Home > Work Me Good(104)

Work Me Good(104)
Author: Ali Parker

“Shit,” I muttered. I stood up from my desk. I couldn’t be in my office. I felt like my skin was too tight. Nothing felt right. Even my coffee had tasted off this morning. I looked down at the screen on my computer. It was the same email I had been reading for the last thirty minutes. My brain refused to focus on anything else.

I needed air. I needed to stretch my legs and clear my head. I rode the elevator downstairs without saying a word to anyone. I kept my head down as I crossed the lobby. I wasn’t in the mood to be recognized. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. Small talk was not in the cards for me.

I made it outside without being accosted. I looked up at the sky and let out a long breath.

“What are you doing out here?” Davin asked.

I dropped my head and found him staring at me. “Bar’s closed,” I quipped.

“It’s nine o’clock in the morning.”

“I was stretching my legs,” I said.

“Why? Again, it’s nine. What have you been doing that requires you to stretch your legs already?”

“I needed fresh air,” I tried.

“Since when do you need fresh air?”

“Since I was born,” I said dryly.

“You look weird.”

I looked down at my suit. “Why?”

“You were looking up at the sky.”

I shrugged. “Go to work.”

“Why don’t you come in with me?” he suggested. “I’ll make you some coffee.”

“I don’t want coffee.”

“I’m not making you a drink,” he shot back.

“Fine, I could use coffee. My brain feels dull.”

I followed behind him. The bar/coffee shop was empty. It usually was. I sat down at a table while he made us a couple of coffees and came to sit at the table. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked. “I can’t tell if you’re tired or hungover.”

“I’m not hungover.”

“Girl trouble again?”

“Actually, it’s an entirely different problem. Yesterday, I took Jace and Saige to a diner. The waitress said the strangest thing, but the more I think about it, the more I think it isn’t strange at all.”

“Okay, you want to explain that?” he asked.

“She said there was no denying it,” I murmured. Saying the words out loud brought back that feeling I had yesterday when I heard it.

“Who said there was no denying what?”

“The kid. Jace. He looks like me. The waitress noticed it. She said there was no denying it.”

“Denying that he looks like you?” he questioned.

“Yes. He looks like me.”

That was when it dawned on him. “Woah. Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know what I’m saying.”

“The boy looks like you. Like similar or genetic?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what to think.”

“How old is the boy?” he asked.

“Eight.”

“And you guys were together how long ago?”

I shook my head. “Nine years? Maybe ten. I’m not entirely sure.”

“Then he can’t be yours, right?”

“She told me Jace’s father died while she was pregnant,” I said. “Saige isn’t the type to lie. I believe her when she says the father is someone else.”

He nodded. “Okay, then what are you worried about?”

“I don’t know. I’ve noticed we do look alike. He even has the same cowlick I have. Our eyes are almost identical. I can see myself in him, but I don’t know if it’s just because we are similar in some ways.”

“If you were together nine years ago, then it’s possible,” he said. “But if it has been ten years, then not so much. Trust me, if the woman would have been pregnant for almost two years with your child, you would have known about it.”

“You’re probably right,” I said.

“What did she say?”

“Nothing, but she did look scared.”

“Scared?” he questioned.

“Not like afraid I would hit her, but more like she’d been caught. She’d been caught and she was afraid of getting caught.”

“Why do you think the boy looks like you?” he asked.

“Just like I said. We have the same eye and hair color, well mostly. Saige has dark hair, so it is entirely possible he inherited from her. But the eyes.”

“Is he tall?”

I shook my head. “No, I don’t think so. I’m not exactly an expert in what kids should look like at a given age.”

“You’re a tall drink of water. I would assume your kid would be tall for his age as well.”

I shrugged. “I don’t know how tall they are supposed to be. I wasn’t very tall when I was younger. I shot up when I hit puberty.”

He held up a hand. “Okay, tell me which way you want this to go. Do you want him to be yours?”

“No!”

“Then you don’t want him to be yours and you’re upset that he might be?” he clarified.

“No, not necessarily,” I said. “I don’t know. It doesn’t seem right. She wouldn’t have my child and not tell me.”

He smirked. “I wouldn’t think so. You’re quite the meal ticket. I’m not surprised there aren’t a gaggle of kids and their mommies lining up at your door with their hands out. If that boy is yours, I am certain you would have known about it long before now. Is she wealthy?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“Then,” he said as if he solved the mystery.

“Then what?”

“She would have asked you for money,” he said. “She would have demanded child support.”

“You’re probably right. How shitty would it be to find out he was mine after eight years? I don’t even know the kid. She lives fine, but if it was my child, I would have made sure she could live a lot better. I would want my son to have everything.”

He winced and sucked in a breath. “Careful there,” he warned. “You do not want to tell a woman she was doing a shitty parenting job.”

“I don’t think she’s a shitty parent. I’m saying I could have ensured Jace lived in the best neighborhood and attended the best schools. The school he’s in now is public and not the best.”

“Now you sound like a snob,” he said with a laugh. “Please never say this to her, especially if you find out he is your son.”

I jumped on the last bit. “Do you think he might be?”

“No, no, I just meant if by some fluke he was yours, don’t say that to her. It’s offensive.”

“It’s not meant to be offensive,” I said. “It’s just the truth.”

“The truth in your opinion. That doesn’t mean it is the only truth. Public school kids aren’t all bad and I doubt she is living in a hovel.”

“No, but—”

“Leave it alone,” he said firmly. “I think you are getting way ahead of yourself.”

I blew out a breath. “You’re probably right,” I said. “I’ve got it in my head, and I can’t get rid of it. I keep going back to all those little things. You know what I mean?”

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