Chapter 8
“You’re…you’re going to be a father?”
I clicked out of my inbox and closed my browser window before getting up from my desk. “Yeah, that’s what I just said in my email.”
“Sure, but I had to call to make sure you weren’t hacked,” Chuck said through the phone. “You said that you wanted nothing to do with women when I called about those galas, and now you’re emailing me saying you have babies on the way? Forgive me for being skeptical.”
I let out a short laugh as I spun the giant antique globe next to my desk—the one my mother had glued googly eyes all over. “I pay you to be skeptical. If this were a test, you would have passed with flying colors.”
I grabbed the water bottle that I had drained after my run and walked out of my study. “And I never said I wanted nothing to do with women.”
“Could have fooled me,” Chuck said as I entered the kitchen. “Anyway, it’s pretty early to be doing everything in the list you sent me—trust funds and the like. Do you even know what names the babies are going to have?”
“No.” I set my water bottle by the sink and grabbed the handle of the first brightly-colored steel cup from the line of tumblers I had bought last night. “Their mother thinks the twins are getting her last name, but she’s not going to win that fight.”
I set the phone on the kitchen island as I opened the freezer drawer.
“I don’t know,” Chuck groaned through the speaker. “My mom didn’t give me my dad’s last name, but he also wasn’t a Fontaine.”
I dropped a couple pieces of daisy-shaped ice out of their silicone molds into the steel cup. “Exactly. If your dad was going to have you inherit a generations-old family business one day, maybe your mom would have seen things differently.”
“She gave me his first name, but I don’t go by it,” Chuck said. “Not that it mattered. He walked out on us when I was five, so he wasn’t around to call me anything. ”
I opened the refrigerator door and swallowed the lump that had suddenly formed in my throat. “I…I didn’t know that about you, man.”
I silently grabbed the first of four pitchers of water out of the fridge.
“Eh, it doesn’t bother me,” he said, and I could almost hear him shrug through the phone. “It happens a lot more often than people think.”
The ice in the cup cracked as I poured the water over it. “Yeah.”
“As far as the kids go, I can at least look into making trust funds for the little beans. You have enough capital to play around with, so I’ll see how I can make their money grow the fastest.”
I put the pitcher back into the fridge. “Speaking of which, I need you to make an account for child support. Open up a card for Olivia Adams.”
“You know you don’t have to legally pay child support until the babies are born, right?”
“Do you think I give a shit?” I screwed the lid securely onto the cup and walked out of the kitchen. “This is the best way to make sure my babies are taken care of without their—”
I stopped in my tracks as soon as I entered the foyer and looked up at the second floor landing to check for movement. Even though I found none, I still dropped my voice to a whisper. “—without their stubborn ass mother fighting me on it. You can’t imagine just how prideful this woman is.”
“You picked her.”
I scowled at the phone. Olivia Adams was the last person I would have ever picked to be the mother of the only Fontaine heirs.
Thanks to their mother’s genes, my poor babies would probably be born with miniature encyclopedias in their hands, have horrible eyesight, and I would hear “Did you know…?” in stereo for the rest of my life.
“What can I say,” I replied cooly. “I’m a man who honors my obligations regardless of the circumstances.”
I crossed the foyer and headed up the stairs. “And on that note, put ten percent of my monthly income in the child support account.”
“T-ten percent?” Chuck replied. “Are you insane?”
My feet hit the carpet runner of the second story landing and I paused in front of one of the green knights.
I considered just how much ten percent of my monthly income was. “You’re right. I’m having twins—make it twenty percent.”
“But—!”
“Gotta go, Chuck. Try not to have a heart attack when you move the funds over. It would be a real pain in the ass to replace you.”
I ended the call and my feet softly padded across the wooden floor of the wing where the family bedrooms were.
Though the hall was quiet, the usual morning silence was less hollow with another person occupying the house.
The unease in my stomach from her sleeping across the hall might go away after a few days… but I wasn’t that lucky.
I knocked on Olivia’s bedroom door. “Room service, Adams.”
A noise between a whine and a groan filtered through the door. I took that as permission to come in.
I opened the door to find that Olivia had wasted no time settling in.
