Page 8 of Who's Your Daddy
“Oh.” I stand. “I can connect it for you.”
He shakes his head, his dark hair falling over his forehead. “I can do it. I just need the password.”
I open the top drawer and pull out the card where I’ve typed out the information he’s looking for. Then I scoot around the desk and hand it to him. At lunch, when he read the menu at Ruby’s, I discovered that he reads at a level far higher than the average first-grader. I learned that he’s going to start first grade this fall when I gently pried a few pieces of information from him.
“I’ll be right back,” I promise as I shuffle to the door.
He lifts a shoulder, his focus never leaving his tablet, like he couldn’t care less whether I stayed or left. The reaction makes my chest squeeze.
How often is he left alone? For such a young kid who’s been thrust into a situation that would be terrifying to even the most hardened adults, he’s not the least bit fazed. Though it’s probably a good thing he’s self-sufficient, all things considered.
I slip out the door and rush back across the hall to Brian’s office. When I step inside, I find Brian and Sully, but no Cal.
“Where is Cal?” I hiss as I scurry closer.
Sully, who’s sitting in one of the guest chairs with one ankle resting on the other knee, scowls. “He needed a minute.”
My stomach lurches. “He left? Don’t we need a plan?”
My reaction is ridiculous, really. I shouldn’t be surprised he ran away the moment responsibility called his name.
The men’s gazes shift behind me, and a second later, a littlethroat clears. “Sorry. This was in my backpack. I was supposed to give it to you.”
I turn and find Murphy holding out a manila envelope. Once I’ve taken it, he backs out of the room and disappears. I’m tempted to chase him, to assure him again everything is okay. But this kid is too smart to be placated. Most of the kids I deal with are all too aware of the nuances of their situations. So I fight the urge and peek inside the envelope. Finding what I assumed I would, I dump the birth certificate, social security card, and state health insurance card onto the desk.
“How helpful.” I pick up the birth certificate and scan it. Sure enough, Callahan Murphy’s name is printed on the line reserved for the child’s father.
I shove it toward my boss, making sure he sees what I’m seeing.
“Yeah,” Brian rubs a hand down his face. “We’re aware. We already pulled a copy.”
Sully lowers his head and gives it a shake.
“But having the original helps. I’ll have to file it with the court so he can move to Jersey with us,” Brian adds.
I wince. I’d all but forgotten about the hellhole since the bomb was dropped on us a couple of hours ago. Damn. This kid is going to have to live there right alongside us. Pursuant to the trust, it’s not just the partners who have to live in the small apartment. Their spouses and children are required to as well.
Dread washes over me. What exactly was Terry thinking when he crafted the terms?
Brian sets the birth certificate down. “School doesn’t start for another week or so. That means he’ll have to be with you all day.”
“Me?” I shift back and bump into the bookcase behind me. “What?”
“Emergency guardianship.”Brian cocks a brow at me. “You’re the only one with the credentials to hold him until the court grants the request.”
I sigh. Right. That is my job. Normally I don’t bat an eye at thelong hours emergency guardianships require, but this is Cal’s kid. Somehow that thought makes my stomach flip.
With a deep inhale, I shake off the sensation. I do this all the time. I need to get it together. The court should be ready to hear the emergent filing tomorrow. “Okay. I can keep him tonight.”
“Three days,” Sully all but growls.
Eyes narrowed, I shoot daggers at him. In this moment, I despise him almost as much as Sloane does. He could at least say please.
Sully must sense the angry energy flowing from me because his tone softens when he speaks again. “My brother will be in no position to take care of a child by tomorrow.” His entire being sags. I can’t blame him. So much of the responsibility is going to fall on him. I can already envision it.
I scoff. “But he’ll be parent of the year by Thursday?”
“No. By Thursday we’ll all be together.” Brian frowns as if the words he’s spoken have forced reality to finally set in.
