Page 11 of Better Daddy
“I can’t live there,” I tell her as the bartender slides our drinks in front of us. “I know you’re happy. I get that you’re swept up in this blissful haze where you don’t see how bad it really is?—”
She snorts. “No amount of bliss can hide how awful that place is.”
Relief washes over me. Thank god she’s not as delusionally in love as I thought.
“But we’re doing what’s necessary to save the business,” she continues. “Your reasons for hating the firm are valid, but you’re about to have a baby, and your six-year-old attends an extremely expensive school.”
With a slow sip of iced tea, I narrow my eyes at her. “Yeah, and?”
“Sully needs this job. If he loses the firm, how will he pay tuition and child support?”
I wince. Being reliant on Sully’s money is another sore point, butthere’s no sense pressing on it right now. I’ve already aggravated too many tender spots today. “I can’t live with him, Lo.”
What I don’t say, what I can’t admit to anyone, is that I’m scared as hell. I’ve just begun adjusting to life on my own, and now it’s all gone topsy-turvy. The idea of having a baby on my own is terrifying, but I don’t know how to be around the man who still makes my heart skip a beat, because the last time I gave it to him, he was reckless with it.
Chapter 4
Sully
“Do you need help, Mr. Murphy?”
Shite. I was two steps from freedom. Two steps from the door that leads to the parking lot, where I could have slipped safely into my Beemer. I’ve already loaded up everything I need, including the basket of stuff I spent the last eighteen hours tracking down. If only I’d remembered to slip my mobile into my pocket before I snuck Sloane’s stuff out.
Because of my distraction—all my wife’s fault; it’s hard to think about anything but her—I’m forced to deal with Amy, our intern, before I can make my escape.
It was Cal’s brilliant idea to bring on the twenty-two-year-old intern, and though she’s terrible at just about everything she does, having her here frees Lo up a bit.
And we’re unlikely to find a better alternative, since the trust, a.k.a. the bane of our existence, made it clear we could only bring one paid member of our staff with us. Lo is incredible at what she does. The best paralegal the firm has. But even she doesn’t have the time to deal with all the work Brian, CalandI need from her.
I understand my arsehole brother’s reasoning for bringing in the space cadet, and I admire him for doing what he can to help the loveof his life. However, Lo hates Amy with a passion. So he missed the mark completely with that gesture.
Lo can barely interact with our intern without losing her shite. I have very little patience for incompetence, but Lo? Hers is practically nonexistent. And Amy’s incompetence knows no bounds. If she were really trying, maybe I’d have a little sympathy. But she’s not. And every time she fucks something up, she just shrugs and saysthat’s so weird.
The phrase is like nails on a chalkboard.
“I’m heading out.” I point out the obvious.
With her head cocked to the side, she flashes me a smile. I fight the sigh working its way up my chest. She’s beautiful, with long dark hair, and two months ago, the tight outfits and flirty smiles made Lo jealous as hell. But my brother and I can agree on one thing: young and dumb is not our type.
I have one type. Sloane Murphy. And I’m wasting time I could be spending with my wife while I stand here waiting for Amy to explain why she stopped me.
Instead, she looks at me expectantly, as if she’s the one waiting for a response.
“Do you need something?” I ask, trying to keep my tone subdued.
“I mean.” She shrugs. “I think you should call them back.”
I blink. “Who?”
“Oh.” Giggling, she holds up a Post-it. “I can never remember what I’ve said aloud.”
For fuck’s sake. Whoever it is will be getting a call from the car.
For the next thirty seconds, she continues the bloody giggling. And when my blood pressure rises enough to send smoke billowing from my ears, I finally growl her name.
“Here.” She thrusts the Post-it at me. “He called earlier, but I couldn’t find you.”
“He who?” I squint at the mobile number on the yellow square. She’s scribbled ten numbers on it, and that’s it.
