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“Obstetrics,” she tells me, her face exuding excitement and happiness. “Having a baby should be the happiest time in a woman’s life, and I feel privileged that I get to share that with them. Besides, it’s a very forgiving practice when I decide to start my own family.”
My smile turns brittle at the edges. I glance at my watch and count back from when I met Imani in the restaurant’s lobby. Fifteen minutes. We don’t even have the appetizers yet. Fifteen minutes before she dropped the first hint about her willingness to provide the Lancaster heir.
I bring the glass of wine back to my lips and swallow the remaining liquid in the goblet.
“Tell me more,” I encourage, then stop listening as Imani drones on about the joys of bringing life into the world.
I dig my phone out of my pocket as inconspicuously as I can and send Deb a quick text before giving the woman in front of me my attention again. Or at least pretending to. Honestly, Julia would love her. She’s gaining enthusiasm for her topic, whatever it is. Her eyes are shining, and her hands are all over the place as she uses wild gestures to tell her story.
Maybe I should recommend her to JJ when they decide to have children. It won’t be long, I’m sure. She hasn’t said it outright, but Julia has the itch. She’ll make a wonderful mother. Just like Justin will make a fantastic father. Their children will be spoiled rotten. Seriously.
But Justin has great parents, who raised him with all the love they could. He’ll do the same for his children. I wonder what they’d look like? I used to hope they’d look a little like me. But that ship has sailed.
No, they’d look like Justin, I’m sure. A little girl with blue eyes clear enough to see inside your soul and light brown hair with ringlets falling over her shoulders. I can see Justin as a girl dad. He’d be a great father to a boy too, but I think he’d really excel with a daughter.
My phone alerts and I smile at Imani, who flushes with the realization she’s been talking incessantly for the last five minutes.
“Sorry,” I say sheepishly, holding up my phone. “One of the pitfalls of running your own company. The ringing of the phone never stops.”
She takes a tiny sip of her wine, giving me a shy smile.
“No need to apologize to me. I work on call. It’s something you should know upfront. Babies are born twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. It doesn’t matter what the pager interrupts. When it goes off, I go to work.”
She’d be almost perfect.Ifshe were Julia. And if she had a husband I was in love with.
I lift my finger to silently tell her I’ll be right back, then step away from the table with my phone to my ear. As soon as I’m out of her sight, I slip it back into my pocket.
The maître d’, an older white dude with his nose stuck so far in the air I wouldn’t be surprised if it was surgically attached there, simpers in an unbecoming manner when I come to a stop in front of his podium.
“I’ve unfortunately been called away, but I want to ensure my guest is taken care of.” I pull my wallet from my breast pocket and pass over my black Amex between two fingers. I snatch it away when he reaches for it, and he stutters out a flow of apologies for making such a gross mistake as going for my card.
“If I leave this with you and send my assistant for it tomorrow, can I trust it’s in good hands?”
“Of course, Mr. Lancaster,” he croons, knowing who I am without needing to be told. It’s expected at a restaurant with these types of prices. They’ll forget my name as soon as I leave, but while I’m on the premises, they’ll treat me like a king.
I pull a bill from my wallet, uncaring of its denomination, and slide my card between its crease before passing them both to the maître d’.
“Any limits for your companion, sir?” he asks with delicacy.
“Let her buy the place as far as I’m concerned,” I tell him, before straightening my suit jacket and heading back into the dining hall.
Our appetizers have arrived, and Imani has something mushroom-looking and smothered in cheese and a sauce on the tip of her fork.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, without bothering to sit down. Someone has refilled my wine, and I unabashedly bring it to my lips and toss back the entire goblet full. “We have the purchase of a company supposed to finalize first thing tomorrow, and its soon to be former owners are having a bit of seller’s remorse.”
Her face falls, then repairs itself into something pretty and delicate before I can even be sure it was there. So much for being okay with being called away at odd hours.
“Of course,” she says, the picture of perfection in her acquiescence. “Business comes first.”
“I’ve already taken care of the bill. Order the entire menu if you’d like. I’ll call you, to confirm our arrangements for the ball.”
Her face lights up with the confirmation I’m not entirely throwing her off. She rises from her chair and steps until she’s directly in front of me.
“I can’t wait, Remi,” she says softly, emphasizing my name. This near-stranger places one hand on my chest and my upper arm and lifts onto her toes to lay a kiss on my lips. It takes every strength of willpower I possess not to rip my face away.
I stand there longer than I should, back stiff and heart pounding until I finally come to my senses.
I roughly clear my throat and run my hand down my tie.
