That New York Minute (11 page)

The first thing that had attracted him had been her wide, bright eyes. Eyes that lately had been filled with disappointment.

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can help you with, sir?” The clerk stood beside Dwight, trying to figure out the direction of his gaze, which TV set he might be eyeing.

“You can get me the recipe for the pork belly on that cooking show.” Dwight pointed toward the rogue TV.

“Uh…” The man faltered. “We don’t have recipes… .”

“Then find it,” Dwight snapped. Such was the strength of his force of command that the young man hurried to the counter, leaving Dwight to watch his wife. She’d passed the window now, so he moved to the front of the store, where he could watch her all the way to Garrett’s building.

Dwight stiffened as a homeless man accosted Stephanie. She dipped into her purse, gave the guy something from the stash of coins she kept for that very purpose and walked on.

“Sir, I have that recipe for you. I found it on the TV station’s website.” The clerk was beaming with pride at his achievement. Anyone would think he’d single-handedly fought off the Vietcong.

Dwight took the printout the young man offered. “Thank you.” Grudgingly, he added, “Good work.” Because an officer should give his men credit when it was due. It occurred to him that maybe he hadn’t given Stephanie enough credit for her role in their family. Maybe he should say something encouraging. If they talked again. And when they did, he would also make sure she was taking proper care of her health. He couldn’t rely on Garrett to do that—his oldest son had never shown any concern for her.

But would Stephanie tell him what he needed to know? She hadn’t bothered to contact him since she’d left.

The best way to know she was safe was to observe her himself. He trusted his own judgment. So what if she didn’t want to spend time with him? Admiral Dwight Calder wouldn’t let a little thing like that get in his way. He would keep tabs on his wife, even if he had to do it discreetly enough that she didn’t know about it.

Making that decision made Dwight feel much better. He would take action to protect his own.

Neatly, he folded the recipe the clerk had given him and slipped it into the inside pocket of his jacket. The clerk’s eyes widened when he saw the gold bands of rank on his sleeve, protruding from his cuff. Dwight saw respect in his face.

He gave the boy a brief smile. Nice to know his service to his country still commanded the respect of someone. Even if it wasn’t his son. Or his wife.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

T
ONY
HAD
JUST
CLOSED
the weekly planning meeting when he said, “Rachel, Garrett, could you two stay a minute?”

They’d been seen kissing in the New York Public Library! The panicked thought raced through Rachel’s head.

“Sure, Tony.” She smoothed her skirt over her knees and tried to look unconcerned. KBC was relaxed about fraternization between same-level colleagues, and, kissing Garrett wasn’t a crime—
criminally good, maybe,
a little voice suggested, but she squelched that. Tony’s request was positive, she told herself. She’d planned to stay behind after the meeting anyway; she had some ideas that might remind the partners of her value to the firm.

She’d had a couple more “coaching” sessions with Garrett, and Tony seemed quite impressed with her reports.

But she didn’t know if she was doing enough to cover all the bases. And she still wasn’t happy with her creative ideas.

Meanwhile, word among the account executives was that Garrett’s team was putting in long hours. She had to figure they had inspiring ideas.

She wasn’t so sure how Clive’s team was doing. Clive had disappeared to a couple of unexplained meetings out of the office, according to Haylee, reporting from the rumor mill.

Rachel was worried. She needed to bolster her standing in other areas.

She didn’t look at Garrett as Clive and the other creative directors, who weren’t quite as senior as the three partners designate, filed out. She’d been avoiding him ever since their encounter in the library, other than in their coaching sessions, where she now made sure to keep a proper distance between them.

That kiss… She never should have kissed him back. She had discovered in the small hours of the night that to think of that kiss was to relive it constantly. And to want more.

Not going to happen. Garrett was the exact opposite of what she was looking for. She wanted someone reliable, committed, family focused. Not a guy who lived by the motto “Let it go.”

The fact that they were going after the same job was a minor complication compared with all their other differences.

When they were alone, Tony leaned back in his chair, beaming. “I need to give the two of you some kudos,” he said.

That sounded positive. Rachel relaxed her grip on her hem. “Great! What for?”

Garrett shook his head. Maybe she had sounded a bit too puppy-dog eager, but Tony liked suck-ups and she needed every advantage she could get. Garrett was the last person whose advice she should take on how to relate to senior management.

