No Strings Attached

“Jim and I feel blessed. We’ve been trying for years to have a baby, and then when we were just about to give up, I found out I was pregnant.”

The Walkers were a lovely young couple who had moved into the building a year ago, and Samantha was thrilled for them. “Well, don’t worry about a thing. Just take your time and enjoy the afternoon. I’ll take good care of Melissa.”

“I should be back before she wakes up, but in case I’m not, there are bottles of formula right next to the crib. No need to heat them up—she takes her bottle at room temperature. Just pop the nipple and you’re good to go.”

“Sounds easy enough,” Samantha said with a lot more confidence than she felt. She hadn’t spent a lot of time around babies. Most of the kids she’d previously babysat had been a lot older and didn’t poop their pants.

“I’m using Pampers on Melissa,” Mary said, as if reading Samantha’s mind.

“We’ll be fine. Now go and enjoy the fresh air, window shop, have an ice-cream sundae. Relax.”

Mary exited the room with a huge smile on her face, and Samantha tiptoed out of the nursery and headed for the living room, where she’d left her work in progress. Settling onto the sofa, she had just picked up her pen when she heard the first wail through the baby monitor.

Fear and uncertainty filled her momentarily, but she figured she was a lot bigger and smarter than a one-month-old baby. How hard could it be to comfort a screaming infant, anyway?

Turns out, very.

Upon entering the nursery, she made a face at the unpleasant odor that assailed her and knew immediately that Melissa had made a doodle in her diaper. Samantha could have called it shit, but doodle sounded much nicer for an infant.

Picking the baby up, she set out to change the offending diaper while trying to hold her nose closed. But that was easier said than done. Melissa’s tiny legs were flailing as she removed the Pamper. Shit flew everywhere, including in Samantha’s hair.

“Quit being gross, Melissa. I’m new at this so give me a break, okay?” The baby stared back at her intently for a moment, giving the illusion that she had actually listened, but then began squirming again. So much for reason.

Grabbing a handful of baby wipes, Samantha cleaned the mess out of her hair, and then went to work on Melissa. After changing her diaper, she put the baby into an adorable pink stretchy thing called a onesie, and then carried her to the rocking chair situated beneath the window.

Nestling her nose in the baby’s downy hair, Samantha inhaled. Melissa smelled wonderful, like spring blossoms and sweet chocolate cake, all rolled into one. For some reason, babies always smelled good…well, when they were doodle-free, that is. Like new cars, the smell only lasted for a brief time, but it was so distinctive that you never really forgot it.

The baby stared wide-eyed at Samantha, taking her measure, she supposed. Samantha smiled and cooed, and as she held the baby in her arms the strangest thing happened—her heart actually felt so full she thought it might burst.

Samantha had always been so dead-set against marriage that she hadn’t given a great deal of thought to what not getting married would mean. She’d never have a child. She’d never change a poopy diaper or hug a sweet-smelling baby to her breast, and she would never know the joy and pain of childbirth, of experiencing one of God’s greatest gifts.

Then again, she didn’t have to be married to have a baby. She wasn’t saying she would, but if she really wanted a baby, she could have one on her own.

It was an intriguing possibility.

AN HOUR LATER, the baby was finally asleep. But no sooner had Samantha sat down with her work again than a soft knock sounded on the door.

It couldn’t be Mary; the woman had a key. She peered through the peephole to find Jack staring back at her.

“Hi!” he said when she opened the door. “I found your note.” He held it up.

“Ssh! I just got Melissa to sleep.”

He arched a brow. “I’m impressed. I didn’t think you knew much about babies.”

“It’s instinctive for a woman,” she told him loftily, though she had no idea if that were really true. It sounded good though. “Would you like to see her? She’s quite adorable.”

He shrugged, not looking at all comfortable with the idea. “I really just came by to see if you’d picked up the cleaning. I can’t find my new blue shirt.”

“It’s hanging in my closet. I didn’t have time to sort everything out before Mary called. Come on,” she urged. “Come see Melissa.”

“Oh. Well, I guess I can take a quick peek at her.”

They stood side by side in the darkened room, gazing into the crib. Jack had an expression of awe on his face.

“Melissa’s perfect, isn’t she?” Samantha asked.

