The Best Laid Plans (4 page)

Our client is an independent woman with her own home and business. She has a wide support network and wishes to become a mother. She is seeking a donor with a clean bill of health and no family history of major illness. If you are a male between the ages of 18 and 45, you can help her attain her dream of motherhood by contacting Fertility Australasia at O2 9555 2801. Interstate donors welcome, travel payments available.

A sperm bank.

It simply hadn’t occurred to her before.

She stared at the kitchen wall. Not five minutes ago she’d decided that she didn’t believe in luck and that she was prepared to fight for what she wanted, even if it smacked of desperation and meant loosening the tight grip she’d always held on her pride.

A sperm donor was a dead cert. There would be no equivocating or pussyfooting around worrying about compatibility if she went the route of sourcing frozen sperm, bought from a suitably qualified clinic. There would be no responding to want ads and waiting anxiously in coffee shops for her date to show up, no awkward first, second, third dates. She’d never have to judge when it was appropriate to sound out a man on whether he wanted children. She’d never have to worry about the relationship being based more on a biological imperative than mutual attraction and shared feeling.

It would be clean. Direct. Honest.

Best of all, it meant she was in control of her own destiny—as much as any person could be. Her body might not want to cooperate, of course, but at least she would have tried. Given it her best shot. Several best shots, depending on the costs.

She waited for her conscience to catch up with her, to sound a warning chime. But there was nothing.

This was not the way she’d wanted to have a child. She’d wanted to be one half of a couple, two people working together to bring new life into the world. A family.

But she was thirty-eight years old, staring down the barrel of her thirty-ninth birthday. She didn’t have the luxury of waiting for Mr. Right anymore. Not if she wanted to be a mother.

How much do you want this? Enough to do it alone?

She didn’t have to stretch her imagination to know what it would be like to have to cope with the pressures and stresses of raising a child on her own. She was all too familiar with the sense that there were not enough hours in the day, that she was utterly alone, with no help in sight, and that the only thing that stood between her mother and herself winding up on the street was her determination. She knew what it was like to live with the constant fear that there wouldn’t be enough food for tomorrow or that her mother would do something that would bring the wrath of social services down upon them.

She’d survived eight years of loving, nursing, corralling and policing her brain-injured mother after the accident. She could be a single parent. Absolutely she could.

She had money—more than enough to ensure she and her child would never want for anything. Years of obsessive saving had seen to that. She could easily afford to take a year off work, two years, even. She was resourceful and determined. And she wanted this. She wanted this with every fiber of her being.

Picking up the scissors, she sliced the ad neatly from the page.

“Hey, matey.”

There was the sound of fumbling from behind the door, then it was open and his eldest nephew, Jamie, was sticking out his tongue and making fake fart noises.

Ethan waited patiently for Jamie to get it out of his system. He could only blame himself, after all, that the first thing his nephews did when they saw him was to break out the noisiest, wettest raspberry they could come up with. His sister-in-law, Kay, had warned Ethan when he’d started teasing the kids with raspberries.

“You’re making a rod for your own back, Uncle Ethan,” she’d said. “You know you’re going to be Uncle Raspberry for the next ten years, don’t you?”

She’d been spot on, but he figured there were worse things in the world.

Stepping over the threshold, he grabbed Jamie around the waist and tucked him under his arm.

“Now, where’s your mom and dad?” he asked as Jamie bellowed a delighted protest.

He hefted his nephew up the hallway to the kitchen where Kay was stacking dishes in the dishwasher. Her dark blond hair was pulled back in a tie and she was wearing her tailored work shirt over a pair of seen-better-days tracksuit pants.

“You just missed dinner. You should have called, I would have saved you some.”

“I’ve got stuff at home for dinner, but thanks anyway. I thought I’d drop in and see if Derek had finished with that boxed set of
The Wire
yet.”

“He’s finishing up some end-of-quarter figures for one of his clients in the study.” Kay wiped her hands on a tea towel and gave him an amused look. “Let me guess what’s on the menu tonight—
wagyu
beef, fresh green beans, potato
dauphin,
maybe some red wine
jus.
For dessert, vanilla semi-
freddo
with poached seasonal fruit.” She cocked her pinky finger in the air as though she was having high tea with the queen.

His love of good food and wine had always been a source of amusement for his family. He set Jamie on his feet.

“As a matter of fact, it’s chicken stir-fry. What did you guys have? Fish fingers? Mac and cheese? Beans on toast?” Two could play at that game, after all.

Kay laughed and threw the towel at him. “Walking a fine line there, buddy.”

“Uncle Ethan, come and see the new trick I can do on my bike,” Jamie said, tugging on his hand to drag him toward the door to the patio.

“Hold on there, mister. Didn’t I ask you to put on your jim-jams? It’s too cold and dark out there for you to show Uncle Ethan anything,” Kay said.

“But—”

Kay put her fingers in her ears. “Nope. Can’t hear it. We don’t have that word in this house.”

Jamie’s sigh was heavy with resignation. “All right. But you are one tough customer, lady.”

