Page 88 of Savage Lover

Without waiting for my answer, he pulls out the paper and reads it in a glance.

I covered over Vic’s name with a black sharpie, but the rest of the information is there.

“Explain,” Raymond says curtly.

“You have a son,” I tell him. “I compared his DNA with Bella’s.”

I see his eyes flick up quickly from the page, then back down again.

It’s hard to read his expression. He’s angry, obviously. But he lets go of my wrist, reading more closely.

I wonder if he’s actually pleased at the idea?

Bella is his only child, as far as I know. He doesn’t seem to give much of a shit about her. Maybe he always wanted a boy?

“Who is this supposed son?” he says.

I hesitate. I was going to tell him. But now I’m realizing that I could be creating a dangerous situation for Vic. I don’t know Page at all. Except that he’s connected to a whole bunch of criminals, and he himself isn’t afraid to break the law.

“I’m not going to tell you that right now,” I say.

“Why not?”

“Because I want to know your intentions, first.”

Raymond lets out a barking laugh. “My intentions?”

“That’s right.”

Raymond’s colleague has returned to the table. He’s a short, tubby guy with a carefully-trimmed beard and an expensive suit that still doesn’t fit him very well. His tinted glasses look like the kind Tony Stark wears, but a lot less cool.

He stops short when he sees me occupying his seat.

“Oh, hello . . .” he says, awkwardly.

Without looking at him, Raymond says, “Go wash your hands again, Porter.”

“Right,” Porter says, turning around on his heel and marching back to the bathrooms without a second glance.

“You’ve got your employees well-trained,” I say.

“You can’t even imagine what I could tell him to do,” Raymond says, in an icy tone. “If I asked him to drag you out of this restaurant and throw you directly into oncoming traffic, I wouldn’t even have to say ‘please.’ ”

My skin is clammy. I desperately want to blink, but I won’t let myself drop his stare for a second. Men like this feed off of fear.

“Look,” I say. “It’s pretty clear that you don’t like being inconvenienced. I won’t waste your time. You got an escort pregnant, and now you’ve got a son. He has no interest in creating some big public scandal. Neither do I. I don’t know what you’d owe in child support—probably some insane number. We’re not greedy—I’m just asking for a one-time payment to make this disappear, permanently. Fifty thousand for your son’s education. And you never have to hear from either of us ever again.”

It’s not much money. Page is wearing a watch that probably costs that much. Hell, his suit might, too.

Raymond seems to be thinking the same thing. He slowly folds the test results into a perfect rectangle, then slides it back into the envelope. He passes it across the table to me.

“What assurance do I have that you won’t come back for more?” he asks me.

“My word,” I tell him.

He looks at my stern, steady expression.

Then he reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out a checkbook. He slips the cap off his pen—fancy, gold-tipped, engraved.

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