The Boy Toy - Nicola Marsh Page 0,57
sack, so on impulse he drove toward South Wharf.
He could thank Pia in person and give her a rundown of how the audition went. Crazy, because she probably had patients booked and he could convey his gratitude just as easily on the phone. But he really wanted to see Samira, and even if he had to loiter in the waiting room, he’d do it.
He reached the center in ten minutes and had parked when the phone rang. His heart leaped in anticipation, and he didn’t know who he wanted to be on the other end more, Chris or Samira.
One glance at the screen had his hand shaking as he hit the “answer” button.
“Chris. How are you?”
“I’m bloody fantastic, considering I get a cut of your earnings as the host for Renegades.”
Shock rendered him speechless for a moment. “I got the gig?”
“You sure did, mate. You blew them away at the audition, and they’re rapt to have you on board.”
“Fuck,” he murmured, joy expanding in his chest until he could barely breathe. “I can’t believe it.”
Chris chuckled. “I knew you could do it. Anyway, go celebrate, and I’ll be in touch once I have more information.”
“Thanks, Chris, for everything.”
“You’re the one who did this, mate. I just made a few calls to set everything up. Well done.”
When Chris hung up, Rory stared at the phone in his hand, wondering if he’d conjured up the call out of wishful thinking.
He got the job.
He could give Amelia the money she needed to kick-start the speech therapy program.
He could help those kids.
He felt freaking invincible.
Chris had been right about one thing. He had to celebrate. He hoped he could convince Samira to skive off work, because they had some serious partying to do, one-on-one.
He had no recollection of the five-minute walk to the center— because he’d probably floated there—and as he entered, he strode toward Samira’s office, relieved to spot her door open and the woman he wanted to see tidying exercise equipment.
“Samira,” he called out, unable to keep the grin off his face as he entered her office.
She looked a little pale, but he saw the exact moment she figured out why he was grinning like an idiot who’d just won the lottery.
“You nailed the audition?”
He nodded. “I got the job. You’re looking at the host of Australia’s newest up-and-coming reality show.”
“That’s great.” She enveloped him in a hug, squeezing so tight he laughed.
“Want to help me celebrate?”
She hesitated, as something furtive shifted in her gaze. “What did you have in mind?”
“What do you think?”
He rested his hand on her waist, before sliding it around to her gorgeous ass in a slow caress.
Her eyes widened, and her lips curved into a coy smile. “Hmm . . . I’ve got a lot of patient files to complete—”
“I want you, now,” he murmured, giving her ass a gentle squeeze. “I’m so damn happy I could burst, and I want to share that with you.”
“Okay,” she said, pressing her hand to his cheek. “Give me five minutes.”
“Make it one.” He swooped in to claim her mouth in a scorching kiss that had him hard and craving her more than ever.
He’d made the right decision in coming here.
A sizzling celebration for two would make this day even more memorable.
* * *
* * *
Samira had been so shocked to see Rory not long after learning the momentous news of her pregnancy that she couldn’t think up an excuse fast enough to fob him off. Not that she wanted to, but she needed time to absorb the news that still left her reeling twenty minutes later and had envisaged slinking off to her apartment to sit on the sofa and dwell.
She couldn’t tell him, not yet. Maybe sneaking off for some afternoon delight would be just what she needed to take her mind off it and the million questions pinging around her brain.
She hadn’t been taking prenatal vitamins. Would that damage her baby?
She’d been drinking alcohol and eating soft cheeses and deli meats. Would that harm her baby?
Would she need to screen for fetal abnormalities sooner rather than later because of her age?
Would her baby be damaged because she’d been so clueless about all of the above?
Interesting, that she was already referring to the baby as “hers” and not “the baby.” Because despite all the questions and the shock and her bone-deep fear, she was ecstatic about this pregnancy.
She’d never imagined having a child. Being a reproductively challenged, single thirty-seven-year-old didn’t inspire her with confidence, and she’d secretly given