“They probably toss the crazy sperm,” Jessica said.
“But how do you know what you’re getting?” Erika mused.
“You don’t,” Paula said. “Unless you do a genetic study or at least get a look at all the guy’s siblings and parents … and aunts and uncles and cousins and grandparents.”
Erika thought of the Elliotts. Now that was an awesome gene pool. “It would be great if I could choose.”
“Yeah,” Jessica said as she sipped her drink. “We could start with that blond guy by the bar with the buff bod.”
“And what if he’s dumb as a bag of hair?” Paula asked.
“We can put intelligence on the list, but that guy looks good enough that he could make millions by being a model and then retire in leisure.”
“What list?” Erika asked, feeling a little blurry from the alcohol.
“We’re making a list of sperm-donor requirements. Play along,” Jessica said firmly. She pulled a pen from her purse and shook the dampness out of a cocktail napkin. “We’re doing this for the sake of your future child.”
“I would want intelligence,” Erika said, allowing herself to be drawn into the ridiculous discussion. “Good looks aren’t enough.”
“I agree,” Paula said. “And no terrible diseases or addictions.”
“Excellent points,” Erika said.
“You’ve already got the height factor covered,” Jessica said.
“No shrimps,” Paula interjected. “He doesn’t need to be the height of a pro basketball player, but definitely over six feet, right?”
“Right,” Erika agreed. “And a sense of humor. Is that genetic?”
“Lack of it can be,” Paula said and waved for the waiter. “Three death-by-chocolate martinis.”
“Chocolate?” Erika echoed. “I’m on my third.”
“No meal is complete without chocolate,” Paula said.
“I didn’t think martinis constituted a meal,” Erika said.
“Sure they do,” she said, pointing to her glass. “Celery’s a vegetable, isn’t it? Cream cheese inside the olive counts as protein, and appletini provides the fruit.”
“Back to the list,” Jessica prompted. “Do you have a strong preference for hair or eye color?”
“No back hair,” Paula said.
“I’ll second that,” Erika said, amazed at how much this ridiculous conversation was reducing her stress level. “I prefer dark hair.”
“Eye color?”
“Green, if possible.” Why not go for the whole shebang, she thought.
“Okay,” Jessica said and nodded at the waiter as he delivered their chocolate martinis. “We have our assignment now. Each of us is to keep our eyes open for a father for Erika’s baby. A tall, intelligent man with dark hair and green eyes. Healthy, no addictions. He must have a sense of humor.”
“And what are we supposed to do once we find this specimen?” Paula asked.
“That’s easy,” Jessica said with a scoff. “Ask him to donate some sperm to Erika.”
Erika choked on her sip of chocolate martini. “He’ll think you’re crazy.”
Jessica shook her head. “That’s why he needs a sense of humor.”
The following morning Erika awakened late, feeling as if a truck had run over her. Thank goodness she didn’t have any appointments this morning. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a hangover. Oh, wait, yes she could. It was last year when Gannon had broken up with her. The bad thing about having a mad, passionate affair with her boss was that she hadn’t been able to tell a soul, not even Paula or Jessica.
Keeping the secret had intensified everything about her relationship with Gannon. The highs, the lows, the ending. She kept telling herself that if she’d been able to talk with her friends about him, he wouldn’t have affected her so much. Unfortunately part of her remained unconvinced.
Her phone rang, the sound of it reverberating painfully in her brain. She snatched it from the cradle. “Hello.”
“Erika, this is Cammie. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she reassured her. “Since I didn’t have any appointments scheduled this morning, I decided to come in a little later.”
“That’s fine,” Cammie said. “Except Gannon Elliott has called twice asking for you.”
Darn. “Just tell him I’ll get back to him this afternoon.”
“I think he wanted you to sit in on a luncheon meeting.”
“For what?” Erika asked, immediately feeling suspicious.
“He didn’t tell me.”
Erika sighed. “I’ll call him in a few minutes.” Frowning, she turned on her coffeemaker while she jumped in the shower. Skipping the blow-dry, she smoothed on some hair-wax stuff her stylist had given her and pulled her hair into a low ponytail. She applied some makeup, pulled on a don’t-mess-with-me black trouser suit and a pair of boots, grabbed her coffee and coat and walked out her door, glowering as she hailed a cab.
As she scooted into the taxi, she called his office number by rote. One more thing to irritate her. She needed to forget him. “Erika Layven, returning Gannon Elliott’s call,” she said to his assistant.
“I’ll put you right through.”
“Hello, Erika. I wondered where you were,” Gannon said in a deep voice that slid through her like warm whiskey.
“I understand you wanted me to attend a luncheon appointment. My afternoon is crammed. What did you have in mind?”
“We’re having a luncheon meeting at Pulse. The subject for the article I gave you is on the agenda. Love to have you there. I think your input would be invaluable.”
Erika thought again of the article outline he’d left for her. The subject fascinated her. She’d peeked at it at least a half dozen times after he’d left her office. Temptation slid through her like an evil serpent. “I don’t know. Like I said, I’m very busy this afternoon.”
“You could scoot out after the discussion about the article,” he suggested.
He made it too easy. “Okay. As long as you understand that I’m staying at HomeStyle.”
“Great. I’ll see you at noon,” he told her.
Erika walked into the Pulse meeting room a few minutes early. Furnished with a large wooden table set with seven lunch boxes from a local deli-bakery, the room emitted a let’s-get-busy feeling.
“Very nice choice, Lena,” Erika said to Gannon’s assistant.
Lena, a young married woman who was the mother of twins, beamed. “When Gannon told me you were coming, I made sure there was decent food. Inside the box there’s a chicken-salad sandwich, spicy vegetable soup, a fruit cup and a slice of lemon pound cake.”
“You’re a woman after my own heart. Wouldn’t you rather work for me?” Erika joked. “I’m so much easier to please than he is. And I don’t bark.”
“Who says I bark?” Gannon asked from behind Erika.
She cringed at being caught talking about him at the same time she felt a shot of adrenaline at the sound of his voice. His voice had always affected her that way, sent her