She arrived back at the house on Jackson Street five minutes before Jane did, and they left at precisely ten-thirty, once the guests were dancing. Everything had gone smoothly. And the hosts had been pleasant and welcoming when they met Paris. She looked every bit as elegant as the guests in a simple black cocktail dress. She had been careful to wear something covered up and distinguished. The idea was to blend in, not to draw attention to herself, which she understood completely. Jane thought she was perfect, mature, sensible, capable, hardworking, resourceful. When one of the valet parkers had created a problem with one of the guests, Paris had told the head of the team quietly and firmly to call their base and replace him. She hadn't waited for Jane to give her directions. She'd been busy in the kitchen working out the schedule with the chef, to make sure the soufflés they were having for the first course wouldn't fall before they got the guests to the table. Every piece of the puzzle had to fit, and like a corps de ballet, they all had to move with infinite precision, even more so when they managed enormous weddings. This was just a taste of what the rest was, but Paris had stepped right in and handled it with grace and competence. Jane knew she was exactly what Bixby needed.
“You must be exhausted,” Paris said to her sympathetically as they left the house on Jackson Street. She was nine months pregnant and had been on her feet for fourteen hours. It was not exactly what her doctor recommended, or her husband wanted.
“I told the baby I don't have time for him to be born this week,” Jane said, looking tired as they stopped at her car and she smiled at Paris.
“When's your due date?” Paris asked warmly, she genuinely liked her. Jane gave her all and then some to Bixby. It was definitely time for her to pass the baton, Paris just hoped that Bix would let her take it from her.
“Tomorrow,” Jane said with a rueful smile. “I'm trying to pretend I don't know that. But he does,” she said, rubbing her belly. The baby had been kicking her all night, and she'd been having contractions for two weeks now. They were just practice runs, she knew, but the final performance was coming. “I'll see you in the morning,” she told Paris, as she slid behind the wheel with difficulty, and Paris felt sorry for her. This was no way to put your feet up and wait for a baby. Her schedule would have killed most women who weren't pregnant, and it was easy to see why her husband had insisted she quit and stay home with her baby. She'd done this for six years, and it was time to stop now. For her sake, and the baby's. “You did a great job today,” she told Paris, and then drove off with a wave, as Paris got in her car and drove home to the house on Vallejo. And she realized as she walked in, and set down her handbag, she was exhausted. It had been a long, interesting day, followed by a successful evening. She had been acutely aware during all of it that she was concentrating constantly in order to learn everything she needed to know as quickly as possible. But nothing she had done that day seemed out of the ordinary to her, or impossible to accomplish. She knew that she could do this. And as she stretched out in her bed that night, all she wanted was to land this job as Bixby Mason's assistant. And God willing, if it was meant to be, she would do that.
“Are you all right?” Paris asked her with a look of concern, as they settled down across the desk from each other in her office.
“I'm just tired. I couldn't sleep last night I had so many contractions. And Paul is mad at me. He said I shouldn't be working. He thinks I'm going to kill the baby.” Paris didn't entirely disagree with him, at least in that she thought Jane should be resting, and not pushing herself as hard as she was, but Jane wanted to give Paris a chance to settle in, and she had promised Bix she'd finish the week, if she didn't have the baby.
