Page 74 of Dirty Boss

I bristled. “She spends plenty of time with me, Tiff. And I’m not here for you to take swipes at me.”

My ex-wife sighed. “Well, what is it?” She straightened, frowning. “This isn’t about money, is it? That job drained everything from your company and now you can’t afford your child support payments?”

Frustration snaked through me, and I curled my fingers into my palms to dispel some of it. Tiffany was always worried about what she could get for herself—more time with Charlotte. More money. She was a great mom, but she was just a little too selfish to be a good partner. At least, that’s how it had felt to me. Maybe, a quiet voice chimed, maybe she felt that way because I hadn’tgiven her enough of me, freely enough, often enough. Maybe I’d put everything else first, and she had no choice but to fight for what Iwouldgive her.

I gritted my teeth. “I said I wasn’t here for you to take swipes,” I bit off. “The money’ll come on the first of the month, like it has since the day our divorce was finalized.”

Tiffany clicked her tongue. “So?”

“So, I’ve met someone. I’m going to introduce her to Charlotte.”

Tiff blinked at me. “Oh.”

Feeling defensive, I took a page out of Alba’s book and went on the attack. “Don’t look at me like that. You started dating Dale, what, six weeks after we broke up?”

“I’m not looking at you any which way, Vaughn, I’m just?—”

“Everything okay?” Dale appeared behind my ex-wife, tall and lanky, his long-fingered hands landing on Tiffany’s shoulder.

She relaxed slightly, took a deep breath, and filled him in: “Vaughn’s dating someone and wants to introduce her to Charlotte.”

Dale’s eyebrows went up, and he nodded. “Happy for you, man.”

My ex-wife’s new husband was a calm, unassuming accountant. He kept regular work hours—even during tax season—and was apparently a great cook. From the moment they’d started dating, I could tell he was better for Tiffany than I’d ever been. He balanced her out when I only riled her up. She needed that kind of stability in her life, someone who wouldn’t snap back every time she did.

I should’ve known to be better, but I was who I was. I nodded at the other man, backing down. “Thank you. Now, would you like to meet her before I introduce her to Charlotte?”

It was part of our custody agreement that we’d let the other parent meet new partners before introducing them to Charlotte, and Tiffany nodded. “Yes, I would. I assume Hillary will be in touch to work out the scheduling?” That was a not-so-subtle dig about how unavailable I was to her—had always been to her. When we were married, she’d get irate when my assistant would step in to make time in my schedule for her. With the benefit of a few years’ distance, I could understand that. Tiffany’s shirt crinkled around Dale’s fingers; he was squeezing her shoulder.

Sighing, my ex-wife shook her head at me. “I’m sorry. It just always gets to me when I have to say goodbye to Charlotte. Hand-offs…are tough.”

“I know,” I agreed. “I’m sorry for springing this on you.”

She huffed and gave me a half smile. An olive branch. “Four years isn’t exactly springing it on me,” she acknowledged. “This woman—she’s good for you?”

I thought of the way Alba pushed me, and how she softened in my arms. The way her smile lit me up from head to toe, and how all I wanted to do was share every part of my life with her. I couldn’t wait to see her interact with Charlotte. I hoped they’d like each other. Meeting Tiffany’s gaze, I nodded. “She’s great.”

Tiff and Dale exchanged a glance, and she released a long sigh. “Good,” she said, then we all turned to watch Charlotte barrel down the hallway toward us.

Tiffany’s smile was strained as she said goodbye, and then Charlotte slipped her hand in mine, and I took her back home.

That night, I missed having Alba by my side. Like some sort of lovesick fool, I pawed at my phone and found her number. She answered on the first ring.

“Hello,” she purred.

My body relaxed at the sound of her voice. “Hey. What are you up to?”

“Trawling through pages and pages of dresses looking for the perfect gala look.”

I hummed. “Anything you wear will be perfect, Alba.” I curled a hand behind my head and stared at the ceiling, imagining it. Alba, on my arm, looking like a vision in a beautiful gown. Being in a stuffy, uncomfortable tux wouldn’t even matter when she was by my side.

“You are so wrong, Vaughn,” she said, laughing. “The dress needs to be legendary.”

“I mean it,” I insisted. “You could wear my mother’s old prom dress and be the most beautiful person in the room.”

Her laugh warmed me, until she said, “Oh, my sweet summer child.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I mock-growled.