“Are you sure? He might be the father of your child, but someone as vindictive as Damien Sinclair will not let you have your son if he can have him all to himself.”
Nolan goes to press the elevator button.
“You’re wrong,” I say, even though Nolan has just voiced my fears.
“Am I? I hope so.”
The elevator dings and the doors open and Nolan enters, leaving me alone in the empty corridor. I rush back to the apartment and to Lake’s room, caught in an odd and grappling fear that I will somehow find him gone and his bed empty. I know it’s irrational, but I want to see him with my own eyes to calm myself. He’s not gone, he’s there. With Damien. He’s giving Damien the card he made for him earlier and Damien hugs Lake. It’s a touching image between father and son, and I feel like I amintruding. Worse still, I blurt out the first thing that pops into my head, “Oh. You’re in here?”
I wasn’t even looking for Damien. Lake explains he was giving Damien the thank-you card. He still calls him Uncle Damien and hasn’t gotten accustomed to calling him ‘dad.’ I feel a sharp pang of guilt hit straight into my chest and correct Lake, but he keeps slipping to Uncle Damien. I watch as Damien tucks his son into bed, and we leave the room together. Alone with him once again, I feel all those flutters coming back again. He looks tired in his unbuttoned suit, askew tie, and slightly disheveled hair. Tired and somehow sexy. Too dangerous to be alone with. I want to be anywhere else than here.
Damien gestures at the card in his hand. “Your idea?”
“His own. All I did was give Greta money for supplies. He’s very thoughtful.”
“He certainly didn’t learn that from you.”
Damien’s angling for a fight, I realize. Well, I am not going to give it to him. I would rather face him tomorrow with a fresh mind and body and not one eager to run its hands down his naked body.
“Where are you going?” He sounds angry.
“Bed?”
“We’re sleeping in the same room, remember? And besides, there’s something we need to discuss.”
I follow him to his bedroom. “If it’s about the takeover, I would rather we talk tomorrow.”
Damien places the card on his nightstand, a touching gesture, and says, “Lake Hawthorne?”
“He’s a nice kid.”
“His surname is not Hawthorne.”
“The father wanted nothing to do with him before he was even born, so why would I give him any other surname than mine? Idon’t remember you giving me your ID when I went to get his birth certificate.”
“I didn’t—” he marches over to where I am standing and points a finger at me. “I never refused him. You hid him away from me. You did that.”
So it’s a fight then. Fine. “I never hid him away. If you cared about your own child, you could have easily found out.”
“Are we back to the bogus note?” he scoffs. “There are plenty of other ways you could have communicated.
“You blocked my number!” He flinches and I barely notice it. If he can be righteously angry, so can I. “I called your office. I sent letters with sonograms. I sent you everything, and you ignored it!”
“I never saw such a thing.” His voice is low and laced with barely leashed hatred.
“That’s because you sent them back unopened! You didn’t care, and you made it clear you didn’t care!”
He paces. Tension radiates from him as he quickly whips off his jacket and throws it on the bed. The tie follows, and he unbuttons the two top buttons of his shirt. He stops and crosses his arms on his chest. I can’t stop my gaze from wandering to his bulging biceps. “Who did you address it to?”
“To you, of course.”
“I mean specifically? Did you send it to my home address or work?”
“Work. I didn’t know where exactly you lived and I didn’t want to risk sending them to the wrong address, so I know you received it.”
“I didn’t get it.” He says through gritted teeth.
“I don’t care if you believe me or not. You never cared anyway. It was all in the way you treated me after we slept together.”
