The Improperly Pregnant Princess. Jacqueline Diamond
are run by people who have children,” CeCe said. “We’ll make them love us. When we pitch them our services, it’ll give us an edge over our competitors.”
“It could work,” Shane agreed. “Personality is one thing most freight companies lack.”
“Speaking of children,” CeCe said, and stopped, unable to figure out how to finish the sentence.
“Yes?” His face, close to hers, was manly. A strong jaw. An expressive mouth…
“Do you like them?” she asked.
“Do I like kids?” he echoed. “I’m not sure I follow your point.”
“You might…act as a spokesman. In the ads,” she improvised. “You could talk about how having children humanizes corporate executives. About how you can’t wait to have children yourself.”
“Me?” he said.
“Who better?” CeCe asked. “I mean, I’m a woman, so it wouldn’t make people sit up and pay attention if they heard me talking about children.” Unless they knew me, of course. “But if you said a few words about how much fatherhood meant—or might mean—to you, or was something you looked forward to…”
He leaned back, disconnecting. “Sorry, CeCe, but I’m not the type.”
“What type is that?” She hoped her sinking feelings didn’t show on her face.
“I’m not cut out to have kids.” Shane’s voice had a tight quality that hadn’t been there before. “I don’t have the time or the interest. I don’t even like them.”
“We’re talking theoretically,” CeCe said. “About how you might feel someday, not right now.”
“Children make me feel trapped,” he said. “My childhood was pretty miserable. Not that I use that as an excuse for anything. The whole family thing just doesn’t work for me.”
“That’s so—so—1980s of you!” she flared, hopping up because she couldn’t bear to sit next to this man for another instant. “You’ve heard of the ‘me generation’? We’re supposed to be past that! Men today march in picket lines for fathers’ rights. How’d you get stuck in the past?”
“Wait a minute.” Shane, too, got to his feet, apparently unwilling to have CeCe tower over him. In this position, his six-feet-one-inch frame would have dwarfed hers had she not been wearing three-inch heels. “We’re talking about an ad campaign, for heaven’s sake. Don’t take it personally.”
“It’s a great ad campaign!” CeCe could hear her tone rising. “Or it was until you loused it up!”
“I never claimed to be an actor.” He regarded her thoughtfully. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing! Everything! Isn’t it obvious?”
“I guess we should talk about what happened between us,” Shane said.
“Nothing happened,” CeCe said. “Didn’t we agree on that?”
“If nothing happened,” came her mother’s voice, “why are you shouting about it?”
Shocked, CeCe came to a dead stop. How much had Charlotte heard?
The president of DeLacey Shipping glided into the room. The Duchess of Avion—who had received the title upon her marriage, although no one called her that outside of Krissy Katwell’s gossip column in the Manhattan Chronicle—moved with natural grace.
“Good to see you, Shane,” she said.
“It’s a pleasure, Lady Charlotte.” As they shook hands, Shane’s manner became subtly more polite and restrained. Like everyone in New York except Charlotte’s own daughters, he was a little in awe of her.
She could do things that nobody else got away with. Take, for instance, her short hair, which had turned completely white as she approached her fiftieth birthday. The unfashionable hue looked so attractive that a lot of people assumed she’d bleached it, and hairdressers had hurried to follow the trend.
As for her clothing and grooming, they were always immaculate and perfect for the occasion. Today she wore a blue wool jacket that brought out the color of her eyes, over a gray silk blouse and winter-white skirt.
“Discussing the Wuhan account?” Charlotte asked. “What have you decided?”
She didn’t sit down, so Shane and CeCe kept their recital brief. The company president nodded approval when they finished. “Let me know when you’ve finalized the presentation.”
“Before we submit anything formally, a trade representative has invited CeCe and me for brunch day after tomorrow,” Shane said. “He seems thrilled at the idea of meeting a princess.”
“Good. She’ll be there.” Charlotte didn’t bother to ask CeCe whether the engagement fit her schedule. “Now, if you’ll excuse us?”
“Of course.” Shane closed his laptop. CeCe felt his gaze linger on her as he said goodbye.
After closing the door behind him, Charlotte said briskly, “Well, well. That man likes you.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re not his type, of course,” her mother continued with maddening certainty. “A man like him needs a lady who builds her life around him. Someone compliant, which no one has ever accused you of being.”
Although she didn’t consider Shane O’Connell to be her type, either, CeCe bristled at her mother’s words. She knew better than to say anything, though. Revealing one’s feelings to Charlotte meant turning them over for inspection and rearrangement.
“Linzy said you dropped by earlier. What’s going on?” she asked.
“Your grandfather is coming to visit,” said Charlotte. “How’s that for a bombshell? Arriving tomorrow, no less. I suppose it’s a royal prerogative not to give much advance notice.”
To CeCe, who hadn’t seen King Easton of Korosol since she was nine, the king was both a stranger and a legendary figure. A thrill of excitement ran through her.
“Why?” she asked. “He never travels this far.”
“He refused to say anything except that the trip is secret,” Charlotte said. “He’ll be staying with us. The rest of his staff will reside at the embassy, except for the bodyguards. As it turns out, the apartment below ours is vacant, so they’ll be housed there.”
CeCe’s head spun. She wasn’t sure she could deal with a royal visit while her personal life was in such an uproar. Still, what choice was there? “What can I do to help?”
“He’s expressed a desire to spend time with you,” said her mother. “You’ll accommodate anything he requests. The king expects to get his way, and he shall.”
“But my work—”
“If you need to take time off, then do it,” her mother said. “You’ll attend that brunch with Shane. There’s nothing like a princess to impress the customers. Otherwise, I’ve run this business since your father died and I can handle it without you just fine.”
Her words hit CeCe like a slap in the face. Since earning her master’s degree in business five years earlier, she had worked long hours to reorganize and modernize DeLacey Shipping’s corporate structure. It appeared none of that meant anything to her mother.
She had to speak up on her own behalf. She didn’t, however, want to sound like a little girl whining to an all-powerful parent, so CeCe chose her words carefully. “I’m sorry you don’t value my contributions more than that.”
“Don’t get all worked up over nothing.” Charlotte waved her hand dismissively. “You’re a big help, most of the time. Now, remember, the king is arriving tomorrow afternoon, so you’ll need to leave the office early.