Page 33 of Falling for the Single Daddy

I smile at Callie. She handled that like a pro. No sooner has she left the room than the doorbell goes, indicating that somebody is at the front gate. Emery suddenly looks nervous. She clasps her hands in front of her, jumping from foot to foot.

“Is that Mommy?”

“I think so,” I say.

“I don’t have to be at the whole dinner,” she murmurs, repeating what I told her earlier. “Just a slice ’o pizza pie, right, Daddy?”

The phrasing makes me laugh despite the nerves twisting in my gut. This night hasdisasterwritten all over it. But I have no other option other than putting my head down and getting on with it. “Just a slice ’o pizza pie,” I agree. It’s what Emery says anytime she wants to leave the table early, no matter the meal.

Walking out to the front garden, I press the button to open the main gate. Sloane’s date guides the car into the security light. He pokes his head out of the vehicle. He looks like a banker, wearing an expensive suit, a Rolex glinting at his wrist. His hair is combed back and shiny. He looks vaguely familiar. Is he a celebrity? Have I seen him with Sloane before? I can’t quite place him.

“Where do I park, big man?”

Thebig manhas a slight condensation to it. I warn myself to take it easy. From the passenger seat, Sloane is grinning, her glassy eyes telling me she’s already been on the booze. She seems to enjoy her date’s challenging tone.

“Just out front is fine,” I say, following the Aston Martin back toward the house.

That niggling thought returns. I know him from somewhere, but I can’t think where.

I still don’t have any idea once we’re in the light of the hallway. He’s on the tall side. Not as tall as me—not many people are—but tall all the same. He removes his jacket and rolls his sleeves up as if to flash his Rolex. He, too, has that glassy-eyed look.

Emery stands on the far side of the room, her hands in front of her, looking pale and nervous.

“Oh, look atyou,” Sloane says, slurring slightly. “Aren’t you pretty in your polka-dot dress?”

Emery smiles nervously as Sloane approaches. “Thank you.”

“Thank you…” Sloane waits expectantly. When Emery coughs up theMommyshe was expecting, Sloane claps her hands as if a pet has just performed a trick. “Oh, how wonderful.”

Emery laughs. I know that sound. It’s the laugh she offers when she’s not sure what else to do.

“Ah, appetizers,” the man says.

I clear my throat. “Sloane, are you going to introduce us?”

Sloane taps her head. “Oh, how rude of me. Gray, this is Maxwell. Maxwell, Gray. Maxwell works in finance. Gray is an architect. AndI’ma soon-to-be bestselling writer.”

“Help yourself, Max,” I say.

He leans forward, taking a plate and loading it up with snacks.

“Callie!” Emery yells happily when Callie returns.

Sloane’s expression darkens. She has no right to be jealous when she’s purposefully avoided being a part of her daughter’s life, but I still wish Emery could tone it down a little. Then I hate myself for the thought. It’s not as if Emery knows how twisted her mom can be. I’ve never let Emery see my feelings for Sloane.

Callie’s changed into pale blue jeans and a baggy T-shirt. It does nothing to diminish how beautiful she is.

Emery jogs over to Callie, taking her hand. Sloane’s jaw tightens to the point it sticks out of her skinny face like it’s going to break the skin. “Callie, this is Mommy. Andthisis Maxwell. Not just Max. Maxwell. Isn’t that neat?”

Callie looks at Maxwell, her cheeks turning pale, her eyes widening for a moment. She seems terrified. But then the expression fades, making me wonder if I imagined it. She says, “Nice to meet you.”

Chapter Sixteen

Callie

What game is this? Jorge sneers at me across the table. I wrack my brain, trying to figure out if he ever mentioned a twin. But even his demeanor is the same. That glassy-eyed look is identical, the exact one he’d get after one too many shots of whiskey.Everythingis the same. It’s messing with my head.

Why is he here? And why is he saying his name is Maxwell?

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