crowded with customers—families, couples, friends out for a quick bite, tourists pouring over El train maps. The only people she was paying attention to were not so subtly sizing her up, as well.

When they reached the table, Logan pressed a kiss
to his mother’s cheek, shook his father’s hand and sent a wink in his sister’s direction.

“Hey, everyone, I have someone I’d like you to meet.” His hand was on Mallory’s lower back, the pressure firm and reassuring. “This is Mallory Stevens. Mallory, these are my parents, Douglas and Melinda Bartholomew, and my kid sister, Laurel.”

“Kid.” Laurel sniffed. “I’m thirty-two. As Mom likes to point out, my biological clock is ticking like a time bomb with each passing day.”

Logan shrugged. “Until you graduate from college with an actual degree, move out of Mom and Dad’s house, and get a paying job, I’ll consider you a kid.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mallory.” The young woman shook her hand before tagging on, “Even if I do question your taste in men.”

“Laurel,” their mother said evenly before turning her gaze on Mallory. Though the woman’s smile was benign Mallory still felt as if she’d just wound up in a sniper’s crosshairs. And for good reason, she decided, when Melinda said, “We didn’t realize our son was seeing anyone until his brother called us this afternoon and mentioned that Logan and his girlfriend were coming by the restaurant.”

Girlfriend.
The moniker popped around in Mallory’s head with the surprising effervescence of champagne bubbles. She wanted to turn and try to gauge Logan’s reaction. Perhaps it would offer a key to how he was going to feel when she told him about the baby. But she didn’t dare. Not with this attentive audience.

“She’s not going to want to see me again if you guys don’t stop interrogating her,” he groused good-naturedly.

“We’re not interrogating her. Yet,” his father added in a comically ominous tone. Douglas patted the empty chair next to his. “Have a seat next to me, Mallory.”

“I tried to warn you,” she heard Logan mumble before he sat in a chair between his mother and sister.

Mallory found his family…interesting.

Half an hour in their company and she still couldn’t quite figure them out. Usually she was good at sizing people up, but like Logan, the rest of the Bartholomew clan didn’t fit into any of her preconceived notions. For instance, they were wealthy, but they didn’t flaunt their status. Passing them on the street one wouldn’t guess they ranked among the country’s richest families.

Melinda’s fingers sported only two rings, a tasteful gold wedding band on her left hand and what Mallory assumed to be a mother’s ring, given its trio of birthstone gems, on the right one. Melinda was a lovely woman, but not an overly vain one. Her dark hair was streaked with silver in the front and the fine lines around her eyes crinkled into deeper creases when she smiled or laughed. No Botox for her.

Douglas’s hair was a mix of dark blond and gray. It had a natural curl like his son’s, though he wore it shorter and tamer. His build wasn’t as athletic as Logan’s, but he was hardly out of shape. Indeed, even though he had to be in his late sixties he could turn female heads. But it was clear, touchingly so, that he only had eyes for Melinda, his wife of forty years.

Like his father and older brother, Luke was a head turner. He stood taller than Logan and had a stockier build. His smile was easy and engaging. He’d popped out of the kitchen not long after their arrival and apologized for keeping them all waiting. The crowd was heavier than he’d anticipated and they were short a waitress. It would be a while yet before he could join them. He’d brought out more wine and a tray of appetizers. Mallory wondered if Logan noticed she hadn’t touched the glass he’d poured for her earlier. Before returning to the kitchen, Luke had grinned at Mallory and bobbed his eyebrows in Logan’s direction.

As for Laurel, she was a bit of a wild card. She had inherited her mother’s dark hair and cheekbones, her father’s long limbs and height, but none of their tact. She eyed Mallory with outright curiosity and just enough skepticism to make Mallory choose her words carefully whenever she spoke.

Even so, she was enjoying herself. Logan’s family helped to explain a lot about him—his easy smile, for instance, and self-confident nature. Both came from a lifetime of his parents’ love and support. Since he was a psychiatrist, she figured he understood the effect those things had on a person, but she wondered if he was as grateful for his good fortune as she found herself envious of it. Even now, her mother’s love remained tainted by the bitterness of having to raise her daughter alone. As for support, Mallory’s happiness and self-fulfillment came a distant second to her mother’s desire to ensure her daughter was independent and self-sufficient.

“So, what do you do for a living?” Melinda asked. “Do you work at the radio station, too?”

“No. I’m a reporter with the
Herald.
”

“A reporter.” Douglas’s eyebrows rose and he whistled through his teeth.

“At the
Herald,
you said?” This from Laurel. Something in her eyes put Mallory on guard.

“That’s right,” she said slowly.

“You cover city hall,” his sister said.

“I did.”

