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The road to get here had been a long and winding one. Nearly eight years ago I’d lucked into my first big account, through an all-or-nothing gamble that ultimately paid of in spades. From there I’d built things outward, expanding whenever I could, putting every dime right back in. Taking risk after risk to keep people on, often making payroll from the bottom of my own pocket.
At nearly thirty, I’d sacrificed just about everything else in my life to further my career. Maybe that’s why my mid-life crisis was a little earlier than most. It arrived when I least expected it, in the form of an extremely loud and obnoxious biological clock. But there were other reasons I wanted children, too. More practical reasons that had everything to do with filling my house with love and family and laughter, at a time in my life when I could most fully enjoy it.
And now I was back to square one.
There were other options, of course. Other pathways that would get me to motherhood just as quickly. Only I didn’t want ‘other’ options. I wanted the one I’d carefully and painstakingly selected. Anything else was second place, and second place never mattered.
And so I sat there, thinking about the director’s bad news. Mentally flipping through the same five gorgeous profile photos of my future child’s sperm donor. It was something I’d done dozens, even hundreds of times before, both online and in my head. Only now that I knew I couldn’t have him, I found those images slowly fading away.
Aric waited twelve whole minutes before entering my office, which was exactly perfect. Anything before ten minutes and I would’ve snapped his head off. Fifteen minutes would’ve been too long.
“I don’t know how to call and pre-report a murder,” he said, “so I figured you should probably have this before somebody dies.”
He slid the tall latte across my desk with a strong, practiced hand. I took it and drank deeply.
“You probably just saved a life,” I admitted.
“That’s what I do here,” he smiled. “Save lives.”
My second-in-command pushed a pair of stylish glasses higher on the bridge of his Roman nose. Fresh from his afternoon workout, he looked broad-chested and big-armed and absolutely amazing. Like a slightly less-nerdy version of Clark Kent.
“You know if you weren’t gay and happily married, the two of us would rule the world by now,” I declared with a wistful sigh. “You understand that, right?”
Aric chuckled. “I know. But we’ll rule it anyway.”
“You got that right.”
He regarded me with a practiced eye, then slid into one of my chairs. Aricneverslid into one of my chairs. He was a stand up kind of guy.
“What’s bugging you, boss?”
“Not a thing.”
His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “We didn’tloseanything, did we?”
I paused a little too long at the question, then shook my head.
“The De’Angelo account still good?”
“Rock solid,” I replied.
“And Rocket Pizza? They’re still on board for the dropping coupons all over the city thing we talked about?”
I snorted. “They’d damned well better be. I’ve got thirty-seven drone operators on standby this weekend.”
“It’s this place then,” he joked, looking around. “All this crazy glass. All the prying eyes. It’s like living in a fishbowl!”
I frowned, waving my hand dismissively. I liked the glass most of the time. Being able to see everyone gave me a sense of control.
“Fine then,” he said. “What could possibly be bothering the Viral Vixen?”
I exhaled slowly, letting my sigh out through clenched teeth. “I asked you to stop that.”
“Bullshit,” Aric countered. “You earned that nickname. It comes with instant recognition, and we all know how importantthatis.” He shook his handsome head. “Like it or not, it’s your brand.”
My brand. It was the one thing I definitely had going for me right now. But I’d already decided, as I almost did, that I wanted more.
And this time around, alotmore.
