The Best Laid Plans

Surely she wasn’t seriously thinking …?

He took a step, the incriminating evidence in hand, then stopped. What was he going to say to her? Hadn’t he just established for himself that their friendship was limited to work and the racquetball court? That she didn’t want to discuss her private life?

He slowly folded the sheet in half, then into quarters before slipping it into his jacket pocket. He went to join the rest of the partners for lunch.

He had it right the first time—this was nothing to do with him.

CHAPTER THREE

ETHAN KEPT AN EYE OUT for Alex as the rest of the partners arrived and seated themselves in the private dining room at Grossi Florentino, but she didn’t slip through the door until a good ten minutes after everyone else was perusing the menu.

He watched as she made her excuses and took the last remaining chair between Keith Lancaster and Toby Kooperman at the other end of the table. She smiled at Keith when he said something, then leaned back to allow the waiter to place a napkin across her knees. He returned his attention to his menu, but the sound of her laughter drew his gaze.

She had one hand pressed to her chest and her eyes shone with amusement as she talked animatedly with Keith. Ethan watched the tilt of her head and the flush in her cheeks and the way she gestured with her hands and had to remind himself that it was none of his business that she was planning to buy frozen semen from some faceless donor in the U.S. because she was afraid she’d missed the boat. It was her life, her decision. Nothing to do with him.

And yet.

She was only thirty-eight years old and she was an attractive, sexy woman. Not conventionally beautiful, perhaps, but incredibly appealing with her rich brown eyes and chestnut hair. More than once when they’d been lunching together he’d found himself fixating on her mouth, with its lush, full lower lip. She was smart, too, and funny. If she hadn’t been a fellow partner and if he hadn’t instinctively known that she was not the kind of woman who did casual affairs, he would have asked her out long ago. There had to be a bunch of men out there who would give their eyeteeth to meet someone like her.

And yet she was planning on using a sperm donor to become pregnant. It simply didn’t make sense to him that a woman with as much as she had to offer was taking such a compromised route to motherhood. He wanted to push back his chair, grab her arm and drag her somewhere private so he could point out that she was selling herself short, big-time.

He didn’t. She’d made it more than clear that they didn’t have the sort of friendship that invited that kind of straight talking. They were work buddies. Good for a little bitching about office politics, a joke at the water cooler and a weekly workout. That was it.

He dragged his gaze away, joining in the conversation around him. As with most partner lunches, the wine flowed freely and the room became noisier as the meal progressed. Ethan stuck to one glass since he had a heavy afternoon schedule and kept an eye on the time. Occasionally, against his will, he found himself watching Alex and his mind did a loop of the same circle of thoughts. He repeated his mantra—nothing to do with you, nothing to do with you, nothing to do with you—and returned his attention to his end of the table.

He decided to give it twenty more minutes before he made his apologies when Alex pushed back her chair and stood.

“Well, someone has to pay for this lunch,” she said. “I’d better get to it.”

Laughter greeted her announcement as he pushed back his own chair.

“Exactly what I was thinking.”

She looked at him and he caught a flash of unease in her eyes. He crossed to the door and waited for her to join him.

“I don’t think they’ll be billing many hours this afternoon,” he murmured as they made their way through the restaurant.

Her gaze flashed toward him before skittering away again.

“Probably just as well, given the way they’re working their way through the wine list.”

They both stopped when they reached the double front doors. Outside, the sky was a dark, leaden gray, and rain was pouring down.

“Good old Melbourne,” Alex said, then she glanced ruefully at her shoes. “What are the odds of us finding a taxi that’ll take us half a block up the road?”

He didn’t bother responding, simply flipped up the collar on his suit jacket.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” She sighed and turned up the collar on her own jacket.

He was about to open the door when a waiter rushed to their side carrying a large golf umbrella.

“With our compliments,” he said, offering the umbrella to Ethan.

“Thank you. We’ll get it back to you this afternoon,” he said.

Although given the amount of money the firm would drop on lunch, the restaurant could afford to give every partner an umbrella and still come out on top.

He held the door open and Alex stepped out under the restaurant’s portico. He followed, breathing in the smell of wet cement and rain.

“Should have checked the weather report before we left the office,” she said.

He unfurled the umbrella and lifted it.

“Ready?” He gestured toward the teeming, wet world that awaited them.

She joined him beneath the curve of the umbrella, her shoulder brushing his, and they both started walking, falling into step with one another after a few paces.

“How was your meal?” she asked after a short silence.

“Good. Yours?”

“Yeah, good.”

He glanced at her, but her head was lowered. They’d never been reduced to small talk; even at the very beginning of their friendship they’d always found plenty to say to each other. He felt as though he was being punished somehow. Frozen out with the silent treatment because he’d witnessed her in a moment of weakness last night.

“Alex—”

The world flashed white and a huge roll of thunder cracked overhead as the heavens opened even further, sending rain pelting down out of the sky. He operated on instinct, wrapping an arm around her waist and hustling her beneath the scant shelter of a nearby shop portico.

She shot him a startled look when he finally let her go.

“Can’t use an umbrella in a lightning storm,” he explained as he furled the soaked umbrella.

“No. Of course not.” Then, to his surprise, her mouth quirked as though she was suppressing a smile.

“What’s so funny?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been rescued before,” she said. “For a moment there I felt like I was in a Cary Grant movie.”

“Are you suggesting that I manhandled you?” he asked.

“Absolutely.”

“Lucky I didn’t give in to my first urge to throw you over my shoulder, then.”

She laughed, her eyes crinkling at the corners attractively. He looked into her face and it hit him again that what she was planning was just plain wrong.

“Don’t do it, Alex,” he said. “Don’t sell yourself short.”