Merry Christmas, Babies. Tara Quinn Taylor
his office on one end of the fifteenth-floor condominium suite to Elise’s office on the other.
It had been two weeks and a day since he’d met the real Elise Richardson—or at least a more complete Elise.
Two weeks and a day since she’d told him she was carrying four babies at once.
Neither of them had mentioned the conversation since.
He could think of little else.
She was on the phone when he arrived. The second she disconnected he announced, “I just heard you climbed fifteen flights of stairs with a bag of groceries.”
He could only see the top half of her sleeveless white summer dress, and she wasn’t sweating a bit.
“I had salad dressing and meat for the chicken Caesar salad we’re having for lunch. I couldn’t leave them in my car. It’s summer outside, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“Don’t humor me, Elise. I’m not out of line here.”
“You’re upset over nothing.” She didn’t have to flick her fingers through that short dark hair to make her opinion perfectly clear.
“You climbed fifteen flights of stairs!”
“The elevator was out.”
“You’re carrying four babies! You should have called someone.”
She glanced to the hall outside the big glass windows on either side of her door. “The bag wasn’t heavy and exercise is good.” Her voice had lost much of its force.
“You still haven’t told anyone.”
She shook her head.
“When are you planning to do it?”
“As soon as the timing’s right. At the moment we’re hiring a new pay tech to take care of the payroll-only clients. And something’s up with one of our couriers—checks have been misdelivered twice.”
“Lunch today would be good timing,” Joe said, refusing to be distracted by business when what he really wanted was to never again speak of anything else with his partner. “Putting yourself—and your babies—in danger is ludicrous.”
“There was no danger, Joe! I’m not stupid. I went slowly, took breaks when I needed to. I just saw my doctor this morning and she says the more I exercise the better we’re all going to be.”
He closed her door, then stood in front of her desk like some kind of drill sergeant. Unusual for him.
“On to something that matters,” she said, eyeing him with warning. “First International is threatening to raise our group rate again. I’ve got an appointment on Monday with Great State.”
Both substantial and reputable insurance companies, and nothing to do with the stairs she’d climbed—or the reason he cared that she had. “I suspect their quotes will be similar.”
“Our value comes in offering insurance to employees of independent companies at a rate their companies can’t afford to offer. If our rates change too much, we lose that value.”
“We offer a great package,” he said. “Payroll, workers’ comp, tax compliance—and group insurance. And if our rates raise, so will everyone else’s. Unless they drop the lower rate structure for larger groups—which would put them out of business—we’ll still have the advantage.”
“I have an idea that will give us more of an advantage.”
He recognized the glint in her eye and sat in a visitor chair. “I’m listening.”
“What if we bundle a package of vendors? You know, a workers’ comp specialist, a strategic planning counselor, a tax consultant, a retirement counselor, psychiatric counselor, a corporate lawyer and maybe some kind of team facilitator—all things that are offered to employees of larger companies.”
“Benefits that bring higher levels of success,” he added, already hearing the presentation in his mind as he imagined himself selling the idea.
“Exactly.” Elise folded her hands on her desk, watching him. “The vendors would all bill us and we’d bill the companies, based on how many options they choose.”
“Individual services billed at a package-deal rate.”
“Correct.”
He loved it. Would have thought of it himself if he didn’t have her there to do that kind of thinking for him. Or not.
The tension that had become almost a constant companion to Joe these past couple of weeks returned in force. He needed Elise. Couldn’t afford to lose her. B&R couldn’t afford to lose her.
But how could four newborn babies possibly fit into the mix? Or four toddlers, for that matter?
“SO WHAT ELSE DID the doctor say?”
Elise stared at Joe, at the closed door to her office, then the hallway. They were working. In ten years, they’d never talked about personal stuff during working hours. At least not her personal stuff. She wasn’t forthcoming. He never asked. This was the second time in an hour.
She didn’t want that to change. Maybe she’d made a horrible mistake—or many of them. Confiding in Joe about her past. And her present. Visiting the fertility clinic. Thinking she needed more out of life. Thinking, period.
“You know doctors,” she conceded with an answer of sorts when it became clear that he’d sit there through the noon hour if she didn’t ante up. “They’re always worried about malpractice suits.”
Sitting forward, Joe held her gaze, not bothering to temper his frown with even a hint of a smile. “What did she say?”
Angela Parks walked by—probably on her way to the water fountain, judging by the big blue thermal cup in her hand. She filled it at least three times a day. Elise was a little concerned that the twenty-five-year-old pay tech might be diabetic.
“She went over the potential risks.” She’d also given Elise a written list of them. She needn’t have bothered. They were stamped so clearly on her mind she was having trouble focusing on other things.
“Such as?”
Joe looked so earnest, sitting there, his tie slightly askew. Should she tell him? Didn’t he see they were pushing boundaries here? Was he ready for that?
Was she?
“Premature birth is the biggest. A normal pregnancy goes forty weeks. If mine goes to thirty-four she’ll be pleased. Thirty-one is average.”
“Does she see any reason you won’t?”
“No. Not at all.”
“What else?”
“Even if I make it to thirty-six weeks, the babies will have lower than normal birth weights.”
“Why is that?”
“With four of them sharing space, their growing room is limited.”
He fidgeted in his seat, looked down.
“Anything more?” he asked, taking a noticeable degree of interest in a speck on his shoe.
She threw out a hand, wishing she felt even a tenth as nonchalant as she’d have him believe. “Various little problems I’ll be prone to with that many babies pressing on my internal organs.”
Elise started to sweat again, just thinking about the “little problems” of gestational hypertension, anemia, diabetes or any of the other things Dr. Braden had warned her about. She’d never considered, until that morning, that she wouldn’t be physically capable of taking care of herself through all this. She was strong. A survivor.
And if she didn’t, who would?
Helplessness was not an option for family-less people.
“I’m