“I’ve been doing a bit of MBWA,” Tony said. Management By Wandering Around.

Garrett’s eyes glazed over. He hated corporate-speak, of course.

“I noticed,” Rachel said. “My team did, too. They’re enjoying the attention our work is getting at the top levels of the organization.”

“Good, good,” Tony said. “The staff need to know we genuinely care.”

“You can’t fake that,” Rachel agreed. “Who would even want to?”

Her unsubtle dig had Garrett pressing his fingertips to his temples in a pained fashion.

“I mean, I think of KBC as a family.” Rachel might as well stake her claim to the people-skills high ground. “And family
cares
about each other.” She emphasized the word just to annoy Garrett.

“Does that make you my sister?” Garrett asked. “Because if so, it’s kind of creepy that we—”

“Why the kudos, Tony?” Rachel asked brightly.

“Ah, yes.” Tony pressed his palms into his desk and leaned forward. “I’ve had great feedback from your team, Garrett. Alice told me you spent time with her looking at professional development opportunities. She was very impressed with your patience and commitment to her role in the firm.”

Rachel stared at Garrett. He’d sat down with Alice and planned her training? That sounded like more than
lip service.

Garrett grunted to Tony, somehow managing to convey that he was ignoring Rachel.

“And I know Adam has appreciated your recent encouragement,” Tony said. “He sees you as quite the role model.”

What? Garrett had taken Rachel’s advice seriously enough to work with Adam, as well?

“I’d love to take all the credit for the improvement,” Garrett said, “but Rachel’s the miracle worker. Thanks to her, I’m a changed man.”

“Thanks,” she said reluctantly, sensing a trap.

That gleam in his eyes said he knew what she was thinking, and she was right to be wary. “Tony, would you say I’ve now addressed the partners’ concerns about my team skills?” he asked.

“I think I would.”

“In that case,” Garrett said, “Rachel and I can safely end our mentoring arrangement now. I’m sure Rachel would appreciate more time to spend on her pitch.”

“I’m not that busy,” Rachel said. “And there are some basic things about women Garrett still needs to learn.”

“I already know them,” he promised.

“Did you know that the areas of the brain linked to gut feelings are larger in women and more discerning?”

“Fascinating.” He yawned.

This was actually part of the material she’d planned to discuss with Tony.

“Which means female intuition is a tool no creative director should ignore,” Rachel said.

Tony looked interested.

“Plus, women are four times more likely to cry than men.”

“I got that one,” Garrett said.

“It’s because a man’s brain isn’t as good at picking up emotional cues. These are things we all need to learn to harness in our work. Actually, Tony, Garrett isn’t the only one who could benefit from this kind of knowledge. I’d be happy to run some agency-wide tutorials.”

“Sounds interesting,” Tony admitted. “But we might park that for now. Garrett, you’re done with your coaching sessions.”

Rats. Rachel was now out of ideas for how to impress the partners.

“Thanks, Tony.” Garrett gave their boss one of his rare smiles.

There was some merit in rationing them, Rachel thought. Tony looked almost honored.

“Keep up the good work, you two,” he said, as he left.

“It sounds like you’ve done a great job with Alice and Adam,” Rachel said to Garrett.

He shrugged. “I’m faking it.”

“To me, faking people skills is more about smiling when you don’t mean it and uttering insincere compliments,” she said. “Helping Alice choose a course of professional development and inspiring Adam to consider you a role model sounds quite…real.”

“They’re not,” he said gruffly.

“Maybe,” she suggested, “you’re enjoying the connection.”

“Nope.”

“Maybe the rewards go both ways,” she said.

He shot her an annoyed look. “The only reason I’m
engaging
with those two is because it benefits me. On my own terms.”

“Sorry, Garrett, there’s no such thing as on your own terms when there’s someone else involved,” she said. “Every communication, every action, has consequences. You can’t just do your part and not care what anyone else does.”

“Can’t I?”

His cell phone rang, and he pressed to answer. As he listened, a frown gathered between his eyes.

“I’ll be right out.” He ended the call.

“Bad news?” Rachel asked.

“Unwanted visitor at reception. I’d better go deal with it.” He strode out of the room.

Rachel glanced at her watch. Lunchtime. She returned to her office for her purse, then headed to the elevator.

