Billionaire Bachelors: Ryan Page 7

  Much to her dismay, the next week was no better. She went to work, but several times she actually had had to lie down on the floor in the stockroom. Even water made her poor stomach rebel.

  Penny was worried sick. She alternated between tender solicitude and keeping a cautious distance until finally Jessie snapped, “For heaven’s sake, Penny, it’s not contagious. I’m just pregnant.”

  That, of course, had precipitated not only a shocked moment of silence but a million questions and oodles of sage advice—from a twenty-one-year-old whose closest encounter with pregnancy was once a year in the ob-gyn’s office when she went for her annual female exam.

  “Please,” Jessie said as she crawled into yet another cab to go home scant hours after arriving at the gallery, “don’t say anything to anybody, Pen. I don’t want anyone to know just yet.”

  Penny nodded. “I understand. Now you just go home and rest. Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll schedule extra help for next week and make sure all our shipments come in.”

  She stepped back and closed the cab door after giving the cabby quick directions, and Jessie closed her eyes, hoping she could make it home without retching.

  At home she lay down on the bed without even removing her clothes and fell asleep.

  The next day was even worse. She could keep the nausea at bay only if she lay perfectly still. Even turning from one side to the other, made her head spin and her stomach lurch. Blindly she reached for the phone she’d set on the bedside table.

  Her fumbling fingers knocked it to the floor.

  Well, cuss. She had to call Penny and let her know she’d be late today. Carefully she turned her head just enough to see the clock on the nightstand. Eight-thirty. She was normally at the gallery by now, but Penny still wouldn’t be there. She’d just close her eyes for a few minutes and try to call around nine….

  The next time she surfaced, she forgot to be cautious. The moment she sat up and swung her feet to the floor she felt her stomach rebel. Cold sweat broke out all over her body as she quickly lay back down and took slow, deep breaths until she thought the danger was past.

  She reached out a hand for the phone, but when her groping fingers encountered nothing but the clock, the lamp and the novel she’d been reading, she remembered she’d knocked it to the floor.

  The floor. Okay, that wasn’t so bad. Surely she could get the phone off the floor. She inched herself to the edge of the bed on her back, then reached down and flailed around. Her fingers just brushed the carpet. No phone.

  Gingerly she began to move her head in small increments until she was looking sideways. Then, equally slowly, she rolled herself slightly to the side so that she could see the floor.

  There it was! Half-hidden beneath the bed, but well within her grasp. Holding her breath, she made one quick lunge. Her fingers closed over the handset and she flopped onto her back on her pillow as another wave of nausea rolled through her. Success. With trembling fingers, she lifted it and punched the button she’d programmed for the shop, then lay listening to the ring as she willed herself to breathe and relax.

  “The Reilly Gallery, Penny speaking. May I help you?”

  “Hi, Pen.”

  “Jessie! I was worried when I got here and you weren’t already around. If I hadn’t heard from you by lunch, I was planning to come over and check on you. How are you feeling?”

  She tried to chuckle, but even to her ears, it sounded a little weak. “Pretty rocky. Can you hold down the fort without me for a while?”

  “Absolutely.” Penny must’ve been a cheerleader in high school. Everything she said sounded like a pep talk. “Don’t even think about coming in here today. Just rest and take it easy. Have you called the doctor?”

  “No.” She hated admitting that things weren’t going well. But now she began to worry. What if there was something wrong?

  The minute she punched the off button from speaking with Penny, she called the doctor’s office. A cheery nurse fielded her call.

  “Nausea is fairly common in the first trimester, Ms. Reilly.”

  “But this is…really bad.”

  “Perhaps you have a touch of the flu, as well. Have you been exposed?”

  Of course she’d been exposed. She worked in retail, for heaven’s sake. But all she said was, “Probably. Still, this doesn’t seem like flu. I have no fever, and when I lie very still I feel all right. It’s just when I move that I start to feel sick.”

