The Baby Truce by Jeannie Watt Page A

second. And then he’d made the mistake of thinking, when she came on to him that last night, that she’d gotten over their breakup, regretted it as much as he did.
    He’d thought when they’d made love that it was an acknowledgment of all the good things they’d once shared. A celebration, if you will. A hot, hot celebration. Instead it had been a vendetta on her part. A screw-you in more ways than one.
    Tom yanked the keys out of the ignition.
    Cool. Very cool. She’d wanted to stick it to him, and now they were stuck together because of the kid.
    Tom got out of the car and walked the half mile to the hotel entrance, keys gripped tightly in one hand. She’d slept with him to prove a bloody point, and he’d been feeling all soft and squishy about it—except for the part where she’d disappeared without a goodbye.
    That should have been a hint, but he’d been too thick-headed to read it for what it was.
    He bypassed the revolving door for the regular door, which he yanked open. The crowd in the lobby partedas he strode through to the banks of elevators, where about twenty or thirty people were waiting for a ride up. There was some kind of convention in the hotel that involved legions of women. Tom stood and stared at the elevator light.
    â€œHey,” one of the women, dressed in a pink suit, said loudly. “Are you Tom Gerard? Chef Tom Gerard?”
    He looked into her overly made up eyes and said, “No” in his best conversation-killing voice.
    â€œAre you sure?” Unfazed, she smiled up at him flirtatiously. “Although—” she elbowed her chubby friend “—I could make do with a look-alike.”
    Everyone was staring at him now. He forced the corners of his mouth into a smilelike grimace and went back to staring at the light.
    â€œDon’t be shy,” the woman cooed.
    I’m not shy, lady. I’m about to destroy you.
    Tom pulled a long breath in through his nose, still clutching the keys tightly, willing the elevator to come. Now.
    â€œHere.” The woman poked something at him and he automatically took it with his free hand. A business card with a cell-phone number. She smiled, playing to the crowd. “Maybe you could call if you get… lonely …tonight?”
    Her friend giggled.
    Tom folded the card in half with a quick move of his fingers. “Not…” he reached out to tuck the card into the woman’s décolletage just above the top button of her pink suit jacket “…interested. Now, bug off.” The bell rang and the doors opened.
    The woman went even pinker than her suit as Tom pushed by her onto the elevator. A few people got on with him, but not as many as could have fit. Those who did cut him sidelong looks on the ride up.
    Great. Just great.
    He didn’t want word to get out to the general public that he was working for a catering kitchen. He didn’t care if Pete knew, but general rumors were not going to do his career any favors. More importantly, though, given a slow news day, the gossip-teers might dig into why he was in such a lowly job…and find out about Reggie’s pregnancy. That simply wasn’t acceptable. Not yet, anyway.
    But he wasn’t blowing out of town, as Reggie undoubtedly wanted him to do—not before the issues were settled. He was nothing if not tenacious, and he’d meant it when he’d told her he was in this for the long haul.
    For both of those reasons, he needed to get the hell out of this hotel.
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    T OM HAD INTENDED TO SPEND afternoons after his shifts at Tremont looking at apartments. He ended up looking at houses.
    Apartments had parking lots and hallways, and places where he might bump into people who might figure out who he was. Butt into his business. With a house he would have more privacy, and right now, while he sorted through all the unfinished business in his life, privacy was a must. So a house it was.
    As