The Bodyguard's Baby (Billionaire Bodyguard Series) by Kristi Avalon Page A

shoved through the double doors that normally opened automatically. He hadn’t felt like waiting.
    A heavy-set grandmotherly woman in a distinctive red blazer approached him, concern etched into the folds of her face. “Can I help you, sir?”
    “No,” he barked.
    “Then you know where you’re going?” she asked with a forced smile.
    Hell, right now he didn’t know which way was up. But this poor greeter didn’t deserve his wrath. “Maybe not.”
    “Of course, it’s a large complex. I’m happy to help.” She pushed her glasses higher on the bridge of her nose. “Which department are you looking for?”
    “Babies.”
    Her eyebrows arched. “Oh! Are you a proud papa expecting?”
    That’s fantastic. Twist the knife a little more. “No. The reproductive center.”
    “Ah, yes. If you’ll follow the corridor along to the elevators, you’ll take one up to the fifth floor. Then you’ll find your destination all the way at the end of the hall on your left.”
    “Thanks.”
    “Good luck,” she called after him cheerfully.
    “Good bye, ” he muttered.
    The well-meaning old gal missed a few turns during her directions, but he followed the signs and found himself in the correct waiting room.
    Either the depressing cloud had followed him or it had beaten him here. A pall of gloom hung in the air as he slumped into a seat. It appeared Lindsey had checked in and they’d already called her back to one of the rooms.
    Covertly glancing at the faces around him while he pretended to read a sports magazine, he assessed his surroundings. Two guys on his right sat with an empty chair between them in the corner. Their ears singed red, they joked awkwardly about the purpose of their appointments.
    The Spank Tank? That’s what they called the room where guys spooged in a cup for sperm collection? Jesus.
    Across from him, a couple that looked to be in their early forties sat wearing power suits, stiff as rails. They didn’t look at each other or say a word. The wife fingered the string of pearls around her neck as though counting on a rosary. The well tailored husband had a lawyer look to him. He tapped his polished shoe against the carpet and checked his watch every thirty seconds like he wanted to be anywhere but here.
    Another couple sat in the row of chairs facing the door, their backs to him. The girl kept passing a tissue under her eyes that came away marked with mascara. Her husband held her hand, murmuring assurances. “This is our third in vitro. It’s going to happen this time.”
    “We’ve already mortgaged the house twice. I don’t know how we’ll manage if we have no roof to put over our baby’s head.”
    “We’ll find a way. We’ll make it work,” her husband insisted.
    Unfortunately, Slone had been right. This room was proof purgatory existed on earth.
    So many hopeful couples, good decent people with incomes and love enough to support the family they craved. Yet somewhere along the way nature chose not to cooperate. Talk about life being unfair.
    Then a man breezed in, and for some godforsaken reason decided to sit next to Slone, despite the dozen empty chairs.
    “Your first time here?” the guy asked.
    “Yep.”
    “I thought so. It’s easy to spot the first-timers.”
    Without looking up, Slone flipped a page. “I’ll bet.”
    “Don’t let the process get you down,” the man said, “even if it takes a couple tries. I mean, who are we to know what the Big Man Upstairs has planned for us?”
    Slone went still. His brother used to say that exact phrase.
    When he looked up, he saw the man’s smiling blue-gray eyes and almost fell off his chair. The guy was the spitting image of James.
    “Sometimes life throws us a curve,” the man continued, “but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t step up to the plate.”
    Slone managed to find his voice. “Batting averages are notoriously abysmal. Babe Ruth averaged four hundred hits in a thousand. That’s only forty percent, for the best batter