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“A nearby penthouse.”
That brow pops back up to her hairline. “Your penthouse?”
What is it with the women in my life challenging every little thing I do? Fucking irritating. “It’s… nearby.”
“Uh-huh. Precisely how ‘nearby’?”
“Daphne needs to understand what it means to co-parent. No more leaving me out of shit like ultrasounds. Or sneaking around like I’m some horrible person.”
“You mean, like a criminal overlord?”
“Shut up.”
Sofi nudges me and offers a small smile. “Hey, I get it. All I’m saying is, there’s a fine line between ‘pursuing’ and ‘corralling.’ And any woman who sticks it out through your crazy ass? Definitely worth meeting.” That smile spreads back into her mischievous grin. “I can’t wait!”
Someone clumsily drops a crate of guns off the back of a truck, breaking up our impromptu family meeting and snapping Sofi’s focus back into her duties. She fires off a string of Russian curse words and marches toward the mess, leaving me to ponder Phase Two of “corralling” the mother of my child.
Daphne and Sofi can call it whatever they want. We’re in this together, and I’ll be damned if I let anything stand between me and my family.
15
DAPHNE
“To new beginnings!”
Hazel and I clink our shot glasses together, but when she knocks hers back in a single gulp, I secretly toss mine into my glass of ice water.
She smacks her lips and adds our empty shots to the growing stack at our table. “Yeah!” She shivers with glee and giggles.
Yeah. I try to fake the enthusiasm over tequila I didn’t drink because hey, we’re here to celebrate. After seeing the immense—and immensely gorgeous—penthouse I am now calling “home,” the stipend burning a hole in my bank account, and a hefty commission on a major art sale that came out of nowhere shortly before closing time…
Well, I’ve got a lot to celebrate.
I wanted to go to a steakhouse and tuck into some filet mignon, but Hazel wanted to ring in the weekend “the proper way.” So I’ve been tossing aside shots of liquor and discreetly ordering virgin versions of the cocktails she picks from the menu. I’m having a great time; it’s just hard to match her energy when I’m not matching her intoxication.
“So, have you told them yet?” Hazel wiggles in her seat in time to the beat of the music, sipping on her Long Island Iced Tea.
“Told who what?”
“The Tweedles. That you’re pregnant.”
I damn near snort my iced tea up my nose. “Sorry, what?”
Hazel rolls her eyes. “Oh, come on. You’re not being as subtle as you might think. And I’ve seen you throw back double cheeseburgers without gaining a single pound, so I know that sweet little tummy you’re sporting isn’t a food baby.”
Shit. If she can tell, can anyone else?
“Hey.” She rests her hand on mine, shifting into concern. Which is yet another sign that I wear far too many secrets on my face. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to tell them. And honestly, I think you’re right for not telling them, too.”
“Really?” I let out a heavy sigh of relief. It does help ease some of the stress to know that Hazel has my back. It feels even better to know she agrees with my paranoia when it comes to Keith and Todd. “I’m just… I don’t want to add more kindling to the fire, you know? They’re still pissed about what I did with Conrad’s painting.”
“Which was glorious!” Hazel laughs and mimics the inferno with her fingers. “The look on his face! The look on her face! Gawd! Every time I need a little pick-me-up, I just think of that moment. Perfection.”
“Yeah, well, Brittany’s after my head. She’s called the gallery at least three or four times, demanding I get fired.”
“After four, what, five months now? You’d think she’d take the hint.”
“But this is her we’re talking about.”
