Page 49

His smile grows brighter. “Yes, she is. Anyway, I’m representing your father, Mr. Trevor Loomer.”

I narrow my eyes. Why is that bottom feeder haunting me still? “Did he die since we ran into each other?”

“What?” An awkward laugh. “Oh, no… No, he didn’t.”

“Too bad.”

Don regards me for a second, maybe trying to figure out if I’m joking. “Ms. Loomer—”

“Not my name. Guess the philandering jerkface you’re representing didn’t tell you that, did he?” This line is way too long. I pull out my phone, not wanting to stay and be harassed by Lucifer’s lawyer. Rhys pays me well, but not well enough to compensate for damage to my soul.

–Me: The line here is ridiculous. It’ll be an hour before I can bring you your coffee. Cappuccino from the breakroom would be faster, and taste almost as good.

I stare at the screen, willing him to respond, but nothing. Should I have embellished a bit? Told him it would betwo hoursbefore he gets his precious coffee and Danish? The dark cherry Danishes here are amazing, but not worth two hours of my time.

Don keeps talking, probably to jack up his billable hours. “Your father is planning to name you his heir.”

I look at him like he’s a donkey that happens to speak some English. Is this some weird taunt from Trevor, more along the lines of all those jabs about how I could’ve had a luxe life? “Not interested.”Come on,Rhys.

“Hissoleheir, Ms. Loomer. We’re talking an estate worth over twobilliondollars.”

That makes me lift my eyes from the phone. Disgust swells in my belly. “The name is Max Norman. You’d know that if you actually did your homework, rather than going by whatever Trevor told you. As for my being his sole heir—what happened? Didn’t his home wrecker wife bear him a precious penis-having heir tocarry on his legacy?”

“There was a problem with…the paternity,” Don explains, keeping his tone diplomatic.

I blink, too shocked to come back with something clever. It takes a minute before the gears in my head start turning again. Of all the possibilities, that one never occurred to me.

I let out my first genuine laugh since Tokyo. No wonder Trevor isn’t here in person. He’s too furious and embarrassed to face me. “I always knew I liked that bitch. Karma, I mean. Not the home wrecker.”

Don gives me a baleful look for a moment, then resumes speaking. “Your father is ready to leave you everything so longas you take on his name and acknowledge that the unfortunate separation between your mother and Mr. Loomer was just a misunderstanding.”

That kills my good mood. “You mean he wants me to publicly announce that Mom was too narrow-minded and petty to be magnanimous about ‘a mistake every man makes’?” That was what Trevor told Mom during one of their nastiest arguments. The words didn’t mean much to a five-year-old child, but now I understand them all too well—and despise him for it. “He wants me to repudiate Mom? To say that she was wrong to leave a man who later became a huge success over a nothingburger, then act resentful that she ‘denied’ me all the luxuries and advantages I could’ve had?”

Don looks slightly pained. “Not repudiate. Understand and accept.”

“If you were in my shoes, would you do it?”

“It’s really not for me to say. After all, I’m not in your shoes.”

I make acome ongesture with my fingers. “Use your imagination.”

He sighs. “It’s two billion dollars. And—unfortunate as the fact is—your mother is no longer alive.”

“Uh-huh. Well, nice to know there’s a price tag on your dignity—and you don’t mind disrespecting your mother, especially after she passes away. But not me. I’m making my own money. And living happily on my own. He could’ve been a good father and husband—you know, actualfamily—but he threw it all away because he couldn’t keep his joystick where it belonged. Too late for regrets now.”

“He wants to make amends.” Don makes it sound like I’m being unreasonable.

“With conditions.” I fake-smile. “How sweetly controlling of him. Tell him to donate the money.”

“Do you have any specific charity in mind? Not that it’d stop him from wanting to preserve his legacy and make you his heir—”

“Is there a Fuck Trevor Society around? I’m sure there must be.”

Don shoots me a cold stare. “That’s juvenile.”

I bare my teeth. “So sue me.”

Finally, the guy in front of me places his order. Ignoring Don, I walk up to the perky barista and smile into her bright brown eyes. Unlike me, she’s probably had at least seven hours of sleep in her own bed and a great cup of coffee. And she doesn’t have a stalkerish attorney pestering her. Or a sperm donor acting like he wants to be more because, in his worldview, money should be enough to compensate for all the pain he’s caused. “The most expensive and time-consuming coffee you have, in the largest size available,” I say.