  “Morning sickness affects everyone differently,” the nurse said confidently. “Once your hormone levels settle down, I’m betting you’ll be feeling fine again.”

  “This isn’t just a little morning sickness, though,” she said anxiously.

  “Sometimes it occurs in the evening. With a few unlucky ladies, it lasts all day. But it should begin to subside around twelve to fourteen weeks.”

  Twelve to fourteen weeks! She was only working on her seventh. Quickly she did some mental math. Forty or so more days of this? No way. She’d be dead. When she said as much to the nurse, the perky voice laughed brightly.

  “That’s what they all say. But it’ll pass. You wait and see.” The woman went on to give her several suggestions for things that might settle her stomach. “If none of this works and you still are vomiting in a few days, call us again and we’ll bring you in for an exam.”

  Days of this? The thought was too horrible to contemplate. She had to get over this! She couldn’t afford to spend one day, much less twelve weeks or more, lying in bed watching the light shadows change on the ceiling.

  This was ridiculous. She had to get something into her stomach. That probably was why she felt so awful. She always felt sick if she skipped a meal or waited too long to eat. She could control this. It was simply mind over matter.

  But first…maybe she’d take a little nap. She had intended to try to go in to work but Penny’s idea might be better. Rest, relax, try to eat right. Surely she’d feel better tomorrow.

  But tomorrow came and the tomorrow after that and yet a third one, and she still could barely manage to get around her apartment. By now she was counting days until she could call the doctor. The nurse had said a few days. Was three days a few? A week?

  She wanted Ryan. It was irrational, she knew. They had made each other no pledges, merely contracted a marriage for some very tangible reasons. But still, she wanted him to hold her, to make her feel better.

  But Ryan was away. And though he called her frequently, she didn’t tell him how bad she felt. She didn’t really know why. Was she afraid he would rush right home…or was she afraid he wouldn’t?

  She slept a lot. Penny came by each afternoon with updates on the gallery and got instructions. Jessie tried to eat, but even chicken broth and dry crackers wouldn’t stay down. Trying to eat became such an ordeal that she simply didn’t. Even sipping ice water was a risky proposition. By the following Monday, she was too tired and lethargic to dress. She called the doctor’s office on the dot of 9:00 a.m. and got an afternoon appointment. How she intended to actually get there was anybody’s guess, she thought, but she was going if she had to call for an ambulance and go in on a stretcher.

  Ryan checked his watch at noon on Monday. He’d just climbed off a plane from Chicago and could hardly wait to see Jessie. He walked quickly to the bank of phones in the airport, wanting to hear her voice. She’d be at the shop.

  But she wasn’t.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Reilly is unavailable today. May I help you?”

  “Tell her it’s Ryan.”

  “I can’t, sir. She’s not in the gallery. Is this something I could help you with? Or perhaps I could give her a message?”

  “When will she be back?” She probably was out to lunch.

  The woman on the other end of the line hesitated. “I can’t say, sir.”

  There was a hint of something…worrisome in her tone. Alarm rushed through him. “What’s wrong? Is she sick?”

  “I—are you, uh, her significant other?”

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sp; He massaged the bridge of his nose. “I guess that’s as good a description as any.”

  “Oh, good.” Relief colored the youthful voice. “She’s at home. If you want to talk to her, why don’t you go by and see her?”

  “Why isn’t she in the shop?”

  “I can’t say, sir.”

  “All right, forget it. I’ll go see her myself.”

  “Oh, good. That would be, like, really a good thing.”

  As he drove through the manic Boston traffic to Marlborough Street, he was aware of how tense he was. He purposely hadn’t let her know he was coming home a few days early, so it was no one’s fault but his own if she had lost the baby and he didn’t know it.

  Lost the baby. He knew that these early days of a pregnancy, whether a “high-tech” one or one conceived the old-fashioned way, could be tricky. He was conscious of a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach as he snagged a hard-to-get parking space in front of her Victorian brownstone and raced up to her apartment.

