He was still trying to come up with a good rationalization for what had almost happened when he sat down to his lunch meeting with Noah later that day.
“How did it go this morning?” Noah asked, reaching for the breadbasket lying on the conference room table.
“Everything's under control,” he said nonchalantly without looking up from a memo the research and development department had sent him. “But I don't have time for it, so count on the day care being your project from now on.”
“A real babe, isn't she?”
He didn't even pretend to not understand his brother's meaning. He gave Noah a hard look. “Elizabeth is soon going to be under contract. She's a business associate. And a friend of the family.”
“Oh, come on, Quentin. You can't tell me you didn't notice those big green eyes and that sexy wa—”
“And I told you to keep your hands—and everything else for that matter—off of her.” Not that he'd set a sterling example that morning, he reminded himself ruefully.
“Okay, you're the boss,” Noah responded with an easygoing grin.
“Yeah, try to remember that for more than fifteen seconds.”
After his encounter with Elizabeth that morning he'd decided the safest course was to get someone else to handle the day-care center. Not hiring Elizabeth wasn't an option—Allison would give him hell.
The obvious solution was to make sure Noah got this whole project finished ASAP. Much as his brother was making him regret that decision at the moment.
“You know,” Noah was saying, “I was just kidding. Allison explained Liz's medical condition to me. Rotten luck.”
Quentin knew his brother well enough not to dance around what was obviously on Noah's mind. “Of course Allison's harebrained solution would be creating a new subsidiary, Whittaker Spermbanks R Us.”
Noah grinned. “Yeah.” He poured himself some water from the pitcher on the conference table. “Started off with the wrong brother though.”
“Not you, too.”
Noah shrugged. “You've walked the straight and narrow too long. Your idea of radical is wearing a tie with broad stripes.”
“This from the guy who pestered me for weeks for an introduction to Samantha the Sweater Girl?” Quentin asked, pretending to look incredulous.
“That was high school, maybe college. You missed the turn to the uber-cool thirties a long time ago and just kept on going.”
Quentin shook his head. “Great, I'm square, or whatever they're calling uncool these days.”
“Look, all I'm saying is that donating sperm is not such an off-the-wall idea. We've known Liz for a long time. Helping her out—”
“For cripes' sake, you talk about it like it's offering to fix her leaky faucet!”
“Okay, it's different. And I'm not saying you should do it.”
“Matt—”
Noah shook his head. “He hasn't said anything. Ally told me what he said at the barbecue, but he hasn't mentioned it since then that I know of.”
Quentin felt himself releasing the tension he hadn't even known he had.
Noah gave him a quizzical look. “You should have gone for her when she was younger and visiting Allison all the time. I could have sworn she had a crush on you.”
Ignoring Quentin's dark look, Noah continued irrepressibly, “God knows why though. There were far better specimens of male prowess hanging around the house. Women, go figure!”
“She was a kid!”
Noah eyed him speculatively. “Well, she's not anymore.”
“Well, she's a business associate now.”
“Yeah, but that won't last forever. And you do seem to be acting uncharacteristically passionate on the topic of Lizzie and insemination, Quent.”
“You're barking up the wrong tree. I just don't want her to do something she'll regret. Call me old-fashioned, but I believe in making babies the traditional way.”
If Noah was skeptical about that, he kept his thoughts to himself. “Allison's idea isn't so crazy, Quent. Mom has been after you for little Whittakers.”
Quentin rolled his eyes. “Don't go there.”
“All right, bro,” Noah wiggled his eyebrows, “but you wouldn't have to donate sperm if you can convince Liz to do it the old-fashioned way.”
Quentin nearly lost control of the cup of coffee he'd picked up. He set it down on its saucer with a clatter. “Oh, great, seduce my kid sister's best friend. I see that working out.”
“All I'm saying is, why don't you take a closer look. This might be a long-term investment that's worth making.”
Try as she might to concentrate on work, Liz found her mind replaying the events in Quentin's office.
Quentin had been about to kiss her. That much was clear. And she, like a ninny, had reacted like a deer caught in headlights: wide-eyed and then bolting as fast as she could.
She sighed. It figured that, after all these years, when finally presented with the opportunity she used to fantasize about, she'd completely blow it. She just wasn't the cool and collected sophisticated type.
What remained a mystery was just why Quentin had almost kissed her. Was he curious about whether he'd be able to feel any attraction for her at all?
What would have happened if he had kissed her? She shivered, the thought sending prickles of awareness through her.
Then she stopped abruptly. What was she doing? She'd gotten over her infatuation with Quentin years ago, she told herself firmly. And nothing good could come of unlocking that door again, particularly now that she was working for him.
She should just be glad Quentin had decided to let her have the day-care project despite her totally unprofessional behavior at the barbecue on Saturday. The Whittaker account was really going to help her cash flow situation.
Her eyes strayed for the umpteenth time to the brochures at the corner of her wide Victorian desk, parked near the bay windows at the front of the first story of her house. The brochures had started to arrive from various fertility clinics in Boston.
Her initial panic and shock at the doctor's news had faded, but her bravado was also deserting her. How was she ever going to manage all by herself? A fledgling business, a new baby and a mortgage on a rambling old Victorian house that still needed lots of work.
Even the artificial insemination was going to cost money. She'd received a small inheritance from her Aunt Kathleen that she'd intended to squirrel away as a nest egg. As painful as the thought was, however, she'd probably need to use that money for the sperm bank.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the ringing phone. “Hello?”