The Baby Truce Read Online Free Page B

one he touched. He didn’t even look to see what it was. He poured a healthy amount into a glass and downed it in one swallow.
    Bourbon.
    He poured another, then went to the window and stared out at the building behind his, swirling the amber liquid in the glass. This time he sipped, allowing the alcohol to warm his throat slowly. The tension started to ease out of the muscles of his neck and shoulders, but his mind was still whirling.
    If Reggie was two months pregnant, then he had seven months to figure this all out. He’d be employed by then. Have a new business manager, be able to set up a college fund, or do whatever dads did. His father had done two things—hauled him around the world with him when he could, or sent him off to boarding school when he couldn’t. Not the most normal of upbringings. His dad had been more like a friend than a father…when they’d been together.
    So what the hell did Tom know about fatherhood?
    â€œDamn.” He tossed the bourbon back, then reached for the bottle and poured another shot.
    Â 
    T WO INTERVIEWS DOWN AND ONE TO go. So far, not so good.
    Eden and Reggie exchanged glances as the second of their three candidates walked out the door. Reggie’s stomach was in a tight knot, but this time it had little to do with morning sickness.
    The first candidate hadn’t known how to hold a knife and, when shown, had preferred to do it her way. That was fine. She could do the wrong thing in her own kitchen, but not the Tremont kitchen. Oh, and she couldn’t work on weekends.
    The second candidate had skills, but also had a schedule Tremont would have to work around. That kindof defeated the purpose of having a prep cook, who had to be able to prep when they needed her, not when she was free from her other job.
    If these were the top candidates, Reggie didn’t hold out much hope for numbers four, five and six.
    â€œIf this person can breathe and work our schedule, I say we hire her,” Eden whispered to Reggie as a roundish woman in her mid-forties, with short brown hair and a no-nonsense expression—candidate number three—walked in the door exactly five minutes before her interview.
    She approached the desk where Eden and Reggie were sitting and set a bound résumé before them.
    â€œI’m Patty Lloyd. How do you do?” she said. “I’m here for the interview. I realize that I have large gaps in my employment history, but I assure you, I can cook.”
    Eden met Reggie’s gaze with raised eyebrows as Patty took her seat on the other side of the desk.
    The interview went well. Despite her somewhat arrogant, take-charge attitude, she’d been employed at a private care facility kitchen for the past two years and proved to be slow yet meticulous. And part time was fine with her for now. What the woman didn’t know they could teach her.
    The only problem was that Patty was very, very serious, in her speech, in her dress, in her attitude, which made Reggie wonder if the woman could handle Justin. Justin, when not dealing with pregnant sisters, tended toward irreverence.
    Eden obviously had the same concern. She smiled up at Patty and said, “I want you to meet my brother fora second interview tomorrow, and then we’ll have you make a couple standard dishes on our menu. Would that work for you?”
    â€œCertainly. Let’s say ten?” Patty stood, extending her hand.
    â€œShe scares me a little,” Eden said after the door shut behind her. They watched through the front window as she got into a small blue Ford that had to be twenty years old, yet appeared almost new.
    â€œThat,” Reggie said, carefully setting down her pen, “makes two of us. But if we keep her in the kitchen and away from clients, I think she’ll do fine.”
    â€œWe’ll have to tell Justin to behave.”
    â€œThat goes without saying. I’ll get going on the tapenade,” she added, because