“Darcy, to what do I owe the pleasure?” He held out his hand, and somehow that felt like a slap in the face, though I knew it was only polite. Plus, did I really want a hug from him? The answer was a resoundingno.
“So, you remember me?” I asked, my voice chipper with an undercurrent of malice that he didn’t seem to pick up on, judging from the smirk that curved his lips as he sat back down.
His voice was several octaves lower when he said, “Of course. How could I forget?”
I shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the same way you forgot to mention you had a girlfriend. Or, excuse me, I actually hear congratulations are now in order?”
The friendly facade faded from his features, a menacing scowl replacing it. “That’s none of your business. It was one time. You and I were never going to be anything.”
Maybe that would’ve hurt had I not known that when I flirted with him outside the venue.Iwas the one who hadn’t wanted it to be anything more than what it was. He, on the other hand, had asked me for my number. Twice.
“Yes, well, as it would turn out, you and I might be more than either of us originally wanted.” I held my ground, but my insides were vibrating with tension, the meager breakfast I’d eaten before I came here threatening to come back up.
His eyebrows pinched together, and his response was sharp. “What the hell are you talking about?”
I rolled my eyes, a bad habit I’d never outgrown since childhood. “I’m pregnant, and it might be yours.”
Silence hung in the air, but it was far from a dead silence. No, this silence was very much alive, much like what I imagined the atmosphere around a live bomb was like. I could practically hear it.
Tick, tick, tick.
He glanced down at my stomach, searching. “No.”
I scoffed. “No?”
I expected shock. Shit, I was shocked myself, and I had a couple of weeks to come to terms with it. But an outright refusal?
He grabbed his computer mouse and returned his attention to his monitors, clearly dismissing me. “No. It’s not mine. That’s not possible.”
“Wow, okay, um, do you need me to explain to you how babies are made?”
Dropping the mouse, he swung his gaze to me, anger radiating off his body. “I know how they’re fucking made—” He pinched the bridge of his nose, cutting himself off with a deep breath. “You said you had an IUD. Did you lie to me?” Something clicked in his brain and he sat up straighter, clearly convinced by whatever he seemed to have realized. “Did you do this to get money out of me? I’m not giving you a fucking cent—”
“Let me stop you there. I didn’t lie to you. I had an IUD, it apparently expired.” I hated how ignorant that made me sound, but I continued. “And I didn’t come here to get money from you.”
He raised an eyebrow skeptically. “Then what do you want?”
“I figured you’d want to know if you potentially have a child, maybe do a paternity test to make sure.” I glared at him. In that moment, he every bit resembled the stereotypical rude, arrogant, stuck-up lawyer that he was.
“You figured wrong, and I won’t be doing a paternity test. I’d sooner go to court before I ever let you get solid evidence in your hands that could ruin my life. And let’s be real.” He gave me a once over, judgement swirling in his eyes. “You can’t afford a lawyer to take me there, let alone one that could beat me. So whatever it is you’ve got, it isn’t mine, and I suggest you get rid of it.” His voice was clipped, and harsh, and then he added, in the most condescending manner possible, “Don’t let this thing ruin your life, Darcy. Try to be smart.”
Maybe it was the pregnancy hormones, or maybe it was that I’d never been too good at being told what I could or couldn’t do,what was or wasn’t smart, but the anxiety in my body stilled. It became quieter. Colder.
“I don’t remember paying you for your legal counsel, Liam, but let me giveyousome advice, on the house.” I planted my hands on his desk, narrowing my eyes at him as if I could crush him with my gaze. “Ifyou’resmart, which for the sake of your three-hundred-thousand-dollar degree, I hope you are, you’llnevertell me what to do again.”
I’d love to say that storming out of his office was above me, that at twenty-eight years old I’d never stoop so childishly low as to cause a scene, but I’d always had a temper. A bad one.
On the way past reception, I grabbed a fistful of the candies I’d been eyeing the entire time I sat there waiting to talk to Dickhead, knocking them to the floor in the process. The sound of glass shattering had a smirk breaking onto my face. The receptionist, whatever her name was, called after me, but I kicked the button for the elevator with my shoe, my hands busy trying to unwrap my consolation prize.
Phase two: partially done.
***
I didn’t go home. The second I got into my car, my stomach rumbled painfully, my appetite finally deciding to make an appearance.
“Okay then, little human, what do you want to eat?” I don’t know when exactly I’d started talking to the baby, but it was oddly comforting.
I wasn’t alone.
