Chapter 6: How Many Zeros?

Vanessa

The metal doorknob cools my sweaty hand. I stare at the door, frowning.

Surrogate?

Surrogate of what?

Wait.

I know the definition of a surrogate.

I would carry his baby, right?

Slowly, I face Brent.

For the first time since we met, he didn't look confident. Instead, he stands with his hands in his slack's pockets and stares down.

"Surrogate," I can't help but repeat.

He slowly makes eye contact with me. His hazel eyes are dark and mysterious. "Yes."

I lean against the door and rub my palms against my skirt.

Brent takes a few steps closer. "Don't worry. I'll pay you."

"Pay me to give you a child?" I swallow hard. "Why?"

He's now inches away from me. His eyes are hooded and narrow. Finally, he tells me in a low, husky voice, "I told you."

"If you sent it by ESP, then I missed it."

Brent chuckles. "You're knowledgeable and funny."

I laugh. My breath catches in my throat. "You sound like you've decided I'll be your egg donor, too. I mean—I don't have to be knowledgeable and funny to carry a child."

He steps back, nodding. "Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, you'll donate your egg and carry my child."

I move away from the door. "Give birth and hand over the child."

Brent sits at his desk, shuffling papers around. "That's the way it works."

What do I say now?

Have I ever thought about being a surrogate?

No.

My friends are doing many things I don't have time to do, but I don't think this is one of them.

Brent scribbles something on his legal pad and extends it to me.

At first, I hesitate to walk over and accept the notepad. However, curiosity gets the better of me. I take the notepad.

How many zeros?

I stare at the number ten and six zeros after it. But, unfortunately, my mind can't compute. Normally, I'd be ashamed, but right now. I see the dollar size and that many digits and can't be embarrassed.

"I'm into science," I tell him, still staring at the notepad.

"I'll pay you ten million dollars to be my surrogate."

I look at him, not hiding my surprise. "Law pays you that much."

Brent shrugs. He leans back, looking smug. "I was a serial entrepreneur

during my undergrad years. Law is my life's work."

Okay, Linda got the boobie prize.

I place the notepad on his desk and nod.

I'm twenty years old. Most women my age have a child already—and they didn't get paid ten million to do it.

All I have to do is carry Brent's child, and I get that much money.

I can go to nursing school.

I can hire a nurse to help me care for Grandma Suzy-May and Grandpa Delta.

I can do this.

It's no problem.

Wait.

How do I get paid?

"You'll pay me before or after I give birth?"

Brent looks surprised at the question. He grins, nodding, as he says, "I'll distribute the money in four payments. You'll receive the first payment after you're medically cleared."

"Medically cleared?"

He leans back, studying me. "No STDs, diseases, or anything that would prevent you from having a healthy baby."

Slowly, I nod and shrug my right shoulder. "I'm healthy."

"You'll sign a contract."

I nod. "I expect that much."

Brent leans forward, studying me.

His intense stare makes me glance away.

"You and your boyfriend will cease sexual intercourse immediately," he harshly says.

I take a deep breath and stare him down. "I take care of grandparents, and up until a few weeks ago, I worked eight hours a day."

He adjusts his eyeglasses. "And?"

"I don't have time for a boyfriend."

Brent stares at me.

I squirm. "I'm telling the truth."

"No boys you claim are in the friend zone?"

Slowly, I cross my arms over my breasts, pushing them up on purpose.

Brent's eyes linger on my breasts.

"No."

Brent continues staring at my breasts. He sounds distant, "It's hard to imagine a gorgeous young woman like you without a boyfriend."

"You never have to imagine reality," I tell him.

It's not like I don't want a boyfriend. I do. However, well, I don't have to over-explain it.

He slams his palms on his desk, grinning.

I jump.

"Good. It's settled," Brent says, standing.

Will I become ten million dollars richer for giving this man, who should have hired me as his legal secretary, a baby? Okay. Let's do it.

How hard can it be? Women have been surrogates for centuries—like, at least since the nineteen eighties.

Brent extends his hand.

I accept it, ignoring the sexual need his warmth and strength of his handshake causes me.

"Now," he says, using his thumb to caress the back of my hand as he holds it. "I expect you will keep your schedule free. I work irregular hours, but I'm free on the weekends."

Nice to know, but why are you telling me this, and you keep doing that—it feels good.

"Whatever you need to know," I say, clearing my throat, "you'll hear everything from the doctor, right?"

Brent lets go of my hand. "We're making this baby."

My arm drops to my waist. "Making?"

He gives me a saucy look. "Making."

"Like," I pause, stifling a laugh, "having sex?"

He's kidding, right?

Brent doesn't want us to have sex. Oh my goodness, what am I thinking? That's funny.

Us?

Sex?

"Yes," he answers with a serious expression on his face.