Page 17 of Jasper
“I’ve been thinking about this situation and have decided that since no money has traded hands, I’m voiding the contract.”
“In favor of him? Is this the donor or man you’re wasting your life with at the moment.” he states condescendingly.
“Yes, it’s me,” I say giving him a lopsided smile.
He makes a disgruntled sound, his face contorting into an expression of revulsion. “Look at him. This sperm donor is lacking in almost every imaginable way. And you want to bear his child? Tessa, I thought you were smarter than this.”
My jaw tightens. Not because the insult stings, but because I’m calculating how many seconds it’ll take me to knock that smug look off his face.
“Careful,” I say calmly. The kind of calm that usually comes right before a fight. “You’re real close to gettin’ a lesson in keeping your fuckin’ pie hole closed.”
He spins around to face me, his face supremely aggravated with being forced to talk to someone he sees as many rungs beneath him on the social ladder. He opens his mouth to say something but thinks better of it. I don’t know for sure what’s causing him to hesitate. Maybe it’s the bruises on my cheek, the patch on my cut, or the way I’m standing.
Finally, he takes a step back. “You don’t get to insert yourself into this,” he snaps. “You’re not part of the contract.”
“There is no contract,” Tessa says, voice quiet but clear. “I just voided it.”
His head snaps towards her. “That doesn’t mean you get to do whatever you want.”
“That’s exactly what that means,” I tell him in no uncertain terms. “And since she’s carrying my child, I’m already involved.” I take a step closer to him. He tries to hold eye contact, but I see that flicker of acknowledgement on his face. The one that says he just figured out he ain’t in charge anymore.
“Let me make this real simple,” I say, stepping closer to him. “She don’t wanna talk to you. I don’t wanna hear you talk. And if you approach this house again without being invited, I’ll slam you in the dirt so fast you won’t know what hit you.”
He swallows thickly and his mouth opens and closes. No words come out though, and I consider that a fuckin’ win.
“Get in your shiny car,” I continue, lowering my tone. “And drive your ass back to whatever gated palace you crawled out of before I change my fuckin’ mind about being polite.”
He looks at Tessa like she’s supposed to save him. She doesn’t. Instead, she just crosses her arms, stares at the porch floorboards, clearly waiting for him to leave.
He mutters something I don’t care enough to catch, turns on his heel, adjusts his cuffs, and walks to his car. Once he’s inside, the car peels out fast, tires whining like a spoiled kid not getting what he wants.
When it’s quiet again, Tessa stays standing, arms still wrapped around herself. Her face has gone pale.
“I’m worried that he’s not gonna let this go,” she says softly.
“No,” I agree. “He’s not.”
She looks up at me. “Why is he like this?”
“He got attached,” I tell her. “Not to the baby but to you carryin’ it.”
She shakes her head. “He doesn’t even know me.”
“He doesn’t have to. Some men get a picture in their heads. Once it’s in there, they’ll break the whole damn world tryin’ to get the outcome they want.”
She hugs herself tighter. It looks for all the world like a protective gesture for the child inside her belly. “This just got a lot more complicated.”
“Yeah,” I say, watching his taillights fade over the hill. “But it also got real damn clear.”
We stand there, face to face, neither of us speaking. I’m waiting for her to speak, to tell me what she wants to do. She doesn’t speak right away. Just stares at the porch railing like she’s trying to find the words to tell me something important.
I sit down on the top step, twisting the cap back onto my half-empty water bottle. Sweat drips down my back, but I stay quiet, giving her a chance to think.
Eventually, she lowers herself beside me, slow and stiff. Any fool can see she’s stressed out and this asshole just made it ten times worse for her.
“He wasn’t always like this,” she says finally. “Back when we first started meeting. He was cold, but it was more like he was being professionally distant.”
I try to explain what I think is going on. “Men like Whitmore are used to keeping shit to themselves. He probably felt like this all along. He just dropped his mask when he thought you were slipping his grasp because he had nothing to lose. Rich men are used to getting what they want from people—especially women.”
