Chapter 2
Ruth
This is not going the way I expected.
I assumed Tucker Bradshaw would be horrified by my arrival.
Shocked to discover a woman claiming to be the mother of his child standing on the doorstep of his mansion first thing in the morning.
I figured he would at least be a little panicked.
Concerned at the possibility he might have a daughter he knows nothing about.
But Tucker Bradshaw is none of those things. He’s not horrified. Certainly not panicked. And the look on his face is anything but shocked.
The man is actually smiling at me. Grinning from ear to ear like he’s happy to see me.
And what a grin it is. Perfect teeth, full lips, a dimple in one cheek… There’s no question about how Tucker ended up with the reputation he has. I imagine panties have a hard time maintaining their position in his presence.
Not mine though. My panties will be staying firmly in place. Probably forever, since taking them off is what got me where I am now.
Still grinning, Tucker sweeps an arm into his home while taking a step back. “Why don’t you come inside? No reason to stand out there like some sort of stranger.” He gives me a wink. “Especially since you’re sure we’re not strangers.”
Is he… Is he flirting with me?
No. Can’t be. That would be terrible. Worse than terrible.
It would mean the plan I hoped was the answer to my problems isn’t as fail-proof as I thought. Could even end up being the worst decision I’ve made.
Which is really saying something.
But I’m in too deep to turn back now. Nodding my head, I take a deep breath and cross the threshold, tucking Birdie a little closer as I take in the sprawling expanse of the structure he calls home.
The place is beyond huge and clearly custom.
From the richly stained hardwood floors to the soaring ceilings, everything about it is perfectly crafted.
There’s intricate crown molding and baseboards.
Built-in shelving and cabinets line at least one wall of every room I pass.
The kitchen is a masterpiece all by itself, with a gigantic island, cupboards that stretch high enough I would need a ladder to reach inside, and two sinks.
I don’t know why in the world someone would need a second sink in the kitchen, but apparently Tucker does.
He also knows looks aren’t everything, because not only is his home aesthetically pleasing, it smells delicious.
A cozy, warm scent floats through the air, reminding me of the high-end hotel where I work.
Used to work. Right up until the man trying to ruin my life made sure I lost my job and every friend I thought I had.
I knew Tucker Bradshaw was wealthy, but this is insane. I can’t even imagine how much money went into building this place. It makes the apartment I’m in the process of packing up look like a closet.
It also gives me hope that maybe I haven’t screwed up as much as I initially thought. It’s possible he simply didn’t want me standing on the porch where someone could see me, and brought me in here to make an offer I can’t refuse.
Literally. I cannot refuse it. It’s what’s going to keep me and my daughter safe. It’s how we’re going to start over. It’s what will make it possible for me to give Birdie a happy life.
Just like my mother gave me.
“You want something to drink?” Tucker opens a cabinet door, and I nearly gasp when it’s actually a refrigerator. “I’ve got water, milk, and orange juice.” He turns to flash me a grin over one broad shoulder. “It’s a little early for beer or gin, but I won’t judge you.”
He probably should, but not due to the timing of any alcohol consumption. Judgment should be handed down because I came here planning to essentially extort a man who’s being weirdly nice to me.
It’s nothing personal. Desperate times simply call for desperate measures.
And I am desperate. Desperate enough to claim I slept with the youngest Bradshaw brother.
To be fair, I’m probably one of the few women in the area who hasn’t slept with him, so how bad is it really? Odds are, he does have a kid out there somewhere.
It’s just not mine.
“I’m fine. Thanks.” Birdie starts to shift on my hip, flailing her little legs because she’s tired of being carried. Or more accurately, tired of being restrained.
My daughter is a handful. She’s curious and fearless and full of energy and excitement.
Regardless of how she came into my life, I honestly can’t imagine it without her.
Sometimes I wish she could find just a little bit of patience, though.
Times like right now. Because I am one hundred percent positive Tucker does not want my little tornado tearing through his luxury home.
He pulls out a bottle of water, turning just as Birdie decides to do her best impression of a limp noodle, knowing it makes her difficult to hang onto. One corner of his mouth quirks up as he watches me attempt to get a better grip on my boneless, dead weight toddler.
I continue struggling as he takes a long swallow of his beverage, the line of his throat working with each gulp, eyes never leaving where I stand.
