The Baby Bargain. Wendy Warren

Mr. Logan.”

      “LJ.”

      “But I know about prospective parents. I won’t restate all my objections to your approach, except to say again, since you’re here, that I don’t think we can establish credibility by looking as if we don’t understand or are afraid to acknowledge reality. By that, I mean the reality of our troubles at the Connection and the reality of being a parent. Especially a single parent.”

      “I see.” He mulled her words over. When he spoke again, she had to admit he didn’t sound defensive at all. “Putting aside the problems at the Children’s Connection for a moment,” he said, “let’s talk about the second part of your objection. You think my commercial showed disregard for the rigors of parenting by making life seem good, enjoyable. Do you enjoy your life, Eden?”

      “Of course I do. That’s not the point.”

      “How long have you been a single parent?”

      “As long as I’ve been a mother, Mr. Logan.”

      “LJ.”

      “And, I work with mothers-to-be every day. When I say they don’t want to be fed a lot of hearts-and-flowers malarkey, I know what I’m talking about.” Because that sounded harsh, she added, “If you don’t mind my saying so.”

      “Not a bit.” A beat passed. “Did you become a single parent intentionally or did Liam’s father leave?”

      Eden simply stared at her visitor. She might live in the Northwest now, but she’d been born in the South, where that question would surely be considered too personal. “I’m terribly sorry, but that information is not your business, Mr. Logan—”

      “LJ—”

      “Mr. Logan. Because after all, I barely know you.”

      “Hmm. That’s true.” He let a frown crease his handsome face. “On the other hand, you thought you knew me well enough this afternoon to discredit my work.” He tilted his head, thinking, then decided aloud, “Yep. I earned the right to at least one personal question.”

      He managed to engender a perfectly nasty coil of guilt that zinged through her middle.

      She gave him the slit-eyed look that worked great on Liberty’s cat when it looked as if it was going to jump onto the dining table, a place it had no business going. “I don’t like the way you worked that out. This afternoon was not personal. At all. I know the needs of our clients, because I understand their concerns. I was speaking from that vantage point.”

      Uncrossing his considerably long legs, LJ Logan planted his expensively shod feet squarely on her porch and rested his elbows on his knees. “Want to know what my vantage point is? Are you interested in my motivation?”

      His voice remained low and almost melodious, but challenge lit his blue eyes. He was intelligent, energetic. Opinionated. But perhaps not as arrogant as she’d believed earlier. Perhaps. As they locked gazes, she was fairly certain she saw a request in his eyes, rather than a demand.

      “Yes, I’m interested in your motivation.”

      A flicker of surprise yielded to a smile. “I don’t believe in resting on my laurels, Eden. I study the most current research in my field, and it tells me consumers—people— give their trust and their money to the businesses they believe will make them feel good. Doesn’t matter what kind of business we’re talking about. Everyone wants someone to make his or her choices, his or her life easier. Yes, the woman in the commercial looked happy, healthy—”

      “With a great hairdresser.”

      “She looked good, because advertising works when it makes the consumer believe you have what they want.”

      “Studies tell you this?”

      “Yes.”

      “Well, I don’t know about your studies. I’m a doula. I coach women through labor and I run the new single moms’ group at the Children’s Connection. The women I work with are worried about fluctuating hormones and how to find trustworthy, affordable child care on a single person’s income. They’re mighty concerned about having to go back to work on four hours of sleep a night. Their challenges will not be appeased by a thirty-second sound bite, and I would hate to have them assume we don’t understand their struggles. Or that we think their journeys will be smooth sailing once they choose our clinic. That’s a lie.”

      The edge of LJ’s smile twitched with the effort to maintain it. “I’m not suggesting we lie to anyone. But we’re not going to draw new clients to the Children’s Connection by enumerating all the gory details of parenthood.”

      The gory details?

      Why hadn’t the Logans hired someone who understood the desire for children? Someone who valued family? LJ’s blood connection to the other Logans was not reason enough to put all their fates—those of their past, current and future clients, too—into his hands.

      “I was drawn by the center’s forthrightness,” she told him. “Even forthrightness about the mistakes that have been made.”

      “Kidnappings? Mix-ups in the sperm bank? Rumors of a black-market baby ring?” Emphatically, he shook his head. “The public doesn’t need to be reminded about those matters. They’re thinking about them already. That’s why I’m here—to make them think about something else.”

      “The Children’s Connection took responsibility wherever they were culpable. The way to calm doubts is to address allegations, not gloss over them.”

      They both sat on the edge of their seats now leaning over their legs. Eden enjoyed the opportunity to say exactly what she thought to this supremely confident businessman. He didn’t seem to mind mixing it up with her, either.

      “Fine. I understand your point of view, Eden, but—and I don’t mean this in a condescending way—you’re an employee who uses the day care center. The need for additional comfort and positive imaging will be far greater for single women who come to the center to find…” He frowned, losing momentum as he searched for a word. “When they need, uhh…”

      Eden frowned, not knowing at first what LJ was trying to say. “Single women who need…?” She shook her head.

      And then she understood.

      “Oh, my God. Sperm?” She started to smile. “Are you trying to say ‘sperm’? ‘A single woman who comes to the center to find a sperm donor’? It’s okay. I know that word.”

      “Obviously.” Handsomely flushing because he hadn’t said it, LJ straightened then leaned back in the chair. “You won’t tell me how long you’ve been single, you refuse to use my first name, but you can say ‘sperm’ three times in two sentences?”

      Eden tilted her head, pondering the thought. “It is ironic, isn’t it?” She picked up her glass and swirled the iced tea. “Then again, I do work in a clinic that offers alternative insemination. A man’s contributions to the process isn’t something we romanticize.”

      “That information should render every man in Portland impotent,” he grumbled, crossing his legs. The action looked so self-protective Eden nearly spewed her sip of iced tea.

      LJ watched her. The smile she’d withheld from him before emerged freely now as she laughed. Her impossibly thick hair brushed her shoulders. Everything about her was generous—eyes, nose, lips and shoulders as gorgeously round and curving as her bosom.

      He certainly didn’t consider himself old fashioned, but he couldn’t comfortably discuss sperm with a woman whose presence reminded him of sex every time he looked at her. So sue him.

      Why was he here, anyway? He wasn’t convincing her of a thing.

      Mystified, he shook his head. It wasn’t like him to chase after approval. And, really, he didn’t need hers. It would make his job easier, yes, but he didn’t need it. He should leave.

      “What