Billionaire Bachelors: Ryan. Anne Marie Winston

      After lunch Jessie was answering a customer’s questions about a line of glazed pottery she carried when the telephone rang. Excusing herself, she moved to the phone. “The Reilly Gallery. May I help you?”

      “Jess.”

      A small shock of surprise ran through her. “Ryan?” Normally she didn’t see or hear from him from one month to the next unless they crossed paths at some social function. “Did I forget something?”

      “No.” There was an odd quality to his voice, as if he were unsure of something. “I wondered if…I’m calling to ask you to have dinner with me.”

      Dinner. With Ryan. “Why?”

      He chuckled, and abruptly he sounded like the adult she’d come to know, self-confident and calm. “I had some other thoughts about your, um, selection process that I wanted to discuss with you.”

      “Oh.” Well, that was good, wasn’t it? After what he’d said at lunch, she’d been in a blue funk thinking about the risks. “When and where?”

      “How’s tomorrow night? I’ll pick you up. Seven all right?”

      “Tomorrow evening works for me. And seven is fine.” What she really wanted to say was that tomorrow night was soon. But she didn’t have any reason to delay, and she didn’t even know why she instinctively wanted to do so.

      When she hung up the phone, her assistant had taken over with the customer she’d been helping, so she headed into her small office. On her desk was a loan application she’d picked up from her bank on the way back to the gallery after lunch. Ryan’s question, “What are you going to do about it?” had occupied her thoughts during the walk, and she’d realized she had little choice. If she wanted to compete, she was going to have to expand. And to expand, she’d either have to get a loan, or use the money she’d set aside for the artificial insemination. And using that fund wasn’t something she was prepared to do.

      Thoughtfully she stared at the application. Although she regularly paid on the loan she’d taken out when she started her store, she had a line of credit that was running a little higher than it should right now. It was a temporary thing, based largely on the inventory she’d recently ordered in anticipation of the spring and summer tourist season. But she suspected she’d have to pay it down before she could get a loan. And then there were the sales figures…it would take a few days to pull all that together.

      Another loan. Or, if she rolled her current one into it, a larger loan. The mere thought made her nervous. She’d worked hard to get to where she was now. She could pay her bills, live comfortably and save for a leisurely retirement someday. To her, loans meant that someone else would own what she’d worked so hard to build, and with that came the implied threat of loss. Her business was her independence; she couldn’t lose it. Still, she shouldn’t have any trouble meeting her financial obligations even if they increased. It would simply mean cutting her personal spending and watching her pennies at the gallery. But she wasn’t at all sure she was going to look like a good bet to Mr. Brockhiser, the lender at Boston Savings with whom she would be dealing.

      The rest of the afternoon was insane, and it wasn’t until Jessie closed the door to her apartment that evening that she thought about Ryan again. Thoughtfully she put away her coat, boots, scarf and gloves. Her home was only four blocks from her shop, and like many Bostonians, she preferred to hoof it as much as possible rather than fight the notoriously clogged roadways.

      She was afraid Ryan might be right about the sperm donations. How did she know that what she saw on those profiles was accurate? The screening process had sounded so complete when she first read through it. But the bottom line was that this was, at best, a game of chance.

      When she’d first gone to discuss the procedure at the fertility center, they’d asked her if she had a donor lined up or if she planned to select one from a cryobank’s stock. She’d never even considered asking any of her friends to donate sperm, for heaven’s sake! She’d thought it would be far too embarrassing. Not to mention the fact that something within her warned her against using a friend for such a purpose. What if the guy wanted rights to her child at some later date? Probably an irrational fear, but… And what about the fact that most of the decent men she knew were already married, some with children of their own? She couldn’t, and shouldn’t, generalize, but she knew it would bother her if an acquaintance asked the man she loved to donate sperm for another woman’s child. Oh, she’d read about people who’d done it, but it just wasn’t an approach she felt comfortable using.

      So that left bachelors. Jessie shuddered. Most of the single men she knew were single for a reason. She’d dated a number of them and hadn’t been impressed by one yet. How could she possibly ask a guy she didn’t even like? Okay, so that meant she could really narrow down the list, she thought as she pulled a bag of premixed tossed salad from her refrigerator and poured some into a bowl. There was a chicken breast left over from the ones she’d baked last night for herself and her assistant manager, Penny, and as she carried the food and a glass of Napa Valley Zinfandel to the small table in her kitchen alcove, she grabbed a pen and paper to start a list.

      Let’s see. She swirled the wine and inhaled, appreciating the fruity odors before she took a first, experimental drink. There was Edmund Lloyd. He wasn’t so bad, except for that little stutter he sometimes couldn’t get past. Was that a hereditary trait? She put a little question mark by Edmund’s name. She’d have to see what she could find out about stuttering on the Internet.

      She thought some more. What about Charles Bakler? He was a dear. But…not the brightest crayon in the box. And she wanted her baby to be intelligent. She put a frowning face beside Charles’s name.

      Okay. Surely she could come up with more desirable single men that that! What about Ryan? No. She dismissed the idea almost as quickly as it popped into her head. She could never ask Ryan. Not an option. But still…to be fair, she should list him. So she did. She didn’t write anything at all beside his name.

      Geoff Vertler. A possibility, except he was a pretty hearty partier, and she wouldn’t want to inadvertently give her baby a predisposition to alcoholism.

      Laying down the pencil, Jessie exhaled a frustrated sigh. This was stupid! She didn’t even know as much about these men as she did about the candidates she’d chosen from the sperm bank. If what they’d written was true.

      You know almost everything about Ryan, said that sneaky little voice in her head. Oh, Lord. She took a big slug of her wine. He really would be the logical choice. The one man she’d known nearly her entire life. He was smart, he was kind, he didn’t have any horrible health secrets hidden in his family history. He was well coordinated, she knew, since he’d played soccer in high school and college, and he could even sing. Physically, he was…perfect. If she had a son who looked exactly like Ryan, she’d be thrilled.

      But how could she ask him? Shaking her head, she pushed away from the table and rose. No way. She just couldn’t.

      But as she rinsed her dishes and put them in the dishwasher, a thought struck her. She was having dinner with him tomorrow night. And he’d said he had some other ideas to share with her. What if he was planning to offer to be the donor for her baby? She put a hand to her mouth—that had to be it! Why else would he want to have dinner? They normally had their monthly luncheon and went their separate ways.

      Jessie danced down the hallway to her bedroom. It was perfect! She’d never have been able to approach him about it, but if he offered…just perfect. And she didn’t have to worry about offending his wife since he didn’t have one.

      The thought doused her good humor, and she slowly tugged off her clothes and donned the oversize T-shirt in which she slept. It was purely an accident that Ryan didn’t have a wife anymore. An awful, unexpected accident.

      Climbing into bed, she set her alarm and snapped off the bedside lamp. But sleep eluded her.

      She’d been at the University of Alabama getting her degree when Ryan had met Wendy, and she hadn’t come home for the wedding. And by the time she’d come back to Boston, they