Dominic #2
“A co-parent would begin with rights and responsibilities. There would be nothing to demand later.”
“He could change his mind about how involved he wants to be.”
“Then you choose someone who has already decided he intends to show up.”
Her eyebrows rise. “You make that sound easy.”
It isn’t. But it’s a variable that can be controlled, and that’s the only kind of answer she’ll accept right now.
She’s right to doubt. “The question can be asked before conception,” I say, keeping my tone procedural.
“That’s a remarkably clinical way to put it.”
“I’m trying to speak your language.”
“My language involves an actual clinic.”
“That could still be part of the arrangement.”
“Could?” She leans back. “What other method is your mystery candidate considering?”
She tries to make the question casual, but she keeps both hands wrapped around her cup while she waits.
“A clinic, a sterile cup, or a turkey baster?” she asks when I don’t answer.
I stare at her. “You cannot be serious.”
“It’s a common cultural reference. I’m not recommending kitchen equipment.”
“Good. I was reconsidering your judgment.”
Her mouth twitches. She focuses on the tea, suppressing her laughter.
“What would you recommend?” she asks.
I look directly at her. “I may be more romantic than you think.”
“I’ve never considered you romantic.”
I let the silence hang for a beat, then abandon the pretense of clinical distance. “I’d prefer the old-fashioned way.” The words are out, a clear boundary crossed. I wait for her to throw me out.
Her fingers stop moving against the cup. Her eyes drop to my mouth, travel over my chest, and go lower.
She catches herself and looks back at me, color moving up her throat. Her brief inventory lands with enough force that I have to shift in the chair, but I don’t move closer or ask what she pictured.
“We are still discussing a hypothetical man,” she says.
“If that helps.”
“It does.”
She is looking at her tea when she says it. I let her have the lie.
“Fine.” She folds her hands on the desk, the analyst taking over again. It’s a defense I recognize. “Tell me why I would choose him.”
“Because you already trust him. You can verify his entire history, require any testing you want, and know that he shares your priorities. He respects your career, and he has the resources to provide for a child without ever limiting your own decisions.”
“You’re assuming a lot about what I want in a co-parent.”
“Then correct me.”
“I’d want someone who doesn’t treat my work as optional. Being involved wouldn’t give him final authority. He would have to make decisions with me.”
“As an equal partner. Yes.”
“He’d also have to want the daily parts. He doesn’t get to appear for birthdays and photographs while I handle everything difficult.”
“He wants all of it.”
The certainty in my answer makes her pause.
“What makes you so certain?”
“Because he wants to be a father. He wants the appointments, the sleepless nights, school pickups, and hard decisions. He isn’t offering a sample and disappearing.”
Elena looks down at the report she abandoned. “That’s a permanent relationship.”
“Co-parenting is permanent.”
“I told you I don’t want my future dependent on another relationship.”
Her words are a direct challenge to what I want. But what I want isn’t part of the offer. “You don’t want romantic dependence,” I say carefully. “This arrangement wouldn’t require romance.”
I’m already being dishonest about my side of the arrangement. I want more than a contract. That risk belongs to me. Elena needs the facts that let her decide.
Her eyes lift. “What does he get?”
“A child he gets to raise.”
“With me.”
“Yes.”
She is quiet for several seconds, her mind clearly running through logistics and consequences. This is a practical problem now, not a hypothetical. “Cliff would lose his mind.”
“Probably.”
“He already won’t love the anonymous-donor plan.”
“Which is part of my point.”
“My brother doesn’t get a vote.”
“I agree.”
“Then why bring him into it?”
“Because you care what they think, even if the decision is yours. Cliff will worry about you doing this alone, and more about a father he can’t vet.” I keep my voice even. “A man he already trusts solves that. He may hate the arrangement, but he’ll know who is standing with you.”
“Assuming this person has a death wish.”
She’s not entirely wrong about Cliff. “He’s willing to accept the risk.”
She watches me, her gaze sharpening with an understanding that makes the air in the room feel thin. “You know someone who fits all of this.”
“Yes.”
“Someone I know.”
“Very well.”
“Who?”
I could bury the answer beneath every legal protection I researched. That would bury the truth under four pages of analysis, and she deserves better from me.
“I meant me.” The two words land in the quiet office, feeling both inadequate and irreversible.
She stares at me. “You have to be joking.”
“I know you need me to be, but I’m not.”
Her chair rolls back as she stands. “Dominic, you’re my boss. You’re Cliff’s best friend. You’re eleven years older than I am, and you just walked into my office to suggest that we have a baby.”
“I know exactly what I’m suggesting.”
“Do you? Because Cliff trusted you to hire me. My family treats you like one of us, and now you’re offering to—” She stops, the complications piling up in her voice. “He may actually kill you.”
Her panic is a tide rising in the room. I give her the calmest truth I have. “He’ll be furious.”
“That’s your entire response?”
“I won’t pretend he’ll approve. He may decide I crossed a line our friendship can’t survive.”
Her mouth closes. The accusation in her voice has been replaced by disbelief. “And you’re still asking.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to be a father. I believe we could do this well. Together.”
“There is no version of this that doesn’t affect work.”
“Then we put protections in place before you agree to anything.” I list the points from my notes, the words I’ve rehearsed.
“Separate attorneys. I recuse myself from decisions involving your compensation, performance, promotion, or discipline. Your authority stays intact. If your answer is no, your position here doesn’t change, and I won’t ask again. ”
“You’ve already talked to an attorney.”
“Only in hypotheticals. I didn’t use your name.”
She braces both hands on her desk, her knuckles white, and looks down at the report without reading it.
I want to tell her everything—about the last three days, about the future I can already see. But that would be a confession, not an offer. It would turn her choice into a referendum on my feelings, and I promised myself her answer would be free.
I stand and move toward the door.
“You don’t have to answer tonight,” I say, keeping my voice level. The only way her answer is free is if she feels the space to give it. “You don’t have to consider it at all.”
She looks up. “How am I supposed to go back to work after this?”
“Go home, Elena. Your hours are your decision, but you’re finished for tonight.”
Her eyes narrow. I feel a rush of relief; anger is a response I can meet, where her stunned silence was a void.
I stop at the doorway. “Your answer won’t cost you anything here. Take whatever time you need. The offer expires the second you say no.”
She doesn’t respond.
I have to leave now, before my own desire turns this offer into pressure. The elevator doors close on Elena standing behind her desk, staring at the empty doorway.