Garrett was still in the reception area, talking to a heavily pregnant woman.

He didn’t look happy; he was speaking in a low voice that nonetheless carried heat. His visitor looked a little older than he was. Pretty, if tired-looking.

Perhaps sensing Rachel’s gaze, the woman’s eyes flicked briefly to her.

Rachel took that as an invitation. She marched over to them. “Hi, I’m Rachel.”

Garrett spun around, irritation etched in the angles of his face. “Go away.”

Which interestingly had the same effect on the pregnant woman as it did on Rachel. They stuck out their hands simultaneously.

“Stephanie,” the woman introduced herself.

“Congratulations on your baby,” Rachel said. She turned to Garrett. “Is it yours, Garrett?” she asked oh-so-sweetly. “It’s been a while since we had an office baby shower, but I’m sure—”

“It’s not my baby!” he said, revolted.

Stephanie let out a peal of laughter. “I’m Garrett’s stepmother. I’m staying at his place for a while. A little while,” she amended.

Another piece of the puzzle that was Garrett Calder completely failed to fall into place. A future sibling hadn’t featured in any of his mentions of family.

“I guess it was you who made that pastrami sandwich for him,” Rachel said.

“That was me.” Stephanie shot him a fond look that he didn’t return. “Pastrami’s his favorite. I think. Did he like it, do you know? He doesn’t say much.”

Rachel would bet he didn’t. “Actually, Stephanie, he threw it in the trash.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

G
ARRETT
CURSED
.

Stephanie’s mouth fell open and stayed that way.

“I’m really sorry to tell you that,” Rachel said, “but I’ve been trying to explain to Garrett that he can’t act without regard for anyone else. That being part of the human race has consequences.”

“I…see.” Stephanie sounded hurt, but also curious. “If you’re wondering, Garrett, the consequence of this is that I’m offended.”

Garrett glared at Rachel.

“So, you’re going to be a brother again,” she said brightly. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” he said, so briefly she knew he was far from delighted, and not just because he was mad about the pastrami sandwich.

“I came to invite Garrett along to my sonogram,” Stephanie said.

“Did you really think he’d say yes?” Rachel asked.

Stephanie puffed out a breath that sounded like lingering frustration. “No, but I thought I’d try anyway. I realize a sonogram isn’t the kind of thing he would go to.”

“Who says?” Garrett demanded.

Rachel rolled her eyes. “Garrett, it’s a warm, fuzzy,
relationship
experience. You don’t do relationships, let alone warm and fuzzy.” She shot Stephanie a sympathetic smile.

Stephanie was looking, if anything, even more taken aback by Rachel’s explanation.

“We have a very direct communication style around here,” Rachel explained.

“Clearly.” A small smile accompanied the word.

“I hope your scan goes well. Is your husband going along?”

“No, but it’s not a problem, I did the last one on my own. I just wanted to include Garrett… .” Her eyes met Rachel’s, acknowledging that Rachel had summed him up accurately.

Rachel wrinkled her nose to say
Sorry you ended up with the stepson from hell.

“Would you two stop communicating telepathically about me,” Garrett demanded. “I’m right here!”

“That’s why it has to be telepathic,” Rachel said. “It would be rude to say it out loud.”

“You don’t know the first thing about what I will and won’t do,” Garrett said. “That goes for both of you. As it happens, I have every intention of taking Stephanie to her sonogram.”

Stephanie opened her mouth, then clamped it shut again.

“Shall we go?” Garrett said dangerously.

Only concern for a pregnant woman who needed someone to accompany her stopped Rachel from doing a little jig of triumph. She wouldn’t want to provoke Garrett into changing his mind. But she was dancing on the inside. If only she could see Garrett try to
fake
watching an ultrasound.

Stephanie bolted for the elevator as if she was afraid Garrett might change his mind.

“Have a nice time,” Rachel said. For Stephanie’s sake, she waited in reception until they were both in the elevator and the doors had closed safely behind Garrett.

The last thing she saw was The Shark’s murderous glare, fixed on her.

* * *

G
ARRETT
TURNED
AWAY
while the female technician spread some kind of gloop on Stephanie’s giant stomach. Hell, what if she had twins in there? Triplets? He darted a glance at her. Quads?

