Chapter 11
“Apparently, a simple lawyer meeting requires my entire family.”
Zane
My knee bounces up and down as I sit in the lawyer’s waiting room.
“You okay?” Eli asks.
“Fine.”
He nods at my knee. “Fine?”
“I don’t know what I’m doing here,” I admit.
He frowns. “You still want to give Adele back to her mom?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” I run a hand through my hair and pull on the ends. The bite of pain doesn’t help to calm any of the thoughts whizzing through my brain at breakneck speed.
He places a hand on my thigh to stop my knee from bouncing. “Which is why we’re here. In case you decide to keep Adele, you should know your options.”
“We don’t know Adele’s mine. I mean…” I glance around the waiting room to ensure no one can overhear us, but we’re the only people here. “I don’t remember Daisy.”
“Not a flicker of recognition?”
“None. And I’m not exactly father material.”
He scowls. “Why not?”
He has to ask? “I didn’t grow up with a dad.”
His scowl deepens.
“It’s different for you. You were sixteen when Dad left. I was eleven.”
“Mr. Raider?” the secretary calls. “Follow me.”
I stand and push the baby stroller down the hallway as I follow the secretary. She shows me into a small meeting room.
“Have a seat. Ms. Kline will be with you in a moment.”
Eli and I sit next to each other but I last less than ten seconds before I spring to my feet and begin pacing around the room. I don’t know what I’m doing here. I don’t know what I’m doing, period. I’m supposed to be in Argentina by now. Not at a lawyer’s office in Smuggler’s Rest discussing paternity and custody.
The door opens and a woman I vaguely recognize enters. “Mr. Raider?” she greets.
Eli chuckles. “Mr. Raider? I remember when you used to call him Mr. Poopy Pants.”
I growl. “I am not Mr. Poopy Pants.”
The woman snorts. “Not anymore.”
I study her. I should know who she is. Smuggler’s Rest isn’t very big, and since I’ve lived here my entire life, I know most people. Although I do enjoy traveling as often as I can.
“Siena. I was in Jaxon’s class.”
Phew. This isn’t another woman I’ve slept with and don’t remember. I might be a player, but I’m not an asshole.
We shake hands before she settles in a chair on the opposite side of the table. She opens a notebook. “My secretary said this was a paternity matter. I’m surprised you came to me, Eli. Don’t you usually use those fancy attorneys in New York when a woman claims you’re the father of her child?”
