Page 56 of Who's Your Daddy?

I giggle. “I could’ve used that advice too.”

As our laughter dies down, her expression turns serious. “So, what are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know,” I reply with a shrug. “I don’t even know why he’s here or what he wants to talk to me about.”

She reaches out to rub my arm. “Well, if you need a chat later, just call me.”

I nod, making a mental note to stop being such a jerk to them. It’s not intentional, but I need to make a conscious effort to not be so...cold. They’re a great bunch of people, and I could use some friends right now.

The ladies go back to their respective stations, and we all try to waffle through the last hour of the day. Raf comes back to the cosmetics section twice, asking me all kinds of questions about Peter. My answers are brief and to the point. I suspect he wants something more than friendship from me, and I don’t want to encourage anything that may cause more complications in my life.

By closing time, I’m an anxious ball of nerves. I don’t know what to expect or what he’s going to say, but I’m ready to fight him on any of his points oflogic. However, after this past week of stress and panic, I’ve changed my stance on one thing. If he offers tohelpsupport the baby again, I’m going to take it because I need all the help I can get. He doesn’t have to be involved at all. He can still go out and live his best single life, but he needs to pay his share of the costs. That’s fair, isn’t it?

“Do you want us to walk out with you?” Tori asks as I gather my stuff.

“No, I’ll be fine. Thank you, though. I appreciate it.”

My heart pounds wildly as the automatic glass doors open in front of me and I step outside. It’s a scorching ninety-two degrees today. The warm August afternoon air hits my face, making me feel more flushed. It takes a few moments to spot him because my eyes are scanning the parking lot for an electric blue Bugatti Chiron, but instead, I see him leaning against the hood of a very sensible-looking SUV.

Stomach in knots, I slowly make my way to him, awkwardly crossing my arms when I reach him. He’s uncomfortable too and for a few beats, we just sort of stand there, looking everywhere except at each other. He’s the one who eventually breaks the silence.

“Can your stomach handle some food right now?”

I instantly read between the lines. Food implies that this conversation is going to be longer than five minutes. I don’t really want to give him the time of day, but this is our child we’re talking about, so it warrants a little more than a five-minute discussion.

I nod. “I could eat.”

“Okay.”

He opens the door for me, and we drive in silence to a small diner in a quiet neighborhood. I’ve never been to this part of town before, but it’s a quaint little place. The smell of apple pie and vanilla syrup greets me as soon as we walk in the door.

I slide into one of the rectangular booth seats, and thankfully, he doesn’t sit down next to me, but directly in front of me. He’s intentionally trying to keep his distance. I ignore the pang of pain that distance causes in my chest and remind myself that it’s a good thing. It means we’re both on the same page. Whatever we had between us is over, and we’re just here to discuss the baby.

I stiffen my spine and tell myself to remain cold and detached. Stand my ground if he tries to convince me to be logical about this. The goal is to keep emotions out of it and find a resolution as to how we’re going to move forward.

The waitress comes to take our order. Just the thought of meat sickens me, so I order a plate of fries. Peter remains quiet and doesn’t get anything for himself. The silence continues even after the waitress leaves. I sit back and all I can do is stare at him as I wait for him to talk.

Seeing him up close, I notice how pale his skin is and the bags under his eyes. I find some comfort in that. At least I haven’t been the only one losing sleep. He crosses his arms over the table, and the breath he releases is weighed down by the heaviness of the situation. He rakes a hand through his hair, dropping his head onto his forearm as he exhales another loaded breath.

When he finally lifts his head again, he doesn’t look at me. His eyes remain focused on the table. “I...I owe you...an apology.” Another loaded breath. “I don’t usually freak out. I never lose my temper. When, uh, when we were in high school...” His hand finds its way into his hair again, and he still avoids eye contact as he continues. “Cat said something to me, some insult, I can’t remember. But I lost my shit...and I almost hit her. It’s almost a decade later, and I still feel guilty about it. Uh...anyway, after that...I swore that I would never lose control like that again. And I haven’t. I’m usually the calm one. I don’t raise my hands. I don’t raise my voice. I don’t lose my cool, but last week...when we found out...I panicked.” He glances up at me for a split second before his eyes return to the table. “What I said...how I said it...I’m sorry.”

The way he expresses his anger makes a lot more sense now. In these few minutes, I’ve learned some new things about him. I’m also seeing a different side of him today. He's usually the epitome of arrogance, so it’s wild to see him looking utterly remorseful. I’ll admit, it melts my spine of steel just a fraction.

“I understand,” I say softly. “I panicked too, and—”

“Yeah, that’s the point, Li. All this has happened to you...is happening toyou. It’s your body that has to go through all this. You’re allowed to panic, not me. I have friends, family, security. I’ve got a plan B and a support structure no matter what. You don’t have any of that, so when you freaked out last week, I should’ve stayed grounded. You needed me to be operating at a hundred and fifty percent, and I gave you zero. I should’ve handled it better. You needed me to be a rock in that situation...and I wasn’t.”

I’m a little confused because this is not how I expected the conversation to go. “Peter...I appreciate the sentiment, but you don’t have to be anything to me. Now, when it comes to the baby—”

“Dammit, Lia.” He slams his palm on the table. It’s not loud. It draws no attention, but the recoil is instant. He clasps his hands together and presses them against his forehead as he tries to center himself. After a moment, he reaches over the table and takes my hands in both of his. He still doesn’t look at me. Instead, he focuses on his thumbs tracing over my knuckles. “I know that you’ve been on your own for a while, and you sorta got used to being alone and figuring out everything by yourself with no one to rely on, but we’re in this together now, so we’ll figure this out together.”

What is he talking about?Weandtogether? Just last week, he asked me if I was going to keep the baby. Where is this coming from? “But we’re nottogether,” I remind him. “You don’twantto be in this, and I don’t want you to...to...”

I pause, wondering how to broach this. I know it’s my choice to have this baby, but I also have to be real about my financial situation. So, how do I tell him that he doesn’t have to feel obligated to be with me, but I sorta, kinda need him for his money? It’s like coming out and saying:Hey, just post a cheque each month and then you can go back to screwing hot supermodels.That’s probably what he wants, but it sounds so tacky to say it like that.

“Look, I think the best arrangement would be for us to continue as we are now...and if...or when I need something for the baby, I’ll let you know.”

He scoffs. “Am I ever gonna have a say in any of this, or are you just gonna keep shutting me out?”

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