Page 6 of Stand Your Ground

I didn’t know if it was butterflies or cockroaches causing the fluttering sensation, didn’t know if I was more excited or nervous or regretful.

It was an absolutely ludicrous arrangement to agree to — being Carter Fabri’steacherin exchange for two-million dollars.

But it was also absolutely genius.

Part of me longed to call my best friend, Maven, and tell her the predicament I’d found myself in. We’d known each other since we attended college together — her in undergrad, me in dental school — and we’d been thick as thieves since. I knew she’d laugh with me, knew she’d make jokes and have the tension coiled in my gut relaxing within sixty seconds on the phone with her.

But the bigger part of me was thankful Carter and I had agreed not to share this arrangement with anyone, friend or otherwise.

Because it was fairly easy to explain my willingness to participate to Carter, but my best friend would have called me on the bullshit immediately.

Sure, it made sense to the puppy dog rookie that I would say yes to teaching him to be a proficient lover in exchange for a nice payday. There weren’t very many sane people in the world who would say no to an offer for that amount of cash. And I did mean what I’d said to him when he was halfway numb in my chair earlier this week.

Ididdeserve to be spoiled.

I worked my ass off. I had since the day my family cut me off and made me figure out how to do dental school — and life — on my own. Nothing had held me back, not the realization that reputation meant more to my family than my well-being, nor the mountain of trials I’d had to survive in order to gain my degree. I didn’t just open a basic practice in the suburbs somewhere,either. I found the perfect partner to go into business with, one who had the same big dreams I did. We wouldn’t just be dentists; we’d be artists. We’d serve the highest clientele with the most complicated requests. We’d fix the shattered teeth of hockey players and also sculpt diamond-studded grills for rap stars.

And we’d succeeded.

Full-mouth reconstructions, anti-aging bite lifts, luxury sedation suites — our office wasn’t just a dental practice, it was a status symbol.

Years and years of hard work meant I had a lot to show for my efforts.

But it also meant I wastired.

Not just the kind of tired a vacation fixes. Bone-tired. Soul-tired.

Alone-tired.

I was over being everything for everyone and having no one to catch me when I collapsed.

Yes, like any hard-working woman, I wanted private airfare and bungalows over crystal-clear water. I wanted Michelin-starred dinners and luxurious massages on the beach. I wanted shopping sprees in Positano and yacht charters in the Seychelles.

But more than any of that, I wanted something I wasn’t ready to admit to my best friend or anyone else.

A child.

My throat went dry even as the thought passed through me, chills breaking over my arms as I took another sip of wine to conjure my power back. This wasn’t the time to get in my head, but I couldn’t help but ruminate on therealreason I’d said yes to Carter’s proposal.

To everyone around me, I was a powerhouse — Doctor by title and co-owner oftheboutique dental practice in Tampa. Ilived a life of luxury, from my clothes and shoes to my car and condo.

But in reality, even making the high salary that I did, I wasn’t the kind of rich who never had to worry about anything. Between the cost of living the lifestyle I’d chosen and paying off my half-a-million dollars in student loans, what I had left to put away for savings was good, but not goodenough— not for where I wished to be in the next five years, anyway.

Two-million dollars would be the equivalent of more than two decades of thebestsavings scenario for me, and I was about to make it in the snap of my fingers.

With Carter’s offer and the means it provided, I could finally do what I’d been sitting on for years.

I was going to freeze my eggs.

I was going to start a family on my own time, without a man, whenever I felt ready.

Single mom — by choice.

I knew it wouldn’t make sense to anyone, not even those closest to me, which was exactly why I’d never chosen to share it. Because I needed control — over my life, my timeline, my body. And admitting I wanted a child, especially as a single woman, cracked open too many doors. There would be questions I didn’t know I could answer, risk of someone as logical as my best friend trying to talk me out of it and possibly succeeding, and an ocean of vulnerability I wasn’t ready to swim in.

When I was ready — truly ready — I’d tell Maven and the rest of the girls.

But for now, this was just for me to know.