Crazy Imperfect Hearts

Chapter Eighteen

Lucas

“Thanks for coming in the middle of the afternoon,” I say as Regan gets out of the car I sent. “I know it’s eating into your business hours.”

“Not a problem.” She glances back at the black SUV. “But if anyone saw me get into that thing, they’ll be asking about it for sure. It’s like the FBI picked me up for questioning.”

Regan looks up at the nice, new, modern three-story building that houses my lawyer’s office. It’s all the way across town from McQuaid Circle in what has become the recent town expansion. We pass a fountain out front. In the center, there’s a marble elephant leaning over to take a drink with its trunk.

“That’s weird,” she says, stopping to examine it.

“Oh, that’s weird?”

I let my gaze wander up and down her body. Her long floral print tunic hits her mid-thigh, and the yellow and black striped tights peeking out below it make her look like a bumblebee. The chunky black platform shoes make her inches taller than she is, but still not as tall as me.

“You don’t like my choice of attire?” she asks, not looking the least bit ashamed that she looks totally out of place. “Embarrassed to be seen with me?”

“It’s not that.” I chuckle. “I was just imagining the outrageous clothes you’re going to dress our kid in.”

Her face turns serious. Has my mention of our kid made this all too real for her?

“Lucas, are you sure you want to do this? I mean, it’s crazy, right? You and me having a kid. People will talk. They’ll say things. They—”

I put a hand on her shoulder. “Since when do you care what people think? Is this you having second thoughts? I get it, believe me. I’ve backed out of more things than the average bear.” I thumb to the building. “Just come inside. See what Candace has to say. Nothing is set in stone yet.”

She nods hesitantly, looking nothing like her carefree, casual self. “Your lawyer is a woman?”

I chuckle. “I’ll bet you expected some stuffy old white guy, huh? Candace is quite the opposite.”

Holding the outer door for her, we enter the building and ride the elevator to the third floor. While inside, I imagine us taking the elevator to my penthouse. I imagine doing things to her while in the elevator. Things like stripping those ridiculous tights off her.

My thoughts are halted by another. Would she even want to go there? To my place? Ever since she texted me yesterday, I’ve been imagining all the places I could try to impregnate her. My penthouse. The dressing room in her shop. A beach house on Martha’s Vineyard.

But then I remember how many times she’s kicked me out of her apartment. How she ended the text conversation. How she told me she changed her mind about my first proposition.

While I’m looking at this as a fun way to get what we want, she may be looking at it as strictly business. Ah, damn . Is she going to want me to jizz in a cup so she can use a turkey baster? I hadn’t even thought of that.

When the elevator dings and the doors open, pulling me back to our present reality, I gesture for her to go first. “Second door on the left.”

“Oh, hey, Regan,” the receptionist says, when we walk in.

Stacey, I believe, looks between the two of us, seemingly confused.

“We’re uh…” Regan looks to me to save her.

“We’re here on winery business,” I say.

“Right. Of course.” Stacey still seems confused as to why the CMO of Montana Winery would be taking the quirky boutique owner to a business meeting with his lawyer. I wonder what the gossip line will do with this information.

As if reading my thoughts, Regan leans close as we wait for Candace. “If we end up doing this, we’re going to have to figure out what to say to nosey people.”

I laugh. “You mean everyone in this town?”

She sighs heavily as if she hadn’t yet thought of the repercussions or the criticism she’ll face. I suppose I haven’t either. Will people assume she’s trying to trap me by getting pregnant? Will they call her stupid for thinking I’ll finally settle down and commit?

Suddenly it dawns on me that she has a lot more at stake here than I do.

And what about our age difference? Will people have a problem with it? In the overall scheme of things, five years isn’t that much. But people do tend to have a bias when the woman is older than the man—idiotic ideals if you ask me. Older women are fucking hot.

Faces flash in my mind. Faces of all the women I’ve dated. All of whom were my age or younger.

Huh… interesting.

“Lucas,” Candace says, emerging from her office. “So nice to see you.”

“Good afternoon, Candace. Thanks for working this in on short notice.”

“That’s what your daddy pays me to do. Come in, come in.”

Regan catches my eye and grins. As I thought, she’s amused that Candace is not, in fact, an old fart of an attorney, but an attractive plus-size black woman in her forties.

“Regan Lucas,” Candace says. “I thought I recognized your name when Lucas asked for this meeting. I’ve been in your shop once or twice. I just love McQuaid Circle.” She extends a hand. “Candace McMillan.”

Regan nods. “Yes. I remember you, Ms. McMillan.”

“Splendid.” She motions to a large table in the corner of her massive office. “Have a seat.”

