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The Baby
Bargain
Wendy Warren
MILLS & BOON
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Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Coming Next Month
Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to Wendy Warren for her contribution to the LOGAN’S LEGACY REVISITED miniseries.
For Tim Blough,
Libbi’s first hero. And my last.
Thank you for filling our lives with laughter,
integrity and love. Every heroine should be so lucky.
Chapter One
It was going well.
Lawrence Logan, Jr., LJ to his family and friends, stood in the pastel-toned meeting room of the Children’s Connection and managed, despite the overly cozy decor, to deliver a presentation guaranteed to knock the socks off the fertility and adoption clinic’s board members and staff. He was about to save the Portland, Oregon business from going down in flames after a series of tough breaks and terrible publicity.
It felt good to be a savior.
“The Children’s Connection has taken hits on local news and in print. That can’t be denied,” he told his listeners in a smooth, authoritative voice that was neither judgmental nor commiserating.
“Fortunately for us, there are more viewers watching American Idol than the local news at six. Via high-visibility commercial spots, a redesigned Web site and strategic interviews, we will redirect general awareness and reprogram public opinion. It can be done, ladies and gentlemen. Logan Public Relations is going to show you how.” Like a proud coach, he smiled at everyone around the table. “Let me give you a taste of what we have in mind.”
Taking two steps to a TV monitor, he prepared to start the video presentation he’d brought with him.
Behind him, chairs creaked as people angled for a better view. LJ’s adrenaline surged.
As a New York public relations consultant who was good at his job—in the interest of full disclosure make that great at his job—LJ was used to winning his clients’ trust and, eventually, their gratitude. He enjoyed the expressions of satisfaction and relief that relaxed their strained features when he presented a watertight plan to give their floundering businesses the spit-polished patina of success.
A new job was always a rush, but this one was different. This job promised less work but higher stakes. Winning this client’s trust was critical to a bigger game plan. If—no, when— LJ successfully bolstered the Children’s Connection’s flagging public image, he would be saving more than a business: he’d be saving a family…his own.
Not a bad day’s work for a thirty-seven-year-old man who considered himself something of a black sheep.
Adjusting a silk tie that was bloody uncomfortable, but worth the bother because of the taste and affluence it projected, he glanced at the people watching the ten-minute-long DVD.
His uncle’s family on his father’s side had founded and now ran the Children’s Connection. They’d been visibly stressed since he’d arrived in town. Past rumors of a black-market baby ring, insemination using the wrong donor sperm, kidnappings, and most recently the resignation of Robbie Logan, director of the day care center, had hammered the business like an Oregon storm.
Now the board of directors, including his uncle Terrence and aunt Leslie, plus assorted employees, including his cousin Jillian, watched the video. It offered mock-ups of two separate one-minute commercial campaigns, shot specifically for the Children’s Connection, and LJ saw his aunt and uncle glance at each other in pleased surprise. Satisfaction stirred in his chest.
As the first commercial ended, the door to the meeting room clicked open…though not on the first try.
LJ couldn’t help but watch as a medium-height, lavishly curved blonde juggled a plate and the largest water bottle he’d ever seen. As the only occupant of the room facing the blonde’s direction, he was also the only person present to witness her difficulty in getting a good grip on the door handle. He took a step away from the TV monitor, intending to walk to the rear of the room and hold the door for her, but she solved her own problem by sticking the water bottle between her knees, holding the plate in one hand, widely opening the door with the other, then snatching the water bottle from between her knees and racing in.
Several people heard her that time and turned to acknowledge her entrance. She smiled and offered a brief wave of the water bottle.
Stationing herself near the door, a solitary figure behind the board members and coworkers who’d arrived on time and were seated in a U configuration around the conference tables, she proved taller than LJ had first thought and stronger looking, too. He’d dimmed the lights for the video viewing, but could see clearly that the arms she bared in a sleeveless robin’s-egg-blue sweater bore no resemblance to the willowy, verging-on-emaciated model’s limbs he’d grown used to after years in New York. The woman at the door looked like a farm girl, healthy and rosy, teeming with life.
She
