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The Pregnancy Project
Jacob Weber was one student that I’ve never forgotten. After a rocky start at Saunders, he became an academic whiz—a Harvard med school graduate turned star fertility specialist. It’s too bad that the aptitude he’s shown in scientific matters never extended to matters of the heart.
His schoolmate Ella Gardner is full of heart, from her work as a federal prosecutor to her loyalty to her family. But she’s never been lucky in love, nor in fulfilling her greatest dream, becoming a mother. Now that she’s turned to Dr. Weber’s expert counsel as a last resort, I wonder if they both might receive an unexpected prescription…for one another.
Dear Reader,
Most of us look forward to October for the end-of-the-month treats, but we here at Silhouette Special Edition want you to experience those treats all month long—beginning, this time around, with the next book in our MOST LIKELY TO… series. In The Pregnancy Project by Victoria Pade, a woman who’s used to getting what she wants, wants a baby. And the man she’s earmarked to help her is her arrogant ex-classmate, now a brilliant, if brash, fertility expert.
Popular author Gina Wilkins brings back her acclaimed FAMILY FOUND series with Adding to the Family, in which a party girl turned single mother of twins needs help—and her handsome accountant (accountant?), a single father himself, is just the one to give it. In She’s Having a Baby, bestselling author Marie Ferrarella continues her miniseries, THE CAMEO, with this story of a vivacious, single, pregnant woman and her devastatingly handsome—if reserved—next-door neighbor. Special Edition welcomes author Brenda Harlen and her poignant novel Once and Again, a heartwarming story of homecoming and second chances. About the Boy by Sharon DeVita is the story of a beautiful single mother, a widowed chief of police…and a matchmaking little boy. And Silhouette is thrilled to have Blindsided by talented author Leslie LaFoy in our lineup. When a woman who’s inherited a hockey team decides that they need the best coach in the business, she applies to a man who thought he’d put his hockey days behind him. But he’s been…blindsided!
So enjoy, be safe and come back in November for more. This is my favorite time of year (well, the beginning of it, anyway).
Regards,
Gail Chasan
Senior Editor
The Pregnancy Project
Victoria Pade
VICTORIA PADE
is a native of Colorado, where she continues to live and work. Her passion—besides writing—is chocolate, which she indulges in frequently and in every form. She loves romance novels and romantic movies—the more lighthearted the better—but she likes a good, juicy mystery now and then, too.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Dear Jacob,
I wish you continued success in your academic career. Don’t still on her pale-hold you back ever again.
All best wishes,
Your professor,
Gilbert Harrison
Ella,
It was a pleasure to hear of your graduation from law school. You were—and still are—one of my best and brightest. Keep reaching for the stars, and I hope you get everything you want in life.
Warmest regards,
Professor Gilbert Harrison
Saunders University
Chapter One
T he waiting room of Dr. Jacob Weber’s office was like most doctors’ offices. Uncomfortable chairs, upholstered in a mauve tweed fabric lined teal-green walls. The chairs, which formed a U around a coffee table covered with outdated magazines, faced the half wall that separated them from the receptionist’s desk. Inexpensive prints in silver frames hung on the walls—all of them some form of mauve-and-teal-green flowers—and a potted fern stood in one corner.
As Ella Gardner sat there she wondered if there was a handbook for decorators of medical offices that said mauve and teal green were calming colors, and that a token potted plant gave a homey touch. But even if that was the common perception, it didn’t work for her. She didn’t feel at home. She didn’t feel calm. And no amount of office decoration could change the fact that she wasn’t looking forward to the consultation she was waiting for with the man who had been touted in a recent article entitled The Best Healthcare Providers of Boston as the most innovative, cutting-edge fertility specialist the city had to offer.
But Jacob Weber was her last hope.
So she’d made the appointment. She’d nearly begged for it. She’d had herself put on a waiting list for cancellations when the receptionist had said there were no appointments available for two months. When that same receptionist had called yesterday to say there had, indeed, been a cancellation, Ella had juggled three other pressing duties at the office to be able to get there.
Jacob Weber was as widely known for his arrogance and bad bedside manner as he was for his expertise and use of the newest experimental techniques.
Not that his superior, pompous, self-important attitudes were news to Ella. They’d both attended Saunders University, and although Ella had been three years ahead of Jacob and had never actually been introduced to him, his reputation as the rich boy who considered himself better than everyone else had been widespread. As well, Ella’s younger sister, Sara, had been in Jacob Weber’s class, so Ella had heard enough about him not to doubt his current claim to fame as the best doctor with the worst disposition.
But she wasn’t there to be friends with Jacob Weber. She was there in hopes that he could do what no one else had been able to do for her in the past three years—conquer her infertility so she could have her heart’s desire: a child of her own.
