"If you get me everything I want, I might forgive you."
"Great," he says, deadpan laced with sarcasm. "And for the record, I was kind of backed into helping Enzo out."
"Uh huh." I scoff. "You could've told me the truth."
"He's my colleague and friend."
That makes the hairs on my skin bristle. "So? You had numerous opportunities to tell me the truth, and you didn't. You're an asshole."
"Fine. I'm an asshole. But how is it always me that gets in trouble and not Enzo?"
"Trust me, Enzo is in plenty of trouble."
And if he doesn't watch it, he'll find out.
One way or the other.
Either I'll be gone or...
He'll be the recipient of the news that he's going to be a daddy.
And with that, I know exactly what I'll be doing.
With or without him.
I'm keeping this baby.
Chapter Twelve
ENZO
"For fuck's sake,Lola, if you don't want fucking scrambled eggs on toast—which is pretty fucking great and one of the few dishes I can make—then you can just say so. You don't have to throw them at me." I glare at her as she stands on the other side of the room as though either I or the eggs offended her.
I pick up the broken plate, the toast, and the quite frankly once delicious eggs with actual lobster and real Irish butter to make them extra creamy, and then I pick the large fluffy curds off me.
Eggs this good take time and low heat.
What the fuck is she? A philistine?
An egg hater?
"I don't want your vile eggs."
That hurts.
"I'll have you know these are my specialty." I look at the coffee I made her, black with a touch of milk. Not really liking the idea of wearing that, I take a sip. "Do you want fruit?"
"No."
"Toast?"
She hesitates. "I'm fine."
"You'll eat."
"I won't do what you tell me."
I sigh. "That's not what you said the other?—"
