Chapter 53
OLIVIA
I’m checking my phone for the tenth time when Camille smacks my hand. “Stop that.”
“I’m not doing anything,” I argue.
“You’re vibrating like a freaking chihuahua in a thunderstorm.” She adjusts her hair in the reflection of the conference room door. “It’s making me nervous, and I don’t do nervous.”
Unfortunately, I do. My mouth feels like I’ve been chewing cotton balls. The water pitcher on the sideboard calls to me, but I don’t trust my hands not to shake and spill it all over the place. The last thing this situation needs is a wet crotch.
“Maybe we should reschedule,” I suggest.
“Are you insane?” Camille grabs my shoulders. “Jonathan Madison doesn’t reschedule. You get one shot with him, and this is it.”
“Right. One shot.” I smooth my pencil skirt for the hundredth time. “With the CEO of Madison Pharmaceuticals. Who could single-handedly save our clinic or—”
“Or nothing. You’re going to nail this. We will not be dabbling in worst-case hypotheticals, ma’am. Capisce?”
The door opens. A man in his sixties enters, silver-haired and distinguished in a navy suit. But it’s his shoes that make me do a double-take.
Target sneakers. Bright white with neon green laces.
“Dr. Aster?” His smile reaches his eyes, which crinkle up with happy little crow’s feet. “Jonathan Madison.” He catches me gawking at the footwear and grins sheepishly. “Sorry about the shoes—my granddaughter says I need to be more ‘hip.’ I’m trying my best.”
The tension in my shoulders drops a fraction. “They’re very hip.”
“They’re ridiculous, but she’s seven, so it comes with the territory.” He shrugs and gestures for us to follow him in, then takes a seat behind the desk. “Tell me about your clinic.”
I launch into the spiel.
And, surprisingly, it goes… well? Twenty minutes in, and I’m actually enjoying myself. Jonathan asks real questions—about success rates, patient demographics, our approach to mental health support. His assistants take notes on tablets while Camille smoothly provides supporting documents.
“The personalized care model is impressive,” Jonathan says as I’m wrapping up. “Most clinics treat fertility like an assembly line.”
“Exactly! Yes!” I realize I’m shouting and try to moderate my best. “Er, yes, exactly—that’s exactly what we’re trying to avoid. Every patient has a unique journey and deserves unique attention. Cookie-cutter protocols don’t—”
Then the door slams open.
And Rebecca Walsh sweeps in, looking like the Devil Wears Chanel with a razor cut bob sharp enough to slice throats.
“So sorry I’m late.” She’s not sorry at all. “Traffic was murder.”
My stomach drops to my discount heels.
“Dr. Walsh?” Jonathan looks confused. “I wasn’t aware you were joining us.”
“Oh, I’m not.” She perches on the edge of his desk. “I just thought you should see this before making any decisions about Dr. Aster here.”
She pulls out her phone. The screen fills with an article I haven’t seen yet.
The headline alone makes me want to vomit. Aster Fertility Solutions: A Baby Making Business Built on Sex.
“Interesting, no?” Rebecca’s voice drips honey-coated poison. “Apparently, Dr. Aster has been taking a very hands-on approach to fundraising.”
The room swims before my eyes. I grip the table edge to stay upright.
Jonathan’s assistants huddle around the phone, jaws dropping with each paragraph. One of them gasps. Another covers her mouth.
“There are photos,” Rebecca continues. “Very cozy shots of Dr. Aster with Stefan Safonov. You know who he is, don’t you, Jonathan?”
“I’ve heard the name,” he mumbles.
“Russian mobster.” Rebecca lets that sink in. “Money laundering, racketeering, murder. And according to this article, he’s been extremely generous with Dr. Aster’s clinic. In exchange for certain… personal services.”
Camille shoots to her feet. “That’s slander!”
“Oh?” Rebecca’s eyes never leave mine. “The photos are quite damning. His hand on her waist. Her looking up at him like—well, like a woman who knows exactly what she’s doing.”
I can’t speak. Can’t breathe. Can’t do anything but watch my professional life implode.
Jonathan clears his throat as he drags his eyes up to mine. “Dr. Aster, these are serious allegations.”
“They’re lies,” I whimper.
“The photos aren’t,” Rebecca chimes in. “Neither is the fact that Safonov Holdings made a substantial donation to your clinic recently. Public record.”
One of the assistants whispers something to Jonathan. His expression shifts from concern to disgust.
“I think we need to table this discussion.” He stands, his Target sneakers squeaking against the floor. “My team will be in touch.”
They won’t be. We all know it.
“Jonathan, wait—” I start to follow him.
“Dr. Aster,” he says, not unkindly, “given the circumstances, I think it’s best we maintain distance. Madison Pharmaceuticals can’t be associated with this kind of scandal.”
Just like that, he leaves.
Or tries to.
But he doesn’t get far.
“Going so soon?”
Stefan’s voice makes statues out of everyone in the room. He stands in the doorway, blocking Jonathan’s exit, dressed in a dark gray suit that makes him look less like a criminal and more like a Fortune 500 CEO.
Jonathan freezes. His assistants cluster behind him like frightened birds.
“Mr. Safonov,” Jonathan says cautiously.
