Free The Best Laid Plans by Sarah Mayberry

more than a little overwhelmed. A little depressed, too. As lovely as some of the donors sounded—if she could trust the profiles—she’d always imagined her heart would choose the father of her child, not her head. But it wasn’t as though she had a choice, right?
    She decided she needed a break. She turned off her computer, changed into her workout clothes and walked across busy Queens Road to Albert Park Lake. It was a clear, cold winter’s day and there were plenty of people walking their dogs or jogging along the track that circled the lake. She warmed up before running two laps, the cool air making her eyes sting. Then she spent twenty minutes stretching on the grass, easing the accumulated tension of the week from her hips and legs and back.
    Her head was much clearer when she returned to the apartment and she reviewed the profiles again until she had a short list of three donors.
    One was a firefighter in California, then there was a Ph.D. candidate and lastly an engineering student. On paper, they were all good options. Healthy, intelligent, kind. All of them claimed they were donating sperm because they had close friends or family members with fertility issues and they wanted to help others in similar circumstances. She chose to believe them, even though she knew that American donors were paid, while it was illegal in Australia for donors to receive anything except reimbursement for travel expenses. Given what she’d read about the sperm shortage from Australian men and the limited number of them who were prepared to donate to single women, she was almost certain she would end up using an American donor.
    Short list in hand, she was ready to put her plan in motion.

    A LEX ARRIVED AT WORK early on Monday morning, keen to clear her in-tray so she could close her office door and make a preliminary inquiry at the fertility clinic she’d researched. She also needed to make an appointment with Dr. Ramsay.
    Her step was brisk as she crossed the underground garage, her briefcase in hand.
    “Alexandra.”
    She glanced over her shoulder to see Ethan walking toward her, his chocolate-brown overcoat flaring behind him. Something fluttered in the pit of her stomach and she reminded herself that he’d had plenty of opportunity to corner her last week.
    “Hey,” she said.
    “I was going to drop by your office this morning,” he said as he fell into step beside her. “You got anything on for lunch today?”
    “Lunch?” she asked, instantly wary.
    “Yes, lunch. You know, sandwiches, sushi, soup. Other foodstuffs.”
    She glanced at him. His hair looked very dark in the dim lighting.
    “Is it only lunch?” she asked. “Or is there going to be a side order of your unsolicited opinion on the table?”
    He held up a hand. “Don’t shoot, I come in peace.”
    “Do you?”
    “Alex… Can we just have lunch? My treat. And I promise not to give you any more grief.” He drew a cross over his heart.
    Despite her wariness, it was hard not to be charmed by the childish gesture. It was one of the things she liked about him the most—despite the five-thousand-dollar suits and handmade Italian shoes and his undeniable good looks, he wasn’t afraid to be silly or humble or foolish.
    “We can walk to Pellegrini’s,” he added. “Have some spaghetti Bolognese and garlic bread.”
    “Right, and scare off our clients for the rest of the afternoon.”
    He spread his hands wide. “Exactly. It’s a win-win.”
    Her mouth curled at the corner and she made an effort to contain her smile. He really was a charming bastard when he put his mind to it—something he was no doubt well aware of.
    She leveled a stern finger at him. “No lectures, no questions. We go, we eat, we bitch about Leo’s latest cost-cutting memo, we come back.”
    “You’re the boss,” Ethan said.
    She narrowed her eyes, trying to read him. What was this really about? Was it possible he was simply trying to restore their friendship to its usual