A new wave of anger shoots through me. “Christian is the one who started this?”
Dylan rubs my thigh. “Well, first he said that Chloe had mentioned me a lot, and then Christian called. So he drove by your place, saw my car, and started investigating. It wasn’t hard once he saw my plates.”
“That absolute—” I choke back a lump in my throat. “Christian has no right to insert himself like this. Calling my father? Who does that? Who calls the most controlling, vindictive man alive and says, ‘Hi, I’d like to start a war’? Scratch that. Christian would. There’s a reason he and my dad are friends. And why does he even care? He cheated on me!”
Dylan gives me a sympathetic look. “I’ll never understand why he did that to you. But despite the cheating, he’s still hung up on you. And that I do understand. But what a way to try to get you back.”
“It’s probably more that he hates that I’m with someone I actually care about.” My voice cracks. “And wants to ruin it.”
Dylan’s face softens. “Hey.”
But before I can say anything else, my phone starts buzzing on the coffee table.
We both freeze.
I stare at it, my stomach dropping.
“Speak of the devil,” I say between gritted teeth. “It’s Christian.”
Dylan’s jaw works once, slow and controlled.
“Do you want me to answer it?” he asks quietly.
I swallow hard. “No. I’ll do it.”
My fingers tremble as I reach for the phone. I swipe to answer.
“Christian.”
No hello. No warmth. He doesn’t deserve it.
“You’re with a fucking Whitman? What the fuck, Dahlia? What are you thinking?”
“You called my dad?” I stand up and start pacing. My body is buzzing with fury. “You knew it would blow up. Didn’t you? You wanted it to.”
“I wanted to know what he knew about the guy you were seeing. I didn’t know you were keeping it a big secret. You’ve conveniently left out that Dylan is a Whitman. Seems like you’re the one asking for things to blow up.”
“My life and how I live it have nothing to do with you. And who I love is absolutely none of your damn business, Christian.” My voice shakes, but I’m steadier than I’ve ever been. “Listen to me. You don’t get to control that part of my life. You don’t get to control anything about me anymore.”
“Oh, please,” he spits out. “Love? You barely know the guy. I know you. I’m the father of our daughter. I’m the one who will take care of you.”
“You should care about what’s best for Chloe. I can take care of myself. It’s what I’ve been doing all along, in case you’re conveniently forgetting that now.”
He’s quiet.
“Trying to sabotage something good in my life is not caring about our daughter. That’s your ego throwing a tantrum.”
“So you’re really moving forward with this…nepotist baby? Your dad’s not going to tolerate this, Dahlia. You need me.”
“I wouldn’t put labels on someone when you’ve literally gotten where you are because of your parents. My dad would’ve never given you a job if your dad hadn’t asked him to. You wouldn’t have that McMansion in California if itweren’t for your trust fund…so spare me the name-calling and look at yourself in the mirror.”
I want to brag about what Dylan has actually built in California, versus Christian living a pipe dream that shows no signs of coming to fruition, but I don’t need to draw any more attention to Dylan. It would only backfire.
“I need you to stay out of this,” I say, ending the call.
When I turn, Dylan is watching me with something fierce and tender in his eyes.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