Every single one of her suitcases were on the floor with their maws open, their contents spewed about the room.
A white fluffy throw blanket was draped over Grandma’s green armchair.
Photos littered the nightstands. A fat candle on the dresser was likely responsible for making the room smell like. ..gardenias, I think.
Just as I was about to question if the princess had made herself comfortable enough, she decided to wake up. With a very unladylike groan, she slowly lifted herself from the tangle of ivory sheets and the emerald down comforter.
Seeing someone after just waking up was an under-appreciated kind of intimacy. It wasn’t like the intensity of fucking her raw in an attic or the overlit exposure of her doctor’s appointment, but a quiet level of vulnerability that carried its own truths.
Despite being horrendously uptight when fully conscious, Olivia clearly wasn’t the type to wear a bra to bed.
Instead of normal pajamas, she wore a faded pink college shirt over her baby bump and a pair of shorts with a pattern of little white cats.
She didn’t even bother to brush away the wisps of chocolate brown hair stuck to her forehead as she pawed at the nightstand for her glasses.
I could almost admit she was cute. Almost.
I walked across the room and set the forty-ounce cup on the nightstand. “Drink up, buttercup.”
She slid her glasses onto her face and blinked in surprise at the lemon yellow cup I had just placed in front of her. “The hell is this?”
There was the Olivia I had expected.
I folded my arms across my chest, preparing for the fight that was surely coming. “You have to drink at least a gallon of water a day—doctor’s orders. You can’t rely on the lawyer diet of black coffee and bourbon anymore, so now you have to actually hydrate.”
She picked up the cup but tossed me a dirty look. “I never drank bourbon.”
I held down a smile as she took a sip—the first of many small victories. Maybe pregnancy would make her less of an argumentative pain in the ass.
Olivia’s eyebrows knitted and she pulled her lips off the straw. “What’s in this?”
“That’s your ‘wake-up water,’” I explained, “infused with oranges so the citric acid helps with nausea. It’s in the yellow cup so you know to drink it first thing in the morning.”
She blinked once, glanced at the crown logo on the side of her cup, and looked back up at me.
What wasn’t she understanding? “You know—yellow, like the risen sun.”
“I know what color the sun is!” She shook the cup, making the ice rattle against the steel. “If this one is yellow, how many others are there?”
I let myself smile that time, proud to show off my hard work.
“The pink cup is for mid-morning and it’s infused with raspberries for a vitamin boost. The green cup is for early afternoon—it’s a fun mix of cucumber, lime, and coconut water to restore potassium.
Your last water of the day is in the blue cup, infused with camomile and a bit of powdered fiber. ”
Her mouth hung open, as if she had to process information by looking like a catfish.
I gestured to her yellow tumbler. “The powdered fiber is to help with the consti—”
“Damnit, Beau, I know what fiber is for!” she snapped. “This tumbler brand costs fifty dollars a piece, and you bought four of them? Are you too stuck-up to know that a dishwasher exists?”
I scrubbed my hand across my face. I did not go on a late-night grocery run in town for her to be this much of a bitch over a fucking cup.
But research had also told me that Olivia was just under the influence of pregnancy hormones, and with twins it was worse. Double the babies, double the crazy.
“The cups are for your convenience, Adams,” I replied with the calmness of a pot of water that was just under boiling. “The articles I read last night said that drinking a daily gallon of water can get boring, so I wanted to make the water a little fun—”
“You really think I would be bored of clean water?” She swung her legs to the edge of the mattress and stood up. “Do you have any idea how disgustingly privileged you sound?”
I bit my tongue to stop myself from asking her if she had any idea how insufferably ungrateful she sounded. There was no winning against the hormones, so I had to switch tactics.
Back in college, I read a book that challenged the idea of any retreat being a surrender.
Like leading in a waltz, taking a step backward was the ideal way to force your opponent in the right direction.
I had no idea how educated Olivia was in dance techniques or classical warfare, but I’d let her think she won this round if it gave me a peaceful morning.
“Yes, yes, I am both disgusting and privileged.” I turned to the door. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I just got back from a run and I need to shower off with pure mountain snow melt and baby seal tears.”
