LITMIR.BIZ

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be for another thirty-nine weeks.

      There was no stopping the grin stretching her lips to the maximum, nor the little thrill trickling down her spine. No matter what else was bothering her, the prospect of a baby—her baby—made it all okay.

      She was still smiling as she put the grapes in a bowl and then headed across the living room toward her bedroom to prepare her bath.

      When her cell phone rang, the distinctive sound of Beethoven’s Fifth made her good humor all but evaporate. A little groan escaped before she could stop it, and the immediate wave of guilt that brought had her shaking her head.

      Reversing course, she strode back toward the kitchen, hurrying so as not to miss the call. Dumping the water bottle and bowl on the console table, she launched a frantic rummage in her bag to find her phone. Locating it under her wadded-up lab coat, she swiped the screen and brought it up to her ear.

      “Hi, Mom.”

      “Nychelle. How did the clinic go?”

      Not How are you? or What are you up to? Nope—straight to work. Sometimes Nychelle wondered if that was all herself and her mother had in common. The thought irritated her more than usual tonight, and she had to temper her annoyance so it wouldn’t show in her voice.

      “It went very well. We had approximately two thousand patients come through.”

      “When will you be taking on the chairperson position? Haven’t you been asked?”

      Nychelle took a deep breath, willing herself not to react to the obvious implication of her mother’s last question.

      “I was asked, but I didn’t accept.”

      Before her mother could launch into another lecture about ambition and the necessity of taking on hard tasks so as to be able to advance in the workplace, Nychelle continued.

      “I was in the middle of those skill improvement courses Dr. Hamatty requested we all take. To be honest, I wanted to make sure I didn’t just complete them, but aced them.”

       “Hmph.”

      Nychelle knew her mother still wanted to take her to task for not accepting the position anyway, but really couldn’t, since her reason for not doing so was also work-related.

      “Well, I suggest taking it on if it’s offered to you again. But don’t be surprised if it isn’t. Many of the best opportunities come along only once. Rarely are there second chances in life.”

      Nychelle bit her lip, holding back a snort of laughter. Her mother would have a fit if she knew Nychelle had already gotten another chance to chair the committee and had once again asked to defer to one of the other committee members.

      “Also, I want you to make sure you’re on time for the pre-gala reception next Saturday.”

      Having said her piece on one subject, her mother had swiftly moved on to the next. She probably had a list of points to touch on written out in front of her.

      “I know it’s embarrassing to come to these functions by yourself, but please endeavor to arrive early. If you lived closer to Martin, he and Jennifer could pick you up, but your house is too out of the way to be convenient.”

      Another one of her mother’s thinly veiled criticisms. While her parents and her cousin Martin all lived in the northern end of the city, in far more expensive neighborhoods, Nychelle had chosen to live in the trendier and more affordable South Fort Lauderdale. It was a nice area, but the way her parents talked about it anyone would be forgiven for thinking it a slum.

      “No problem, Mom. The hotel isn’t that far from here, so it wouldn’t make sense to have someone pick me up anyway. And, yes, I’ll be there early enough for the reception.”

      “Do you have something appropriate to wear?”

      Nychelle allowed the chuckle she’d been holding in to escape.

      “Not yet, Mom.” Her mother didn’t wear the same formal dress twice, and expected the same from her daughters. “I plan to go and buy something this week.”

      She actually didn’t plan to buy a new dress. For her, the outfit she’d worn to a friend’s wedding would be suitable—but she wouldn’t be telling her mother that. No. She’d avoid the lecture until later, then just say she’d been too busy with work to get something.

      “Leaving it a little late, aren’t you?”

      Shaking her head, Nychelle picked up the water bottle from where she’d put it on the console table and, juggling it, her phone and the bowl of grapes, started back across the living room.

      Suddenly exhausted, all she wanted was that longed-for bath and a chance to relax: impossible to do with her mother on the other end of the phone.

      “I haven’t had a chance before. You know how it is. Work must come first.”

      Unfair, perhaps, to quote her mother’s words back at her, but it should be an effective topic-closer.

      Yet it wasn’t.

      “The annual Medical Association charity gala is where you’ll find all the movers and shakers of the Florida medical community assembled in one place. You need to make a good impression.”

      “Yes, Mom. I know.” If there was one thing her parents had drummed into their daughters, it was that connections were important when it came to building a career. “One day I might be applying to one of them for a job.”

      If she’d had more energy she’d have pointed out that Dr. Hamatty, arguably one of the most influential doctors in the city, had hired her without knowing anything about her other than her credentials. Tonight she just felt as if she’d be battering her head against a wall.

      “Exactly. Well, I’ll let you go. See you next Saturday.”

      And just like that, without waiting for Nychelle to reply, her mother hung up.

      “Wow, Mom. Bye to you too,” she said to the dial tone, before throwing her phone onto the bed.

      While she undressed, she carried on the imaginary conversation. “And how’s Dad? Oh, I’m glad to hear his shoulder is better. How was the surgical conference? Will his latest paper be published?”

      Still grumbling to herself, she filled the bathtub and added a sprinkle of bath salts, hoping to soak out the aches of the long, busy day. Sinking into the warm water, she released a long sigh and willed herself to relax.

      There was no changing her parents at this late stage, so it didn’t make sense to let their attitude toward her life and her career stress her out. Especially now. When she told them she was pregnant there’d be no excitement or joy, just more disapproval, so best she prepare for it.

      Realizing she was grinding her teeth, she sank a little deeper into the tub and, forcibly dismissing old hurts, turned her thoughts to the day just past.

      Immediately David Warmington came to mind, and she smiled as she remembered little Etienne, the Haitian toddler, throwing himself out of his mother’s arms into David’s. Children of that age were notorious for clinging to their parents, especially if they weren’t feeling well, but Etienne had hardly hesitated before happily going to the doctor.

      Not that Nychelle blamed the little boy in the slightest. She’d found herself wanting to throw herself into Dr. Warmington’s arms too. Which was ridiculous—and no doubt caused by some strange chemical reaction that all the IUI drugs had created in her brain. Yes, he was gorgeous, seemed nice, and was sexy as hell—but those weren’t good excuses to be panting after him. In fact they were all great reasons to avoid him like the plague.

      Besides, even if she had been tempted, now she knew for sure David Warmington would never be the man for her even if the circumstances had been different.

      Suddenly wanting to move, to be active, even though the whole point of the bath was to relax, she sat up and reached for

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