3. AMAI #2
Anything to stop thinking about her.
But every few minutes, I’d catch myself staring at the locked drawer where her file was.
This is ridiculous.
I was Amai Landry. The Demon. I’d built an empire on control and precision and the ability to compartmentalize everything—business, violence, family, survival.
I didn’t get distracted by women.
I didn’t wake up early for interviews.
I didn’t change my cufflinks twice because I wanted to look?—
What?
Approachable?
Trustworthy?
Human?
I shoved the laptop away and stood up.
This was a business transaction. A contract. A solution to a problem I couldn’t solve any other way.
That’s all it was.
That’s all it could be.
At 1:45 PM, Raymond’s car pulled into the circular driveway.
I watched from the window of my office as he got out—fifty-something, silver-haired, wearing a charcoal suit. Raymond Fontenot had been my attorney for fifteen years. He’d drawn up contracts for territory deals, business acquisitions, and things that would never see the inside of a courtroom.
He was the only person outside of my personal physician, dad and brother who knew about my condition.
He was also the only person I trusted to handle this.
Raymond opened the passenger door.
And Truth stepped out.
My breath caught.
The photograph hadn’t done her justice.
She was wearing a yellow sundress—simple, modest. Her hair was parted down the middle, long and wavy.
She looked nervous.
She looked beautiful.
She looked real in a way that made my chest tighten.
I stepped back from the window before she could see me.
I heard them come inside.
Raymond’s voice, calm and professional: “Right this way, Ms. Renois.”
Truth’s voice, softer, uncertain: “Thank you.”
“If you had called, I could’ve picked you up from the bus stop. I’m glad I at least caught you walking up the driveway.
I moved through the hallway silently, positioning myself just outside the formal sitting room. Out of sight. Close enough to hear everything.
The sitting room was one of my favorite spaces in the estate—high ceilings, crown molding, furniture that cost more than most cars.
A massive oil painting of a French Quarter street scene hung over the fireplace.
The windows overlooked the garden, letting in soft afternoon light that made everything look like old money and older secrets.
It was beautiful.
It was cold.
It was designed to intimidate.
I heard Raymond gesture toward one of the chairs. “Please, have a seat.”
The sound of her sitting down—the soft rustle of fabric, the creak of expensive leather.
“Can I get you anything?” Raymond asked. “Water? Coffee?”
“Water would be great. Thank you.”
Her voice was steady, but I could hear the nerves underneath.
I leaned against the wall, arms crossed, listening.
Raymond returned with the water. I heard the glass being set down on the side table.
“Let’s begin,” Raymond said. “I’m going to ask you some more detailed questions regarding medical history, family support, and your understanding of the contract terms. This is just preliminary. If everything checks out, you’ll meet with my client afterward.”
“Okay.” A pause. “I mean, yes. That’s fine. I’m ready.”
She was talking too much already.
Filling the silence.
I smiled in the darkness of the hallway.
Nervous.
“Let’s start with your medical history,” Raymond said. “Have you ever been pregnant before?”
“No. Never.”
“Any history of miscarriage or fertility issues in your family?”
“No. My mama had four kids—me and my three sisters. No complications that I know of. My grandmother had six. Everyone was healthy.”
“Good. And your own health? Many chronic conditions? Medications?”
“No. I’m healthy. I had my physical done last month. I put it on the application. Everything came back normal.”
“Excellent.” The sound of Raymond writing. “Now, let’s talk about support. You’re currently living with your mother, correct?”
“Yes. In the Seventh Ward. It’s temporary—I mean, I’m saving up to get my own place, but right now, yeah. I’m with my mama.”
“And does your mother know about this arrangement?”
A pause.
Longer this time.
“She knows I’m interviewing for a job,” Truth said carefully. “I haven’t told her the details yet. I wanted to make sure it was real first. But if—when—I do this, I’ll tell her. I don’t keep secrets from my mama.”
I heard the honesty in her voice.
The slight correction—if to when.
She wanted this.
“That’s understandable,” Raymond said. “But you should know that the contract includes a strict non-disclosure agreement. You cannot tell anyone who the father is. Not your mother. Not your sisters. Not anyone.”
“I understand. I read that part. Multiple times, actually. I highlighted it.” She laughed nervously. “I highlighted a lot of things. I went through the whole contract with a legal dictionary from the library because I wanted to make sure I understood every word.”
Raymond’s pen stopped moving.
Even he was surprised.
“That’s… thorough,” he said.