“Mr. Madison.” Stefan steps into the room, and suddenly, it feels too small. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d come say hello. I couldn’t help but overhear Dr. Walsh’s creative interpretation of recent events.”
Rebecca’s smug sneer falters. “Stefan. What a surprise.”
“Is it?” He doesn’t look at her. His eyes are on me, checking for damage. “You seem to know quite a bit about my business dealings, Rebecca. One might wonder how.”
“Public record—”
“Shut up.”
The words are quiet, but Rebecca’s mouth snaps closed like Stefan just stapled it shut himself.
Stefan turns to Jonathan. “Let me clarify a few things. Yes, I’ve invested in Aster Fertility Solutions. Substantially. Not because Dr. Aster is providing ‘personal services,’ but because she’s the best fertility specialist in Boston.”
“That’s not what the article—” one of the assistants starts.
“The article is garbage written by a hack with an agenda.” Stefan’s gaze slides to Rebecca. “Probably paid for by a competitor who can’t match Dr. Aster’s success rates.”
Rebecca’s face goes white.
“As for our personal relationship…” Stefan moves to stand beside me. Not touching, but close enough that I can smell his cologne. “Dr. Aster is helping me start a family. Through a completely legal, completely professional surrogacy arrangement.”
The room goes silent.
Jonathan blinks. “… Surrogacy?”
“My personal medical decisions are private, but given the circumstances…” Stefan shrugs.
“I want a child to carry on my family’s legacy.
Dr. Aster’s clinic specializes in helping people achieve that goal.
Our arrangement is no different from any other client relationship, except that I’ve chosen to invest in the clinic that’s helping me. ”
Rebecca is aghast. “That’s—”
“The truth.” Stefan’s voice drops to subzero as he adds, “Unlike whatever bullshit fiction you’re peddling.” He pulls out his phone and waves it in front of her. “My lawyers will be contacting the publisher within the hour. Defamation suits are expensive, I hear.”
Rebecca’s hands clench. “You can’t just—”
“I can do whatever I want.” He steps toward her, and she actually backs up. “Including having security escort you out of here if you don’t leave voluntarily.”
“This is a private meeting—”
“In my building.”
“Wh…what?” Rebecca’s voice cracks.
“Did you not realize? This entire complex belongs to Safonov Holdings. Every conference room. Every office.” He grins. “Every single security camera.”
He pauses as we all watch the last vestiges of color drain from her complexion.
“So, Rebecca, you have two choices. Leave now with whatever dignity you have left. Or I have you removed, and the footage of you getting thrown out on your ass goes viral within the hour.”
Rebecca’s face cycles through several shades of white, pink, and red. She looks at Jonathan, then at me, then back at Stefan. “Th…this isn’t over!”
“Yes,” Stefan says, “it is.”
Without another word, she flees.
As soon as Walsh is gone, Stefan turns back to Jonathan. “I apologize for the drama. Dr. Walsh has a history of trying to sabotage Dr. Aster’s success. Professional jealousy is ugly.”
Jonathan clears his throat. “Mr. Safonov, while I appreciate the clarification, the association is rather difficult for us to manage.”
Stefan’s face doesn’t change. “I understand your concern. But consider this: I could fund any clinic in the world. I chose Dr. Aster’s because I only work with the best.” He glances at me.
“She turned me down many times before finally agreeing to help. Not because of money—I offered plenty—but because she wanted to ensure I understood the emotional complexity of what I was asking.”
“She did?”
“Ask her yourself.”
Jonathan looks at me. “Is this true?”
At last, I find my voice. “Every word.”
“The medical board—”
“—has already reviewed and approved our arrangement,” Stefan intervenes smoothly. “I insisted on complete transparency.”
This is news to me, but I keep my face neutral.
Jonathan’s assistants whisper among themselves again. One shows him something on a tablet.
“The numbers are impressive,” Jonathan admits. “And the patient reviews…”
“They’re genuine,” I promise. “Every single one.”
Stefan checks his watch. “I have another meeting, but I wanted to ensure the record was clear. Dr. Aster runs her clinic with integrity. Anyone suggesting otherwise is either lying or jealous. Usually both.” He heads for the door, then pauses.
“Mr. Madison, you built your company on taking chances on brilliant people. Don’t let gossip make you miss the opportunity of a lifetime. ”
Then he’s gone, leaving his cologne and the weight of his words behind.
Jonathan sits back down slowly. “Well. That was…”
“Intense?” Camille suggests.
“I was going to say ‘illuminating.’” He looks at me. “A surrogacy arrangement?”
“Completely above board,” I confirm.
“And he just… announced it? To protect your reputation?”
“Mr. Safonov is very protective of his investments. As you just saw.”
Jonathan’s quiet for a moment. Then: “Tell me more about your expansion plans.”
My heart restarts. “You’re still interested?”
“Dr. Aster, I’ve been in business forty years. I know a hit piece when I see one.” He glances at the door Rebecca fled through. “I also know when someone’s terrified of competition. So let’s talk numbers.”
As I launch back into my presentation, I catch a glimpse of Stefan through the conference room glass. He’s standing by the elevator, watching.
When our eyes meet, he nods once.
Then the elevator doors close, and he’s gone.
Jonathan Madison signs a preliminary agreement twenty minutes later.