“She’s so small,” he whispered.

“I know.”

Their hands met on the crib rail, and Jack looked over at her with an expression she’d never seen before. Her palms started to sweat and she pulled her hands to her sides. “Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?” he asked.

“Wonder?”

“What we might be missing by—”

“Oh there you are!” Mary said, entering the nursery and cutting off whatever else Jack was about to say, much to Samantha’s dismay.

But she’d heard enough to start her wondering.

SAMANTHA COULDN’T STOP thinking about babies. Everywhere she went, it seemed parents were hauling their young children around or nannies were pushing baby carriages in the park.

And the more she saw, the more she thought, and the more she thought, the more she yearned.

She wanted a baby. She wanted to have a child of her own. She supposed deep down she always had.

From childhood, girls were raised to be mothers. It was the expected course to take. But that course typically included marriage, and so she’d decided to detour and take a different route.

But suddenly her biological clock was ticking like a time bomb. Samantha wanted to have a baby before she got too old to conceive, with or without the benefit of marriage.

In this advanced day and age a woman didn’t need to rely on a man to conceive—only his sperm. It would have been nice to get pregnant the old-fashioned way, to experience the event with someone she cared about, not some stranger who’d made a donation to a sperm bank, but beggars couldn’t be choosers and she had no daddy candidates on the horizon.

Women of today enhanced their breasts through implants, held back the clock with plastic surgery and achieved orgasms through battery-operated devices, so it wasn’t unnatural or unacceptable to conceive a baby by artificial means. Millions of women had done so successfully, and so could she. Besides, lots of good things came frozen: ice cream, waffles, diet dinners. So why not sperm?

“I’M GOING TO HAVE A BABY!”

Patty Bradshaw’s jaw dropped so low it almost landed in her Cobb salad. “You’re not serious! Who’s the father? I didn’t know you were seeing anyone. And why the hell weren’t you using protection? Do you have a death wish? Did you skip Sex 101 in high school?” She stared at Samantha as if she’d lost her mind.

As Patty fired questions at her with the rapidity of a Gatling gun, Samantha just smiled. Patty was a lawyer, a borderline feminist and a damn good friend.

The two had met shortly after Samantha’s arrival in New York City. She’d been coming out of Bloomingdale’s after an interview that had gone nowhere, while Patty had been on her way in, to buy fabulous clothing, no doubt.

Colliding in one of those purses-flying incidents that had them howling in laughter, they had hit it off immediately and been best girlfriends ever since—probably because Patty had as many opinions as Samantha did, and never hesitated to voice them. But she was a whole lot tougher than Samantha, owing to the fact that she had to compete in the legal profession with ego-driven males, who viewed the attractive woman as little more than a sex object. But then, men often thought with their dicks, not their brains.

With deep auburn hair, pretty green eyes and a killer body, Counselor Patricia Bradshaw was hot and knew it. In fact, Patty played on that image. She hadn’t met too many men in her thirty-four years that she didn’t want to try on for size, and fortunately for her, most of them fit. But Patty was also a damn good attorney who’d won the majority of her cases and was considered an ace in her field of employment law.

“Okay, I didn’t say that right. What I meant to say is, I want to have a baby. It’s all I’ve been thinking about lately.” Obsessing would probably have been a more accurate term.

Patty gulped her wine, poured herself another glass and then looked Samantha straight in the eye. “Are you crazy? Have you lost whatever sense you were born with? A child will tie you down, destroy your life as you know it, not to mention that you’re not married. Not that that’s a requirement these days, but it sure as hell makes things easier.”

“Well, I can’t help that. I want to have a baby, and I’m not going to change my mind. I’m thirty-one. My time is running out. If I don’t do this now, it’ll be too late.”

“But you’re not even dating seriously at the moment. How are you planning to get pregnant?”

Samantha shrugged, forking a cucumber into her mouth while she continued talking—something her mother always chided her about. “Of course, I’d love to get pregnant the old-fashioned way, with someone I love, or at least care about. But I have to be realistic. I’ve dated most of the men in this city, or at least it seems that way, and I haven’t met my Prince Charming yet. At this point, it’s doubtful I’m going to.” A fair assessment, based on the last two dates she’d had, which had been nothing short of disastrous.

