all over it. In every language.
He tried a different angle. “How will your … ‘significant other’ feel about this?”
“That won’t be an issue. I see Willy Jenkins occasionally, but he isn’t what I would call significant. We’re more like … friends with benefits, if you know what I mean.”
He did, and for some ridiculous reason he wanted to string this Jenkins guy up by his toes. To him she would always be Rebecca’s baby sister. Little Katy.
But Katy was a grown woman. Twenty-seven or -eight, if memory served. It was none of his business who she was friends with.
Or why.
“The process could take a year,” he told her. “Longer if it takes more than one try. What if you meet someone?”
“Who the heck am I going to meet? Peckins has a population of eight hundred. Most of the men in town I’ve known since kindergarten. If I was going to fall madly in love with one of them, I’d have done it by now.”
He tried a different angle. “Have you thought of the physical toll it could take on your body?”
“Look who you’re talking to,” she said, gesturing to her casual clothing, the ash-blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. “I’m not like Rebecca. I don’t obsess about my weight, or worry about things like stretch marks. And you won’t find anyone more responsible. I don’t smoke or take drugs, not even over-the-counter pain relievers. I have an occasional beer, but beyond that I don’t drink, so giving it up isn’t a problem. Not to mention that I’m healthy as horse. And my doctor never fails to point out at my annual physical that I have a body built for childbearing.”
She certainly did. She had the figure of a fifties pinup model. A time when women looked like women, not pre-pubescent boys. In his opinion Rebecca had always been too obsessed with her weight and her looks, as though she thought he would love her less if she didn’t look perfect 100 percent of the time. Even during chemo she never failed to drag herself out of bed to put on makeup. And when she could no longer get out of bed, she had the nurse do it for her.
The familiar stab of pain he felt when he thought of her that way pierced the shell around his heart from the inside out.
Katy surprised him by reaching across the table and taking his hand. What surprised him even more was the tingling sensation that started in his fingers and worked its way up his arm. Her hands were a little rough from working on the ranch, but her skin was warm. Her nails were bare, but clean and neatly trimmed. Everything about her was very … natural.
Which was more than he could say for this situation, and the odd, longing sensation deep in his gut.
“Adam, you know as well as I do that despite all the background checks you can do, there’s no one you could trust as much as me.”
He hated to admit it—she was right. Despite their very complicated past and feelings of resentment over Becca, Katy would never do anything to put her sister’s child in harm’s way. But she could use the opportunity to try to manipulate him, and he never put himself in a position to lose the upper hand. Not professionally, and especially not personally.
Not anymore.
But this was the welfare of his child they were discussing. Wasn’t it his obligation as a father to put his child first, to make its health and well-being his number-one priority?
Katy squeezed his hand so tight he started to lose sensation in his fingers, and they were beginning to get curious glances from his employees.
He gently extracted his hand from hers. “Look, Katy—”
“Please, Adam. Please let me do this.” She paused, her eyes pleading, then said, “You know it’s what Becca would have wanted.”
Ouch. That was a low blow, and she knew how to hit where it really stung. The worst part was that she was right. Didn’t he owe it to Becca to let Katy do this for them? For the baby? Wasn’t he partially to blame for Becca losing touch with her family in the first place?
“Though it’s against my better judgment, and I would like to run it past my attorney before I give you a definitive answer … I’m inclined to say yes.”
Her expression was a combination of relief and gratitude. “Thank you, Adam. I promise, you won’t regret this.”
Impossible, since he regretted it already.
Katy left soon after, and Adam headed back up to his office, feeling conflicted.
On one hand he could see the benefits of choosing Katy as a surrogate. In theory, it was an ideal arrangement. But he knew from experience that things did not always go as planned, and what may seem “ideal” one day could swiftly be come a disaster the next.
Before he made any decisions, he would speak with his attorney.
His assistant, Bren, stopped him as he walked past her desk to his office. “Senator Lyons called while you were gone. He said he’ll be out of the office the rest of the day but he’ll call you back tomorrow.”
“Did he say what he wanted?”
“My guess would be a campaign contribution. Isn’t he up for reelection?”
“You’re probably right.”
“Also, Mr. Suarez needs to see you when you have a minute.”
“Call down to his office and tell him now would be good,” he told her. It was doubtful he would be able to concentrate on work anyway. Too much on his mind.
He stepped into his office, stopped at the wet bar to pour himself a scotch, then sat behind his desk and booted his computer.
“Hey, boss.”
He looked up to find Emilio Suarez, Western Oil CFO, standing in his open doorway.
Western Oil was in dire financial straits when Adam inherited it from his father, and Emilio’s financial genius had brought it back from the brink of ruin. Though he was from a Puerto Rican family of modest means, through grants and scholarships Emilio had graduated college at the top of his class, which was what had caught Adam’s attention when he was looking for a management team. Emilio had become an irreplaceable employee—not to mention a good friend—and worth every penny of his ridiculously exorbitant salary.
Adam gestured him inside. “You wanted to talk to me?”
He came in, shutting the door behind him, and stopped to pour himself a drink. “I got an interesting call from my brother today.”
“The federal prosecutor, the one in Europe or the other brother?”
The “other” brother was the family black sheep. A drifter who only called when he needed something. Money usually. For bail, or to pay off loan sharks.
“The prosecutor,” he said, taking a seat opposite Adam’s desk. “And if anyone asks, you did not hear this from me.”
“Of course.”
“You know Leonard Betts?”
“By