I stare right back. It’s not a hardship.
I’ve seen pictures of Tucker, and I honestly thought I was prepared to come face-to-face with the man studying me a little too closely. But pictures don’t really do him justice.
They sure as hell didn’t make the long lines of his solid body seem quite as broad or quite as muscular. Didn’t show how sun bleached the wavy hair dipping to his brows is. And they sure as hell didn’t even hint at the way a quirk of his lips changes him from cute to devastatingly handsome.
He tips his head at my daughter as she starts flailing her legs, taking advantage of my temporary distraction to worm her way a little closer to freedom. “You can put her down. She’s not going to hurt anything.”
A sharp laugh comes out of me at the thought. “You obviously don’t have much experience with toddlers. They can hurt just about anything. And what they can’t hurt, they’ll manage to make sticky and covered in crumbs.”
I expect Tucker to be disgusted. I’ve heard all about how he lives his life, and the man is as single as it gets.
Very much by choice. Because I’ve also heard about how he makes it perfectly clear to any woman who expresses interest that the pleasure of his company is a one-time thing.
No girlfriends. No kids. No messes or chaos.
And Birdie is all mess and chaos.
But Tucker just shrugs, taking another drink of water before setting the bottle on the counter. “It doesn’t matter. If she breaks something, I’ll fix it.”
I don’t know what to say to that. I’m pretty sure the claim is bullshit. So instead of letting Birdie hit the floor the way she wants to, I bounce her back up on my hip, hoping to redirect her energy and the conversation.
“Don’t you have any questions for me? Want to know how her life has been so far?” I don’t expect he does. If Tucker has no interest in being in a relationship, he certainly has no interest in becoming a father.
That’s why he was the perfect choice for this.
He’s rich enough that paying me off won’t put a dent in his pocketbook.
He’s had sex with enough women there’s no way he’ll know I wasn’t one of them.
And he’s famous enough that a DNA test would likely get leaked to the news and become a scandal that would affect his mother’s reputation.
On paper, my plan was perfect.
In practice, it’s not really panning out the way I thought it would.
Because instead of whipping out his checkbook to make me go away, Tucker leans against the kitchen island, an easy smile on his handsome face. “I have a million questions for you, actually.”
I swallow hard, because a million questions doesn’t sound anything like rushing me back through the door with a check in my pocket and promise to disappear on my lips.
“Okay. That’s fine. Ask me whatever you want.”
My insides twist wondering where he’ll start. If he’ll want more details about the night we were together. Question how I know Birdie is his. Ask why I’m just now showing up.
“What’s her name?”
I blink, brain stumbling over the completely different direction he chose. “What?”
“Our daughter.” His eyes focus on my little girl. “What’s her name?”
I rub my lips together, feeling weird over him calling her our daughter. “Birdie.”
The weirdness in my stomach can’t possibly be guilt. Absolutely not.
“Birdie.” He says her name carefully. Like he’s rolling it around his mouth. Testing it out. “I like it.”
I start to tell him that I don’t really care whether he likes my daughter’s name or not, but then I remember I'm trying to convince him she’s his daughter too. “That’s good.”
Tucker falls silent, the seconds ticking past as he studies me.
I pretend like I’m studying him back instead of considering turning and running out the front door.
I think we might be in some sort of a staredown, but I’m not sure why.
What I am sure of, is that Birdie and I need to get out of town as fast as possible, and this man is the only option I have to make that happen.
I’m out of money. Out of opportunities. Out of time.
“Where are you two living?” Tucker’s next question surprises me just as much as the first one.
And while I didn’t necessarily see any harm in giving him my daughter’s nickname, I’m not so interested in him knowing where we live, so I keep it general. “About thirty minutes from here.”
Tucker dips his chin in a way that might be a nod. “Is it just the two of you?”
“Yup.” That’s an easy answer. Not just because it’s the truth, but also because I’m hoping he’ll offer a single mom more money.
Because while Tucker’s reputation with women is notorious, he’s known to be a pretty decent guy. A decent guy who doesn’t want to be tied down.
And I don’t want to tie him down. I genuinely don’t want to cause him problems. I don’t even want to have to take his money.
I just don’t have a choice.
“I guess that will make it easier to figure things out then.”
“What?” My voice is a squeak.