As Candace sits at the head of the table in front of an open laptop, Stacey opens the door and pops in with a tray of coffee and various sugars and creamers.

“Thank you,” I say, watching Stacey eye Regan suspiciously. We’re definitely going to have an issue on our hands if that look means what I think it does.

“Candace.” I motion to Stacey. “This meeting is going to remain confidential, correct?”

She gets my meaning and smiles. “The two of you were never here.” Sending a firm look Stacey’s way, she confirms, “Were they?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Okay, then, shall we get started?”

Stacey leaves, never giving Regan another glance. One look from her boss was warning enough apparently. Good, I hope that settles the issue. We don’t need rumors floating around before anything even happens. Regan and I will have to sit down and discuss when and what to tell people when the time comes. I look at her, sitting across the table like we’re a divorced couple meeting to divide our property, and I wonder if she already has told people. People like Ava and Maddie.

I’m pretty sure she hasn’t. They’d never let her do it. Then again, when has anyone ever told Regan what to do? Perhaps having a lawyer run this show isn’t the worst thing in the world. I do have rights, too.

“Okay then,” Candace begins. “While this agreement we’re about to draw up may be a bit unconventional, it’s not that different from say a prenuptial agreement. In the end, though, they’re all the same thing, business transactions.” She turns to Regan. “I don’t mean for that to sound cold, but things like this are necessary to protect both of you. And I’ll have my friend in family law go over the contract before you sign it.”

“You don’t already have one?” Regan asks. “I thought that’s why we’re here.”

“You’re here to set the terms of the contract. It’s up to you and Mr. Montana, not me. I’m just here to guide you and bring up matters you might not have thought about. That’s also why I’ll have Richard Livingston take a look at it—to make sure we covered things I might not have thought of. I’ll redact the names of course. Lucas came to me because he knows I’ll be discreet.” She waves a hand at the door. “Everyone in my office will be discreet.”

Regan nervously pours herself a cup of coffee from the carafe. She rips open two packets of sugar and pats them until they’re empty.

“It’s okay, Regan,” I tell her. “This is just an informal meeting. We’re not teaming up on you. This is for your benefit. You need to just tell us what you want.”

Candace holds up a hand. “Before we begin, I want to make it clear that this contract will only cover what happens after the baby comes. It presumes you will successfully conceive and deliver a baby. I told Mr. Montana I did not wish to take part in any preconception agreement or contract. How, if, and when you try to conceive this child is entirely up to you.”

Regan visibly relaxes, as if she thought I could somehow have legally coerced her into having sex if she doesn’t want to. I can see she’s warming up to Candace.

“Let’s start with any questions you have, Regan,” Candace says.

“I guess I want to know why Lucas needs to be protected. He’s the one with all the money.”

“Well, he will be the father. The other biological parent. It’s my understanding he wishes to be much more than just a sperm donor, and in return, he plans on providing financial support. There’s a lot that goes along with it. Why don’t we start out by listing what Mr. Montana intends to pay for.”

Both women look at me, waiting for an answer.

I hold up my hands. “Everything, I guess.”

“Define everything,” Candace says.

I pull out the itemization of expenses I’d drawn up and start going down the list. “Education. Childcare. Medical.”

Candace makes notes on her laptop. “And what about monthly child support?”

“I’ll pay whatever she wants.”

We turn to Regan. “Don’t look at me,” she says. “I have no idea what a kid costs.” She shrugs. “Like a thousand dollars a month?” Regan catches Candace’s surprised reaction. “Is that too much?”

“Here’s how this works, Regan,” Candace explains. “If both parents are in agreement, child support payments can be reduced, raised, or waived altogether. It’s important to note, however, that a judge has the right to supersede this if they feel it’s unfair. But as you’re not going through a divorce, it’s unlikely this would ever appear before a judge unless one of you so requested. So it’s basically up to the two of you to decide. But knowing this issue would come up, I did some digging. And Regan, with Mr. Montana’s current yearly salary at the winery, he’d be required by law to pay at least six times that.”

Regan’s jaw hits the table. She’s speechless. I’m fairly sure she’s calculating in her head what that adds up to. And I’m confident it’s far more than she nets owning her boutique.

I try not to smile. I don’t want Regan to think I hold all the cards here. Because it’s quite the opposite. She’s the one who can call all the shots. She’s driving this train and she doesn’t even know it.

“I… but…” She covers her mouth. “That’s ridiculous. I couldn’t possibly take that kind of money. I don’t even know what I’d spend it on. Gold encrusted onesies?”

