She folded her menu as the waitress returned. “That sounds good. So, what did you want to talk to me about?”
“One minute.” He ordered their food. Once the waitress left, he sipped his wine and smiled at her. Natalie was sweet to look at without makeup or artifice. He shifted in his seat. “Okay, Natalie. I wanted to make sure you understand I’m in your corner when it comes to whatever you decide to do next and I won’t pressure you. But my brother is worried his possible child won’t be raised in the House of Morgan.”
“That shouldn’t matter.”
“My brother and his wife want a child—if you are pregnant then they have offered to pay you a surrogate fee to carry the child.”
“No. Any child of mine is not for sale.” She lifted her chin with determination. “I called my doctor after you told me what happened and she believes that there is no actual chance of the pregnancy taking because of when I had my period. She offered the day after pill, but I said no.”
“Why?”
“I am not pregnant. I don’t have time to be pregnant. But because of religious reasons, I won’t take the day after pill.”
His jaw ticked like it did when he needed to make a decision but he simply said, “I’ll let Peter know.”
“Okay.” She lifted her hand as if she had bigger issues. “I can’t even think about that possibility right now—and we won’t know for weeks. I still don’t believe it now that the shock has worn off. Trust me, I have other things on my mind that need to be taken care of.”
Now it was his turn to learn and listen. He leaned forward in his chair. “Like what?”
She sipped her wine and briefly closed her eyes. When she reopened them, her blue-green orbs were filled with pain. “Like my mother’s cancer treatments.”
Ouch. His mother had pretended to be sick for a while, which still annoyed him because he’d been worried for her. Galen put his glass down and reached across the table. “Your mom has cancer?”
She accepted his hand and squeezed. “Yes, I go visit her most nights and weekends to cheer her up.”
No wonder she hadn’t processed the enormity of her situation with Peter Morgan and the clinic. “I had no idea.”
She shrugged. “Why would you? It’s not like we talk about anything other than work at the office.”
Right. The last thing Natalie needed was additional stress and it sounded like she had a lot already. Her hand in his sent a spark through him that he tamped down. “Please forward any medical bills to me immediately when it concerns your mother. You shouldn’t have to worry about anything financial.”
She slipped her hand back and covered her lips. “I can’t let you do that.”
His gaze narrowed. This wasn’t because of whatever he felt that was clearly one-sided. He sat straighter. “Why not? Let me check with HR about a different insurance package for you and your family—consider it a job benefit.”
Her lips pressed together like she was formulating a report at work, but then she shook her head. “There are some exceptionally expensive options-”
The need to protect Natalie rushed through him like a natural pulse in his veins. “Do whatever you think is best to care for your mother.”
Tears welled in her eyes as she continued to shake her head. “Why are you doing this?”
“I would do this for any employee of mine.” If he’d known about it, but she’d kept her troubles away from work.
A single drop rolled down her cheek.
Tears were never good from any woman, and his stomach churned. Time to change the conversation. He shifted in his seat and held her gaze. “I think the more important question of the day is why you felt it necessary to wear a wig and horrible old lady clothes at the office.”
She put her elbow on the table and stared at the candle between them. Was she trying to avoid his questions? At last she said, “I needed a job and word on the street is you don’t hire women my age.”
“What?” He picked up his wine glass again. His reputation was now anti-woman? Sure, he’d kept a professional distance, but sexism could get his business in unnecessary hot water.
Natalie dug a tissue from her purse and wiped her eyes. “I am the only woman in the office, other than your sixty-year-old secretary.”
Galen felt he needed to justify this, now, to Natalie. “It’s a small office of five and we go on construction sites. The office in New Orleans is a much larger and more diverse group.”
She flipped her sleek blonde hair and said, like a Miami girl, “Irregardless, I wanted a job with good benefits and you were hiring—if I had to wear a wig, so be it.”
He leaned closer and could smell her soap that reminded him of outside on a spring day. “You don’t have to anymore.”