  He rang the doorbell and waited. And waited…and waited. Impatiently he rapped on the door and rang the bell again. Finally, he opened it with the key she’d given him.

  “Ryan!” Jessie stared at him.

  He stared back. Clinging to the doorframe, she looked like absolute living hell. Dark circles ringed her eyes, and her bouncy dark hair lay flat and lifeless. There were hollows in her cheeks, and the sweatsuit she wore hung on her, clearly showing that she’d lost weight. “Did you lose the baby?” he demanded, anguish welling within him.

  “No.” Her voice was hoarse but her eyes went wide with shock. She made the smallest negative movement of her head. “I…I—excuse me.” And she turned and bolted back down the hallway to her bathroom.

  Too startled to catch her, he stared after her for a moment. She’d said she hadn’t lost the baby. Then what…? And then he heard an unmistakable sound. Closing the front door, he quickly walked down the hall to the bathroom. The door had been pushed nearly closed, but it hadn’t latched.

  “Jess, I’m coming in.”

  “Don’t!” But her voice lacked force, and he ignored her, shoving open the door and entering.

  She half lay on the floor beside the toilet bowl. Her eyes were closed, and her face was white.

  Without speaking, he flushed the toilet, then soaked a washcloth in cool water, wrung it out and knelt beside her. Gently he began wiping her face. “Is this morning sickness?”

  She tried to smile. “No. It’s more like every day, all day sickness.”

  He was appalled. “How long?”

  “Over a week. First it was just mild nausea but it’s gotten worse. It’s a little better if I’m lying down.”

  “Okay.” He set the washcloth aside and slipped his arms beneath her shoulderblades and knees, lifting her into his arms. She groaned and closed her eyes, but he wasn’t worried. There couldn’t possibly be much in her stomach to bring up. Leaving the bathroom, he walked down the hall to the bedroom and lay her on the wreckage of her bed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  She made a feeble motion with her hand, and her voice was fretful. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

  Panic rose again. This couldn’t be good for the baby. “Where’s your phone?”

  “Why?”

  “I want to call the doctor,” he said patiently. “This isn’t normal.”

  “I already called,” she said. “I have an appointment at three-thirty.”

  “I’ll take you.”

  “All right. That would be…good.” Her passivity was frightening, simply because it was so unlike her. He glanced at his watch. It was just after two. No sense in waiting until three-thirty.

  “Can I bring you anything?” he asked.

  “A settled stomach.”

  He chuckled because she expected him to. “Sorry, that’s on back order.” He tugged the mess of covers she’d twisted to the foot of the bed, straightened the sheet beneath her as best he could, then gently covered her with the sheets and blankets. Her eyes were closed; she appeared to be dozing.

  Reaching for the phone he called the doctor’s number. A woman with a cheery voice answered and tried to put him off, but he insisted. “I’m bringing her right in or taking her to the hospital. Your choice.”

  “All right,” she said. “I guess we’ll try to work her in early.”

  “No,” he said. “Don’t try. Do it. We’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  The doctor’s office wasn’t far. Going back into the bedroom, he shook out a large quilt. Pulling back Jessie’s blankets, he wrapped her in the quilt despite her feeble struggles and carried her down to the car. As a precaution he brought along the plastic wastebasket she indicated beside the bed.

  At the doctor’s office he carried her straight up to the desk and demanded that they find a place where he could lay her down. After taking one quick look at Jessie, a nurse showed them into an examining room with a vinyl exam table. “Lay her here,” she said. “I’ll get the doctor as soon as I can.”

  Once the doctor came in, things began to move.

  “She’s going to need to be admitted to the hospital for a few days,” the doctor told him. “She’s dehydrated. We’ll put her on an IV to get some fluids into her, and I’ll give her something for the nausea, as well.”

  “It won’t hurt the baby?”

  The doctor shook his head. “No. The biggest danger to the baby right now is the dehydration.”