There was another woman in the waiting room, and after a glance at Ella, the other woman took a compact from her purse and checked to see if there was lipstick on her teeth. Ella only had on lip gloss but suddenly wondered if something about her appearance had prompted the woman to be concerned about her own.
She didn’t want her insecurity to be broadcast, though, and since she’d come straight from court after filing papers in a case she was working on, she used her briefcase as a decoy, pulling it up onto her lap. Hoping it seemed as if she’d just remembered something in it, she opened the briefcase.
There was a mirror on the inside of the lid and she used that to take stock.
No, no lip gloss on her straight white teeth—it was all still on her pale-rose-colored, not-thick, not-too-too-thick, not-too-thin lips.
Her hair was in place, too. At least as in place as it ever got. It was curly. Very curly. Shirley Temple curly. So she kept it chin length—just short enough to wear parted down the middle and in a supercurly bob when she wanted it down, just long enough to pull up into a scrunchee at her crown when it was too unruly to deal with and needed to simply be contained. Like today. But none of it had escaped, so it wasn’t a stray corkscrew that had caused the other woman to worry.
Ella didn’t wear much makeup—only blush, mascara and a little eyeliner to enhance her light-gray eyes—and none of that had melted away. And there were no smudges on her slightly turned-up nose. No ugly blemishes had cropped up on her pronounced cheekbones or on her small chin or forehead to mar her normally clear, peaches-and-cream skin, so she decided it hadn’t been anything in that area that had alarmed her companion-in-waiting.
Maybe she’d spilled something from lunch down the front of her…
She tipped the briefcase lid forward just enough to reflect her clothes rather than her face, but there were no signs of salad dressing down the front of the white blouse that peeked from beneath her open suit front, and nothing dribbled down the lapels of the plum silk. A glance downward let her know that nothing had spilled into the lap of her slacks either, so she finally concluded that what had prompted the other woman to check for flaws hadn’t originated in Ella’s own appearance.
“Ella Gardner,” the nurse called out from the doorway to the right of the reception counter.
Ella straightened almost guiltily from behind her briefcase. “That’s me,” she said as she closed her briefcase, grabbed her black leather purse and stood.
“I’m Marta, Dr. Weber’s nurse,” the portly, older woman introduced herself as Ella reached the doorway. “How are you today?”
Ella didn’t want to admit she was tense, but her voice gave her away by cracking a bit when she said, “Fine, thanks.”
If the nurse picked up on her anxiety she didn’t show it. She merely said, “Since this is only your initial consultation I’ll have you go into Dr. Weber’s office. He’ll be with you as soon as possible.”
“Okay,” Ella agreed.
She followed the older woman past an area stacked floor-to-ceiling with files, then through another section where a countertop held medical equipment and supplies. Beyond that was a hallway, lined with exam rooms on both sides, all with file cubbies attached to the walls beside them. Marta took her to the very end of the corridor, where she motioned to the office visible through the already-open door there and stepped aside for Ella to enter without her.
“Go ahead and have a seat,” Marta advised, closing the door and leaving Ella alone in the room.
The inner sanctum of the beast himself.
Two women Ella worked with had had experiences with Dr. Jacob Weber—one of the paralegals and one of the research assistants.
The paralegal had actually recommended Jacob Weber to Ella even before the “Best of” article. The paralegal had heard through the grapevine that Ella was having trouble conceiving and had suggested she consider seeing the renowned infertility specialist, warning her, though, not to expect Mr. Personality. She’d said it had been worth it to her and her husband to overlook his crankiness because his treatments had resulted in a pregnancy after six years under the care of other doctors. She’d told her that Jacob Weber could definitely be a bear, though.
The research assistant, on the other hand, had said that after two visits with Weber, she and her husband had agreed they’d rather be childless than put up with him.
Now, standing in his office, waiting to see him, Ella could feel her heart beating rapidly, and she tried to slow it down by breathing deeply, steadily. She reminded herself that the paralegal was now pregnant and had returned to her regular doctor and that regardless of the poor social and personal skills of Jacob Weber, she would now have a baby. That seemed worth everything to Ella.
She set her purse on the floor beside one of two nondescript visitor’s chairs facing the big oak desk and opened her briefcase a second time. Not to use the mirror again, but to take out the file folder that contained copies of all her records from her last two gynecologists. Then she closed the briefcase, put it on the floor with her purse and placed the file on the edge of the desk just in front of the visitor’s chair.
But she was still too uneasy to sit, so she took a tour of the office instead, beginning with the bookshelves to the right of the desk.
Medical texts were all she found before she moved on, venturing behind the brown leather desk chair to the large window on that wall.
The window overlooked a lush green park shaded by tall elm trees. If this were her office, Ella thought, she would have placed the desk to take advantage of the view, and she wondered if Jacob Weber ever swiveled his chair around to do that. Somehow she doubted it.
