One million dollars -- a dream come true for struggling college student Ashlynn Morgan. All she has to do is sign on the dotted line and agree to become surrogate mother for CEO multi billionaire Felix Dunnerson and his wife Deborah.
Yet, during th...
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Two weeks later, I'm pacing back and forth in my dorm room, waiting for Felix's driver to pick me up. The meeting with Deborah Dunnerson is scheduled in an hour, and the prospect of finally meeting her is daunting. During my background check, Felix and I had coffee two more times, which has left me with the impression that she's the one wearing the pants in the relationship. My future career is in her hands; she'll either give the thumbs up this afternoon and I'll walk away with one hundred thousand dollars ending all my financial worries, or I'll get the thumbs down, which will send me home to New York. The woman at the bursar's office was very clear: if I don't have the money by Monday, I'll be out of the program.
As soon as the limousine pulls into the parking lot, I rush from my dorm room, remembering to grab my purse in the last second. My hands shake as I fidget with the seatbelt. When the latch finally clicks, I sigh. Closing my eyes, I fall back into the soft leather seat. The ride from Berkeley to Belvedere will take about thirty minutes, but as far as I'm concerned, it could last a few hours. Never did I dread meeting a person more than I do Felix's wife.
I eye the minibar in the limousine with longing. Even though a strong drink to take the edge off would be nice, I don't want to put Deborah off with alcohol on my breath. I stare outside the window to keep my mind occupied. We drive along the San Francisco Bay and the views are stunning. Soft foam peaks dance on the glistening water, only disturbed by the occasional motor or sailboat cutting through the waves. It's still warm for the end of October, at least for someone from New York. The other day, my aunt told me on the phone that they had the first frosty nights already.
She was miffed about the background check, not appreciating that I allowed a stranger to show up at the house and poke around in the past. My aunt likes her privacy, and having to answer a bunch of questions to a private investigator after he waived a consent form in her face didn't sit well with her.
"What is this all about?" she asked.
I didn't want to tell her the truth, afraid that the deal might fall through. Plus, there was the fear that she would dismiss the idea as preposterous. For the moment, paid surrogacy is outlawed in New York and she has always been the judgmental type. I wouldn't put it past her to call me a baby broker. To end the call, I gave her a lame excuse that the background check was for my Supreme Court internship. That shut her up, but I'm not sure she entirely bought it.
What would it have been like to grow up with a set of parents? I barely remember mine. They died a couple of weeks after my seventh birthday, leaving my aunt to raise me until I went off to college. No doubt she tried her best, but being single was hard, especially with the money always being so tight. I've never wanted to be in that same position, another reason why I never considered kids. The surrogacy baby would be different; he or she will grow up in a mountain of wealth, never wanting for anything. That I get a small fraction of the fortune in exchange for carrying the little brat is only fair.
Passing through the gates of the estate, my eyes go wide. The trees and greens cover ground as far as I can see and everything is kept in pristine condition the way it's depicted in designer magazines that feature homes of celebrities. When the limousine pulls up in front of house, my jaw drops. The manor style structure is partially hidden by shrubbery, but the red roof shingles are an attention magnet, hinting at the gigantic size of the residence. Living in an abundance of space with only two people is such a waste.
