Page 46 of Who's Your Daddy
Sully narrows his eyes. “What’s wrong with Lo? Lo!”
I step inside and slam the door, pointing at him. “That.Stop doing that.”
Sully looks back and forth between Brian and me, brows pinched. “Doing what? Asking her to do her job? We’ve got work to do, Cal.” He grips his armrests and tilts back in his chair. “At least some of us do.”
I ignore his jab. I get my work done. Maybe it takes me less time than theirs takes them, but that’s not my issue. I’ve never been good at sitting around, and I won’t do it just to make them feel better about themselves and their inability to work as efficiently as I do.
“We’re not going to scream at Lola. If you want something done, get off your arse and talk to her.”
Brian, the stodgy bastard, actually looks like he might smile.
Sully sighs. “I don’t have time to walk back and forth every time I need something. Lola doesn’t mind.”
“She does mind,” I quip. “And we can’t lose her.”
Just the thought of her going back to New York City like she’s always threatening makes it hard to breathe.
Brian relaxes in his chair. “She promised ninety days.”
Ninety? But we need her here for three hundred and sixty-five. Bloody hell, this isworse than I thought.
Grinding my teeth together, I shake my head. “Then we need to give her a reason to stay.” I pull a walkie-talkie from my pocket and toss it at my brother.“Here.”
He catches it against his chest and holds it up. “What is this?”
“A walkie-talkie?” Brian answers, though his voice tilts like it's a question.
“Yes. Otherwise known as the Jersey office intercom system,” I explain.
Sully’s frown deepens. “What?”
“I’ll pick up two more. When you need Lola, you simply press the side, saypardon me, Lo”—I glare at him—“and once she acknowledges that you aren’t interrupting what she’s working on, youaskher to accomplish the task.”
Both men are silent, studying me, for a long moment.
When they finally nod and agree, I turn and stalk out.
As I hit the threshold, Brian calls after me. “Oh, Cal, DCPP called. They’ll be by some time in the next forty-eight hours.”
At the mention of the Division of Child Protection and Permanency, my blood turns to ice. I swivel around. “Why?”
Brian shrugs. “Court needs to sign off on Murphy’s living situation. Ensure it’s safe. It’s standard.”
We may run one of the most preeminent family law firms in the country, yet being on the other side of this—waiting for a judge to decide that my son is safe with me—feels foreign. Wrong.
He’smyson. If Brandy had told me about him, then I wouldn’t have missed all this time with him, and there would be no need for the court to be involved at all. No reason for them to have todecidewhether I’m fit to take care of him. I’ve done nothing—absolutely freaking nothing—to warrant the court’s concern about whether I have therightto take care of my son.
She left him. She should have to explain herself.
Dazed and nervous, I breathe through my nose and stalk out of his office. Just as I step into the hall, I barrel straight into Lola. As ourbodies collide, she stumbles back, wobbling on her heels. On instinct, I grasp her arms to steady her.
“Bloody hell, are you okay?” I duck, assessing her.
She blinks up at me, completely silent.
“Do you have a concussion? Should we call a doctor? Sully!”
In an instant, my brother appears. Brian too.