“Is this how you’re punishing me for getting pregnant?” She was just getting louder and louder. “To lock me in your house and rub your money in my face? Do you have a humiliation fetish?”
Hormones. It’s the hormones, Beau. Don’t take the bait.
I walked toward the hallway. She could scream at a closed door if she wanted to.
“Or are you controlling me and everything I put in my body because of some deep-seated daddy issues?”
A stake of ice speared me in the spine and I stopped before I could reach the doorknob. I chewed on the inside of my cheek before turning back around with a smirk.
Olivia glared up at me like she was about to grab me by the sweatshirt and drag me into a dark alley to fight, but she was in my house.
She didn’t fully understand the dangerous territory she had just walked into, but I was about to give her a taste of something even more bitter than her own medicine.
I casually shoved my hands into the pockets of my joggers. “Fine, I’ll admit it. I do enjoy humiliating you.”
I slowly walked over to her, her cheeks reddening as her chin tilted higher to glare up at me with each step I took.
“After all the shit you gave me back in high school, I greatly enjoy seeing you now,” I said. “No job, no car, no friends who can help you in your time of need. Oh, you acted like you were crowned queen of the universe when you got that stupid gold valedictorian medal, but now…”
I looked down at the swell of her belly and then met her furious brown eyes. “…now your greatest accomplishment is trapping a rich man with a pregnancy. I hope you’re proud of yourself.”
She held her glare, but her face paled. Maybe she needed to vomit. Whatever it was, I didn’t care. I turned on my heel and started to walk out.
“Oh, and by the way,” I said over my shoulder.
“You’ll be getting a new credit card soon.
It benefits my babies to not grow inside a mother who only wears sweatpants, so buy yourself some new clothes.
Hell, maybe buy some books so you don’t completely atrophy your brain while you lounge around my house for the next few months. ”
Her bicep trembled once—she was fighting the urge to slap me.
That’s it, Adams. Learn some damn self-control.
I pushed a little more to see what I could get away with. “The credit limit is higher than any bonus those demons at your old law firm ever gave you, so shop until your dark little heart is content.”
She shook her head once. “I’m not spending a dime of your money.”
I flashed her a purposefully patronizing smile.
“Oh, you will. Everyone does when given the opportunity.” I carelessly waved my hand in the direction of the door.
“The fridges, the freezers, and the butler’s pantry are completely stocked—gorge yourself until you puke, for all I care.
I’m going to lunch with my mother today, so I won’t be monitoring your every bite.
Don’t be alarmed if you see a red corvette out front, that’s just Margot. She cleans.”
She scoffed. “Of course you can’t pick up after yourself. I’ll ask her to blink twice if she needs help.”
I shrugged. “Go ahead. She only speaks French.”
Olivia’s clenched jaw and tight fists softened. A feline smile crawled up her cheeks and she cocked her head. “My, a man who gives out credit cards like Halloween candy and pays his little French maid enough to afford a corvette. I’m so lucky I trapped a man like you.”
The poison-tipped sass was gratingly juvenile—but also a clear concession.
I won again, Adams.
My fingers wrapped around the doorknob as I looked back at her. “The corvette was my dad’s, actually. I gave it to her.” I smirked and shook my head. “Happy men don’t own corvettes, even if they are rare vintage models.”
Olivia picked up her cup and held it in both hands like a child. She looked back at me with big eyes and a fake-ass smile. “I’ll be sure to drink my water while you’re away, master.”
I clenched my jaw. If she weren’t the mother of my children, I would have grabbed her by the hair and put her sassy mouth to better use.
“Aren’t you a good girl,” I teased, and then I shut the door as softly as possible so I didn’t slam it into splinters.
I let out a long, shaking breath as I stood in the hallway. Olivia Adams was an even bigger pain in the ass than I remembered. Petulant. Ungrateful. Blind to her circumstances.
But she was the mother of my children. Mother of my children.
And I would wear condoms lined with sandpaper for the rest of my fucking life before dooming myself like this ever again.
I loosened the tension in my jaw and walked away before I could wonder if getting rid of that damn corvette actually made me a happy man.