Baby For The Bear

Sitting down in the kitchen to eat, she pondered the emotional upset that had dogged her all night—or, more aptly, stalked her like a bear—and driven her to make this breakfast. She was upset with herself, even a little angry at herself. She was upset that she’d let herself be so upset with Kenneth Brecker.

Well, damn it all, she thought, grabbing a piece of bacon and biting hard into it just to enjoy the crunch, she was upset and she had every reason to be. She had been completely blindsided by the discovery of just who it was that had advertised for a surrogate mother for his werebear cub. She was taken completely unprepared by the prospect of having to go into the office of that werebear, of all the shape-shifters in the world, to interview for the role of carrying his cub and bringing it into the world. And as professional as she’d wanted to be, tried to be, about it, the situation just completely got the better of her. She had sat in his office, across his desk, and actually told him off. She had not cussed him out, as she might have liked to have done if she had met him under any other circumstances, but she had certainly told him off.

Clearly her feelings about it had changed since she left Brecker’s office. Samantha now hadn’t a doubt in her mind that she had utterly blown that interview. And the rational part of her told her that it shouldn’t bother her. If anything she should be relieved. This insane twist of irony was behind her now. She should not only be relieved, she should be grateful. She should thank Fate for giving her the opportunity to face the man who had thrown her life into a tailspin and tell him what she thought of him. Yes, she should be relieved and she should be grateful.

And yet, with her chomping teeth making short work of that piece of bacon and her fingers reaching for the next one, Samantha was upset with herself. She was likely to remain upset well past breakfast. It’s gym day, she remembered. I may end up having to swim this whole thing off. She could see herself swimming more than her usual number of laps today.

The phone ringing where she had left it on the counter behind her gave her something else to think about. Getting back up and going across to the spot beside the sink where the phone lay, Samantha pondered to herself, This is probably Mom calling to ask how the job hunt is going or if I need anything—her subtle way of feeling me out about whether I might want to move back home. No, Mom, I don’t want to move back in with you and Dad. Yet.

She reached the counter and picked up the phone—and was glad, when she saw the ID on the screen, that she did not have that second piece of bacon in her mouth: for she would certainly have inhaled it and choked on it.

This can’t be happening! What does he want? Not a second interview! I can’t go back there and face him again! No, as drop-dead-screaming gorgeous as Kenneth Brecker was, Samantha could not face a second Q and A with him. Could she?

To stop the ringtone if nothing else, she touched the screen to answer. Pamela’s voice came through clearly. “Good morning, Ms. Vance?”

Samantha put the phone on speaker and talked at it. “Y-yes. This is…Samantha. Vance.” She thought she sounded like a robot.

“Ms. Vance, this is Pamela Harrison from Mr. Brecker’s office at Brecker American. How are you this morning?”

Why all the niceties? Samantha wondered. Get on with it. What do you want? More politely, Samantha replied flatly, “I’m…good.”

“That’s good,” said Pamela. “Ms. Vance, I’m calling to let you know Mr. Brecker would like to speak to you again. Can I transfer you to him now?”

Time seemed to freeze for Samantha. Why on Earth would his receptionist be asking to transfer her to him personally? If she were being turned down for the position, Pamela should just give her the news then and there. Or E-mail her, even, and not even bother with a call. But this? A phone call and a request to transfer her directly to Brecker? What could this be?

It had to be a second interview. Yes, that was it. But…no. He wouldn’t ask for a second interview himself; he’d do it through Pamela. Samantha grimaced. My God, what IS this? It CAN’T be…

“Ms. Vance?” Pamela’s voice returned. “Can I transfer you to Mr. Brecker now?”

Somehow Samantha managed to answer, “Yes.”

“Hold one moment for Mr. Brecker,” said Pamela.

The line went silent while Samantha’s heart did a jazz drum improvisation. Then came the voice—his voice.

“Ms. Vance? This is Ken Brecker.”

Samantha forced out the response, “Good…morning…Mr. Brecker.”

“How are you doing this morning?” Ken asked.

Again with the niceties! Damn the business world! “I’m fine,” she said, almost faintly. Then she cleared her throat and spoke up. “How can I help you?”

“Ms. Vance,” said Ken, “I’m calling because I’d like to offer you the position of the surrogate—if you’d still be interested.”

Time froze again. And this time space seemed to implode around her, like the way Samantha had once heard it did around a black hole. She was at the center of collapsing space, folding in to crush her.

“Ms. Vance?” said Ken.

“Uh…excuse me…?”

“I said I’d like to offer you the position. Would you still be interested?”

“Seriously? Really?”

“Yes, really. I know it’s sudden, but I thought a quick decision was in order, as not to leave people hanging. I hope you’d still be interested in being my surrogate. If you are, I’d like to have you come in again and start making arrangements to begin the in vitro procedures.”

And suddenly Samantha no longer recognized her own life.

She mouthed the words, What have I done? What am I going to do? She then found the feeble response, “You…you want me?”

“Yes, Ms. Vance. I think you’re the one. I hope you’re still interested. I’d like to get things under way.”

“Um…of course…yes, I’m sure you would…”

“Does that mean you’d like to come in and fill out the paperwork and make the appointment with the fertility specialists?”

Samantha’s heart was fluttering, and not in the way it ought to be fluttering when a fantastic-looking man was inviting her someplace. Then again, this was not the kind of invitation she’d ever dreamed of receiving from a fantastic-looking man. When she had that kind of fantasy, it was always about a man of Ken’s type inviting her out for dinner and drinks—and then inviting her to his bed.

“Um…today? I’m sorry, that’s what you said. Today…today…”

“I can free up the time right after lunch,” Ken prompted her.

“Yes…of course you can…” Samantha could hardly hear herself talking. Her voice in her own ears sounded as if she were far away.

“So, how about it?”

That was when the spike of panic drove itself through her. Breathing faster and feeling hot now, she blurted out, “Mr. Brecker, this is… I didn’t expect you to be making a decision so soon. I…I don’t think I’m exactly ready…yet. That is…oh my gosh…” She forced herself to slow down, to speak more calmly, else she was likely to gush out something that she didn’t mean. “I’m sorry, it’s just…really sudden… Do billionaires always make decisions so fast?”