He always insisted on order both at home and in the office. My “messiness” had been a source of irritation for him many times. He hated my “scribbles,” as he called them, on the table. The way my hands were often dotted with markers, or the fact that I stuck pencils in my hair. How he kept his desk so dust-free and tidy in a construction site was beyond me, but I pitied anyone who messed up his area. I glanced toward the other office Van used. It, too, was piled with papers, but they weren’t in order. Blueprints were pinned haphazardly to the wall in order of importance. Pencils lay in various spots, and half-filled cups sat in others. A spare hard hat sat on the edge of the desk. The two variances said so much about the two men. One real and involved, living and breathing his work—the other nice to look at, without much happening otherwise.
I pulled back the visitor chair in front of Nolan’s desk as far as I could without being obvious and sat down, pulling out my tablet for notes. I drew in a long breath to calm myself and met his frosty gaze.
“Nolan.”
He inclined his head. “Olivia.”
“You wanted to meet? Something about questions you had?”
He pursed his lips. “More about some thoughts I’ve been having.”
“All right,” I said, getting my stylus ready. “What kind of thoughts?”
He lifted his coffee cup to his lips and took a sip, carefully setting it back down on the desk. “It’s more a personal thing.”
Every nerve in my body tensed. The blank smile on my face froze.
“Personal?” I repeated.
He leaned back, regarding me. “I’ve been thinking about my life. Things I want to change, that sort of thing.”
His words made my stomach clench.
I bent down and slid the tablet back into my bag to give me a moment to calm down. I sat up and crossed my legs. “Oh?” I managed to get out, my hands clasped into fists at my sides.
He nodded, already enjoying my discomfort. I forced myself to relax.
“It’s always a good thing to reevaluate at times,” I offered.
“Exactly.” He studied me. “Sometimes what we want changes.”
I shrugged. “That’s great. But I really don’t see what it has to do with me. Unless it’s about work, we have nothing to discuss.”
“That’s where you’re mistaken, Olivia.”
“Oh?” I asked, digging my fingers into my legs.
“I made an error in my past, and I want to correct it.”
I already knew what he was going to say. I felt it in my gut, and I steadied myself before replying.
“And that is?”
“I want to get to know my daughter.”
“Forget it,” I snapped.
He narrowed his eyes. “I’m her father.”
“No. You’re her sperm donor. You signed away your parental rights.”
“I was young. Scared. I wasn’t ready. I made a mistake.”
What bullshit.
I stood. “Sometimes we have to live with our mistakes. This is one of those times, Chris.”
“Nolan,” he corrected. “I prefer Nolan.”
I barked out a humorless laugh. “Why? Because a new name makes you a different person? You’re the same, self-centered, nasty person I knew years ago. Nothing has changed except you don’t hide it as well. You treat people like shit, Nolan. Your employees, your clients, everyone. Unless you deem them important in your eyes, they’re beneath you and you treat them that way. If you think I’m going to give you the chance to get your claws into my daughter, you can forget it. I will not subject her to your cruelty or your treacherous words that would destroy her self-confidence. You can forget it.”
“She’s my daughter too. I have rights.”
“You have nothing!” I yelled, suddenly furious. “You threw her and me away as if we were garbage. You called her an it. As if she was nothing. You wanted me to abort her! You had no interest before, and you have none now—you’re only doing this to get at me!”
“I’m doing this because she’s my daughter and she needs a father. That’s me.”
“What the hell do you know about what she needs?” I seethed. “You haven’t been there for her—not once. Not when she was colicky, not when she cut her first tooth or took her first step—never. Being a father isn’t just biological.”
He stood, leaning on his desk, anger rolling off of him. “But your boyfriend is? I see him sniffing around, acting as though she belongs to him. Like you belong to him. He is nothing. She carries my DNA, and I’m going to be part of her life.”
I gaped at him. “That’s it, isn’t it? The same old Chris. You want what you can’t have. You saw how much she loves Van and it pissed you off. He’s pissed you off. The fact that you can’t get to me anymore pissed you off. So now you want to take that from him. Destroy my life and hers.” I shook my head. “You don’t give a fuck about her. This is another one of your little games. Well, it’s not going to work. You signed away your rights, so it’s too late.”
I grabbed my bag and spun on my heel. His voice stopped me before I reached the door.
“I’ve already contacted my lawyer about having my rights reinstated.”
Panic seized my chest, but I refused to back down.
“It’s rare that it’s allowed.” I knew it, because I had checked.
He shrugged. “Rare, but it happens. Once I tell my story and prove what I have to offer, I think I have a good shot.”
“What you have to offer?” I repeated with a laugh. “A biting, critical tongue and an overzealous need for perfection?”
He crossed his arms. “When my father died, I became quite wealthy. I have a steady job, a boss who thinks I walk on water, a house with a yard, a housekeeper, and the means to provide my daughter with the best education and care money can buy.” He paused. “I’m also engaged to a woman who wants kids and will love Samantha as her own. Together, we can provide a stable, loving home with two parents.” He tilted his head, studying me. “As opposed to a single mother who requires the backup of her boyfriend and mother to make sure her daughter is looked after. Who is barely able to meet her financial obligations, has no car, no savings toward Samantha’s education. A woman who dresses like a dyke and hangs around construction sites likes she’s one of the boys, choosing to work erratic hours before going home to her rented accommodation and her neglected daughter.”
The air flew out of my lungs in a long gasp.
Everything he said was true but taken out of context. But I knew what he was doing—already building a case against me. Making himself sound perfect, and me unstable. I refused to let him see how terrified his words made me feel.
“You are such a bastard,” I hissed. “I will fight you every step of the way.”
He leaned against his desk. “I’ve already instructed my lawyer to petition for visitation.”
“Over my dead body. You will lose.”
He picked up his cup, taking a long sip, not at all worried about my reaction.
“We can do this one of two ways, Olivia. You let me see her, get to know her, and we arrange something legally between us, or I fight you. I have the means, the best lawyer money can buy, and the time. I can make this as ugly as possible, or we can work together, and nobody gets hurt.”