“She works in the Lifestyles section now,” Logan inserted. “That’s actually how we met. Mallory interviewed me for an advance on a speech I was giving.”

“News reporting seems like such an exciting career,” Melinda said. “I’d imagine you’ve met a lot of interesting people through your work.”

“I have,” she agreed.

“Me, for instance,” Logan added, inducing a round of laughter that helped dilute Mallory’s edginess.

It was back at full strength when Laurel said, “It seems an odd change of pace for someone to go from covering city politics to writing up lightweight feature stories.”

“Laurel.” Melinda’s tone was disapproving. “You’re being rude.”

The younger woman shrugged. “I’m not trying to be. I just find it strange.” Her gaze connected with Mallory’s. “What prompted you to ask to be reassigned? If you don’t mind my asking, that is,” she added, presumably to appease her mother, who was glaring
daggers at her. As for Logan, he looked as though he could have cheerfully wrung his sister’s neck.

Mallory didn’t care to be put in the hot seat, though she admired Laurel’s go-for-the-throat technique. Bluntness was best met with honesty. Evasiveness would only raise more questions.

“Features, as you rightly note, are not my forte.” She glanced at Logan then. “Although I have to admit that writing some of them has proven to be unexpectedly rewarding.”

He smiled and that gave her courage. “The truth is I didn’t ask to be reassigned from my city hall beat. I was removed from it. I screwed up.” Admitting so in front of Logan wasn’t as embarrassing as Mallory had thought it would be, perhaps because her job was no longer the epicenter of her life.

“There was a lawsuit,” Laurel murmured, though her tone said she couldn’t put a finger on the details.

Mallory decided to offer them now. “Yes. A big one that cost the newspaper a bundle in an out-of-court settlement. And it was my fault. I received information about suspected corruption from someone I considered a reliable source. I ran with it, even though I should have cross-checked the facts with other sources. I even used a quote from the mayor that came secondhand through one of his aides.”

She’d been so eager to be the first to break the news, especially when her source claimed that reporters from other news agencies were sniffing around. She’d been a fool to believe him and then hung out to dry when he
claimed under oath during a deposition that he’d never said the things Mallory claimed.

She had no tape recordings of their conversation, only hastily scribbled notes. It was her word against his, and though her editor would have supported her on that score, the lack of other sources and her insistence that they rush to print had sealed her fate.

“I let ambition cloud my judgment,” she finished.

“That happens to us all from time to time,” Douglas allowed with a sympathetic nod.

Melinda was more direct. “You’ve obviously paid for your mistake.”

Mallory laughed without humor. “My editor doesn’t see it that way yet. But then, I guess I can’t really blame him since he got taken out to the woodshed along with me.”

Barry Daniels had been allowed to keep his editorship, but per the terms of the settlement, the
Herald
was required to print a front-page apology and retraction. It didn’t get much worse than that for a journalist.

“He must not be too angry with you. You still have a job,” Laurel pointed out. The look on the young woman’s face said she regretted opening this particular can of worms.

Oddly, Mallory was almost glad Laurel had. She glanced at Logan. In addition to telling him about the baby, there were other things that needed to be said, confessions to be made. Now was neither the time nor the place, but she felt compelled to admit, “I’ve been trying to get back into his good graces, remind him of my
abilities by producing a killer story, but it’s hard to come up with anything worthy of page one when my assignments aren’t even as meaty as the stuff I wrote as a freshman for my college newspaper.”

“I don’t know. I seem to recall a riveting piece you penned on that speech I gave last month,” he teased.

His mother smiled indulgently. “I clipped it out of the paper after reading it.”

“Yeah, and it’s still on the refrigerator,” Laurel inserted with a roll of her eyes.

“So is the letter announcing that you made the dean’s list last semester,” Melinda reminded her. “As well as the starred review a food critic did of Luke’s portabella mushroom burger.” To Mallory she confided, “I don’t believe in playing favorites. I’m proud of all of them.”

Of course she was. They might be adults, but each was successful in his or her own way. And each could count on Melinda and Douglas’s unending support. Lucky, Mallory thought again. So damned lucky. Her last call with her mother had been punctuated with nagging and complaining.

“You should write more stories about Logan,” Laurel said. “People, and by people I mean women, love to read about him. He
is
the city’s sexiest bachelor or some such nonsense.”

Mallory’s gaze connected with his across the table. He was smiling. The mood around the table was no longer tense. But she hoped he understood that she meant it when she said, “I’m going to leave stories about your brother to someone else to write.”

It was just after midnight when Mallory and Logan left the Berkley Grill. Technically the restaurant closed at eleven, but even after the customers had gone and the wait staff had called it a night, the Bartholomews had stayed, sipping wine and coffee and sampling food. Mallory had stuck with water and avoided anything too spicy.