Candace laughs, types something into the laptop, and then turns serious again. “What you need to understand, Ms. Lucas, is that Mr. Montana’s family is quite wealthy. They give him a generous salary as Chief Marketing Officer, and he’s one of four heirs of the business. Were you married and having a child together, the child and you would benefit from that wealth. The standards for child support are set with that in mind, so the child will grow up with the same standard of living as the primary bread-winning parent. Sadly, this doesn’t happen a lot of the time.” She tilts her head toward Regan. “You’re one of the lucky ones, Regan. Lucas has indicated to me he’s eager to be generous where this child is concerned. Has he told you about his plans for a trust fund?”

“Trust fund?” Regan asks, her eyes snapping to mine.

I shrug. “I want to make sure any kids of mine are set up should anything happen to me.”

“Lucas asked me to establish a sizable fund for the child,” Candace tells her. “Should he pass before the child is twenty-five, you’ll be named trustee.”

“Me?” Regan points to herself. Then her eyes narrow and she targets me with her glare. “There’s a catch. There’s always a catch. What are you asking for in return?”

“I told you before, I just want to be involved in his or her life.”

“Let’s get into the weeds of that,” Candace says. “Living arrangements. Custody. Will it be divided equally?”

“No,” Regan says. “This whole thing started because I wanted a baby. I wanted one. For me . Not a kid I had to share.”

“Well, there’s always the sperm bank,” I say, maybe a little too sarcastically. “I looked it up, Regan. It could be in the thousands of dollars. More if you have to keep doing it over and over until it sticks. I also researched out of pocket expenses for having a baby. Unless you have bougie insurance, it could cost you five to ten grand, and that’s assuming no C-section or complications. Childcare, education, sports. I can’t even tell you how much sports cost, it’s way more than you—”

“I get it,” Regan says, slapping the table. “But I’m not going to let you hold me over a barrel here just because you have money. You want a kid so badly, go buy one.”

“Let’s calm down,” Candace says. “You each have something to offer here. We just need to work something out that is mutually agreeable.” She turns to me. “What are your thoughts on custody?”

“She can have custody for the most part. Like on a day-to-day basis. But I’ll want time with him or her. Weekends. Vacations. Some holidays.”

“How many weekends? How often?”

Candace’s fingers are busy typing as she fires off the questions.

“I haven’t really thought about it. Every other?” I look at Regan to see her reaction. She’s pretty stoic now, on the defensive for sure, but I think I detect a hint of relief. “I mean, I’m not sure I want anything set in stone. What if I want to see the baby more often? Like come over after work? Or when he or she gets older, maybe have him for a longer visit. I don’t want to be cornered into anything here.”

“I wouldn’t keep you from seeing the baby, Lucas,” Regan says. “I’d never do that. You’d have free access. Not a key to my apartment or anything, but I’d be happy to let you come over often. And I’m not opposed to two weekends a month, maybe even a little more. This is all new to me, and based on what I see with friends, a lot of hard work. It might be nice to have a break every once in a while.”

“Okay then,” Candace says. “We’re in agreement on two weekends minimum, with Lucas free to ask for more time as needed. And shall we say split holidays equally?”

“ All of them?” Regan asks sadly.

I can almost picture her in those candy cane tights she wore, sitting on her couch on Christmas morning, gutted because the kid is with me and not her. It’s a painful thought. I could never do that to her.

“My family loves holidays. The more the merrier. You’d always be welcome to spend them with us.”

“Why don’t we go with splitting the holidays as the official stance.” Candace types out notes. “You can alter that on the fly. Agreed?”

Regan nods.

“Fine,” I say.

“What about residency?” Candace asks. “What if one of you decides to move out of Calloway Creek, or out of the state?”

“No,” I say. “No way. That’s a hard stop for me.” I turn to Regan. “I know you aren’t the type of person who would do it, but with the kind of child support I’m offering, you could potentially sell your business and go anywhere. If we’re doing this, we’re going all in. Until the kid is eighteen, neither of us can move out of town.”

“I’ve lived here all my life, Lucas. My friends are here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Your parents live in Florida.”

“You think I’d run off with your kid to Sarasota to parents who will most likely disown me when they find out I’m having a baby out of wedlock?”

“So you’re in agreement on this point?” Candace asks, moving things along.

We both nod.

“I’d like to buy you a car,” I say to Regan. “A safe one. If you’re driving my kid around, I want him or her surrounded by airbags.”

“I really don’t drive much.”

I raise a brow. “You’re turning down a free vehicle?”

She thinks on it. “Do I get to choose?”

“As long as it’s got a high safety rating, yes.”

“Agreed.”

Candace smiles and types away, her fingers sailing across the keyboard like she’s transcribing every word. She looks up. “Let’s talk about decision making. Usually the primary custodial parent is given authority over decisions regarding education, health care, and other major issues.”

