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“And you decide to tell me thisnow?” I seethed. “After spending months in your database, and when I finally chose someone to—”

“Again, another oversight,” the director jumped in. “This donor’s record should’ve been taken out of our database months ago, when the event happened.”

Event.Holy shit.

“He wasn’t, and of course that’s entirely our fault.”

“Youthink?” I snapped.

The man stared back at me somberly, then slowly removed his glasses and set them on the desk between us. For some reason it made him look even older, more vulnerable.

Maybe he knew it, too.

“Again, we’re very,terriblysorry.”

Six months!

That’s how long it had been since I started looking at profiles. Two-dozen weeks of pouring over what I knew full well would be the most important decision of my life.

Not to mention another three months before that of waffling back and forth,I reminded myself.Gathering and then losing the courage. Starting and stopping with two different agencies, then starting all over again.

It was only last week that I’d finally settled on the man who would — biologically, at least — father my child. He was the full package, the perfect specimen. A man who was tall, dark, and physically outstanding, with a good intellect, a sharp wit, and immaculate blood work.

This one nameless donor had seemingly everything: a squeaky clean genetic carrier test, with a high sperm count and impressive motility rate. And then of course there was his essay, which put him over the top. It fleshed out that final piece of a very anonymous puzzle; how incredibly sweet and thoughtful his personality was, to go along with that gorgeous, blue-eyed face.

“If you have a second pick for a donor…” the director was saying nonchalantly.

No.

“We’d be happy to expedite the process in any way we can. Put you right at the top the calendar for—”

NO!

I snarled, shaking my head. This donor was supposed to be the cherry on my sundae. The one decision that had taken me more than year to make, in a world where I normally made decisions so fast and on the fly I’d become somewhat of a legend for it.

“Of course you should take as much time as you need,” the director continued carefully. “Think about what you—”

“No. I’m done.”

I grunted the words harshly, like they tasted foul in my mouth. They still echoed hollowly in my mind as I shoved back from the desk and tore out of the office.

Two

JULIANA

The elevator doors opened smoothly, dumping me into the sixteenth-floor, glass-enclosed lobby of Shameless Marketing. People scurried left and right, disappearing in and out of more glass doorways. They carried laptops, folders, even entire presentations tucked under their arms.

And all of them were there because ofme.

Normally I’d get a kick out of this little fact, accepting it as a well-deserved shot in the arm. I might even pause to revel in the sheer size of the marketing firm I’d built entirely from scratch, or stop for just a moment or two to smell the proverbial roses, and enjoy the fruits of my hard labor.

Not today, though.

Aric glanced at me curiously as I passed into my office, one well-manicured brow arching high on his handsome forehead. My expression told him not to follow. Not even with the second cup of coffee that rested on his desk, and it already being an hour later then when I usually took it.

Fuck.

I sank into my chair, being careful to keep my shoulders high and my head from falling into my hands. That was the problem with a glass-walled office. As the boss you got to see what everyone else was doing, at all times. But the other edge of that sword was equally as sharp: they also got to see you.