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“Arsen!” booms Rolan. “I just heard the good news.”
Dominik raises a brow, and I nod, confirming it’s fine for him to leave. Then I turn my attention to Natascha’s father. “Good news?”
“The secret is out.” He takes the seat Dominik just vacated. “Natascha just informed me that you two will be parents soon.”
I lean back in my seat. “She did, did she?”
“She wasn’t quite so pleased, but she’ll come around,” he assures me, as if I give a shit. “I must say, I wish I had your ingenuity.”
“How so?”
“A surrogate!” He claps a hand on his meaty knee. “Genius. Not only will Natascha avoid the ordeal of pregnancy and labor, but you’ll secure your legacy and keep your hands clean. There’s no reason to be more emotionally involved than you need to be.”
“A lot of people would disagree with you.”
“A lot of people don’t have empires to run,” he says. “Children are necessary for men like us. They carry on the family name—and yet they serve no other purpose for a long, long time.”
My eyebrows rise, but Rolan likes the sound of his own voice too much to notice.
He prattles on, “Children are weak spots. They make for nothing but easy pressure points. Best to distance yourself from the process. Make yourself immune to it.”
“You did things the traditional way,” I say acidly, “and yet you seem to have avoided any kind of paternal sentiment.”
Rolan gives me an appreciative smile, clearly missing the sarcastic bite in my words. “There was no reason for me to be involved. I had nannies, boarding schools, personal tutors… I’m sure you’ve already thought of that. Of course you’ve thought of it!” he crows before I can respond. “You’re a busy man with a whole kingdom to rule. You won’t have time to play Daddy.”
I grimace. Maybe if Rolan had played “Daddy,” his daughter wouldn’t be the most insufferable bitch I’ve ever met.
As much as I don’t give a shit what Rolan thinks of my plan, I don’t want to go to blows with the man. So I grit my teeth and change the subject. “We should probably discuss Pobeda, Rolan. That is why you’re here, after all.”
“Ah, yes, the launch?—”
Before he can dive into it, my phone rings. For the first time in two weeks, Laila’s name flashes across my screen. I’ve got no picture of her to accompany it, but it’s amazing how detailed my memory of her is. I can see her. Taste her. Smell her.
I forget Rolan is here at all.
“Er… Arsen?” Rolan knocks lightly against the surface of my desk. “You still with me?”
I push myself to standing. “You’ll have to excuse me for a few minutes, Rolan.”
His smile rinses out. “Is something wrong?”
Yes.Everything.
Loathe as I am to admit it, Rolan has managed to get in my head. What the fuck was I thinking even considering a child at this point in my life?
I don’t have the time to be a parent. Hearing Rolan wax poetic about all the ways to avoid fatherhood has made it glaringly clear that I want more for my future heir than a drive-by father.
I might never be Father of the Year, but I want to be better than Rolan fucking Kiselev. Especially considering the heinous viper his particular brand of parenting brought forth.
I dismiss him with a wave, already halfway out of the office. “I’ll be back shortly.”
The call drops and Laila’s name disappears from my screen. As I find a quiet room to cloister myself in, I take stock of the situation.
All I have to do is rip up the contract and chuck it in the fire. I’m sure Laila would be relieved, too. Especially after the way we left things.
No harm. No foul.
This could be just another one of those life lessons: don’t pick a surrogate I’m attracted to.
