Page 8 of Alien Dragon's Bride

Chapter 5

Megan

Megan chewed on her lip as she marched down the street. The address for the surrogate company splashed in bold font on her phone. Cynthia had gone to the hospital for labor pains, which turned out to be false contractions. But she had insisted on giving Megan the surrogate company even though she wasn’t able to meet her for a late dinner.

Outside of the skyscraper, Megan paced back and forth. The steel and glass shone in the late afternoon sun, glistening like a fortress that Megan was trespassing on. What if they refused to give her funds upfront? She doubted she’d get the embryo implanted in a few hours and a confirmed pregnancy before the hospital kicked out her dad. But she wouldn’t get any answers outside either.

Taking a deep breath, she pulled open the door and stepped inside.

An elderly woman sat at the receptionist desk and smiled at her. “Evening. How may I help you?”

Many of the lights inside the building were dim as if they might be closing. Was she too late? Had everyone gone home for the day? Damn, she should’ve come as soon as she left her dad. Her stomach twisted in knots.

“Miss?” the woman asked.

“Sorry.” She walked up to the desk. “Um…I don’t have an appointment but I was hoping to talk to someone at…” she glanced down at her phone. “The Renjer Associates?”

“Let me check and see if they’re still in.” She tapped on her keyboard, squinting at the computer screen. “No, sorry. Looks like they’ve closed for the day. My advice is to send them an email or leave them a message. If you like, I can get something to them first thing in the morning when I come in.”

Disappointment choked her. She knew it was too late to expect anyone here tonight. Tomorrow. She’d have to return early before her shift at the diner. “What time do they get in?”

“Nine am and they usually leave before four.”

Nice. Better than banker hours. God, I wish I had workdays like that.She’d have plenty of time to meet with her dad and take online college courses too. “Okay. Thanks for your help. I’ll contact them first thing tomorrow morning.”

“May I tell Renjer Associates who stopped by?” The receptionist inclined her head and it looked so odd, like not quite human that Megan’s mouth dropped open a second before she snapped it closed.

What if they wanted her name to put her on some kind of do-not-call list? But she had to do something to get the money she needed. Still, worry, doubt, and nerves paraded across her insides. “Megan…Megan Wheeler.”

“Nice to meet you, Miss Wheeler.” She scribbled something on a piece of paper. “Here’s Renjerian’s main number, give them a call in the morning and someone will get right back with you.”

She took the paper and tucked it into her pocket. “Thanks, but call me Megan.”

“You’re welcome.” The woman turned off her computer, then gathered her purse and items. “Good luck, Megan.”

* * *

The night air cooled Megan’s hot skin. She was pretty sure she still blushed from head to foot after going to a surrogate agency. She’d been desperate and worried about her dad. Surely, she could do something else. Maybe Mitch would loan her the money? She’d clean the bathrooms three-times a week to pay him back. That might work.

She let out a nervous laugh, shaking her head as she hustled down to her job. George would still be there, cleaning the kitchen. Ooh, maybe she could add that to her list of jobs to pay Mitch back. Quickly, she sent her boss a text asking him to meet her at work. With any luck, she could have the funds transferred into her bank account by noon and pay the hospital so they didn’t move her dad.

Instead of spending money on a cab, she took a bus to the other side of town.

At the restaurant, she tapped on the glass window. George waved. His shuffling steps brought him to the door and he opened it for her. She’d never asked why he had a limp, but Alice said she thought it was from being a soldier.

“Whatcha you doing here this time of night?” he asked, closing and locking the door behind her. “Sleepwalking? Your shift ain’t until dawn, right?”

“Sorry, yeah, but I gotta talk to Mitch about some stuff.”

George spun his Jets baseball cap around. “If you thinking about asking for a raise, don’t. Bossman be in a foul mood tonight.”

Shit! “Really? We got any apple pie and whip cream left?” Mitch’s favorite and the sweet dessert would soften him up a fraction, maybe.

“A small piece, I was gonna throw it out.” George shrugged. “But we don’t have any more cream.”

Better than nothing. “I’ll take it.”

Loaded with a glass of milk and the sliver of apple pie, Megan pushed through the kitchen to Mitch’s office. Yellowed walls and newspaper clippings of recipes and articles about restaurants taped across every square inch of the room. A small brown desk and a torn leather chair Mitch had salvaged from a dumpster crowded the space.

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