Lyle Prentice had stared at her chest all through dinner, which normally would have been flattering, since Samantha wasn’t that well endowed, until one considered the fact that Lyle was a plastic surgeon who had offered to provide her with a pair of breast implants at cost.

And then there’d been Bob Bartlett, a fastidious accountant who kept excusing himself to floss his teeth after every kiss they’d shared, as if her mouth was loaded with gingivitis.

The frogs definitely outnumbered the princes.

“There is no Prince Charming. That’s a fairy tale for little girls and dreamers, which is why I just go for the sex. Marriage is for wimps, and ‘love’ is a far dirtier four-letter word than ‘fuck,’ if you ask me.”

It was obvious that someone in Patty’s past had hurt her very deeply. But she’d never confided in Samantha about it, and Samantha wasn’t about to ask. “I don’t want to get married either, Patty, which complicates matters a wee bit.”

The woman’s big green eyes got even bigger. “No kidding, it complicates matters!”

“I know you think I’m stupid for wanting to do this, but I’m determined.”

“Determined to do what, ruin your life?” Patty shook her head, her tone softening somewhat. “I don’t think you’re stupid, Samantha. I think you’re insane. There’s a difference. But if you’re positive that having a baby is really what you want, then there’s always in vitro fertilization. You could use a sperm donor.”

Samantha smiled gratefully, knowing her friend’s effort to be conciliatory didn’t come easy. “That’s what I’ve been thinking, too. But I intend to explore all my options first.” She heaved a sigh. “Maybe I’ll get lucky and someone will happen along and—”

“That would require you to have unprotected sex, and that’s a one-way ticket to the morgue. Better to be safe than sorry. Don’t do anything stupid. Promise me, Samantha.”

Samantha’s brows rose. “Are you saying you use a condom every time you have sex? Hell, that must cost you a fortune.”

Patty threw back her head and laughed, a throaty, sensual sound, and it wasn’t surprising that men found the woman irresistible. Well, except for Jack, who found Patty too in-your-face and, well, too masculine to suit him.

Samantha shook her head. “Just think about it. In our mothers’ day, all women had to worry about with regard to having sex was getting pregnant. Now we have to consider all kinds of diseases, including MASH.”

“MASH? That’s a new one on me,” Patty said, her brows drawing together in confusion.

She grinned. “Men Actually Staying Hard.”

Her friend laughed again. “Honey, no worries about that. We have Viagra now. It’s the best invention since air-conditioning.”

“Yeah, only Viagra makes you hot, not cold.”

“Amen to that!”

THAT SAME AFTERNOON across town, Jack and his coworker, Tom Adler, were knee-deep in discussion about their favorite topic: Acme Realty’s new sales manager.

“I’m sick and tired of that asshole,” Jack said. “O’Leary pulled three more leads from me today and gave them to Susan. And that woman couldn’t sell her way out of a paper bag if her life depended on it.”

Leaning back in his swivel chair, which squeaked like nails raking a blackboard, Tom replied, “Susan’s got some attributes you don’t possess, my friend.” At Jack’s confused look, he smiled. “Her rack is a lot bigger than yours. The scuttlebutt around the office is that O’Leary’s trying to get in her pants, but my bet is he already has. Mike’s been looking pretty smug lately.”

Grimacing in disgust, Jack shut the door to Tom’s office behind him, taking the chair in front of the metal desk. As Acme’s two top agents, they were the only salespeople to rate private offices. The other agents worked on the main floor in cubicles.

Of course, Mike O’Leary had already threatened to change that policy. He’d come in four months ago to replace the retiring Will Price, and things at Acme had immediately begun going downhill.

First the lunchroom had been turned into a copy center. There were no more office parties to celebrate birthdays or big sales. Then O’Leary had replaced the contract forms with more confusing ones that took ten times longer to fill out, all in the name of progress.

Mike reminded Jack of his dad—-self-important, domineering and ego-driven—which was one of the reasons he disliked the man so much, and didn’t speak well of Jack’s relationship with his father.

“I’ll be honest with you, Tom, unless things improve around here…” He shook his head. “I can’t work under these conditions much longer. Life’s too short, and I’m not getting any younger.” Samantha’s advice kept running through his mind.

