12. Samara
Chapter twelve
Samara
Friday, July 10, 2026
I tap my foot, impatience coiling through me as I wait for Luca to grace me with his presence. He isn’t late, but he’s also not early, and that rubs me the wrong way. Though everything about him rubs me the wrong way, so I shouldn’t be surprised.
When I finally see him flying through the parking lot toward the doors of my law firm, I square my shoulders, ready to get this over with.
“Good morning, Samara,” he tells me, wiping his palms down his shirt to smooth them over his muscled chest.
“Luca.” I nod, turning to head inside. He hastens his pace to get ahead of me, reaching for the door and holding it open.
My brows pinch together. “Thank you,” I say with a curt nod.
What the hell?
“Follow me. We have a few things to discuss prior to meeting with your ex and her attorney.”
We head into my office, my cobalt blue heels clicking against the marble floors, taking a seat at my desk.
“I thought we had pretty much covered everything the other day,” he says.
I nod. “We had, but I reviewed the case more thoroughly now that I have all the details from you, and I wanted to discuss a few more things. The most important one being that I need you to level your expectations.”
“In what way?” he asks, cocking his head to the side.
“Cecily has made it clear up to this point that she’d like to sign over custody to you, but between now and the official court hearing, she could change her mind. I’m not saying that to disappoint or upset you. I’m not even saying she’d win, but I want you to know that there’s a lot that goes into custody battles. Unfortunately, a jury is more inclined to award the mother full custody than they are the father, especially since you haven’t been present for the majority of her life.”
He leans back in his chair, crossing his ankle over his thigh as he stares me down. “I wasn’t present because she didn’t tell me Gia even existed. It wasn’t as if I had a choice in the matter,” he grits out.
He’s right, and for once, I’m not judging him, but it’s an unfortunate truth. “I understand that, but the court may not. Regardless, this is a moot point because as of right now, she’s planning to sign over parental rights. I only wanted you to be cognizant of the possible challenges we could face in the coming weeks or even months. Okay?” I ask, hoping to get this show on the road.
“Okay,” he says, nothing else.
Well, alrighty then.
“Any questions?” I ask, already pushing away from my desk to stand.
“Just one.” He squeezes the back of his neck as he peers up at me. “Am I really such a shitty person that you can’t be bothered to treat me like a human being?”
His question nearly knocks me out.
I’ve been nothing but nasty to him since our first conversation; I’ve given him no grace. As a Black woman who’s had more than my fair share of people treating me less than, his statement pulls at my heartstrings and makes me more uncomfortable than I’d already felt. My chest squeezes, throat suddenly dry. If I weren’t so distraught, maybe I’d have a better, kinder response for him, but as it stands, I don’t.
Not yet.
I have to work to cool my expression. “What I think of you doesn’t matter. It’s what the judge and jury think of you. Focus on being a good father to that little girl, and we shouldn’t have any issues.”
I hightail it out of that office, hoping he’ll follow me because I can’t bring myself to look him in the face right now.
He’s right. He’s given me no reason to dislike him as much as I do. So far, all I’ve seen is a sort of cocky guy who leans on his family for help and is dealing with an impossible situation. And still, I prejudged him based on tabloids alone.
That thought makes my skin crawl, but then I’m quickly reminded of the way he paid to have his problems solved for him. And not just his problems, but another woman’s chance at being a mother if she had wanted it.