The Pregnancy Test (NY Girlfriends #1)(5)
Author: Erin McCarthy

"I’m Damien Sharpton." The door opened behind him. "The ogre."

"Eighteenth floor," the older man said when neither of them moved so much as a muscle.

Damien put out his hand in a polite gesture for her to lead, but his voice was the one he used in the boardroom. The one that was ten times colder than the tone that had reduced Lanie to tears. "After you, Ms. Keeling. My office is at the end of the hall, last door on the left. I’ll try to be brief."

He expected her to wither. Stammer. Cry. Retreat. Shake her head no, let the elevator door close behind her, and ride her little germ-infested self right out of his life.

She didn’t.

Through tight lips, she simply said, "Thank you," and started down the hall, listing to the right a little like she was on a ship at sea.

His interest and respect rose another reluctant inch or two.

Mandy bit back a whimper and clutched her bag in one hand, her stomach in the other.

Bugger it. Now, what were the odds of encountering Damien Sharpton on the elevator? And her calling him an ogre, of all things. It was so heinous it was almost funny.

She winced, and not from the pinch of her swollen feet in heels.

So much for a nine-to-five job that would make day care easier to secure. She wasn’t going to be given this position, for obvious reasons, but she needed to at least try and redeem herself on the interview so there weren’t repercussions for Caroline.

Which meant no referring to Damien as Demon Sharpton.

The door to his office was closed, which didn’t surprise her. In the minutes they’d been on the elevator together, she had sensed his tension, his tightness, his impatient energy brimming beneath the surface. Behind her now, she could feel his presence. Looming, firm, judging, his feet making hard strides, his suit rustling as he slowed down to keep pace with her snail speed. His breath coming out in exasperated bursts that he covered with a cough.

She knew his type. Her father was one. A man with no patience, no interest in anything other than his work. A man who didn’t understand why the whole world didn’t move at the same frantic, obsessive rate as he did.

Leaning around her, he opened the door and strode past her, tossing his phone on his desktop, dropping his coffee into the trash under it. He smoothed his rich blue tie, flipped open the lid on his laptop, and reached for a file, all before he had completed his descent into his chair.

"Have a seat, Ms. Keeling."

Gladly. Mandy sank into a leather armchair and took a deep breath. "Please, call me Mandy, Mr. Sharpton."

"All right. So, tell me why you think you’re qualified to be my assistant?"

No offer for her to call him Damien. No comment on the elevator incident. Right to business. She should let it go, the whole embarrassing ogre thing. But she just couldn’t. Not because of the job, but because of Caroline’s reputation, and because it seemed that if someone insulted her character, she would like to hear an apology.

"Listen, Mr. Sharpton, I need to apologize for the rather unfortunate comments I made in the elevator."

He pinned her with a stare. "There’s no need. Really."

While Mandy heard his almost palpable need to keep this interview clipping along so he could move on to the next task of the day, she could also see that there was more to Damien Sharpton than met the eye.

He was fabulously attractive, with dark hair cut very close to his head, strong, sharp cheek and jawbones, and the palest blue eyes she had ever seen. They matched his tie and set her heart racing with feelings that weren’t particularly maternal.

But even a mum can appreciate a good pair of electric blue eyes on an attractive man.

Not that she was a mum yet. And not that she had a husband or boyfriend, so the strange fascination she was feeling wasn’t wrong exactly.

But it didn’t matter in the least, because she wasn’t shopping for a man to fill either role. After Ben, she was done. It was time to concentrate on her child and being the best parent her inadequate self could be.

But blimey, he had nice eyes.

And behind the impatience, there was a touch of something that made her rethink Damien Sharpton. There was pain there, hiding behind his efficiency and elegance and hardness.

"No, there is a need for me to apologize, because I was completely out of line gossiping about you. I don’t know you, so I have no reason to believe any of those rumors are true, and it was small of me to be talking like that. I’m sorry. My only excuse is that I was nervous, and not feeling well, obviously, since you were witness to that, and when I’m nervous, I tend to babble." Like now. Good God, Mandy felt her cheeks start to burn.

Damien’s eyebrows had shot up, and his hand froze on his computer mouse. If disdain had a name, it would be Damien.

"Fine. Thank you. Moving on, then. Why would you like the position here at NY Computing?"

Okay, then. Mr. Happy didn’t like to chitchat. Duly noted. Mandy crossed her leg and settled her bag on the floor and launched into the perfectly poised bullshit response that Damien was expecting.

Twenty minutes later, her answers were getting shorter, her bullshit less poised, and her stomach was doing an imitation of Chinese acrobats. He was relentless. He didn’t even give her five seconds after a response before he fired the next question at her.

And every single question seemed designed to force a confession out of her.

Why do you want to relinquish your own business and work for me?

Are you available for business travel?

Where do you see yourself in five years?

The baby she could not feel suddenly seemed like a gigantic white elephant under her skirt. She didn’t want to lie – she didn’t want to deny her child before it was even the size of a grape.

She knew it was practical to keep her pregnancy to herself, yet she still felt like standing on her chair and screaming, "I’m having a baby! I’m going to be responsible for another human being!"

But first she needed to throw up.

"Excuse me, Mr. Sharpton, where is your wastebasket?"

"What?" His head snapped up, but Mandy didn’t wait.

She dropped to her knees and stuck her face under his desktop. As she tossed her tea and toast onto his discarded coffee, it occurred to her that she had followed Caroline’s instructions. Her friend had told her to make a knockout impression, and this was certainly that.

Weak and horrified, Mandy lifted her head and found herself face-to-face with Damien Sharpton’s crotch.

"Oh, dear, God," she whispered.