Baby Be Mine (Spinsters & Casanovas Series Book 1) (11 page)

Everything was great, Clarice thought as she
dug into her char noodles, savoring the flavor as she bit into
them. Darcy was nice; the restaurant was nice; everything was nice.
She couldn’t ask for a more perfect date. Just then, her phone
rang.
Must be Max trying to keep a tab on me.

Clarice dug into her bag, trying to retrieve
her phone hidden among the other junk. Her hand landed on her
driver’s license. Meaning to put it in her wallet again, she placed
it out on the table and continued to search through her bag, when
an outcry from her date startled her, making her head jerk up to
look at him.

Darcy jerked up off his chair like a fire
had been lit up his butt. He started pulling on his jacket, then
slammed a fifty-dollar note on the table.

“Do you need to be somewhere else? You look
like you’re in a hurry,” Clarice asked, quite concerned when Darcy
started acting so strange. It didn’t make sense. They got along
just fine a few minutes ago. What changed?

“Sorry, I have this rule. I don’t date any
woman older than me.” Darcy said while placing his wallet back in
his pocket.

“What?” Clarice burst out, jumping from her
chair, shocked that he would say something like that.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done this. I
should have ticked the age range group in the survey. I wasn’t
aware the system would pair me up with you. Look, I’m sorry. But I
can’t date you. I have to go now,” Darcy said, and then he left,
just like that.

One minute he was here and the next
gone.

Poor Clarice sat back down in the chair
while everyone eyed her. And here she had felt sorry for that girl
that Casanova had left behind not half an hour ago, when she
herself was now in the same boat.

Argh, all men are the same.
Clarice
wanted to scream.
First that Hunter guy and now Darcy. Jerks and
Casanovas. I wish I would never see them again.

And then she saw her driver’s license. So
that was the cause of all the commotion. Her driver’s license
again.
Oh, how pathetic can life get?
Clarice finished her
meal, gloomily staring at her ID.

Thirty, still single, and she’d just gotten
ditched on her first date.

CHAPTER 9

Clarice woke one week later with an
ultimatum for herself. She was going to have a baby. Forget about
love. She had all the love she needed right here. What she wanted
was a family, and what better way than to have a baby?

Being a single mother was perfect. She could
give all her love to the baby. She had enough to spare and enough
laughter to share around the world. She didn’t need a man. What
with every single man around her acting like jerks and Casanovas,
she hadn’t time for the emotional rollercoaster of love and
heartbreak. And thank the Lord, because when that glasses guy
Darcy, or Rarcy, or whatever ditched her, there was no heartache.
Yes, it was better to have no feelings involved at all, just a
clean and sterile transaction, like her dental instruments.

But where to find this sperm that wouldn’t
involve relationships and heartache? Then the proverbial light bulb
flashed above her head, and she scrambled off her bed in her pink
pajamas and went straight towards the phone.

A few minutes later, Clarice had an
appointment for a consultation at the fertility clinic.

“Yes, thank you. I’ll pop in at lunchtime.
Thanks,” she said before placing the receiver down.

At last, her first goal had been decided. By
the end of this year, she was going to get herself pregnant by way
of artificial insemination.

* * *

Fluffy blue coats or fluffy pink coats? Blue
socks or pink socks? To scan or not to scan? Which room should she
put the cot in? How long should she breastfeed? What color should
the blanket be? What name should she give her baby? Dorian? No, too
Casanova-like, like that Dorian Grey from that movie. Dori? No, too
much like Nemo. Sally? No, too simple. Cassandra?
Hmmm, sounds
nice.

“Clarice?” A voice poked through her
thoughts.

“Yes.” Clarice jerked up her head, realizing
she had just walked into the dental surgery.

“Clarice,” Gracey said, shaking her head at
her little boss who was once again daydreaming about who knows
what. “Wake up from your daydreaming, dear. We have a new
representative from the Silverton Hotel asking to speak with you
about the upcoming hygiene conference being held in Queenstown this
year.”

“Conference? Queenstown?” Clarice asked, not
registering what Gracey had said.

