Page 122 of Crazy for this Girl

It’d be borderline fucking torture.

Leslie did me a solid because she obviously was never going to play out in the long haul with me.

Yes, she’s dead. I never would’ve wished it upon her nor our alleged child. If anything, she could’ve choked on something as long as the kid made it out. I needed her to carry out her term if I found this information sooner, then I would’ve gotten my own DNA test to prove the child was or wasn’t mine before suing her for full custody with all the information I have wrapped around my finger.

“Any gambling problems, large debts, or criminal records?” I solicit, sliding back the photos he took.

“Only an ungodly amount of debt.”

“STDs?”

Ian pauses his next sip. “I haven’t checked that yet.”

“Please do for the sake of the women he’s fucking. Also—“ I straighten my spine, slightly embarrassed at the next thing I need him to do—“I need a copy of a DNA test done ASAP.”

“Absolutely, Mr. Harper.” Ian sets down his glass mug and gathers all the paperwork scattered on my desk and the pictures he’s brought. “I’ll have that done as discreetly as possible.”

“Feel free to finish your latte, Ian. You’ve earned a few moments of peace after sifting through an asshole’s lifestyle.”

“Just another day.” He still rises and takes everything with him, tucking it into his leather suitcase. “I’ll finish this on the way out.” He picks up his hot beverage and lifts it to me. “Have a good rest of your day, sir.”

“You as well, thank you, Ian.” He takes off, leaving me alone with the only thing I’ve wanted to do and that’s to respond back to the pesky blonde that’s now at my beck and call.

This first week has been horrifically bad. Her threat of quitting has been grating on my mind since she said it. She’s even sent me resumes of candidates that she believed would fill the job nicely.

I immediately delete them, already knowing that I have the terms of her contract that she signed with Elliott all to my advantage.

She quits, and I can sue.

Question is, would I?

I’d scare her more than likely with it like I already have. However, I’m not going to get on my knees and beg her to hear me out, or stay working with me so I know she’s taken care of financially.

No, I’ll fuck her into agreeing to stay if she pushes me hard enough.

So to keep myself in check, and a strew of phone calls from HR out of my current day, our communication has been through emails. Not ideal, but I haven’t gotten a resume in twenty-four hours, so it’s a start.

My phone buzzes against the flat surface of my desk and I pluck it up to find another attachment from my current thought.

LAYNEE: She likes the lobster mac ’n cheese, boss.

Underneath her text is a picture of a little girl with chubby cheeks, hazel eyes and blonde curls. My brain immediately wrap drives to that child looking like one we could have and my stomach knots.

I can barely fathom what I had almost mistakenly done with Leslie, child or not. I’d never abandon my daughter; however, I’d never stay with my ex with the shit I know.

But I never would’ve, would I?

My head was shoved so far up my ass with this company that I never once imagined she’d do such a thing. Not when she covered it up so perfectly with dinners and naked photos sent to my phone to get me riled up to come home.

All another mistake, a lack of judgment, and another way to forget Laynee Reese was always supposed to be mine.

“Here.” Laynee gracelessly drops three paper bags on the edge of my desk like an oblivious delivery boy, right on top of folders, reports, and my once organized arrangement, and begins pulling out carryout boxes. “I brought some things for you to try.”

I glance up over my laptop to find her unloading bags. The tight black top of hers tucked into an even snugger tan skirt that molds every single curve that she’s grown perfect into. “I’m in the middle of working here, Miss Reese.”

“And you need to eat.”

“I need to work.”

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