She's My Baby. Adrianne Byrd
to me,” Leila added as she popped a few pills into her mouth.
Her assistant laughed, but when Leila’s sharp gaze stabbed her, Ciara sobered. “Leila, this has nothing to do with you.”
“Doesn’t it? What do you think is going to happen to me while you’re off having morning sickness, water-retention issues, and raging mood swings? I have a company to run and I can’t do that without my right-hand woman at my side. I need you.” Leila downed two more tablets for good measure.
“I’m not dying. I’m just having a baby.” Before Leila could respond, Ciara held up a silencing finger. “Please, let me finish before you say something that will cause me to turn in my resignation.” She lowered her hand.
Leila clamped her mouth close.
“Elmo and I—”
“Elmo. What kind of name…”
Ciara jutted her finger back into the air and Leila grudgingly fell silent again. “Look, don’t get all neurotic on me. I like you. I’m also insane enough to say that I like working for you. But I am ready for the next chapter in my life—motherhood. Now, the polite thing for you to do is to congratulate me.”
Leila ground her teeth and then lowered into her chair.
“I can be just as stubborn as you and I can stand here all day.”
It was true, Leila knew. Her assistant’s bullheadedness was one of the reasons that made Ciara a perfect match for Leila. Yet, for every common denominator between them, there were five differences. This whole family-and-marriage thing was just another example.
Ciara cleared her throat and waited.
“All right, all right. Congratulations. I hope you and Tickle Me Elmo have a slew of rug rats, if it makes you happy.”
“Thank you.” Ciara smiled sweetly. “I knew you had it in you. One day I hope you will experience the joy of marriage and children.”
“Spare me.” Leila leaned back in her chair. “And don’t think I’m going to suffer through ‘children are great’ sermons from you on a daily basis. Not all single women are miserable. Atlanta Spice is my marriage and I’m completely happy with it.”
“If you say so.” Ciara pivoted and headed back out. “By the way,” she said, opening the door. “Your sister called this morning. Twice.”
Leila reached back into her drawer-slash-personal-pharmacy for some antacids. “Which sister?”
“Roslyn. Said it was important.”
“Everything is important to her. Thanks…and can you see about getting me some aspirin? I’m running low.”
“You got it,” Ciara laughed and finally made her exit.
Leila, meanwhile, placed mental bets with herself on when Ciara would quit. She could hear it now: Elmo and I agreed that I should become a full-time mom. That’s what all twenty-something women wanted to do nowadays.
Disgusted, she reached for the phone and punched in Roslyn’s number. She sidelined her magic pink pills until she heard what her sister had to say. On rare occasions important issues weren’t so bad.
“You have to be the hardest person in the world to get on the phone,” Roslyn launched into saying.
“Well, hello to you, too.”
“Sorry. Hello. Have you heard from Samantha?”
“No.” Leila snatched up the Pepto. “Should I have?”
“She’s missing.”
In any other family those words might sound off an alarm; but not with the Owenses, and not when the missing person in question was Samantha. “Sam is not missing. Sam just failed to tell anyone where she’s going—as usual. No big deal. She’ll turn up.” And hopefully not at my place.
“I’m not too sure. I’ve been calling her new apartment out in Las Vegas for two weeks. Finally, I reached one of her neighbors, Ms. Friedman, and just found out some disturbing news—”
“Ms. Owens, we have a problem.” Deonté Stylianos, her photo director, jetted into the room, red-faced and wild-eyed.
Leila lowered the phone and placed a hand over the mouthpiece. “What is it?”
“Erika hasn’t turned in the photos of the Laura Biagiotti collection. Those were set to go to the printers by five.”
Leila glanced at her watch and jumped to her feet. “It’s four. Why am I just now hearing about this?”
Deonté sighed. “I covered for Erika when she missed the first deadline because she swore to have the pictures to me in time for the printers.”
“Damn it.” Leila pressed the phone back to her ear. “Roslyn, I have to go. I have a real emergency to deal with right now.”
“But, Sam had a—”
“I’ll call you back. I promise.” Not waiting for a response, Leila hung up.
Roslyn exhaled a long frustrated breath and returned the phone back to its cradle.
“What did she say?” Patrick asked.
Roslyn frowned as she glanced over at her husband. “I didn’t get a chance to tell her. She had to go.”
Patrick flashed his deep-pitted dimples as he moved next to her and draped a strong arm around her waist. “Honey, maybe you’re making a big deal out of nothing? This isn’t the first time Sam has pulled a stunt like this.”
“I know, but this time it’s different. There’s another life involved.”
“We don’t know that for sure. Ms. Friedman could’ve been mistaken. Sam could have been babysitting a friend’s kid for all we know.”
He had a point; but as Roslyn thought about her sister’s elderly neighbor, doubt crept over her. “I don’t think we should go on our trip until we get to the bottom of this.”
“You’re joking.” Patrick’s body deflated as his arm fell from her waist. “We’ve been saving for two years to go on this trip. Barbados in December—you said it would be a dream come true.”
“I know, I know, but this thing with Samantha.” She shook her head. “Something’s not right. I can feel it.”
“Nothing is ever right with Sam. She pulls these little stunts for attention. You know that.”
She did.
As if sensing he was making some headway, he drew her close again. “The tickets are nonrefundable and the kids are excited. Besides, if there is a real emergency, Leila is more than capable of handling it.”
That was true as well. Leila’s tough-love tactics always worked better than Roslyn’s please let me try to fix everything for you strategy.
“You’re right.” Roslyn smiled, laying her head against her husband’s broad chest. “If anything is wrong, Leila will handle it.”
Chapter 2
“Lord, save me from gold diggers and career-driven women,” Garrick Grayson prayed into his glass of eggnog before he downed it in one long gulp. At the very least he’d hoped to drown out the overly cheerful song “Jingle Bell Rock” that blasted from every speaker in his brother’s house.
“Hey, bro. You better ease up on that. I have no intentions of carrying you out of here with my bad back.”
Garrick flashed Orlando a wounded look. “It’s been a bad day. Indulge me.” He glanced around his brother’s crowded Christmas party.
Orlando shook his head. “This is about Miranda, isn’t it?”
“I