Page 69 of Broken Daddy

His expression as he waits for me to continue is so open and vulnerable, I feel a crush of guilt.

What should you feel guilty about? It’s not like he wants this baby. Or you.

He’s just doing what’s right.

“It’s in Germany.”

It comes out stronger than I intended. A statement, not a question.

Nate’s face goes blank.

“Germany.”

“Yes.”

“As in, the country Germany?”

“Yes.” Feeling my face heat with a rush of nerves, I blurt out, “It wasn’t planned, but Sienna—my old pastry chef—she sent me the application, and they asked me to curate a menu. So I did, and I sent it over a few days ago. I haven’t heard back officially yet, but it seems like they’re seriously considering me.”

Nathan is staring dead center at my chest. His face is entirely shut down, and it reminds me of the gala. Flashes of that night go through my head—his growl of frustration, the glower as he stared down at me while I tried to soak wine out of his trousers, his low, commanding voice in the office we ended up in.

He’s been so open these last few weeks, I’d totally forgotten he’s an industry mogul. A man to be feared.

“You think going to Germany, pregnant, is a good idea? What are you going to do for health care? What are you going to do when the baby comes?”

The feeling in my gut is a hot twist of indecision. I’ve been trying not to think about that part too much. Instinctively, a hand goes to my lower belly—covered by a baggy Tina Turner shirt.

“I’ll figure it out.” I say this with an air of authority. After all, I’ve been commanding kitchens for almost a decade now. I’ve learned to stand my ground.

Nathan scoffs. My face burns with embarrassment and anger, the former of which feeds the latter.

“I don’t think you’ve thought this out, Genevieve. You’ll need childcare. You’ll need a place to live, and someone to look after the baby, and don’t you think they should be raised by family? Not some stranger—”

“I’llbe there. I’m the baby’s family.”

“I am, too.”

The words come out harsh, sharp. My breath catches for a moment as Nathan’s eyes burn with his claim. Taking a few deep breaths to calm myself, I say, “I didn’t ask you to be involved. I actually told you that you didn’t have to be.”

“I want to be.”

“And whatIwant doesn’t matter?”

My brain goes all lightheaded. This is so reminiscent of arguments with Will, late nights where he casually tossed around the idea that one day I’d step back from the kitchen.

Nate grinds his teeth. “It does matter. But the baby matters just as much. You need to do what’s right for the baby, Gen.”

“What makes you thinkthisis what’s right?” Incredulous laughter slips from between my lips as I cross my arms. “Did you think I was just going to live here, in the pool house? Give up cooking to raise a baby for you?”

“Not in the pool house,” he growls. “Not until we catch the person stalking you.”

“Exactly.The farther I can get away from here, the better.”

It’s a standoff. Nate’s green eyes are piercing, and if I was a weaker woman, I’d be intimidated. But I’ve spent so long compromising on what I wanted for other people. I let Will sink our restaurant into the ground, I let Erik push me out of the Fig with some offhand rumors because I was too busy with the work.

I won’t let Nathan Sharpe shove me into his idea of a housewife.

But, no—I wouldn’t even be that. We’re not married; we’re not dating.

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