  Six hours later she claimed she was beginning to feel better. She actually lifted her head from the pillow in the private room he’d secured and looked around.

  “The hospital,” she said in disgust. “I don’t have time for this.”

  “You don’t have a choice.” Ryan straightened from the windowsill where he’d been reading the paper while she napped.

  Her eyes were wide and sad. “This isn’t how I envisioned spending my pregnancy,” she said. “What am I going to do about the gallery?”

  “Don’t you have an assistant who could handle things temporarily?”

  “Yes, but she’s young and not very experienced.” She was clearly fretting. “I can’t afford to have anything happen to my shop.”

  “All right,” he soothed. “I’ll go by and see how things are doing tomorrow. If there are any problems, I’ll make sure they get straightened out.”

  “What do you know about running a gallery?” she asked in a mournful tone.

  “Nothing.” His made his voice cheery so she’d smile. “But I’ll figure it out. I do know a few things about money, you know.”

  “I know.” Her lips curved the slightest bit, and her words were slurred. “I suppose if you can do for the gallery what you’ve done for yourself I shouldn’t complain. Maybe I should send you in to try to get me a loan.”

  “You’re applying for a loan? Why?”

  “I want to expand. Remember I told you I had competition?”

  He nodded, recalling the conversation. “Yes. Expansion is a good decision.”

  “Tell that to the banks,” she muttered.

  His nose for business smelled trouble. “You’ve approached a bank?”

  She nodded faintly. “Approached and been sent packing. By three so far. I’m in a risky business, apparently.”

  He snorted. “That’s ridiculous. Bank boards can be so shortsighted.” He took her hand and smoothed his thumb over her knuckles as her eyes drooped. “Stop worrying. I’ll make you the loan.”

  “No!” Her eyes flew wide open. “Under absolutely no circumstance will I borrow money from you.”

  “It wouldn’t be a crime, you know,” he said testily. “I wouldn’t be where I am today if someone hadn’t helped me.”

  “I said no. Ryan, I’m serious. I want to handle it my own way!”

  “All right, all right.” He put his hands against her shoulders and pressed her back in the bed as she struggled to sit up. “I’ll keep my nose out of your business.”

  She closed her eyes then, and he d
idn’t speak anymore. Sleep—and fluids—were the best thing for her right now. Especially if they could control the unrelenting nausea. Beneath the light hospital sheet, she looked even thinner. She hadn’t been big to start with—she couldn’t afford this.

  Afford. The word reminded him of what she’d just said about her gallery. Didn’t she realize that she wasn’t going to have to worry about money as soon as they were married?

  Probably not. They’d hardly spoken since they’d sealed their deal over dinner. There had been no discussions of finances, of household affairs or combining their lives. They hadn’t even spoken much about the baby yet.

  Leaving her a note on the rolling tray at her bedside, he left the hospital and retrieved his car. Might as well go see if there was anything at The Reilly Gallery that he needed to straighten out. The last thing he wanted was for Jessie to be worrying about her business, even if its success or failure was immaterial to her future.

  It was dark outside the single window in her room when she awoke again. As she stirred, Ryan rose from the reclining visitor’s chair and came to stand beside the bed.

  “Hey,” he said softly, putting a hand over hers where it lay at her side. “You’ve been sawing logs for a couple of hours now.”

  She turned her head, looking in vain for a clock. “What time is it?” Then it struck her that the nausea had subsided.

  “Eight-thirty,” he said. “They’ll throw me out in thirty minutes.”

  “I feel better.” Experimentally she lifted her head and looked from side to side. Her stomach felt a little jittery, but nothing like the rolling waves of sickness in which she’d been wallowing since last week. “Could you raise the head of the bed a little?” When they’d brought her in, they’d laid her down in a flat position, for which she’d been intensely grateful at the time.

  Ryan moved a little and pushed the button, moving her into a slightly more upright position. “Too much?”

  “No, just right.” She turned her hand and clasped his. “Thank you.”

  “No problem. All I did was push the button.”