Kay and Ethan exchanged amused glances as Jamie slouched off to his room.

“Apparently I’m a tough customer,” Kay said. “And a lady.”

“Who would have thunk it? Where’s Tim?”

“In the bath. You can go wrangle him if you want.”

It wasn’t until he was helping his wriggling five-year-old nephew into his pajamas that Ethan understood why he’d come to his brother’s house instead of going home after racquetball. It had shaken him, hearing the longing and yearning in Alex’s voice tonight. Reminded him of his former life.

Because once, a long time ago, he’d wanted kids, too. He’d wanted to hold his sons or daughters in his arms. He’d wanted to dry them like this after the nightly bath. He’d wanted to teach them to read and kick a footy or ferry them to ballet classes. He’d wanted to guide them and help equip them with the skills they’d need to grapple with the challenges life would throw their way. He’d been so bloody certain that children would be a part of his life…

He smiled a little grimly. Alex would probably wet herself laughing if he told her that. She’d think he was being ironic or making fun of her. She didn’t know about his marriage. She only knew him as a guy in a slick suit with a fast car and a reputation for churning through women.

But then he didn’t know much about her, either, did he?

If anyone had told him that formidable, sharp, street-smart Alex Knight was even capable of breaking down the way she had tonight he’d have laughed. As for the surprising revelation that she wanted a child… He’d always thought of her as the consummate career lawyer, a woman who’d dedicated herself to the job and moving up the ladder.

Yet she’d cried tonight as though her heart was breaking because she was afraid that she’d missed the opportunity to have a family of her own. Again he felt the echo of old grief as he remembered the way she’d curled into herself, her shoulders hunched as she tried to contain her pain.

Tim’s pajama buttons were misaligned and Ethan fixed them. He didn’t let his newphew go immediately. Instead, he tightened his grip for a moment, hugging his nephew close, inhaling the good clean smell of him.

“Love you, little buddy, you know that, don’t you?” he said quietly.

“I know,” Tim said. Then he wriggled, a signal he was over the hug, and Ethan released him.

“What’s wrong with you tonight?” Tim asked, his big eyes unflinching as they studied Ethan.

“Nothing.” Ethan dredged up a smile and used a corner of the towel to flick his nephew on the leg. “Time to hit the sack, matey.”

“Are you going to read me my bedtime story?”

“I thought I was doing that tonight,” an aggrieved voice said from the doorway.

Ethan looked up to find his younger brother wearing a mock-hurt expression on his face. Shorter than Ethan, he had the same strong cheekbones and dark hair but a slightly bigger nose and paler blue eyes.
Just enough ugly to save me from being a pretty boy like you,
Derek always joked.

“You can do it any old time,” Tim said airily.

“Nice to know I’m so easily replaced,” Derek said drily.

“I’m not replacing you, stupid, you’re my
daddy,
” Tim said, as if that explained everything.

“What brings you to this neck of the woods?” Derek asked.

“Just in the neighborhood,” Ethan said.

“What’s with the Bjorn Borg outfit?”

Ethan glanced down at his black midthigh-length shorts and charcoal hoody and raised an eyebrow at his brother’s derisive description. “Racquetball.”

“Ah. Still playing with that guy from work? Adam or whatever?”

“Alex. And he’s a she.”

“Really?” Derek’s expression turned speculative.

Ethan stood, shaking out the towel before arranging it over the rack. “You’re like a hairy, much less attractive version of
Hello, Dolly,
you know that?”

“What’s she like?”

Ethan rolled his eyes. “I’m not in the market. And even if I was, she’s a partner. And a friend.”

“So you’re seeing someone else? When can we meet her?” Derek asked.

For a moment Ethan considered lying, simply to get his brother off his back. “The tap’s leaking on the tub, by the way.”

“No shit. We could do dinner, the four of us. It’s been a while since Kay and I ate somewhere where they don’t have cartoons on the menu.”

“I’m not seeing anyone. I’m just not in the market.”

“Still racking up the notches on the old bedpost. What a challenge.” His brother’s tone was flat, unimpressed.

“Not everyone can have the white-picket dream, mate.”

Ethan had deliberately kept the uglier details of his divorce from his family, figuring there was no need for the world to know exactly how spectacularly his marriage had failed. The downside to that bit of self-preservation was these little pep talks his brother pushed on him periodically. Just as there was nothing worse than an ex-smoker, there was no one more pro-kids and pro-matrimony than a happily married man.

Even though he’d never admit it to his brother, Ethan’s social life was a lot less hectic than anyone imagined. Sleeping around had gotten old quickly after the divorce. Like drinking till you passed out and bragging about your exploits, being a man-slut was apparently something that a guy grew out of. Go figure. “You seen
The Girls Next Door
lately? Hugh’s looking pretty tragic, shuffling around in that smoking jacket,” Derek said.

“Will you let it go, Derek?” Ethan said, an edge in his voice.

Most of the time he didn’t mind his brother’s old-lady nagging, but tonight…tonight it was really getting up his nose.