Tom leaned forward across his desk. “What are you saying, you’ll quit?”

Jack sighed, tunneling impatient fingers through dark hair. “I don’t know. Maybe. O’Leary’s high-handed actions are starting to affect how I earn a living, and I won’t allow that to happen. I’ve worked too hard to get where I am.”

“Trust me, I hear ya. I really miss old Will. He was a good guy, a great manager and he was fair. He really cared about the people who worked under his regime, not just the bottom line.”

“My roommate thinks I should quit and start my own real estate business. The more I think about it, the more tempting the idea is.”

Tom’s eyes widened. “Sam said that? He must really respect your abilities.”

Jack had never corrected his friend’s assumption that his roommate “Sam” was a man, believing that if Tom knew Samantha was actually an attractive, single woman he’d be on her like white on rice. And Jack wasn’t about to let that happen, for reasons he dared not question.

Not only was Tom not Samantha’s type, he had a history of using women and then dumping them. Jack had to protect Samantha from the Tom Adlers of the world. After all, that’s what friends were for. And though he and Tom might share similar dating philosophies, the difference was that Jack wasn’t interested in his roommate as a sexual partner—not that he wasn’t attracted to Samantha’s pretty cornflower-blue eyes, million-dollar smile and great sense of humor. Even as a young girl, she’d had the ability to make him laugh. Samantha had a sort of topsy-turvy, upside-down way of looking at life. It was one of the things he adored about her.

He cherished their friendship far more than he needed another notch on his bedpost, so Jack had decided a long time ago that he and Samantha would just remain good friends. Though he had to admit, if only to himself, that when he’d watched her gaze down at the Walkers’ baby with warmth and affection, crazy thoughts had started going through his head.

What if he and Samantha had a different kind of relationship? What if they’d gotten married? What if…?

“I might be interested in getting in on the ground floor if you decide to go your own way, Jack,” Tom said, interrupting his disquieting thoughts. “Hell, this place would be like a tomb if you left. Not sure I could work here by myself.”

“My plans are still in the formative stage at this point, Tom, but it’s good to know you’re interested. It would be a lot easier having a partner, someone I could trust with the day-to-day operation of the business, if that’s what you’re offering.”

His friend nodded. “Adler/Turner Properties. I like the sound of that.”

“I was thinking more of Turner/Adler Properties,” Jack retorted with a smile. “But we can iron all that out, if and when this idea comes to fruition. I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves.”

The blond man stuck out his hand. “I hope it does. I’m in, if you decide to take the step.”

“Then obviously you’re just as insane as I am for even thinking about doing something like this. We’re both making good money right now. We could starve on our own. I hope you realize that.”

“But we won’t. We’re too damn good at what we do.”

“I wish I shared your self-confidence. There are a lot of good real estate agencies in the city. We’d really have to scrounge for clients. It would be like starting all over again.” Something Jack dreaded. Referrals were the bread and butter of the real estate business. Without them, a realty firm was doomed before it ever got off the ground.

“Nah. We’ll just steal them from here. We’ve earned every single one of them. And wouldn’t it be nice to put the screws to O’Leary?”

“And here I thought you only liked screwing women. It’s refreshing to know you’re an equal opportunity fornicator, Adler.”

Tom grinned and wiggled his brows. “Speaking of fornicating, I’m going out with the delectable Cindy from accounting tonight. I hear she’s hot in bed. Care to double? She’s got a horny friend.”

Shaking his head, Jack was even more grateful that Samantha remained a secret. “Thanks, but I think I’ll stay home tonight and crunch some numbers, see if this idea of mine is feasible. There are a lot of things to consider before taking such a big step.”

“I’ve got thirty thousand I can invest straight off. I can probably get another ten from one of my investment accounts, if we need it. I had a good year.”

Jack was impressed and pleased by the offer. “That’s very generous. I’ll keep that in mind and let you know what I come up with.”

“If you change your mind about tonight, give me a call. You know the number.”

Suddenly filled with an optimism he hadn’t felt in a very long time, Jack exited Tom’s office with a much lighter step than when he’d entered it. And the one person he wanted to share his excitement with was Samantha. She would be happy for him; she’d understand what a huge step he was contemplating.