“Clarice, my dear, are you getting any sleep
at all? Where are you today? Off to La-la Land again?” Gracey
asked.

This was the usual case for Clarice. If she
had a certain thought in her mind, it showed right on her face. She
had never been good at hiding emotions.

“Sorry, I was thinking about some
things.”

“Mind telling me? I’m all ears.” Gracey
loved hearing gossip from her colleague, but Clarice wasn’t ready
to spill the news yet. Well, not to Gracey anyway. No matter how
good the woman was, she was like a wildfire. Give her one small
piece of bacon, and she’d turn it into a full-on roast pork.

“Ah, not at the moment. Still sorting stuff
out. When I’m ready, I’ll let you know,” she said.

“Great, darling. I’ll be waiting, then. Now
for this…” Gracey turned her attention back to the information at
hand, which was the Dental Hygiene Conference being held in
Queenstown, and all the representatives. “The representative of the
Silverton Hotel wants a word with you about the conference.”

“Why would the representative of the
Silverton Hotel want to talk to me? I’m only one of their guest
speakers,” Clarice asked.

“Because you’re the all-time important guest
speaker, that’s why. He said he needed to go over some stuff with
you about the layout and things.”

“But the event is being held in Queenstown.
Why am I going to the Silverton Hotel in Auckland, then?’

“Because they also own the Silverton Hotel
in Queenstown and it’s exactly the same layout. Plus, it’s just to
meet the representative.”

“Right, fine then. Where do I meet him?”

“At the Silverton Hotel,” Gracey told her
again. “Dear, where has your head gone? It feels like we’re talking
around the table here. Get back to Earth, dear.”

“Yes, Gracey. I’m sorry for being away with
the fairies.”

“Well, I blocked you out for the afternoon
so you could suss out all the details involving the conference.
Happy?”

“Yes, happy, Gracey. Thank you,” she said,
then walked into her surgery room with the patient’s files in her
hand while her head was once again swimming with her baby
thoughts.

The afternoon rolled around faster than
Clarice could say cheese, and by one p.m. straight on the dot, she
was at the entrance to the fertility clinic.

Nervous and palms sweating, she held on to
the doorknob and drew forward.
No backing down now, Clarice,
she told herself.
You are ready to become a mother. You are
ready for this.

“What?” That was her first reaction when the
consultant came back to her. “You mean to say I can’t even see the
man that donates the sperm?” she asked when the consultant outlined
their guidelines.

“Yes.”

“Why not? How do I know he looks nice if I
can’t see his face?”

“I’m sorry. It’s part of our policy here. We
value our donors’ privacy, so to show their pictures to potential
clients would pose a risk to their lives.”

“I don’t understand how seeing the man would
make me go out and kill him.”

“Well, let’s just say if you don’t like the
look of your baby, you might feel differently.”

“I wouldn’t do that. Isn’t that why I asked
to see his face first? If he’s handsome, then surely my child would
be handsome too.”

“That’s not generally the case with
babies.”

“Ah, this is so frustrating. This is so not
happening.” Clarice wanted to scream. Here she was thinking that
everything was going the way she had planned, but now this. Was God
trying to stop her from having a family? She tried reasoning with
the consultant one more time. “If I can’t even see his picture, how
am I supposed to decide whether he would be the right one for me?
After all, I am bearing his child. What if you lie to me that he’s
intelligent, gentle, and sensible, then I ended up getting the
wrong sperm from someone else? How do I make sure that doesn’t
happen?”

“We always make sure it does not happen
again.”

“Again? Are you saying it happened
once?”

“Yes, just once.”

“This is crazy. I’m going crazy.” Clarice
felt like tearing her hair out of her head.

“Miss, please calm down. Why are you so
flustered?”

“Why am I not out of my chair, screaming
right now would be a better question. Have you any idea how old I
am? Thirty. I’ve never had a baby before, and I am scared if I wait
any longer, I won’t be able to conceive at all. And right now I
want a baby. One good, healthy, and beautiful baby that has all the
traits I’ve listed on that piece of paper there. Smart,
intelligent, kind, etc. And now you tell me I can’t even see the
person who will donate the sperm. I want a baby. I want a family. I
want a companion when I grow old.” There, she lashed out everything
that was bearing on her chest.

