Page 3 of Who's Your Daddy
A smirk spreads across his face. It saysgot ya.“Does that mean you’re coming with us?”
Dammit. Once again, he almost had me agreeing.
“Lola.” Cal sticks his perfectly gorgeous head into the office without knocking, holding the stupid orange mini basketball he’s almost always tossing against the wall, or at Sully’s head, or in the air.
He’s such a freaking child.
I choke back a huff. “I have no idea who you’re talking to because that isnotmy name.”
Besides my parents, he is the only person who calls me Lola. And he only does it to piss me off.
“Did I hear that right when I walked by before? Did you call me pretty?”
He’s a master at pushing my buttons, and the asshole justhasto speak with a sexy British accent. God, it kills me to have to listen to him. Why’d he have to grow up in England with his mother? If he’d lived here with his father, then he’d sound like every other New Yorker. Instead, his accent makes even the dumbest statements sound smart. It’s incredibly infuriating.
Teeth grinding, I glare at him. The man is annoyingly aware of his attractiveness. “It wasn’t a compliment.”
With a hum, he breaks into a tease of a smile. “Sure. But it was definitely an offer to buy me lunch. I’m dying for a blue slushie and burger from that place on 8th.” He tosses the ball back and forth from one hand to the other, blue eyes sparkling with delight. I swear he wears navy just to make the color pop. “We both know you adore their chips. And you’re far more likely to get the order right. I always muck it up.”
“It’s fries, not chips. And you screw up the orders on purpose so we never ask you to do them.”
He flashes me a smile so bright I have to fight the instinct to squint and look away. He must bleach his teeth. “Lies.”
“Give us a minute,” Brian says. “Then she’ll get you your Slurpee.”
Cal grins like he’s won the lottery and shoots his ball into the net hanging on the door to the bathroom just off Brian’s office. Cal has one too. They’re freaking children. Every last one of them. How could I possibly be considering moving to a smaller office with these idiots?
As Cal disappears, I turn back to Brian, inhaling deeply to control my frustration.
“Calm down, Lo.”
“Ever heard that you’re not supposed to tell a woman to calm down?” I shake my head. “Brian, there is no way I can work directly with that man-child every day.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Look, none of us want this firm to disappear. And like it or not, this is the only way. Give me ninety days to show you that it won’t be that bad. That’ll give us time to settle and find a new routine. Besides, if Sully can’t get Sloane to move in by then, it’s over anyway.”
A pit opens up in my stomach. The idea of losing this place, especially so soon after losing Terry, is unimaginable.
He’s right. There’s no other choice. Before I can put that thought into words, the door opens again, and Cal reappears. The basketball is still on the floor in here, and he’s got one hand in the pocket of his dress pants, looking relaxed.
“I think the court dropped a kid off for us.”
“What?” Brian’s eyes flash to mine and back to the doorway.
I spin around to face Cal.
He lifts both shoulders nonchalantly, as if it’s a common occurrence for kids to randomly show up at our office.
It’s not.
“Some kid arrived with a note around his neck. Figured it was one of your emergency guardianships.”
The strangled noise that comes from my throat is filled with both anger and shock. “He’s joking, right?” I eye Brian, then glare at Cal. “You are joking, right?”
He takes a single step back and leans to one side. As he straightens, he pulls a small boy into view. Then he ushers him in a step and waves an arm. “Kid.”
I blink at the little guy, then look back at the six-foot-something idiot standing beside him for a solid twenty seconds before I canspeak. “You’ve worked here for ten years. You know that’s not how this works.”
“He’s got a note.” Cal flicks at the envelope dangling from the boy’s neck. “It’s your job to read that nonsense, right?”