He owed Samantha for suggesting the idea to him in the first place, and he was going to thank her by taking her out to dinner tonight.

CHAPTER THREE

TO SAMANTHA, Italian food was what water was to plants—she had to have it at least once a week. So when Jack offered dinner at El Toula’s, a new Italian eatery in their neighborhood, she jumped at the chance.

“This calamari fritti is absolutely delicious, Jack. Thanks for bringing me here tonight. It’s such a nice surprise, and it’s not even my birthday.” She dipped a piece of the fried squid into the marinara sauce on her plate.

“I thought we deserved a break, and I confess to having an ulterior motive. There’s something I want to discuss with you.”

“I’m all ears, but I hope nothing’s wrong. I thought you seemed a little preoccupied tonight.”

He shook his head. “Quite the contrary. Remember when you suggested that I start my own business? Well, I’ve been giving that idea of yours some more thought.”

Her eyes widened. “You mean—? Oh, Jack, that’d be great! What made you change your mind?”

“I spoke to Tom Adler today about the possibility of starting my own real estate company and he wants to buy in. He was very enthusiastic and made me feel that we could actually make it work.”

She clapped her hands together. “That’s wonderful! Are you going to do it?”

“I’m not sure. I still haven’t made up my mind. I want to do a bit more research, find out what’s involved. This would be a big undertaking, and I don’t want to screw it up.”

“I can help. You know I’m a whiz at Internet research. Just let me know what you need.”

He nodded. “I’d pay you for your time.”

Samantha, who always felt uncomfortable about accepting Jack’s money, shrugged. “I’m happy to help whether or not you pay me, you know that. That’s what friends do. And God knows I could never repay you for everything you’ve done for me.”

“I won’t allow you to work for free. Your time is valuable, what little you have of it. You’ve got your job at the coffee shop, your freelance articles, babysitting and you need to finish your novel.”

“Tell me what you need in the way of research and I’ll get started on it first thing in the morning,” she said, ignoring his objections.

His right brow shot up. “Should I assume that your magazine article has already been submitted?”

“Yes,” she replied, making a face. “But they’ll probably blue-pencil it to death. And I’m not sure there’ll be much of an audience for what I wrote. After all, who wants to read about the trials and tribulations of an unpublished writer?”

“A lot of people. Me, for instance.”

“You’re just saying that because we’re friends and you feel sorry for me.”

Jack sighed. “You always sell yourself short, Samantha. You need to have more confidence in your abilities. You’re good at what you do. And I’m not just saying that because we’re friends. I really think you have talent as a writer.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly, pushing the calamari around her plate and silently debating whether or not to tell Jack about her plan to get pregnant. Samantha rarely kept secrets from him, but she wasn’t sure how he would react. Jack had been overly protective since grade school after all—this would probably freak him out completely.

“I had lunch with Patty today,” she began.

Jack’s face filled with distaste. He was not a Patty fan. “That woman is a piranha. Who’s she crucifying this week?”

“It’s Patty’s job to take bad employers to task,” she rebutted. “Just because she goes for the throats of those corporate execs is—”

“Throats? Ha! She goes straight for their balls and doesn’t let go until they’ve been castrated.”

“Well, someone has to stand up for what’s right. And if Patty were a man, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. She takes her job seriously, and I don’t see anything wrong with that.”

Jack set down his wineglass after taking a generous gulp of Chianti. “I know you like Patty, so I’ll try to temper my comments. But I admit, I’m glad you two are nothing alike. She’s too hard, too jaded, while you’re soft and kindhearted.”

“Maybe if I had Patty’s backbone, her chutzpah, I’d be more successful. You can’t say she hasn’t done well for herself. She lives near the park, makes gobs of money, shops at all the really expensive stores.” Samantha sighed. “I’m still a regular Macy’s customer.”

“I know she does well. But that doesn’t make her any more likeable.”

Sipping her wine, Samantha said, “Anyway, I discussed an idea with Patty, something I’m planning to do.”

“Is it something we’ve talked about?”

“No, not yet.” She swallowed nervously. “I wasn’t quite sure how you’d take the news, so I tried it out on Patty first.” She feared Jack’s reaction would be pretty similar to her friend’s—he’d hate it. And Jack’s opinion was very important to her.