“You could always get a dog,” the consultant
suggested nervously.

“I don’t want a dog. I’m scared of
dogs.”

“How about a cat?”

“I’m allergic.”

“A goldfish, then. They live in the water,
have no fur, and aren’t as scary as a dog.”

“No, no goldfish, no cats, and no dogs. I
want a
baby
.”

“Perhaps you need a sedative to help you
relax?”

“I am not mad and screaming at the top of my
lungs!” Clarice went mad and screamed at the top of her lungs. “I
am merely frustrated with my life right now. So you don’t need to
give me any sedatives. I’m leaving.”

After a good long, aimless walk around the
area, munching on chocolate chips, Clarice calmed down a bit. Her
mind was still bogged deep in thought when she heard the blast of a
horn jolting her awake.

* * *

“Why you no-good bastard of a son. You’re
making me crazy,” Clinton shouted, newspaper in hand, running
around after Hunter like they were playing chase.

“Calm down, Dad. You don’t want the whole
department to know you’re fighting with the future heir,” Hunter
said when his father stopped to rest on the armchair, out of
breath. Hunter came to comfort his father, patting him on the back
to help him with his breathing.

“Future heir? Hunter! What am I going to do
with you?” Clinton said once he recovered, swatting his son’s arm
as a consequence for defying him yet again. “That one simple task
and you couldn’t even do it for me.”

“What do you want me to do, Dad? She was
practically a mannequin. She didn’t even speak to me for fifteen
minutes. The only time she said anything was when the waitress came
to order our meals.”

“She’s shy,” Clinton explained.

“Shy my ass.” Hunter snarled.

“Don’t you speak with that tone, young man!”
His father rang his ear.

“Ahh, Dad, I’m sorry,” he yelled until his
father let his ear go. “But why are you so persistent in matching
me up with some random girl anyway? You know I don’t like it.”

“She’s not random. She’s the daughter of the
CEO of one of our most important client’s here. And I am sick and
tired of you behaving like a Casanova. Get real. This girl, she
would be good for you.”

“Why does it have to be her?” Hunter asked.
Surely his dad could pick up someone better than the jukebox, aka
Caroline. Caroline was more his cousin’s type. Quiet, mature, tall,
skinny. Yep, it was everything Anton would desire in a woman.

“Because she likes you.” His father
gasped.

“But she doesn’t even know anything about
me. And for the record, I don’t like her,” he declared.

“What don’t you like about her?” Clinton
asked. He couldn’t understand why a girl as beautiful as Caroline
would not catch his son’s eye. She was the epitome of beauty, the
perfect wife for his wayward child.

“Because she’s too quiet. Too boring. She
doesn’t hold my interest. She’s not my type. And the list goes on.
You get the gist, Dad.” He listed his dislikes of Caroline to his
father.

“You have a type?” Clinton asked, astonished
that kids these days had
types
they went for.

“I do, Dad,” he said to his father, whose
cheeks were puffed up like a helium balloon. “Look, stop. You might
have an aneurism, and then what’s Betty going to do?”

“The question is what are you going to do if
that happens?” Clinton asked. He wasn’t sure if he could rest in
peace if his only son continued to behave like this, like a boat
without a sail, floating on the sea, being carried by the wind in
any direction it blew.

Clinton didn’t like the thought of his son
having no prospects ahead of him. But looking at the past
twenty-three years, his son hadn’t improved at all; in fact, his
behavior was getting worse. All day, his son played around, having
no responsibility, only increasing his horrible attitude. He was
sure Caroline would be his savior. He got so mad when Anton
informed him of the outcome, that his son had just left the table
without as so much as a proper explanation. How could he make his
son be a gentleman? What could he do to make him learn? His son
needed to take responsibility.

“I’ll become the heir of the company, of
course,” Hunter stated simply. Actually, he should have said Anton
would be the heir, but he just wanted to piss off his father, since
his ear was still throbbing.

“Hunter, you’re going to make me die early
here.” Clinton smacked his palm against his forehead in
frustration.