“I don’t sign things I don’t understand,” Truth said. “My ex-husband taught me that lesson the hard way.”
There it was.
The wound.
The reason she was here.
I leaned forward slightly, listening harder.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Raymond said, his voice softening just a fraction. “Let’s move on. Do you understand the terms of the surrogacy? The payment structure, the medical requirements, the expectations?”
“Yes.” Her voice was stronger now. “Fifty thousand upon confirmed pregnancy. Fifty thousand second trimester. Fifty thousand third trimester. One hundred thousand upon delivery. All medical expenses covered. I attend all appointments. I follow all medical advice. I don’t drink, smoke, or do anything that could harm the baby.
And after delivery, I walk away. The baby is his. Not mine.”
Silence.
Then Raymond, “That’s correct.”
“And if something goes wrong?” Truth asked. “If I miscarry? Or if there are complications?”
“You keep whatever’s been paid up to that point. The contract terminates. No penalties.”
“Okay.” Another pause. “And what if—I mean, this is probably a weird question, but what if I can’t do it? What if I get halfway through and I realize I can’t give up the baby?”
I tensed.
This was the question that mattered.
This was the question that separated the ones who could handle it from the ones who couldn’t.
“Then you terminate the contract,” Raymond said evenly. “You keep what’s been paid. You walk away. But you need to understand—my client is looking for someone who won’t walk away. Someone who understands what this is and what it isn’t.”
“I understand,” Truth said quietly. “This isn’t about me. It’s about him. He wants a child. I’m just… the vessel. The biology. That’s it.”
“Exactly.”
“But—” She hesitated. “Can I ask why? I mean, why does it have to be like this? Why can’t he just… I don’t know. Get married? Have a baby the normal way?”
I held my breath.
Raymond didn’t answer immediately.
“That’s a question you’ll have to ask him yourself,” he finally said. “If he chooses to answer it.”
“Right. Okay. I’m sorry—I’m talking too much, aren’t I? I do that when I’m nervous. I just start talking, and I can’t stop and—” She laughed, embarrassed. “See? I’m doing it right now.”
I smiled again.
There it is.
Her tell.
The thing that made her human, made her real, made her different from every other woman who’d sat in that chair and performed composure like it was a job interview.
Truth Renois talked when she was nervous.
And I found it… disarming.
“It’s fine,” Raymond said, and I could hear the faint amusement in his voice. “You’re doing well, Ms. Renois. Just a few more questions.”
“Okay. Sorry. I’ll try to—” She stopped herself. “I’m listening.”
Raymond continued. “Do you have any questions about the medical process? The IVF procedure, the hormone treatments, the embryo transfer?”
“I’ve been researching,” Truth said. “I know it’s not easy. The hormones can mess with your emotions. The injections hurt. There’s no guarantee it’ll work the first time. But I’m willing to do it. I’m willing to do whatever it takes.”
“Why?”
The question hung in the air.
I leaned closer to the doorway.
“Because I need the money,” Truth said simply.
“I’m not going to lie about that. Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars would change my life.
It would get me out of my mama’s house. It would pay off my debt.
It would give me a chance to start over.
But also…” She paused. “I’m good at keeping promises.
When I say I’m going to do something, I do it.
And if I sign that contract, I’m promising to carry his baby and give him the family he wants. That’s not something I take lightly.”
Silence.
Then Raymond, “That’s a good answer.”
“It’s the truth,” she said. “No pun intended.”
Raymond chuckled. Actually chuckled.
I’d known Raymond for fifteen years, and I’d never heard him laugh during an interview.
“One last question,” Raymond said. “What happens after? After you deliver the baby and the contract ends. What do you do then?”
“I go back to my life,” Truth said. “I use the money to build something better. I don’t look back. I don’t ask questions. I don’t show up at his door asking to see the baby or trying to be part of their life. I walk away clean. That’s the deal.”
“And you can do that?”
Another pause.
Longer this time.
“I don’t know,” Truth said honestly. “I’ve never done this before. I don’t know what it’s going to feel like to carry a baby for nine months and then give it away. But I know what I’m signing up for. And I know I’m strong enough to do hard things. So, yeah. I can do it.”
I closed my eyes.
Honest.
Brave.
Real.
She wasn’t performing. She wasn’t trying to be what she thought I wanted.
She was just… herself.
And that terrified me.
Because I wanted her.
Not just as a surrogate.
Not just as the solution to my problem.
I wanted her.
Raymond’s chair scraped against the floor.