Page 53 of Wasted On You

Accept the compliment and move on.

“You don’t look so bad yourself.” Inwardly, she winced and chastised herself for not having the balls to walk away.

I’ve really got to work on that.

“Lafferty’s still in Japan.” It wasn’t a question.

“He is.”

Mike Paul’s gaze fell to her left hand and lingered on her bare ring finger. She held fast a large glass of the kind of stuff she shouldn’t be drinking. Not tonight. Not the way she felt. Chaotic and out of sorts.

“I forgot to put it back on after I did this face thing, mask, um, stuff.” Could she sound any lamer? Probably not. “How’s the foal?”

“The foal is doing great.” A heartbeat passed. “I liked having you for the day.”

“That’s because you weren’t the one who paid two thousand bucks for the privilege.”

“No,” he replied slowly. “I hope it was worth it.”

“It was.”

It was strange. This conversation. How she felt. Why else would she give him that answer? She had to change course quickly, or who knows where the hell she’d end up. Making an ass out of herself in front of all of her friends for one.

“Truthfully, I could have spent the day with Mary Margaret, and it would have been worth it.” She kept her voice light. At the look on his face, she grinned. “Considering all the money is going to a good cause.”

“You would have had to pay a lot more than two thousand bucks to make that worthwhile. She’s something else.”

“You’ve got me there.”

“This is nice.” Mike Paul inched closer.

“What’s that?”

“You and me having a nice conversation at a nice party with all our nice friends.”

She took a sip of wine. “It’s Christmas. We’re supposed to be nice.”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “We are.” He looked like he was wrestling with something and opened his mouth to speak when a teenager appeared at his side. The kid was tall for his age, at least six feet, and Ivy pegged him around sixteen or so. A good-looking boy with thick dark hair and classic features, he was thin and lanky, the way so many boys his age were, with wide shoulders, he’d eventually grow into.

“How long do we have to stay?” he asked, eyes on Mike Paul.

“Jacob, say hello to my friend, Ivy.”

The teen turned to her and offered a small wave. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself.” Curious, she waited for more, but he didn’t say a thing.

“Jacob does some work for me.” Mike Paul carefully slipped out of the baby sling and, before Ivy could protest or run away or leave the country, handed her the sleeping infant.

“What are you doing?” she asked, uncaring that panicked, her voice sounded tinny and loud.

With a wink, he leaned close. “She doesn’t bite, Wilkens. You’ll be fine.” Then he nodded at the teenager, and the two of them walked away.

Who was the teenager, and what did Mike Paul have to do with him? The whole thing was weird.

But the baby in her arms was weirder. Babies were cute and everything, but they weren’t something she was used to. And maybe she’d fantasized about having one herself. Eventually. Years from now. Because, at the moment, Ivy didn’t do babies. Heck, she’d never even changed a diaper before because she’d never babysat. Well, technically, that wasn’t true. She’d watched Millie Sue’s little guy a couple of times, but he’d been sound asleep and, more importantly, in his crib. It had been an easy gig. She’d flipped through Netflix and played games on her phone.

But this? Holding a real, live baby who was snuggled up against her body like she belonged there was foreign. But also, warm and fuzzy and nice.

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