Next she went to the left of the desk, stopping before the wall there that displayed framed diplomas outlining the educational history of the man she hoped could help her.
There was the diploma from Saunders University, identical to Ella’s own and a second one from Harvard Medical School, as well as a certificate that proclaimed he had satisfactorily performed a residency in gynecology and obstetrics, and another certificate of completion for his fellowship in reproductive endocrinology. Surrounding the diplomas and certificates were several awards given by the American Medical Association and various other professional organizations to Dr. Jacob C. Weber.
Apparently, he lived up to his reputation as an expert in his field.
Ella just hoped he didn’t live up to his other reputation.
Turning away from the display of the doctor’s accomplishments, she took stock of the sofa that lined the wall behind the visitors’ chairs, curious about why it and the coffee table in front of it were there at all. She could understand other medical specialties bringing entire families into the doctor’s office and requiring more seating, but infertility hardly seemed to call for that.
Although, by all accounts Jacob Weber was dedicated to his work, so maybe he sometimes slept in his office, Ella thought. She knew from the “Best of” article that he wasn’t married, but what about a girlfriend? she wondered, spinning on her heels again to survey the room in general in search of something that might give an indication of his personal life.
She didn’t spot anything, though. No family photographs or sports trophies or even a pencil holder shaped like a golf tee to prove he had a hobby. In fact, there wasn’t a single thing in the room that said anything about the man except that he was well educated, well trained and recognized for his work.
“But all work and no play—”
The door opened unceremoniously just then, and she cut her comment short, startled by the abruptness with which the man burst into the room.
It was as if a bulldozer had just barged through the wall, and she couldn’t help feeling as though she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t do.
That sense was reinforced when the man raised a dark eyebrow at her and said facetiously, “Everything to your liking?”
Maybe everything except him, Ella thought. Rather than respond to his less-than-friendly greeting, she held out her hand to him. “I’m Ella Gardner,” she said, hoping against hope that her name didn’t ring a bell with him, that he didn’t recognize it or remember it or her or the awful mess she’d been involved in at Saunders when they were both there.
Nothing seemed to strike him, though. And he either didn’t see her extended hand because he was too busy glancing at the open file he’d brought in with him or he used that as an excuse not to take it. One way or another, Ella was left standing there twisting in the wind as he moved around behind his desk. And feeling all the more uncomfortable.
“Where’s your husband? The consultation should include him and his work-ups, too. I won’t do this twice.”
“I don’t have a husband. I’m divorced.”
“Have a seat,” he commanded without showing any reaction to the news that she was single.
He himself didn’t sit, however. He remained standing as he continued to look at the papers in the file as if they were more interesting than she was.
Ella was beginning to see why people wouldn’t stick with him if he wasn’t someone’s last resort. But he was her last resort, so she did as she was told, finally settling into one of the visitor’s chairs.
Even once she was sitting, Jacob Weber went on with whatever it was that had his attention, as if she weren’t there at all.
It gave her the opportunity to get a good look at him. He was a big man—at least an inch or two over six feet—with long legs and broad shoulders that ably carried off wearing the long white lab coat he wore over khaki slacks, a blue plaid sport shirt and a darker blue tie. Beneath the lab coat was a body that showed no signs of fat or flab, and instead appeared taut and surprisingly muscular for someone who gave every impression of being a workaholic in the extreme.
Venturing her first real glance at his face, Ella was taken aback to find him so handsome. The only picture of him that had accompanied the “Best of” article had been a profile shot taken from a distance while he’d stood at the nurse’s station of a hospital. The caption had said something about it being the only photograph the fractious Dr. Jacob Weber would cooperate for, and in it he’d been nearly unrecognizable. And nowhere in any of the complaints Ella had heard about him had anyone—including her sister—mentioned that the man was drop-dead gorgeous. She could only conclude that his personality was so rotten it diminished the impact of looks that could stop traffic.
He had the facial structure of a male model—a strong chin and rugged, angular jaw with pronounced cheekbones and slightly hollowed cheeks. His bottom lip was fuller than his top but still neither could have been more perfectly shaped below a nose that was just long enough and just straight enough.
He also had great hair—a light chestnut-brown color—that he wore short all over but not too short, giving it an artfully disarrayed look. And when he finally closed the file he’d been engaged in and raised his eyes to Ella, they were so dark a blue they were almost purple and they seemed to pin her to her chair.
“Files.”
It took Ella a moment to realize he was asking for—well, demanding, actually—to see her files now that he’d set aside the one he’d come in with. That moment of delay was enough to aggravate him because before she’d grasped what he wanted and was able to comply, he said, “You did bring your files, didn’t you? I’m sure Bev told you to.”
