Page 1 of Nick's Baby

CHAPTER ONE

Nick Leonetti eyed the people around him with a sense of impending doom. He adjusted his tie several times, feeling like a man at the gallows about to be hung. He hated ties. Whoever invented them must have had a sadistic mind, he decided with a quick jerk on the knot. He glanced at his shoes and saw his reflection. This was definitely not the Nick Leonetti he knew, he grumbled to himself.

He surveyed the room. Stale cigarettes stashed in overflowing ashtrays, magazines strewn haphazardly on the coffee tables, humdrum music playing in the background, and an impatient man strumming his fingernails incessantly against the plate glass window of the receptionist desk reminded Nick of his mission.

A company picture hung on one wall, men in hard hats—reassuring Nick that he was applying at a sheet metal company. It was the only thing that reassured him.

True, the note had been vague. So he didn't get a look at who sent it to his table the other night at his mother's birthday party, at L'Allegria's Restaurant. So what? It was a job, wasn't it? And Nick needed a second job to accomplish his goal.

Jumping up, he intended to make a quick dash for the front office door, but halted when the secretary came into the room. "Mr. Leonetti, would you follow me please?"

He followed her down a long narrow hallway. The secretary opened another door for him, and quickly closed it behind him. He felt as though a dungeon door had slammed shut. He took in the room with a single glance. It appeared empty. A solid plate glass window lined one wall, providing a highlighted view of the area. The carpet, a deep plush mauve, surprised him, pink carpet? The furniture echoed a cold modern art form of chrome, glass and black lacquer. Two tall black leather chairs adorned both sides of the wide expansive desk.

Not his style. No sir, not his style at all. He was out of here.

His hand on the doorknob stilled when he heard a woman's voice. Not just any voice, but a soft, sexy voice, the kind a man likes to hear in the heat of the night. Desire speared him like a hot sword aiming for his loins. Lord, it was just a voice; he scolded himself as he turned around slowly.

"Mr. Leonetti?" The woman whirled about in the leather chair to face him and stood abruptly. Small, delicate, and composed with an air of confidence, she stepped toward him, her hand extended.

She didn't take his breath away, but few women did that anymore. Nick's heartbeat returned to normal. She just didn't knock his socks off, and with a voice like that she should have. For a man that usually dated busty blondes or red-heads with figures like Venus statues, a sexy voice shouldn't have thrown him. Still he admitted, God granted some looks, some brains, and some—a voice. And she definitely had a voice.

"I assume you are here about the job?"

He nodded. The voice lied to him, played him for a sucker. It promised much more than this little lady could deliver.

Nick studied the woman. He faced straight lines, starched linen, and big black glasses that were so thick they distorted her eyes into two sunken wells of who knew what color. Even the color of her suit—a blah brown that didn't invite a second glance. Only her long straight golden brown hair held by a clasp at the base of her neck, caught his attention. It looked like the only thing she didn't control. Little Miss Plain and Simple. Not all that bad, just not his type he conceded, with an inward grimace.

"Sorry you had to wait so long. I've had numerous interruptions this morning."

He clasps her hand. Her skin felt petal soft, but her grip firmed in his. More like the handshake of a man than a woman.

"That's okay."

"It's unfortunate, but unavoidable."

The intercom buzzed. She pivoted then hit the switch so hard the phone rattled. She looked delicate, but apparently she packed quite a punch. Nick smiled at her actions.

"What is it, Paula?"

The secretary's voice faltered. "Uh, Mr. Guymon is on line three, Ms. O'Sullivan."

"Tell him I'll call him back. And hold my calls for now, Paula, please." She waved Nick to the chair in front of her.

She hung up the phone.

She slumped into the chair, grabbing an odd object off the top of her desk, and then turned away from him for a moment. He saw her shoulders bunch, her spine stiffen. Nick couldn't be certain about the object in her hand but it appeared to be some sort of baby rattle. Funny, he hadn't pictured her as the motherly type, more along the lines of Miss Goody-Two-Shoes, married to her job.

"Now, where were we?" Once again composed, she whirled about and glanced at Nick. He watched her lay the rattle down, gently. It could've been fine bone china the way she was handling it.

Unexpected awareness shot through Nick again at the sound of her voice, low and raspy. If she kept that up, he wouldn't be able to walk out of the room. How could a voice sound so sexy, belong to a woman so—bland? And yet, bland or not, she had his attention. Her voice and mannerisms caught him off guard.

Curiosity and unwelcome awareness forced Nick to notice her finer features. Not that he wanted to notice, but the need to find a reason for his reactions became necessary. She did have peaches and cream complexion, thin brown brows that arched arrogantly at his stare, and full lush lips. He couldn't quite pull his gaze from her lips, undoubtedly one of her better features.

She returned his sensual glance, scanning every inch of him from his shoe tips to his thick head of black hair, without a trace of embarrassment. Nick didn't mind; he was used to assessing stares from women. Yet her examination of him went deeper than most, as though she were probing his mind and soul. What was she after?

Her lips slanted, capturing his attention again. Not overtly full, nor too thin, just well-formed and dotted with a pale pink lipstick, barely noticeable. There were no laugh wrinkles around her eyes or mouth. This woman took life seriously, too bad.

"Please make yourself comfortable, this—interview, might take a while."

He watched her every move, oddly fascinated. He wondered what she might taste like—sugar or vinegar.

He was definitely losing it. He'd never entangled himself with a boss-lady before. Hell, he'd never had a boss lady before. The guys down at the garage would get a kick out of this, if they knew.

Glancing at the pile of files on her desk, she set his aside as though it told her nothing. She tapped her fingernail on the desk. "Mr. Leonetti." She cleared her throat and waited until he looked straight at her. "May I call you Nick, or do you prefer Nicholas?"

"Nick's fine."

Nick watched the way her hands clenched the arms of her chair, as though this interview made her uncomfortable too.

Annoyed and puzzled by his mild attraction to her,

Nick stirred restlessly in his chair. He'd walked straight into this one. Okay, so he'd walk out of it too. He'd come here for a job, and he wasn't leaving till he found out about it.

"Good, I hate formalities. I'm Kelsey O'Sullivan. I'd like to keep this on a first name basis. You are answering the ad in the paper, aren't you?"

"Paper? Uh no, as a matter of fact it was the note at the restaurant last night."

She paled. Visibly!

Nick adjusted his tie. He wanted to jerk it off his neck and throw it in the nearest trash can. He shouldn't have come here. The woman would probably think he was crazy or desperate. Well—maybe he was. Still, if she had forgotten the note, he was in trouble.

"Note? Restaurant? I'm afraid there must be a mistake."

Uneasiness surged through him, but he'd tough it out. "The waiter said a lady sent this note," he explained as he reached into his jacket pocket and offered her the crumpled paper with the O'Sullivan logo on top. She stared at the note a long time.

"Oh dear, at L'Allegria's?"

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