The Baby Plan: A Second Chance Romance

by Tia Siren

  I felt kind of bad, using Erica's situation to get Mom off my back, but I needed to say something to get her to quit hounding me. We had this conversation every week, even though she knew it drove me up a wall.

  “Then you need to get out more,” Mom said firmly, nodding her head like she was the wisest person in the world. “I know there are all sorts of websites these days. And applications for your phone, too. Gina told me that's how she met her fiancé, you know.”

  At that, I did roll my eyes. Gina was my younger cousin, who had just recently announced her engagement. She was only twenty-one, but Mom liked to remind me that was also the age she had been when she married Dad. By the time she was my age, I had been out of diapers and my younger sister, Holly, had been just starting to toddle around the house.

  “Are you trying to suggest that I go on a date with a total stranger?” I asked Mom. “Do you have any idea how many of those profiles are fakes? Or guys who just want sex and nothing else. Gina just got lucky.”

  “How would you know, if you've never tried it?” Mom asked.

  “Maggie,” Dad finally said, laying a hand on Mom's arm, and that was the end of the conversation for the night.

  But I knew it was going to be the same thing the next week, and the one after that, and the one after that. I suppressed a sigh. I understood Mom was just impatient for grandchildren, but I didn't know what to tell her. Even if I did get a boyfriend, I didn't think I wanted to have children. After all, I had a difficult enough time keeping myself afloat. I couldn't exactly raise a kid in the place Erica and I shared, and the whole reason I was sharing the apartment with her was that I couldn't afford a better place.

  Even if I could manage to keep food on the table and a roof over our heads, the kid's whole childhood, we would be just squeaking by.

  To be fair, my childhood had been the same. I'd never realized it at the time; slices of bread for breakfast and “Mickey Magic beans” (your average baked beans) many nights of the week had just been normal. But the older I got, the more I realized how poor we had been while I was growing up, and I could only imagine the sacrifices that my parents must have made. I wasn't sure I wanted to make those sacrifices. And I wasn't sure it would be fair to intentionally bring a child into this world, knowing I wasn't going to be able to give them a life with smartphones, sports, and other things their peers would get.

  Besides, when it came to the relationship front, I didn't feel like I could date someone. My parents were still together, sure, but I knew a relationship like they had was rare. Watching Erica and the rest of my friends go from relationship to relationship hadn't helped my cynicism.

  It seemed like relationships never worked out the way that people wanted them to, no matter how much work each party put into it. If it was just going to end in heartache anyway, why put yourself through that? Sure, it might work out once in a blue moon, and my parents were evidence of that. But I didn't believe I was going to meet my prince charming, or that he was going to be as in love with me as I was with him.

  I mean, I had my needs. But those needs were satisfied by a quick, meaningless fuck and, every once in a while, a good cuddle. The whole Hollywood idea of being with someone for the rest of your life, waking up with them every single morning, talking about your day, having dinner together? Honestly, that seemed laughable. You'd run out of things to talk about in the first couple months, I was sure.

  Did I think, after all, that Mom really cared when Dad griped about his coworkers? Or that Dad cared about the gossip Mom told him about the women in her yoga class or about Mr. Talbot, who had lived down the hall for the entirety of my life? I didn't want my life to be like that.

  I shook my head and tuned back to the current conversation. Holly was telling them all about her new job, at some fancy think-tank. She had a background in liberal arts, and yet she made more money than I could ever imagine making. She was happily married, and she and Andrew were talking about having children once they had settled into the new home they were building together.

  She was the model child, and I had never been able to measure up.

  I swallowed thickly and played around with the food on my plate. I loved my family, but these family dinners could be difficult sometimes. Part of why I wished I could convince Erica to come to them with me: she would provide a bit of a buffer between my parents and me. I doubted Mom would be so persistent in asking about my lack of relationship if we had guests. Even if she did ask, Erica could help me deflect.

  On the way home, I stopped at the grocery store and grabbed a pint of ice cream. If Erica had been in all day doing inventory, she should be home early.

  But when I got home, the apartment was still empty, and even though I waited up until after midnight, she never came home. Probably has a new boyfriend already, I thought, not sure whether I felt exasperated or bitter about her ability to move from guy to guy.

  The difference between her and me was that no matter how many times she got burned in a relationship, she always managed to invest herself emotionally in another relationship within weeks, or even days. I didn't know how she managed to love people as easily as she did, but it wasn't a skill I could mimic.

  I sighed and put on the TV, changing the channel to some shitty reality TV show about weddings that got crazy out-of-control. I put the second spoon back in the drawer and worked my way through the pint on my own.

  Chapter Three

  Michael

  Tuesday morning, I had a big meeting with the board members of Lincoln Hotels Corporation, which I owned a majority of stock in. The hotels had made me a billionaire (not that I'd ever had to worry about money), but I didn't have much to do with them, these days. I spent more time involved in private investing, turning the money that I'd made into something good.

  Most people in my generation had a “work hard, play hard” attitude. I'd just finally reached the point where I could “play hard” for the rest of my life and never deplete the money I'd amassed. So I tried to pick causes I cared about and manage funds for them. Of course, there was also a substantial amount of play that went into my lifestyle.

