The Elliotts: Mixing Business with Pleasure. Brenda Jackson

off the phone, she set it down and smiled, picturing her parents and the house in Indiana she’d left behind when she moved to attend college in the East.

      The town of her childhood had often felt sleepy to her, the pace hadn’t been fast enough. She’d wanted more excitement, more action, more challenge.

      She remembered the smell of the cholesterol-laden, but delicious home-cooked meals that had greeted her every time she returned home, and the scent of chocolate chip cookies every time she left again.

      She remembered making crafts with her mother on rainy days and the countless times her mother had sat with Erika while she’d done her homework. Her father had taught her to play basketball and encouraged her to relish her height instead of being afraid of it.

      She’d always known she had the best parents in the world. She’d also always known that she would need to leave in order to really fly.

      And she’d certainly learned to fly. At least professionally. In the back of her mind, she’d had a mental plan. Graduate from college, get on a career track that would take her to the top and along the way she would squeeze in finding a husband and having a baby.

      Before she’d even graduated from college, Erika had wanted a child, but she’d told herself not to get caught in the trap of getting married and having a baby before establishing her career. It was all about discipline, she’d said, but many times she felt a strong longing on rainy days to make crafts with a child of her own, to nurture and love a human being and experience the wonder of helping a little someone become the very best person they could be.

      Her work was exciting and rewarding, but part of her remained untouched. Part of her longed for something that work couldn’t fulfill.

      Sighing, she opened her eyes and pulled a sheet of paper from the wooden file she kept for mail. She glanced at the medical report again and sighed. Endometriosis. That was why she’d had such terrible cramps. That was why her fertility was headed into the toilet. That was why she would consider having a baby without a husband.

      Two

      At precisely five thirty-one in the afternoon, Erika heard a knock at her office door. Her stomach dipped, but she ignored the sensation. Today she hadn’t kicked off her shoes below her desk. Nope, today she wore high-heel boots that brashly flaunted her five-foot-nine-inch height and a black suit with a crisp white blouse. Today she was prepared.

      She strode to her door and opened it, spotting Gannon lifting his hand for another knock. He was still too damn tall. She would need stilts to meet him eye to eye. Dressed in a black wool suit with a faint blue stripe, he would leave quivering females in his wake wherever he went—the elevator, his office, the street. Erika imagined women all over the office melting into the carpet.

      His green gaze flicked over her, then he looked into her eyes for an assessing second. When he’d taken the time, he’d always been able to read her. Better not to let him see too much, she thought.

      “Come in,” she said and returned to stand behind her desk. She liked having a large wooden object between her and Gannon. At that moment she wished her desk was a little bigger, perhaps boat-sized. “How are you?”

      “Fine, and you?” he asked, moving the folder he held into his other hand.

      “Good, thank you.” Pleasantries over. “I’ve thought about your offer. I loved working at Pulse. It was the most challenging and creative job I’ve ever had. I loved the fast pace. I loved working with such sharp minds.” She paused and took a quick breath and reminded herself she was doing this for her sanity. “But I’m very happy and productive where I am right now. I have an excellent rapport with everyone who works for me. It’s a warm atmosphere and it works for me.”

      He remained silent.

      Poo. He was going to force her to say the words. She would have much preferred doing this via e-mail or fax. “So thank you very much for your wonderful offer. While I’m tempted, I’m going to decline.”

      He looked at her for a long moment and gave a slow nod. He moved closer to the desk and picked up her half-full mug. “The job you have at HomeStyle is like hot chocolate with marshmallows. It’s nice. It’s comfortable. A few challenges every now and then. You have to choose whether to feature needlepoint or knitting, find new crafts for Valentine’s Day, a decor for spring.”

      Erika felt defensive. “You’re right. Making marsh-mallow bunnies isn’t going to rock the world. It’s just going to make it a little nicer, a little more comforting.”

      “As I said, this job is hot chocolate. The problem, Erika, is you had the best whiskey in the world at Pulse. You know what it’s like to come to work knowing you’ll get an adrenaline rush. That the story you tell and the way you tell it could rock the world. Underneath the hot chocolate with marshmallows and bunny slippers is a world-rocker. You can fight it all you want, but you and I both know it’s in you.”

      The challenge in his eyes made something inside her sizzle and pop. She hated that he knew her so well. She hated that he’d known her so well and left her so completely, but she wouldn’t tell him that was the reason she wouldn’t return to Pulse.

      “I want you to reconsider,” he said.

      She swallowed a groan. She’d really had to pump herself up for this. “I’ve given your offer a lot of consideration. You have my answer.”

      His lips turned up slightly in a grin she’d seen before. A grin that signaled Gannon was in for a battle, determined to win. A grin that scared the life out of her. “Your answer isn’t acceptable to me. I want you to reconsider. My father does, too.”

      Oh great, she thought wryly. Two Elliotts teaming up against her. “I’m very happy here.”

      “We’ll make sure you’re happy at Pulse.” He laid the folder he’d held during their discussion on the desk and flipped it open. “How would you like to do this story?”

      Erika saw photos of babies and her heart stopped.

      She bent down to look at the copy. “Making the Perfect Baby: The New World of Genetic Manipulation,” she read and looked at him.

      He smiled. “I knew that would get your attention. You always loved the combination of science and human interest. Cover story with your name on the front. That’s the kind of story that could win awards. Rock the world.”

      Gazing at the photos of the beautiful sweet faces of the babies, she swallowed over the lump in her throat. Did he know how much she wanted a baby? How could he know? They’d never discussed it.

      She took a shallow breath and forced herself to smile. “Very tempting, but I’ve given you my answer.”

      He paused just a second, as if she’d surprised him. “Okay. You don’t mind looking over the story and giving me your thoughts, do you? Think about it and I’ll drop by on Wednesday.”

      The trendy new cocktail bar, the Randy Martini, was packed with twenty- and thirty-something Manhattanites testing the wild, extensive menu of over a hundred martinis. It took two and a half martinis for Erika’s best friends, Jessica and Paula, to get Erika to confess what had her so distracted. “I want to have a baby and my gynecologist told me I need to do it soon or maybe not at all.”

      “That stinks,” Jessica said and patted Erika’s hand.

      “Maybe you could get a dog or a cat,” Paula suggested.

      Erika shook her head. “I want a baby, not a canine or feline.”

      Paula lifted her own martini in salute. “You might change your mind when the kid hits puberty or when you start shelling out the green for college.”

      Erika shook her head again. “Even though I’ve been career-oriented, I always knew I wanted to have a child.”

      “You could wait until you find Mr. Right