Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
But just barely…
Yet another reason I have no business even considering becoming a parent. Well-adjusted people fit for childrearing don’t so much as flirt with the idea of murder, let alone have to spend a few months talking themselves out of it.
“But prior to exposure,” I continue, “both sides of my family were relatively healthy. Some heart disease, but as far as I can tell, nothing severe or with an early onset.”
She nods. “All right. I never knew my dad, so I can’t speak to that half of my DNA, but I’m healthy so far.”
“I’m not worried,” I assure her, not bothering to explain why.
She doesn’t need to know that my investigator tracked down her father, or that he was a healthy, if irresponsible, man living his best Peter Pan life on a fishing boat in Key West until he was struck by lightning and killed a few years ago. He was relatively easy to find. The fact that she hasn’t tracked him down herself must mean that, deep down, she doesn’t want to know anything about the man responsible for her dark hair and olive skin.
They certainly didn’t come from her red-haired mother…
“Okay.” She drops onto the leather sofa, giving her martini a thoughtful swirl. “So, we’ve covered the nuts and bolts. Should we discuss how absolutely batshit crazy this is, or are we going to skip over that part?”
I ease into the mission-style chair across from her. “Unconventional, perhaps, but not crazy. From a contractual perspective, it’s a straightforward business arrangement with clearly defined terms.”
“Oh, come on, Hunter.” She kicks off her silver sandals and tucks her feet up, making herself at home. “You want me to pretend to be madly in love with you, knock me up, convince your dying mother we’re soulmates, and then have me raise a child alone while you send money from afar like some rich Wall Street creep who got his mistress pregnant and is afraid to leave his wife. That’s the definition of crazy.”
“Only you aren’t my mistress, and I don’t have a wife,” I say. “This won’t be an accident. It will be something we’re both choosing in advance. And yes, I can see that the deception aspect is outside the bounds of most business dealings, but that will only be a concern for a short period of time. She only has six months, nine, if she’s lucky.”
Her brow furrows again. “Jesus. This poor woman.”
“Don’t feel too sorry for her. She’s seventy-four.” I take a drink before adding, “Your mother only made it to sixty.”
Her gaze hardens, her eyes glittering as she asks, “How did you know that?”
“I read about it in the news. I’ve been following the Sea Breeze Gazette online since I finished my work here,” I lie. “I was sorry to see that you’d lost her.”
She nibbles her lip for a beat before relaxing back into the cushions, seemingly satisfied with my response. “Thank you. She would have been horrified to know I was even thinking about getting pregnant out of wedlock, by the way. Even fake pregnant.”
“The pregnancy won’t be fake,” I remind her, needing to make that perfectly clear.
“No, just everything else about our relationship.” She stretches her legs out, and I definitely don’t notice how that dress rides up her thighs. Those thighs that felt so damned good wrapped around me while I rode her like it was the last, best thing either of us would ever do… “Have you considered a surrogate? There are women who do this kind of thing for a living, you know.”
“I prefer a more…personal touch.”
“Ah yes, nothing says ‘personal touch’ like asking a stranger who you ghosted months ago and haven’t spoken to since to have your baby.” She downs the rest of her drink with a gulp and holds out the glass. “I’m going to need a refill to finish this conversation.”
I get up to pour us both another round. “I would hardly call us strangers. If memory serves, we got to know each other pretty well during those three days in your apartment…”
“If memory serves? Oh, please. We spent more time coming than we did talking. And it was…phenomenal.”
I set the glasses on the bar cart and glance over my shoulder to find her nibbling her bottom lip in a way that makes me ache to do the same. She’s right. It was phenomenal, and I’m not the kind who uses that word lightly.
She sighs as she adds, “That’s probably something we should consider before we sign on the dotted line.”
“Consider in what way?” I ask, adding an extra dash of vermouth to her drink.
“With chemistry that intense…” She trails off as I cross the room, accepting her fresh martini before adding, “I just don’t want you to get confused by your rampaging hormones and fall madly in love with me. You’re an okay guy, I guess, but I’m not interested in forever with you, Hunter. No hard feelings. You’re just not my personal ‘forever’ flavor.”