“Just trying to save you from yourself.”

“Yeah? Ever thought that maybe I don’t need saving?”

“Nope.”

Ethan turned his back on his brother and walked to the living room. If he stayed, they were going to wind up in an argument. Derek had good intentions, but he needed to let go of the idea that Ethan was going to meet a good woman and marry again. It was never going to happen. Ever.

Kay looked up from tidying the coffee table when he entered.

“Better get home to my
wagyu,
” Ethan said. “What time’s Jamie’s party again?”

“Midday. It’s on the invitation. You don’t want a coffee?”

He forced a smile. “I’m good. Got to go home and poach that seasonal fruit, remember?”

He blew her a kiss as he headed for the door.

She lay in bed for a moment, thinking about the decision she’d made last night, walking around it, examining it from all sides, prodding it, seeing if she still felt the same way in the cold, hard light of a new day.

The answer was yes. She still wanted a child. And her smartest, most guaranteed, no-muss, no-fuss way of getting one was through a sperm bank. Which meant she had some work to do.

Ever since she could remember she’d been a facts-and-figures person. It was one of the reasons she’d opted for corporate law rather than criminal or family. She liked detail, and research, and she excelled at pulling together all the relevant information to make rational, smart decisions then going over and over and over the fine print until she’d plugged every hole, taken advantage of every opportunity.

As she rolled out of bed and made her way to the bathroom, she started strategizing. First, she needed to find a reputable clinic. She needed to explore the ins and outs of sperm donation, the screening process and the success rate for artificial insemination. Then she needed to get her life in order. If she was going to be pregnant in the foreseeable future, there were a lot of things she needed to get sorted.

A nursery, for starters.

She squeezed her eyes tightly shut.

Dear God, I’m really going to do this.

Pointless to deny that there was a definite thread of sadness mixed in with the determination and excitement. She’d grown up without a father. She would have preferred for her child to have one. But there were hundreds of thousands of single-parent families in the world. She would do her best by her child, if she was blessed with one, the same as any other mother. That would have to be enough.

She dressed in one of her dark tailored skirt suits, matching it with her steel-gray suede pumps, then brushed her hair until it fell smoothly to her jawline. She never wore much makeup apart from a dusting of powder, mascara and lipstick. Five minutes later, she was on her way to work.

It wasn’t until she was about to slide out of her car in Wallingsworth & Kent’s underground garage that she spotted Ethan in her rearview mirror and remembered the other part of last night—the embarrassing, revealing part where she’d lost it and somehow wound up confiding in him. She’d been so caught up in her plans this morning, so determined not to waste another minute, that she’d forgotten how thoroughly she’d exposed herself.

Instinctively she slunk down in her seat, waiting for Ethan to reach the elevators before checking the rearview mirror again. Only when the doors had closed on him did she sit up straight, feeling absurd and foolish and relieved all at once.

Why, oh why, hadn’t she gone home instead of giving in to obligation and playing that stupid racquetball game with him last night? She had an overdeveloped sense of responsibility, that was the problem. And look where it had gotten her.

There were plenty of women, she knew, who would line up around the block to take solace in Ethan Stone’s arms. But he was Alex’s colleague and fellow partner, and while she was prepared to privately acknowledge that he was an extremely attractive man, she had never, ever allowed herself to do more than that. She valued her hard-earned reputation as a professional who knew her stuff and who didn’t let emotion get in the way, far too much to indulge in office flirtation. Especially with a man who went through as many women as Ethan did. As for blubbering all over him like a histrionic schoolgirl, moaning about her declining fertility…

Aware that she’d been hiding in her car too long, Alex made her way to the elevators. She told herself that when she saw Ethan this morning, she would simply pretend it was business as usual. He’d have to take his cue from her and follow suit. A few days from now, he’d have written off her confession as hormones and they’d be back to their old footing.

Except the moment she exited the elevator on the fifteenth floor she heard his voice and spotted him standing in the kitchenette, chatting with Franny while he poured himself a coffee.

Do it. Grab a coffee, talk about the weather. Show him that you’re back to your mouthy, smart-ass self and normalize the situation.

She took a deep breath—then pivoted on her heel and walked the long way to her office. Which made her an enormous chicken, she knew, but she was only human.

She ducked him twice more that morning, bowing out of a meeting she was supposed to attend with him and taking the stairs when she saw him heading for the elevator. She told herself she was merely buying herself time—for her to get over her self-consciousness and for him to forget the details from last night.

She had half an hour free before the partner lunch at midday and she spent the time checking out fertility clinics on the internet, one eye on her office door the whole time.

She found a number of information pages, complete with testimonials, and she followed the links to yet more sites. She bookmarked a few, then found a recent newspaper article reporting that there was a drastic shortage of sperm donors in Australia, particularly donors who were willing to offer their sperm to single women or same-sex partners. According to the article, for some time Australian women had been ordering sperm from banks based in the U.S. Curious, she clicked on a link and found herself staring at literally hundreds of profiles on a U.S. website. She scanned the first one with growing incredulity.