  “Don't you ever get bored?” Chris, my best friend from high school, had once asked me. Like me, he didn't have to worry about money, but he preferred to remain actively involved in everything that was going on with his father's architectural firm.

  I had laughed at the thought of being bored. “I'm good at running a company in the hotel business, but it's not fun,” I had told him. “And if I wanted to, I could charter a jet to Europe tomorrow, or to Hawaii. Or I could book a trip into outer space. Take a weekend retreat in the Adirondacks with any hot girl in this city. The possibilities are endless. I make sure to give back, with the investing that I do. And that in itself comes with research and meetings. But the hotel company can run itself.”

  I shook my head and brought my thoughts back to the current meeting.

  “Our profits are up this quarter, and everything is looking good as we roll into the next one,” one of the men was saying. I couldn't remember his name, even though I was pretty sure that I had hired him, but he had a monotonous voice that had me this close to falling asleep. “In fact, it's been a record year for us already, in terms of the number of days that we've been fully booked across our properties.”

  I barely refrained from reminding them that if there was nothing wrong, there was no reason for them to trouble me with a meeting like this. I knew that as the owner of Lincoln Hotels Corporation, I had to show my face to the board at least a couple times a year, but if we weren't voting on any big changes, it seemed like I should just be able to hang onto my stock and stay out of things. That's what employees were for, after all; they dealt with the day-to-day running of the business.

  Fortunately, the meeting didn't last much longer. I hightailed it out of there before anyone could try to get me to join them for lunch.

  Instead, I headed alone down the street, to a local deli that I liked to eat at whenever I was in the ar
ea.

  When I got to the counter, there was a new girl behind it making sandwiches. She wasn't as smoking hot as the girl I'd had in the limo on Saturday night, but she was attractive. I smiled at her. “Hey, you're new here, right?”

  She giggled and ducked her head. “Is it that obvious?” she asked, gesturing at the sandwich that she had just finished putting together.

  “Well, I would have recognized you if I'd seen you before,” I told her. “Someone as cute as you? The highlight of my day. Plus, you put way more mayonnaise on those sandwiches than the last guy.”

  “Too much?” she asked worriedly, peeking into each of the sandwiches that she had just sliced in half.

  “No, I think it's perfect,” I told her. “No one likes a dry sandwich.”

  She gave me a smile and finished handing those sandwiches to the guy in front of me. “What can I get for you?” she asked, wiping her hands on her apron.

  “Surprise me,” I told her, winking. “You seem like you probably have good taste.”

  She blushed and looked down at what she was doing. I sauntered over to the cash register and waited for her. As she rang me up, I took a bite of the sandwich. “Mm, that's tasty,” I said, and she blushed again as she smiled at me. “Tell you what, since you have such good taste, maybe you'd like to go out sometime,” I said to her.

  She gave a startled laugh. “Do you usually take that long to set up your pickup lines?” she asked.

  I grinned at her. “Well, did it work? Can I have your number?”

  “I wouldn't want you to think that I didn't have good taste,” she said, eyeing me obviously. She grabbed a pen and scrawled her number on the back of my receipt.

  I slid the receipt into my pocket and went over to a table near the window, letting her move on to the next customer. Maybe I'd call her, or maybe I wouldn't. I was sure it was flattering enough for her to have me ask her out to begin with; whether or not we ever went on a date was inconsequential.

  I scrolled through my notifications as I munched on the sandwich. The girl had loaded my sandwich with lots of meat and extras. Sometimes it paid to be a flirt. As I was checking my messages, I received an incoming call from Chris. “Hey man, what's up?” I asked.

  “Hey man, not much. You down for some Thirsty Thursday drinks this week? I'm getting back from LA that afternoon.”

  “Yeah, sure,” I said. “I'll be there. I want to hear all about your trip.”

  “Cool, cool. Just about to run into a meeting. Take a two-week vacation, and it's like everything goes to shit. I don't know how you can delegate like you do.”

  I laughed. “I hire better workers than you do, I guess.”

  “Yeah, that must be it,” Chris said distractedly. “Anyway, I'll see you Thursday.”

  “See you Thursday,” I agreed.

  I finished my sandwich and glanced at my watch. Just in time to go to my next meeting, this one with my attorney. I made a face just thinking about it. It was a meeting that I'd been putting off for years now: making my will. But Dad and the attorney had recently been hounding me to sit down and get it done, reminding me that I was only getting older.

  I was 32 and in great health. I went to the gym almost daily and wasn't into any extreme sports. I was nowhere near retirement age let alone death—unless you counted accidental death. But in that case, nothing had changed between now and ten years ago. I didn't see why writing out my will was suddenly such a huge deal.

  But I'd agreed to the meeting, just to get them both off my back.

  When I got back to the office, the attorney was already waiting in one of the conference rooms. I rolled my eyes: it bothered me when people showed up early to meetings. What if I'd had a meeting before this one and it ran over? I was a busy man, after all.

