Elena #2
“Separate attorneys,” I begin. “You retain yours. I choose mine without input from you, and my conversations remain private. Since this proposal creates the expense, you cover my legal fees.”
“Agreed.”
“That’s an open-ended financial commitment.”
“I can afford your attorney, Elena.”
Of course he can. The money is nothing to him, which is precisely why the boundaries have to be iron. “I’m aware. Paying the bill doesn’t give you access.”
“It doesn’t.”
His answer comes without offense or hesitation. I glance down at my notes.
“My role at Rowe Holdings needs written protection. Compensation, promotion, discipline, and performance decisions move outside your authority. You recuse yourself completely and designate someone with enough independence to make those decisions without worrying about pleasing you.”
“Yes.”
“My title, reporting authority, and responsibilities stay intact. If I decide against conception at any point, or if the personal arrangement deteriorates later, there is no retaliation. Explicit or quiet.”
“Agreed.”
I look up. “You’re answering quickly.”
“I spent three days researching the risks before I spoke to you. I’m not hearing any condition I didn’t expect.”
“That should reassure me.”
“It doesn’t?”
“It does.” A faint chill runs down my arms despite the warmth of the office. “The amount of preparation is still unsettling.”
“I can live with that.”
Of course he can. He’s getting what he wants.
I turn the legal pad so I can read the next section. “We will share parental responsibility. I will not carry the entire daily load while you appear for holidays, birthdays, and photographs.”
He leans forward. “I wouldn’t do that.”
“I don’t believe you would. The agreement still needs to say it.”
He settles back a fraction. “Put it in.”
“We’ll need to address everything: custody, finances, childcare, education, medical decisions, even how and when we tell our families.”
“They will be.”
“Major parenting decisions require both of us. Emergency care is the obvious exception. You don’t get final authority because you’re accustomed to having it everywhere else.”
The corner of his mouth ticks up. “You think I’m going to run a household like a board meeting?”
“You once sent a calendar invitation for a conversation we were already having.”
“You kept trying to leave.”
“Because the conversation was over.”
“It ended at the scheduled time.”
I stare at him, letting the silence stretch. A small, sharp thrill of victory cuts through the tension. “This is exactly why the clause exists.”
His mouth shifts, but he lets the joke go. “No unilateral decisions. Understood.”
“The first attempt happens at the clinic.”
His hand stops on the arm of the chair, his fingers pressing into the leather. A flicker of disappointment crosses his face before it’s gone. “That’s what you want?”
“Yes.”
Clinical conception keeps the beginning medical and defined. It also keeps Dominic’s hands off me—the safest option, since my thoughts have already catalogued the shape of them.
After a second, he says, “Then we start at the clinic.”
I nod and move to the next point rather than examine the slight roughness of his voice.
“We both provide complete sexual-health disclosure before any procedure. While we’re actively trying to conceive, neither of us will have undisclosed sexual partners. If either of us chooses to sleep with someone else, the other person knows before another attempt happens.”
“No undisclosed partners,” he repeats, his voice level. “The rule applies equally.”
“Obviously.”
The restriction doesn’t seem to trouble him at all. I’m not surprised. I can’t remember the last time I heard about him dating anyone. The thought is both reassuring and vaguely unsettling.
I point the end of my pen at him. “It ends when we stop trying. It does not become a clause controlling either person’s romantic life during pregnancy or after the baby is born.”
“I didn’t say it would.” His answer is careful.
“I’m saying it now so it never appears in a draft. If either of us wants exclusivity later, we’ll have to make that choice personally. No attorney gets to bind us to one.”
He studies me for a moment, and I can’t tell whether he’s evaluating the legal point or the possibility behind the word exclusivity.
“Agreed,” he says.
I check the final line on my page, my heart hammering against my ribs. I clear my throat, forcing the words out. “Sex is not part of the deal.”
Dominic doesn’t look away. “I heard you.”
His eyes move to my mouth and then down my blouse before returning to my face. The look is brief, but I know he remembers our conversation about the old-fashioned way.