Bev was the receptionist, and she’d made it very clear that Dr. Weber would not consider taking her case without a full and complete history before him.
“Yes, she told me. It’s here,” Ella said belatedly, reaching for her own file on the edge of the desk and passing it to him as he finally sat down across from her.
Those remarkable blue eyes went back to reading then, as if her medical information was more relevant than she was, and Ella worked to rein in her shock over his good looks and regain some control of her wits. Clearly this was a man she had to be on her toes with.
After a few minutes scanning the file—and still with his gaze trained on the pages and not on her—Jacob Weber said, “You’re thirty-five.”
“I am.”
“In good general health.”
“Yes.”
“On any medication?”
“No.”
“What do you do for a living?”
“I’m a federal prosecutor.”
Ordinarily that prompted a response of some kind, but not from Jacob Weber. He merely took the information without comment and continued.
“After a year of not achieving pregnancy through regular, unprotected intercourse the full gamut of tests were performed and no obstacle to conception was discovered. You had eleven courses of varying drug therapies to stimulate ovulation and—again—no pregnancy,” he said, interpreting what was documented in her file, all without looking at her.
“Right,” she confirmed.
“I see that you did have a husband in the picture for that—your physician’s notes indicate that there was normal sperm count and motility in the male. And now you’ve had five months of in vitro—even without a husband?”
“Yes.”
“All unsuccessful?”
“Right.”
He finally looked up from her file, once again leveling those amazing blue eyes on her as he set the folder on his desk and sat back in his chair. “And you expect me to do what? Perform a miracle?”
“If you have one of those hidden in your pocket, sure, I’ll take it,” Ella said, trying a little levity.
He didn’t so much as crack a smile to be polite. He merely stared at her.
Ella wasn’t sure if he actually expected another answer to his sarcastic question but since she didn’t know what else to do in response to his continuing silence, she said, “I don’t expect anything. I’ve heard that your success rate is better than average, even for people who have failed with every other doctor. I’ve also heard that you sometimes use unconventional methods that can do the trick when nothing else has. That’s why I’m here. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to have a child.”
“It looks to me like you already have done everything it takes. And it hasn’t mattered.”
“Which is why I was hoping you had something new or innovative or experimental you might try. That’s also why my regular gynecologist suggested I consult you. Between the cost and the fact that I’ve already failed to conceive after five in vitro attempts, we agreed that it was time to go in a different direction.”
“How about the direction in which you open your eyes to the fact that not everyone is meant to have kids. That some people should—and have to—just accept that they can’t and get a life.”
Ella wasn’t unaccustomed to having to take what an abrasive judge dished out, and she called upon the controls she used in court to hold her temper now, too. “I have a life,” she informed him in an even tone. “I have a home of my own, a career, a sister and brother-in-law and niece I’m very close to, friends… That isn’t the point. The point is, I want a child of my own.”
“To fill the gap because your marriage didn’t work out?”
It took a little more will to contain herself. “I wanted a child of my own when I was married—as you’ve seen in my records I was married when I first started to try to get pregnant and I didn’t need any gaps filled. Not then and not now. I want kids. I want a family. Most people do. It isn’t a phenomenon.”
“And you want it so much you’ll even do it without a man?”
“I’m a very capable, independent person. Sure, it would have been nice to have the whole package, but that isn’t how it worked out. The fact that it didn’t doesn’t change what I want, but the clock is obviously ticking for me. I don’t have time to wait for Mr. Right, the sequel, to come on the scene, court me, marry me and then start all over again. And since I don’t doubt that I can raise and support a child on my own, I really don’t need a man.”
“Apparently you need me,” he said snidely.
“Oh, you better be a miracle worker,” Ella muttered, deciding on the spot that either he was going to accept her as a patient or he wasn’t, but that if he thought she was going to beg, he was mistaken.
After dishing out a little of his own medicine, neither of them said anything for what seemed like an eternity. His almost-purple gaze didn’t waver from his scrutiny of her. She refused to squirm beneath it—if that was what he thought he could make her do.
And then, finally, he said, “I’m about to begin a new, short-term research project. A few select patients will undergo acupuncture performed by a Chinese practitioner of an ancient discipline called Qigong. She’ll also be giving herbs that she mixes herself, and teaching meditation and relaxation techniques. There will be sessions of therapeutic massage, as well. It’s a test to see if this particular form of medicine can reset the body’s natural balance in order to increase the success rate for in vitro fertilization.”
A tiny speck of hope sprang up in Ella. “I don’t object to having in vitro again afterward,” she assured in case he was thinking she wasn’t a candidate because she’d already done it so often and spent so much money on it that she was now looking to do something completely different.
“There are two problems,” he continued, ignoring what she’d said and making her hope waver. “I already have as many patients, married patients, as I need in the study, and—”
