Page 57 of The B-Team

It was a short drive through the center of London to their penthouse apartment in Westminster. In a white-stone listed building designed in the 1920s, their apartment took up half of the top two floors and overlooked the Thames. Sometimes, Harvard still had to pinch himself to believe that his new living arrangement wasn’t a dream. He’d gone from growing up in working-class Atlantic City to living in a home with its own private elevator and a rooftop terrace view of the Houses of Parliament.

But it’s what Rachel had wanted, and he was man enough not to let his ego get in the way of her having it. Althoughhe’d invested well and had a very healthy bank account balance, it was nothing compared to Rachel’s wealth, which was what they’d used to purchase their home. Harvard didn’t care. He knew there were plenty of ways to contribute to a healthy relationship. Money was only one of them.

As the lights sparkled over the river and the face of Big Ben gleamed in the night, Rachel curled up in a corner of their large white sofa and stared out at the view. She’d done little more than kick off her shoes since arriving home, which concerned him. She was too quiet, too subdued, too… un-Rachel.

“Hey, Princess.” He placed a fruit platter and a glass of sparkling water on the table beside her before running his hand down her hair. “You still in pain?”

“Before you ask,” she said, picking up a grape, “it’s not labor. I’m not in screaming agony.”

His lips twitched as he fought a smile. Rachel was as tough as they came. “You want to go float in the pool for a bit?” At least in this apartment, the pool wasn’t directly above their bed and glass-bottomed to boot.

“No.” She sighed. “I’m so tired. I’m not sure I’ll even make it to bed. I might just curl up right here.”

Her face tightened, and he knew she was in pain again. He’d read that the practice Braxton Hicks contractions—if that’s what this was—were painful and irregular. Unfortunately, with everything else going on and Rachel’s refusal to communicate, he wasn’t entirely sure whether the pain was hitting at regular intervals.

Harvard sat beside her and pulled her against him, feeling deep satisfaction when she curled into his side. This washisRachel. The one only he got to see.

“How about we call the doc and get her to come take a look at you? It won’t hurt, right?” He kept his voice smooth and low, trying not to spook her.

“I honestly believe that would be a waste of her time.”

She tensed against him with another wave of pain, and he glanced at his watch, taking note of the time. “Is it getting worse?” he asked softly.

“Nothing I can’t handle.” Rachel picked up the fruit platter, balanced it on his thigh, and offered him a grape. He accepted it willingly.

It was clear he wouldn’t get any more information out of his stubborn wife, so he changed the subject while keeping a close eye on her. “The nursery’s almost finished. The crib arrives tomorrow, and your mom’s coming over to put the finishing touches on the room.” He swore he could feel her eyes roll, and he grinned.

“Why she insists on making such a fuss, I don’t know. It’s not like this is her first grandchild.”

“It’s the first one you’re having,” Harvard pointed out.

“And probably the last,” she grumbled.

Yeah, he wasn’t about to touch that topic.

She shifted, clearly uncomfortable, and tensed again. Her breathing grew shallow momentarily before she relaxed back into him. He checked his watch. Only a few minutes since the last wave of pain.

“Do you want me to give you a back rub?”

“No. I want to sit here until this discomfort passes. And then I’d like to sleep for about ten years.” Rachel sighed. “But we have to go through those files.”

“We’re not the only ones on this,” he reminded her. “The team’s got it.”

She scoffed. “The team comprises one brain-damaged ex-soldier, a former MMA fighter, a movie star, a woman who can tell us the statistical chances of our failure, and two Scottish lunatics. The only useful members of our current team are Julia and Katrina. And Katrina’s trapped in a panic room while Julia’sabout to pop at any second. It’s not exactly the A-Team. It isn’t even the B-Team. We’re scraping the bottom of the alphabet on this one. They desperately need us.”

Man, she was hilarious. He felt her wince again and checked the time. These pains were coming regularly now, and there wasn’t a whole lot of time between them.

“Maybe I’ll give the doc a call anyway,” he said casually. “Make her earn some of that money we’re paying her.”

“Please yourself,” Rachel said, pointing to the kitchen area. “My phone’s in my handbag on the island.”

“I really need to pick up a replacement phone.” Harvard eased himself out from under her and padded across the thick, white carpet to the kitchen, vaguely wondering how long the carpet would stay white with a baby around.

As he reached for Rachel’s bag, her phone rang. He pulled it out.

“Who is it?” she called.

“Number withheld.” He answered the call. “Who’s this?”