Page 3 of Better Daddy
For the record, I don’t either. But lately, everything has gone wrong, so it would be par for the course. Can’t blame me for being thorough.
“No. Cancerous masses don’t have heartbeats. And this is a strong one.”
I nod as I stare at the little gummy bear on the screen. That’s what we called T.J. the first time we saw him. A little gummy bear. Sully brought home a whole bag of them the next day. Of course, Ididn’t eat a single one. He laughed his ass off at me, but I thought it’d be weird to eat something that looked like our child.
“Hi, little bear,” I say to our baby.
My heart thuds painfully. Looks like I have to call my future ex-husband to tell him we’re having a baby.
Chapter 2
Sully
“Hellooo!”
I wince at the sound of Madame Esmeralda’s voice. The high-pitched greeting instantly sends my blood pressure rising. The psychic who lives above our shithole of a law office is always dropping in unannounced. Her gold bracelets jingle as she peeks in, her head tilted, her curly black hair—and that haunting white streak—bouncing.
Cal, my brother and law partner, constantly talks about a ring this woman supposedly wears. He swears he can never look away from it. I, on the other hand, am always caught off guard by her haunted hair and violet eyes. Theyhaveto be contacts.
“Callahan.” Just his name sounds like a song as it leaves her lips. The woman is a walking psychic stereotype, from the layers of flowing floor-length dresses from the 1970s to her big hoop earrings, to the airy, sometimes chilling voice. “We will need to reschedule our session.”
My brother’s shoulders slump. Why he’s disappointed that she isn’t going to babble at him for thirty minutes is ridiculous to me, but he’s bought into her so-called predictions, hook, line, and sinker.
“I know it’s disappointing, but it’s for the best. Your path is stable.”
Successful scam artists tend to focus on telling people what they want to hear and talking in riddles. Madame E is good at both.
With a shake of my head, I drown out their discussion. My workload is unmanageable now that we’ve moved into my dad’s old office in Jersey. The three partners—Cal, Brian and I—are required to be here, and by some miracle, we convinced Lo, our paralegal, to come too. She’s the only reason we’re keeping our heads above water.
Until recently, we ran one of the biggest family law firms in New York City, with over one hundred support staff and associates. I suppose technically, we still do. But thanks to my father’s idiotic trust provisions, the four of us are stuck working in a rat-infested office building in Jersey for the next year.
Fuck, we have so much work to do, yet Madame E has once again distracted Cal and Lo with stories of the ghost she swears lives in this building.
“Enough,” I bark before they can fall deeper into her nonsense.
Instantly, I’m hit in the side of the head with a small orange ball. It falls to Lo’s desk and bounces along the edge until it falls to the floor. My arsehole brother has such good aim he hardly needs to look at me to nail me with that bloody basketball.
“Wanker.” I snatch it off the floor before Cal can. “No more balls.”
He smirks. “It seems Mr. Grumpypants hasn’t had his happy-nappy today.”
While Madame E chuckles, Lo groans. “No. That one doesn’t work.”
Cal shrugs. “I like it.”
Of course he does. He’s thoroughly annoyed us all with his little rhymes since he decided walkie-talkie was such a fun word.
It’s baffling to me that we share DNA.
“I’m done.” I’m not sure why I’m even standing here anymore. I came into Lo’s office to ask her about a complaint we need served,and she confirmed it’s done, so it’s time to get back to my office and the peace and quiet it’ll give me. As I turn for the door, Madame E steps into my path.
She tips her head, that single white streak of hair catching my eye. Lips pursed, she narrows her purple eyes on me.
I try not to squirm under her gaze.
“Sullivan,” she says, her tone serious. “You need to get ready. The incubator is on the way.”
See? Riddles.