I stand and gather my notes. “These are preliminary conditions. My attorney may add others.”
“I expect her to.”
“And I still haven’t said yes.”
“I know.”
He rises. This close, I have to tip my head back to meet his eyes. Another item for the risk column.
“Thank you for considering it,” he says.
The sincerity catches me off guard. I expected confidence, maybe another reminder that the proposal is practical. I didn’t expect gratitude.
“Don’t make me regret it.” The words escape before I can stop them, more vulnerable than anything on my list.
“I won’t.”
He can’t promise that. No one could. But he means he won’t be careless with my trust.
I return to my office with the legal pad held against my side and close my own door.
An hour later, Dominic crosses the executive floor with Evan and disappears into the elevator. Once the doors close, I pick up my phone and call the one person who will tell me the truth without telling me what to do.
Olivia answers on the second ring. We met in college, and she watched me rebuild my life after Daniel without treating me like something fragile. She also knows I’ve spent four years describing Dominic with enough annoyed detail to fill a dissertation.
“You’re calling during business hours,” she says. “Do you need money, bail, or help moving a body?”
“Your opinion.”
“That could still involve a body.”
“I’m serious.”
Her voice changes immediately. “Okay. What happened?”
I turn my chair toward the windows. “I’m reconsidering the anonymous-donor plan.”
“Reconsidering having a baby?”
“No. The anonymous part.”
She waits.
“Someone offered to be a known donor and co-parent,” I say.
“Is it Dominic?”
My breath catches. I say nothing, letting the silence be the answer.
Olivia exhales into the phone. “Wow. Okay.”
“I haven’t agreed to anything. I just said I’d explore it.”
“He offered to have a baby with you?”
“To co-parent. The first attempt would be clinical.”
“That was a very Elena clarification.”
I wince. She’s not wrong.
“It’s an important distinction.”
“Legally and medically, sure.” She pauses. “Emotionally? You’re considering raising a child with a man you’ve spent four years talking about far too often while insisting he’s only your boss.”
“That is not accurate.”
“Elena, you don’t devote that much detail to people you feel nothing about.”
I press my fingers to my forehead. “Can we focus?”
“I am focused. Do you trust him?”
“Yes.” The answer leaves my mouth before she finishes asking, a single point of certainty in a sea of calculated risks.
“Do you believe he’ll be a good father?”
“Yes.”
“Can you protect your job?”
“We’ll have separate attorneys. He’ll recuse himself from every employment decision involving me, and the protections will be in writing.”
“What does Cliff know?”
“Nothing yet.”
“He’s going to lose his mind.”
“I know.” I can already picture his face—the mixture of hurt and protective anger. It will be the biggest fight we’ve ever had.
“That doesn’t make the choice wrong.”
I close my eyes. “You’re being inconveniently reasonable.”
“Give me a minute. I can probably become judgmental.”
I laugh, and some of the pressure in my shoulders eases.
Olivia is quiet for a second. “You can protect your position. You can define custody, money, and medical decisions. You can make sure he can’t punish you professionally if this falls apart.”
“That’s the idea.”
“A contract can safeguard your legal rights, Elena. It can’t protect your feelings.”
I look down at the legal pad. I circled Reliability hard enough that the line almost cuts through the paper.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Her question hangs in the air, simple and sharp. A contract can’t protect my feelings. She’s right. It’s the entire risk, the one I circled without naming. “Yes.”
I don’t know how this will feel once the ink is dry, once we’re sitting in a clinic waiting room.
An anonymous donor is safe. Dominic is a man who could actually hurt me.
But he’s also a man who could give our child a father I already trust. The fear of being hurt can’t be the only reason I choose to do this alone. It just can’t.
Olivia doesn’t tell me what to choose. She knows better. We talk for a few more minutes, and when the call ends, I sit with her warning instead of trying to explain it away.
Then I find Dominic’s name in my contacts.
He picks up on the second ring, as if he was waiting. “Elena?”
“We need terms.”