  I thought for a moment that I must have the wrong conference room. There was a woman in a neat business suit sitting in one of the chairs, fixing her lipstick. She smiled when she saw me and dropped the lipstick and her compact back into her purse. “Mr. Adams,” she said, coming toward me and extending a hand. “I'm Lee Atwater,” she said.

  I raised an eyebrow at her. “Ms. Atwater. I was under the impression that you were a 'he'.”

  She laughed, shaking back her long, wavy hair. “The name does that to people,” she agreed. She sat back down in her seat, adjusting her long legs and looking expectantly at me. “Let's get started. If it's all right with you, I'd like to start by talking about what you'd like done in terms of a funeral, and then afterwards, we'll talk about the details of dividing up your impressive wealth.”

  I dropped into the seat next to her, turning it back and forth a little. “All right, ask whatever you need to,” I said. The sooner this was over, the sooner I could get out of there. I could tell already that I was probably not going to enjoy this conversation.

  “All right, I know it's not something that most people like to think about, but do you have any preferences for what happens with your body after death? There's no guarantee, of course, that your final resting wishes will be adhered to, but this will at least give your friends and family direction.”

  I snorted. “I don't care what they do with me,” I told her. “They could burn me in the backyard and throw away the ashes if that's what they wanted. Although I'm not sure that's legal.”

  The attorney looked surprised. “Mr. Adams, may I remind you that funerary rites are generally performed for the comfort of those you have left behind? They might appreciate a more tactful celebration of your life.”

  I raised an eyebrow at her. “Who might?” I asked. “My employees? They hardly ever see me. Nothing would change for them if I died. Let's see, who else? My parents? They were hardly ever around when I was growing up, and we communicate even less frequently now that I'm out of their house. I'm lucky if I hear from them once a month.”

  Lee tapped her pen against the table for a moment. “All right, you mentioned burning your body in the backyard, so I'm going to just list that you request to be cremated and to have your ashes scattered,” she said slowly. “Maybe we should start at the other end of things. Now, I received all the documents you sent over that outlined your financial and material holdings. Who do you plan to inherit that legacy once you've left this life?”

  “Once I've died,” I corrected automatically. I hated when people pussy-footed around the idea of death.

  I frowned, though, thinking over what she'd asked. It wasn't the first time I had thought about what would happen to my millions when I died, but I didn't have an answer for her. “Can I just arrange to have it all donated to some cause?” I asked.

  “I'm afraid the logistics of that would be too complicated,” Lee said. “You would at least need to designate someone as an officiant for your will, so they could make sure that was done.”

  “I don't have any kids,” I told her. “And as I explained, my relationship with my parents is strained.”

  “Perhaps there's a friend you could list?” I could tell that she was grasping at straws, and I hated it.

  I wanted kids, that was the thing. My father had never been around when I was growing up, and I'd mostly been raised by a succession of nannies. But I was sure I could be a better dad than he had been. I wasn't as devoted to my work as he had been. And I could afford to give my son or daughter everything that they could ever want in the world.

  It was just the relationship thing that made it difficult. How did you have a kid without having a relationship?

  I stood up abruptly. “Maybe we should come back to this on a different day,” I told her. “Send over a list of questions, and I'll try to have the answers ready for you next time.”

  “That might be a good idea,” Lee said.

  “Maybe I could take you out to dinner next time, though, instead of meeting you here,” I said, eyeing her shapely legs and hoping that she understood what I was suggesting.

  “I'm afraid I don't date clients,” she said, even though I could tell that if she had her way, I'd be taking
her out to dinner that night.

  I raised an eyebrow at her. “I'm not asking you to date me,” I said. “You're attractive, I'm attractive. We've established that I live a lonely existence. Sex is a great way to forget about the loneliness for a little while, isn't it?”

  Ms. Atwater stared at me for a long moment, and I thought she might reconsider her position on not dating clients. But then, she shook her head. “I'm afraid I can't do that, Mr. Adams. But you have a nice day.”

  I sighed and shook my head. When I put my hand in my pocket, I could feel the receipt with the deli girl's phone number on it. But I realized I didn't want a quick fuck. No, what I wanted was someone who would agree to carry my baby. All this talk about my will and my legacy reminded me of something that had been on my mind for a while now: I needed an heir.

  The trouble was, I didn't particularly want a relationship. My parents' relationship had never been particularly loving, and the older they got, the more distance they put between them. I knew some people felt like they needed to share their life with someone for it to feel fulfilling, but I wasn't worried about that.

  I liked my life, just the way it was. I liked the fact that I didn't have to worry about compromising. I liked the fact that I could take off for anywhere in the world at a moment's notice without worrying about leaving someone behind or coordinating plans with them. I liked that I could stay out all night with Chris if I wanted to, without having a wife back home worrying that I was out with another girl.

  All my physical needs were met with the one-night stands I had. I was nice to them, too. I made sure I was clear before I took a girl home, that this was just a one-time thing. I took them out for a nice dinner, and I usually stayed the night and cuddled, unless the girl made it clear that she didn't want me to. I wasn't one of those fuck-and-run guys who used women and then tossed them aside like they were dirty tissues. I just made it clear that I didn't do relationships.

  But I couldn't be without an heir forever.