“Good luck with that. And don’t think for a minute that I wouldn’t be there if I could. My hands are tied. Luckily, yours aren’t.” The last part came out on a sneer. Fuck if I cared. He’d micromanaged me long enough.
Dad gave me a smug look. “Yeah, pretty lucky I can do it. I’d hate to see the business go to shit too. How would you support yourself?”
Closing my eyes, I leaned back in my chair. “Get out,” I said through gritted teeth. “I don’t have time for your guilt trip. I know I’m forever indebted to you, Dad. But right now, I need to put my life back together, and while I don’t expect any help from you, you could let me be.”
“Help?” He scoffed. “I’m closing accounts you should be handling.”
“Lots of luck then. Oh, I’m moving Denise in with me. Cass is in no shape to take care of the kids, even part time, and I don’t like having them over at your place all the time.”
“You’ll have to pay her more and take over her benefits,” he said before he turned away.
Typical Dad. All he cared about was the bottom line.
“Yeah. ’Bye,” I said to his back.
Bexley
When I walked into the women’s health clinic on Tuesday, a sense of calm washed over me. The kids were in school, where they belonged, after a good breakfast, lunches packed, and after-school activities planned.
My clogs clunked on the floor as I made my way to my small office and flicked on the light. It would be a busy day—it always was—and I welcomed as many distractions as possible. The kids came home on Sunday night, and at least Aston had the decency to text, asking if he could come over. I’d said no, and then he protested for a while, explaining that he’d hired a full-time live-in nanny, so he could leave his kids at home.
After Mike spilled the beans, it was pretty obvious Aston knew my secret, but I didn’t know why he was staying quiet about it. Aston was always direct, so I expected him to confront me about Piper. Then again, I didn’t know him all that well lately. Either way, I still wasn’t ready to have them meet.
“Bexley?” Maria, my supervisor, called from my doorway.
“Oh yes, sorry. I was going over my to-do list in my head,” I said while looking up. Busying my hands with twisting my hair in a tight bun at the nape of my neck, I wondered what she wanted.
“I have a sensitive case in my office. A young girl, only fifteen. She’s here with her mom. Dad isn’t aware of her situation. I was wondering if you might take them. It’s going to be a long morning for them, I fear, and I don’t want to rush with her.”
To me, it was manna from heaven—a long case, a dragged-out decision, a laborious morning. Check, check, check.
“Sure, no problem. Do you want me to come to you? Or do you want to bring them here?”
“I’ll just show them to your office. I have a grant visit later, so I need to keep my office open.”
“I’ll be ready,” I said, turning on the desk lamp and standing to turn off the overhead lights. Over the years, I’d found that soft light was comforting.
I also lit a lavender candle, refilled the tissue box, and replaced the hard candies on my desk. Noting that none of my family pics were up, I ticked through some of the touches I’d added over the years. This was about making it easier on the client, not me.
As expected, this client did take several hours, and by the time I finished up some paperwork and checked my schedule for the next day, it was after two o’clock. My stomach let out an angry growl, and my head pounded for some caffeine, so I decided to take a quick walk to the coffee shop around the corner for a sandwich and a cup of joe.
But as soon as I entered and the bells jingled above the door, I wanted to turn back around. Sitting in the middle of the coffee shop, waiting like a king, tanned and glowing, sat Peter Prescott.
About to turn and leave, I paused when he crooked his finger at me. Not wanting to make a scene so close to my work, I went.
“Are you going to order?” he asked me like we’d planned to meet up like two old friends.
I shook my head. “What do you want? You do realize I’m in the middle of my workday?”
“You mean that liberal do-good job?”
“Yes, that’s what I mean. It’s honest, unlike you.” I didn’t have any goodwill toward the man, and I was beyond pretending I did.
“Please sit,” he said, like I had a choice.
I’d also come to realize he knew my secret too. Everyone did, apparently.
Sliding into the chair, I asked, “What do you want?”
“You know what I want, the same thing I’ve always wanted—you to stay away from my son. We don’t need you sullying our good name. We have enough problems right now.”
“I’d say you do,” I said, my hand itching to fidget with my bun, but I silently commanded it to remain on the table.
“Look, take my deal. Take the money for Piper. Lord knows, your loser of an ex would take the handout. He doesn’t want to pay for her.”
“Stay away from Piper,” I said sharply. “She doesn’t need any of this to fall onto her. She’s a kid. She didn’t ask for any of this.”
“No, you did.” His eyes bore into me. A very familiar shade of blue, but they didn’t have any of the fire or passion of Aston’s . . . or Piper’s.
“You asked for it when you didn’t take care of things. You could have ended the pregnancy, but instead, you kept the baby—or insurance policy, as I would call her. You held on for a moment just like this, when my son
