By the time we finally say our farewells, it’s late.

Rose snuggles into her seat and smiles. She waves goodbye as I pull the car out into the street.

“You were a real hit,” I say, feeling incredibly proud.

I never knew how important it was to me that my mom likes the girl I bring home. And not only does she like Rose―she adores her.

Rose seems to have no trouble at all communicating with one of the most important people in my life, even if Mom does drive me bat-shit crazy most of the time.

So far, Rose has only put her best foot forward. In everything.

“Dinner was lovely,” she says and yawns. I resist the temptation to stare as her beautiful eyes start to close.

I feel a little guilty for the late night she’s had, seeing she’s got a hard day at work ahead. Next time, I’ll have to check with Rose about the schedule of future dinners and parties.

I turn on gentle and soothing music as her breathing slows and steadies. I’m pretty sure she’s already asleep.

I hum to the music and give my thoughts free rein. Rose certainly is becoming part of my life. She seems to fit in nicely—perfectly, really.

I like her company, her wit, her intelligence, and, of course, the way she fucks.

I sigh.

Why have I let it come to this? I mean, we really need to sit down and discuss the arrangement in more detail. I can’t understand why we haven’t yet.

Has she not raised it again because she’s changed her mind? But if so, why is she still spending time with me? Going to dinner with my family, no less?

It nags at me. If she hasn’t changed her mind, why hasn’t she raised the matter again?

Thoughts spin around my head like flies trapped in a can, unable to find their way out.

Daniel, I tell myself, this is fucking useless.

What I need to do is talk to her about this.

Exactly how I’m going to raise it, though, is beyond me. Do I do it in the office or over dinner?

Suddenly, I’m not quite sure anymore what to do or how to say it.

This is fucking ridiculous. I’m getting really fucking pissed with myself now. I don’t have trouble with anything. Okay, okay, maybe there’s one thing I have a bit of a problem with, but generally when it comes to dealing with people, I’m a fucking expert.

I run a multi-million-dollar business. I manage a range of staff members, from the top to the bottom.

Surely, it can’t be that hard to sit down with Rose and discuss our business arrangement.

At the words business and arrangement, I feel a little uneasy. Could having a baby with a woman really fall into this category?

I’m not having second thoughts at all; it’s just that I’m no longer sure what to call it. Rose might not like it if I call it a business arrangement, and I wouldn’t fucking blame her.

Babies are people. They’re flesh and blood and crying and all sorts of things. Business is something else entirely.

By now, I’m drumming my fingers on the steering wheel.

Could I put it a little more delicately, along the lines of our…mutual interest?

Yes, mutual interest already sounds a lot better and seems to hit the mark. I mean, I’d like an heir, and she’d like a baby.

I let myself imagine how our conversation could go.

“Rose, it’s about time we talk about the finer details of our mutual interest.”

Or is it a project? ‘Project’ doesn’t sound too bad, either.

“Rose, how about we sit down and discuss our joint project? It’s about time we work out the finer details.”

I cringe. Would she slap me in the face? Probably.

Or would she just stare at me and say something like, Okay, but what are you going to do about your condom problem?

She would, of course, be right on the money. It’s the elephant in the room. Oh, sure, I’ve told her about the difficulty, but we haven’t really talked about solutions.

I know all too well—there won’t be a baby, a joint project, if I can’t fuck her without the latex.

I run my hand through my hair.

Suddenly, the weight of the world seems to rest on my shoulders. After I drop Rose at her place, I think I’ll go home and have a stiff a drink. Nothing wrong with drowning my sorrows from time to time.

Of course, Rose said she’d do anything to help, but the problem is I don’t really know what else to try. So far, nothing has worked.

There’s some incoherent mumbling from Rose, and I glance at her. She’s still asleep, muttering something I can’t understand.

When I pull up outside her place, she opens her eyes and yawns.

She looks delicious enough to eat.

“Here already?” Catlike, she stretches in the seat.

“Yep.”

“Do you want to come in and stay the night?”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Her words are fucking music to my ears. She wasn’t busting at the seams to get away from me and spend time on her own after, all.

“Love to,” I say and jump out to go and open her door. I feel so elated I’m tempted to pick her up and carry her to the front door.

Suddenly, I know we’ll work it out. We’ll find the right words to talk about it, both the project and my tiny problem.

After all, a problem shared is a problem solved.