“I’d like to have input,” I say. “Regan and I have vastly different lifestyles. And while that may be one of the many things I like about her, I don’t really want my kid going to clown school.”

Regan laughs out loud. “I’m not going to indoctrinate him or her into some secret society, Lucas.”

“What I would suggest,” Candace interjects, “is that you make decisions together as co-parents. If you really come to a stalemate, you can always bring in a neutral third party to arbitrate based upon the child’s best interest.”

“So we fight about it until one of us gives in, or we hire someone to make the decision for us?” Regan shakes her head, clearly irritated.

“I don’t think it’ll come to that,” I say. “Despite appearances, I’m not as stubborn as I look. I can be flexible. Can you?”

“Fine,” she huffs, then looks at the time. “How much more? I have a business to get back to.”

“As much or as little as you want,” Candace says. “There’s parenting plans, childcare, communication, religion, parental dating and relationships.”

“That,” I say. “Let’s go over that one.”

“Parental dating and relationships?” Candace asks.

I nod.

“Alright, let’s see. What if one of you enters into a committed relationship with another person?”

“Then that person will be left at the altar as usual,” Regan says with a snicker.

Not amused, I say, “Low blow. But think about it, do you want any girlfriend, fiancée, or wife of mine trying to raise your kid?”

“I’m having a hard enough time at the thought of you helping raise my kid, Lucas.”

“Okay, so what if we say no overnight guests when the baby is with us?”

“I’m okay with that, but what if you do get engaged? What then?”

“I won’t.”

“With your track record, what assurances do I have?”

“We’ll write it in the contract. I won’t live with anyone or enter into a marriage or engagement until the kid is, what… over thirteen?”

“Why thirteen?” Candace asks.

I shrug. “I guess because teenagers seem to know everything already. And they’re probably old enough to handle new people in their lives.”

Candace raises a brow in Regan’s direction.

Regan says, “I guess that’s okay. It doesn’t forbid any kind of long-term relationship though, does it? Short of living with the other person?”

Candace looks to me. I try to picture Regan with another guy. Another guy who’s holding my kid, going to baseball games or recitals. The thought sickens me. But I have a feeling asking her to refrain from any relationship because I’d be jealous is going too far.

“I don’t think a legal contract can preclude either of you from entering into a romantic relationship,” Candace says. “Provided it doesn’t affect the child in any way and doesn’t violate the aforementioned rules. Agreed? Okay, and to the other points?”

“I’m okay leaving anything else under the ‘we’ll figure it out’ section,” I say. “I don’t intend on forcing my political, cultural, or religious views upon anyone.” I look at Regan. “As long as you don’t.”

“Lucas, I don’t have any political, cultural, or religious views.”

I laugh. And she does too. Our eyes connect and it’s like we’re both thinking the same thing… holy shit, we’re really doing this.

Candace finishes typing and closes the lid to her laptop. “Looks like we’re finished here. If either of you think of anything we haven’t covered, or want to make changes, let me know. I should have a contract drawn up for you by next week.”

I stand and shake her hand. “Thank you.”

She opens the door and escorts us out, all the way past reception, where I don’t miss how she shoots Stacey another warning glance. It makes me wonder if she’s had issues with her assistant blabbing in the past or if she’s just putting an exclamation point on her earlier warning. Either way, Candace McMillan is not a woman I’d like to cross. My dad is always saying what a pitbull she is. Someone who’d eat you for breakfast and use your bones to pick her teeth. Someone I’m glad is on my side for sure. But in this instance, I get the idea she’s not just working for me, she’s on Regan’s side, too.

“That was… surreal,” Regan says on the elevator ride down.

“It’s definitely up there with the meetings I never thought I’d have.”

“Are we really doing this?”

We exit the elevator. “I guess we are.”

In the parking lot, I open the back door of her ride, just now realizing I still don’t know what she expects from the actual baby-making process. “I’ll send the contract over when I get it. After that, I guess call me when…”

You want to fuck? You want me to jerk off into a little plastic cup?

“I’m ready to make a withdrawal from your bank?” She winks and smiles that quirky dimpled smile.

I laugh. Because if the way she’s looking at me right now is any indication, we’ll definitely be fucking. She’s back to her calm, carefree self. Hopefully because she’s been put at ease by what we just agreed to.

The car drives away and I’m left with only my thoughts. After the last few days, the idea of having a child has become more and more appealing. But one thing occurs to me. No matter how much I’ve decided I want a kid, I’m not sure I want it happening on the first try. Because the thought of all the trying , has me just as excited as whatever else lies in my future.