A Baby Affair (Parent Portal 2)

“Excuse me?”

“Per the agreement,” he said, and stood up from behind the massive cherrywood desk in his office at the clinic he owned along with six other doctors. He’d grown up in Sacramento, but a buddy of his from med school had first introduced him to Marie Cove, the little town south of LA, during med school, when he’d told him about a new fertility clinic there. What made it unique was the lines it left open between donor and client. The only way she’d have gotten his number was if the clinic had contacted her and told her that he’d requested to speak with her. That’s how it worked. Either party could request at any time and the other party agreed to have at least a a conversation or other limited contact.

What he’d give now to have never heard of the place.

“What agreement?”

A hand in the pocket of his pants, Craig looked out toward the ocean beyond the cliff face across the street from his second-floor office and frowned. “With the Parent Portal.”

“I’m sorry, who are you?” She grunted, as though she’d been shoved from behind. Or run into something.

“I’m the father of your child,” he told her, getting more concerned by the second. More certain than ever that his need to connect with his biological offspring was valid.

Her lack of response added to his unease. “Ms. Grace, are you okay?”

“I’m...” She huffed. “Just getting off a flight from France. Can I call you back?”

Without giving him a chance to respond she hung up.

Leaving him with all of his questions, plus some, and no answers. He knew one thing more than he had previously, though.

His child wasn’t even born yet and he or she was already a world traveler. He wasn’t sure he liked that idea.

* * *

The father of your child. The father of your child? What the hell? Oh, God, what the hell?

Carrying a large black purse filled with the remainders of her snacks and a bottle of water, her tablet and her smaller purse crammed in there, too, Amelia made it down the narrow aisle of the aircraft and out to a crowded gate.

The father of your child. She made a quick bathroom stop. Washed her hands. Refused to look in the mirror. To risk seeing the panicked eyes gazing back at her.

Before hoisting her bag back up on her shoulder, she pulled out her phone and tried her sister again. Just in case Angeline was wearing her smart watch, saw the multiple notifications and chose to excuse herself from the meeting long enough to calm Amelia’s heart rate.

They were in this together. After their own childhood—having a mother who loved them, but who had to answer to her husband first—they had both chosen to have their own families without marriage or partners. Amelia first, and then Angeline was going to have herself inseminated, too, down the road a bit. They’d agreed to be guardians to each other’s child in the event anything happened to either one of them. They’d signed paperwork at the clinic, providing that they were both privy to any and all information. They even had each other’s medical power of attorney.

Her younger sister didn’t pick up.

Bag back on her shoulder, Amelia told herself she wasn’t feeling nauseous, that this was not going to be the moment when she learned how morning sickness felt, and headed toward baggage claim.

Each step she took played a word in a recurring beat.

The father of your child. The father of your child. The father of your child.

He was wrong. This Craig Harmon guy who was posing as a doctor. Or even if he was a doctor, this information was still wrong.

Her child didn’t have a father.

Her baby had come from a sperm donor, fulfilling a biological component.

Not a father.

Not. A. Father.

* * *

“You signed the paper, Mel.” Angie’s soft red curls drifted around her perfectly oval face as she faced Amelia. Her younger sister had arrived at their new corporate office space in Marie Cove at the same time as Amelia, who’d come straight from the airport. In a short denim skirt with lacy embellishments, a short-sleeved white cotton top and denim wedges, Angie looked ready to conquer the world, where Amelia, still in her travel-wrinkled jeggings and shirt, felt ready for a shower and bed.

After she took care of the business waiting on her desk.