Confidential(68)

“I’m glad you called. Does that mean what I think it does?”

Another slow nod. He was going to do it, but he was none too pleased. Or he was just in a lousy mood; what did I know? I couldn’t let that deter me. I was going to get what I wanted.

“You’re going to do it?” I said.

He paused. “I want you to have what you want.”

It sounded practiced. There was no true feeling behind it. “It’s not what you want, though.”

“If it’s not me, it’ll just be someone else, and I don’t want that.”

Was he telling me he had feelings for me, that he couldn’t imagine me pregnant with another man’s baby, even if that man was basically anonymous?

“I’m healthy,” he said, “and I’m from a strong gene pool. No cancer, no heart disease, no diabetes. Everyone dies peacefully in their sleep in their eighties and nineties. My grandmother lived to a hundred and four.”

“You’re saying you’re better than anyone else I can find.”

He met my eyes finally. “You and I have a lot in common. I’m not cut out to be partnered, either, or a full-time father. But to have some sort of relationship with a child, however unconventional—the more I think about it, the more appealing it is.”

“You want to be involved?” I hadn’t dared hope for this. The idea of not being entirely on my own, and of having a male influence, and of having Michael still in my life in some capacity . . . Let’s just say, it wasn’t unpleasant.

“I don’t want custody. I don’t want to step on your toes. You’d be the mother, and you’d make all the decisions. But yes, I’d like to have some involvement.”

“I’m open to that.”

Then he said something else unexpected: “So that’s one of my terms, and the other is a fair compensation.”

I was momentarily speechless. I’d come to make a deal, and I had all my arguments lined up. But I’d thought it would be pass/fail, a yes or a no. I didn’t think what it would be worth to me or if the fact that he could be so mercenary should be a rule-out.

Then I smiled. He was a therapist and a businessman. I always knew he was too smart to be a complete altruist. In other words, he had the left and the right brain. Rule him out? This was a bonus.

“What’s your number?” I said.

He smiled back. It was like we were flirting, except we both also knew it was serious business. Which could be flirting. A negotiation was a dance.

For me, this interaction wasn’t about the money; I had more of it than I could spend. It was about the dance. How we moved together. The chemistry.

“What’s it worth to you, Greer?” he said.

My name again. Did he know how that affected me, hearing it from his lips?

“Our baby. What’s she worth?”

“You think it’ll be a girl?”

“Apparently I do.”

Our smiles broadened, as joyously as if she were already here.

This was crazy, wasn’t it? We were talking about money and babies in practically the same breath. But the fact that we could do that so easily, that neither of us was spooked, that, if anything, we were turned on . . . we were great dance partners.

A partner. I could have a partner on this life-changing adventure. Not in a traditional sense, but that was okay by me. Better than okay. As he said, neither of us was cut out for conventional.

“What do you need?” I asked him. “Give me your number.”

His smile wobbled, just a little. He wouldn’t be asking if he didn’t need to, and he had hoped he could flirt and shimmy and keep me from seeing.

“If we’re going to do this, we have to be honest,” I said.

“A hundred thousand,” he said.

I could have played hardball. I could have made him work for it, but this was my future baby daddy. I wanted to start off on the right foot. “Deal.”





CHAPTER 54





LUCINDA


Ten minutes till five, and I was behind on my proofreading. I’d have to work at home tonight to get it done by the deadline, but I was confident I’d be able to. I was confident about everything these days.

“Lucinda.”

I startled. Christine’s voice was deep and raspy, startling under the best of circumstances. I swiveled in my chair to face her, forcing a smile. “Hi.”

“Come in my office.” She didn’t bother with the smile. As usual. I followed her, not unduly alarmed. “Shut the door.”

I took the seat across from her. The office was a mess. As usual. I didn’t know how she could work that way. No, I did know. She was a lousy editor. She insisted she couldn’t read anything on the computer, it all had to be printed out, so she was surrounded by towering piles. She must have thought it made her look literary rather than disorganized.

She pushed her glasses up, turning them into a headband for her artificially black curly hair. She squinted at me. Normally, I’d hate the scrutiny, but with the way I’d been feeling lately, I stared back. Bring it on.

“It’s come to my attention,” she said, “that you’ve been doing your own writing during company time.”

I didn’t think she could see past the end of her nose, or past these piles. I had no prepared answer.