It was Saturday, so Margie was lounging on the couch beside her, rubbing her feet like a champion of friends would.
“That another text from BBD?” Margie asked, of course using the ridiculous abbreviation for Billionaire Baby Daddy.
“Yep. I’m surprised he hasn’t given up yet. It isn’t like he really wants anything to do with me, since I am his charity case.” She said that last part with venom.
Margie pressed her thumb into the sole of Diana’s foot, making her flinch.
“What was that for?”
Margie clicked her tongue. “That was for being a sissy bitch and not confronting the bastard for what he said about you. You shouldn’t have just walked away and let him think it was okay to talk about his baby momma like that. What sort of father is he going to be if one or both of those babies are daughters? Teach that ass a lesson.” She pressed on Diana’s sole again. “Do it for your baby girls.”
Diana jerked her foot from Margie’s hand and huffed. “You’re damn right, I should do it for my girls! If they are girls—but that doesn’t even matter. If one or both of them are sons, I wouldn’t want them to emulate their father.”
But he isn’t all bad, her inner voice chided. She remembered what he’d said about his parents, about how he looked up to them. She remembered what he’d said about how heartbroken he’d been when he heard he couldn’t have kids, and then how Rinna had basically killed his joy when she’d played her nasty trick. Would a heartless man actually have a heart to hurt? And David had been hurt, it was written all over him, like a badge of shame and anguish. Also…would a man like Richard Ayers, a stand-up gentleman, really be friends with a total asshole? No, he wouldn’t, so Diana knew there was more to David than he’d shown her. And she wanted to see all of it.
“You know what. I’m going to meet with him,” Diana announced, swinging her feet to the ground and standing up. She took her cell in hand and re-read David’s last text.
She hit reply, the typed:
ME: WE NEED TO TALK. MEET AT THE SUITE?
David’s response was almost immediate.
DAVID: THANK YOU FOR TEXTING ME BACK, DIANA. LET’S MEET AT MY PENTHOUSE. THERE IS SOMETHING I WANT TO SHOW YOU.
His penthouse? She’d never even see his penthouse, although she had ordered all the nursery furniture and had it delivered there. She’d told herself there was no point in seeing his home if she wasn’t going to live there with him, but then came the realization that she’d have to see it someday, since her babies would be spending time there. And then, last night, David had gone on about being partners and living together. Now, though, she knew that was an impossibility.
“You going to the suite?” Margie asked, jumping up from the couch. Her energy was starting to annoy Diana who couldn’t walk across a room without feeling winded.
“No. He wants me to meet him at his penthouse.”
Margie pursed her lips. “Is that a good idea?”
Diana snorted. “What worse could he do to me?”
“Uh huh,” Margie sniffed. “Just be careful. Don’t let him lure you into his bed, like a magical sex panther.”
Picturing David as a sex panther wasn’t all that difficult, and it was hilarious, too. She chuckled.
“I promise not to let him lure me into his panther den with his magic penis.”
Margie threw her arms around Diana for a quick hug.
“Alright then. I have some errands to run, but text me when you think you’ll be home. I can make you some carnitas—I’ll make myself some veggie fajitas.”
“Okay.”
Once Margie was gone, Diana replied to David’s text.
ME: WHAT TIME?
Again, his answer was almost immediate.
DAVID: IN AN HOUR?
She checked the time. It was just eleven, which put the time for their meeting at lunch.
ME: ARE YOU FEEDING ME?
Immediate response.
DAVID: WHATEVER MY LADY DESIRES.
His lady? Her breath hitched at that.
ME: SAYING THAT MIGHT GET YOU INTO TROUBLE. YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I MIGHT WANT.
Was she seriously flirting with him? Hell, she was all out of whack.
DAVID: NO MATTER WHAT YOUR HEART OR BODY DESIRES, I WILL GIVE IT TO YOU.
Her silly heart fluttered, followed by a much lower and wetter body part. Shit.
Sobering up, she typed.
ME: SEND ME THE ADDRESS.
He did. It was an address several miles from Margie’s apartment. Taking her car, the one David insisted she have, would be frustrating in weekend traffic, so she opted for a taxi—at least then she wouldn’t have to drive herself, giving herself time to think. To plan what she would say to David. And there was so much to say.
Taking her time to get ready, she showered, dressed in stretchy yoga pants and a pink sweater, and brushed then pulled her hair back into a messy bun. She wasn’t meeting with David to try and impress him, so there was no need to primp. Dressed, she checked the clock. She had thirty minutes to get to David’s place. Grabbing her purse (the big one that can double as a baby duffel) she headed downstairs. She reached the sidewalk just as a taxi was pulling in to drop of a fare. She snagged the taxi, giving the driver David’s address, and then she was off.
The ride was shorter than she anticipated, not that she was able to even get her thoughts in order long enough to form a plan of attack. And she’d need to attack, to go on the offensive, because she was tired of things happening to her rather than her doing something for herself. She hadn’t been that way until David.
Admit it…you like giving over some of the control. Yeah, she could admit that she liked having someone else to take on some of the