The technician wiped her hands on a paper towel, then picked up a device that looked like a joystick. She switched on a screen next to the bed.

“Will this hurt?” Garrett asked.

Stephanie shook her head. “It’s not even uncomfortable.”

“So I don’t need to be here.”

“Yes, you do.” She grabbed his wrist.

“Don’t you get it?” he asked her. “It’s too late for you and me to build a relationship. I didn’t need you when I was a kid, Stephanie, and I sure as hell don’t need you now.”

The technician drew in a sharp, disapproving breath. “We’ll wait for the doctor before we get started,” she said.

“You’re not here for you,” Stephanie said, “and you’re not here for me, so stop whining.”

He blinked. She’d never spoken to him so bluntly. “Then why am I here?” he asked.

“You’re here for the baby. This child has two brothers and both of them are going to be in its life. Everything I’m doing—leaving your father, staying with you, dragging you here—is for my baby,” she said. “I didn’t fight hard enough for you, all those years ago, and I didn’t fight hard enough for myself, to make your father love me the way he should. But I’m damned if I’m going to let this baby down. I’m not giving up on a single fight. Do you hear me, Garrett?”

She looked as if she might pop.

“I think the whole clinic heard you,” he said.

Behind Garrett, the door opened and someone came in.

“Hi, Dr. Palmer.” Stephanie lifted a hand in a wave, apparently more relaxed now that she’d said her piece. “This is my stepson, Garrett Calder.”

Garrett shook hands with the physician.

“So, you want to meet your new sibling, do you?” Fortunately, Dr. Palmer didn’t seem to require an answer to that question. As he washed his hands, he indicated to the technician to get started.

The woman pressed the joystick gadget to Stephanie’s stomach. The screen filled with what looked like static.

Garrett trained his gaze on the screen, rather than that gigantic belly. The static fuzz slithered around the screen, as if the joystick was chasing it, then coalesced into—

“A baby!” Garrett said.

Stephanie chuckled. “What did you think I had in there?”

A football team.
“Is there just one?” Garrett asked the doc, his eyes riveted on the image. Incredible. He could see legs, arms, and now, when the technician zoomed in, or whatever you called it, actual fingers.

“Just one,” Dr. Palmer confirmed. The image zoomed out again.

“Looks like it’s got a big brain,” Garrett said.

“The head is disproportionately large at this stage,” the doctor said. “Mrs. Calder, are you still sure you don’t want to know the sex?”

Garrett couldn’t believe how much he was suddenly compelled to know what it was—a half sister, or half brother. But if Stephanie didn’t want to, he wasn’t about to beg. Instead, he focused on the baby’s nether regions…and saw something—not very distinct, but definitely something—between the legs.

A brother.
In that half second, he realized he’d been hoping for a girl…but that it didn’t matter. And now he really wanted it to be a boy.

Crazy. What was it to him if—

“You’re not planning to move away or anything, are you?” he asked Stephanie. “I mean, if you and Dad don’t get back together.”

She looked perplexed at the change of subject. “No, I grew up in this part of the country—it’s home to me. And your father will want to spend time with his child.”

Garrett nodded, though he wasn’t sure about that last part.

The technician took some measurements on the screen, then turned off the device.

“That’s it, Mrs. Calder,” Dr. Palmer said. “Baby’s a good size, and I don’t see anything to worry about, despite your age.”

“I’m an elderly mother in medical terms,” Stephanie confided to Garrett.

He shrugged. “If the shoe fits…”

She gave a peal of laughter that struck a chord in Garrett’s memory. She and Lucas had often laughed like that.

Back outside the clinic, Garrett hailed a cab. He checked to make sure Stephanie was buckled in properly before he gave the driver his address. The taxi pulled out into the Upper East Side traffic.

“Best to go by your office on the way,” Stephanie said. “I interrupted your day—I’m sure you still have work to do.”

Garrett glanced at his watch. Four o’clock. Yeah, he should probably put in a few more hours on his pitch, which wasn’t going well.

“You feeling okay?” he asked Stephanie after giving the cabbie their new destination.

“I feel great,” she said.

He nodded. “Thanks—” he cleared his throat “—for inviting me along today.” He should say something about that damned pastrami sandwich, but he had no idea what.

Her smile was warm and genuine. “Thanks for coming.”

They sat in silence for a couple of minutes. Then she said, “I know you said I could only stay a week…”

Garrett tensed. “Is that why you asked me along? To get my buy-in to this kid before you invited yourself to stay longer?” He might have known. That was probably what the pastrami sandwich had been about, too. At least he hadn’t fallen for it. And now he didn’t have to feel bad about tossing the sandwich.

Stephanie touched his arm; Garrett pulled away. Rachel would doubtless have something to say about that.

“I know it looks like that,” she said. “If I was scheming for an extended invitation, believe me, I’d be more subtle than ambushing you on the way back from the clinic. But I have to admit, your, uh, reaction to the scan did make me think maybe now’s a good time to ask for a reprieve.”

Garrett didn’t believe her, no matter how convincing she sounded. But it came back to that pesky question of whether he could throw a pregnant woman into the street.

“You can stay a little longer,” he said. “So long as you keep that bathroom tidier. You’re going to slip and break your neck on one of those potions you drip everywhere. And besides, it’s a damn mess.”

“I’ll keep it tidy.”

Too easy. “Maybe,” he said coldly, “you can help me with something else.”

“I’m good with a vacuum cleaner,” she said.

“Not that. You asked if there was any way you could help with my pitch.”

“Name it,” she said promptly.

Garrett smiled thinly. “You might regret that.”

* * *

M
AY
3. A
DAY
RINGED
IN
RED
on the calendar of every ad agency in New York. That is, if anyone besides Rachel still used paper calendars. She liked the solidness of paper, of being able to see at a glance what lay ahead. Even though she wasn’t wild about being able to see May 3 looming.

Because today was the day the short list for this year’s CLIOs would be announced. Every year, Rachel tried hard not to dread it. Back in the early days of her creative career, she’d practically salivated, hoping—no, expecting—to see her name on the list. The expectation had lasted a couple of years, then faded to regular old hope. Optimistic, but without that edge of certainty. Because as everyone said—those who weren’t short-listed said it to console themselves, while those were said it to make the losers feel better—it was totally subjective. Not necessarily reflective of public opinion, nor of actual effectiveness in the market, which was surely the most important measure of all.

Yeah, right.

With each passing year, Rachel wanted to win a CLIO more and more. At first she’d mentally insisted it be a gold award, but these days she’d settle for bronze. And if ever there was a year to win any award, in any color, this was it.

Tony had suggested she enter the Aunt Betty’s campaign. It wasn’t flashy or übercool. But it had resonated with the client, and with middle America, and the results had been spectacular. If the strong, silent type of campaign had a shot at a CLIO, then Aunt Betty’s would walk it. If, on the other hand, the judges liked fast cars doing mechanically improbable things on high bridges…

Rachel shuddered at the thought of Garrett winning a ninth gold CLIO.
Maybe we’ll both get nominated. And Clive, too.
His campaign for the Special Olympics had attracted record viewers and record ticket sales.

Tradition dictated that the short-listed firms would be notified before midday. The call, if KBC was on the list, would come in to Tony. Which was why every year on short list day, the creative directors found excuses to hang around outside his office late morning.

Rachel strolled out of the elevator on the executive floor at eleven-thirty.

While Tony waited for the call, Rachel chatted nonchalantly to Helen, his assistant, who was equally casually hitting the refresh button on her internet browser while she chatted back. The list of nominees would be posted on the CLIO website as soon as the calls were made. One way or another, they’d know the truth in the next half hour.

Clive showed up a couple of minutes later. He didn’t feel the need to pretend he was here just to shoot the breeze—he glanced through the glass wall of Tony’s office and said, “Any news?”

Helen sighed at what she obviously considered excessive pragmatism. “Not yet.”

They all stared at Tony, who was pretending to read something on his screen, hand poised importantly over his mouse. This had to be the least productive hour in the ad agency year, Rachel thought.

“You must have a good chance,” she told Clive.

He grimaced. “That’s what I’ve been telling myself. Same goes for you.”

“We’ll see,” she said.

They made desultory conversation about the delays on the subway this morning, about Clive’s in-laws and about the interior decoration of his apartment, all the while exercising their peripheral vision, watching to see if Tony’s phone rang. His calls were set to go straight through—Tony wasn’t up to playing it cool and channeling calls via his assistant today.