Jameson thinks about this for a moment before he nods.
Dear God, don’t let me screw this up.
I had Juan bring me over a change of clothes and some groceries earlier, so we have all the ingredients.
Not that there’s much since I’m making it from a box. I don’t want to take any chances this time.
After locating a bowl in the kitchen I spent the first day I was here cleaning, I combine some of the powder in the box with some milk and start mixing it to form a batter.
Jameson watches me the whole time, like he’s nervous I’m going to screw it up.
That makes two of us, kid.
“How many do you want?”
He holds up one finger.
“Okey dokey, artichokey. One awesome pancake coming right up.”
Hopefully.
Turning to the stove, I pour some batter onto the pan.
I say another silent prayer when it’s time to flip it because that’s always the hardest part.
My prayer is answered because it flips beautifully. Sadly, some wires must have gotten crossed along the way, though because the front door opens and in walks the devil herself.
Or should I say…staggers.
Fuck a duck.
With day-old makeup, messy blonde hair that hasn’t seen a brush in a while, and a skimpy, wrinkled dress, she looks like the very definition of rode hard and put away wet.
Once upon a time this woman was so beautiful she stole my breath. That’s certainly not the case anymore.
I plead temporary insanity because—what the hell was I ever thinking?
Her makeup smudged eyes widen when she sees me. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
It’s almost comical because I’ve spent more time in this apartment than she has this week…and she’s the one who lives here.
“Charlotte had a family emergency. She didn’t know who else to call.”
Becca shucks off her heels, only to almost trip over them as she makes her way into the living room. “So, she called you?”
I swiftly plate Jameson’s pancake and grab a fork. “Here, sweetie. Go in your room and eat this, okay? I’ll be there in a little bit.”
“Like hell you will,” Becca snaps as he runs off.
I wait for Jameson to close the door to his bedroom before addressing her again.
“Charlotte called Preston’s phone since you weren’t picking up your phone.”
She pushes past me on her way to the fridge. “Then why isn’t he here?”
Oh, I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you? You skankasaurus.
“He’s out of town,” I settle on because it’s none of her damn business where my husband is.
Preston’s trying to tackle his demons so his child can have the best version of him.
Which is a hell of a lot more than I can say for her.
“Out of town?” She yanks open the freezer and pulls out a bottle of gin. “Is that what he told you?”
I don’t say a word as she opens the bottle and proceeds to drink straight from it. Classy.
“Pro tip, sweetheart. When Preston Holden tells you he’s out of town, it’s code for him fucking some other bitch.”
Maybe that was the code when he talked to her. But it doesn’t apply to me, because the only bitch my husband is fucking is the one she’s looking at.
I try to change the subject, because we have a lot of important things to discuss, but she slams the bottle on the counter and sneers, “You know Preston only married you because your grandmother is loaded, right?”
Technically, she’s right. That’s exactly why he agreed to marry me.
But it wasn’t why he fell in love with me.
“She’s not loaded anymore. On account of her being dead and all.”
That takes Becca by surprise. “Oh.”
I can see her working out what this might mean as she takes another sip of her gin.
“Becca—”
“Do you ever think about me?”
Only in the sense that I’ve thought about all the various ways I’d like to murder her.
Crossing my arms, I stay silent as she continues making a fool out of herself.
“For what it’s worth, I really did love you, Kit.”
It’s not worth anything. And neither is she.
She chews her bottom lip, like she’s trying to appear coy and flirtatious. Too bad it only makes her look desperate and pathetic.
“I still think about you.”
Nah. Because that would require her to have something called a conscience.
And whoever was in charge of giving those out on the day she was created clearly skipped her ass.
I grab my purse off the counter as she continues prattling on.
“I think about what a good girlfriend you were. The way you taste. How hard you used to make me come—”
“Great. Now, think about this.” I shove the stack of papers into her hand. “Let me know if you need a pen. I brought several.”
Somewhere between day three and four, I realized there was only one solution to all this.
Becca doesn’t want her son, that much is apparent. But there’s always one thing she does want.
Money.
Fortunately for me, I just inherited a fuckton of it.
I also had Barry, the family lawyer, make sure all the i’s were dotted and the t’s were crossed on the paperwork before he met me here the other day.
Legally, he said we can’t offer her money to give up her son…so the papers she’s currently reading won’t reflect that.
Therefore, it comes as no surprise when her mouth drops open right before she exclaims, “You want to adopt my son?” Tilting her head back, she cackles. “You’re nuts. There’s no way I’m giving him to you.”
Unfortunately, it’s not because she cares. It’s so she can keep Jameson as her pawn.
I see right through her.
“Here’s the thing. Neglect is abuse, so all I have to do is make a phone call to child protective services and he’ll be taken out of your care. That’s the hard and painful route for both you and Jameson.” I inhale a breath. “The easy route is that I give you twenty million dollars to sign over your parental rights and let me and Preston adopt him.” I stare her down. “Either way, you’re going to lose him. It’s your choice whether you’re poor or rich when it happens.”
Her mouth opens and closes several times before she speaks. “This is...”
For a moment I almost hope she turns me down. Not because I don’t want Jameson, but because it’s sickening that a mother would even consider giving up their child for anything, let alone money.
However, I know Becca.
She shoots me her trademark vindictive smile. “Twenty-five.”
And there it is.
Do I hate that someone like her is getting a chunk of my parents’ fortune? Absolutely.
But at the end of the day. It’s just money.
What Preston and I will be getting in exchange is worth so much more.
I take out my checkbook. “Twenty-five it is.”
I’m not stupid, just because she signs those papers doesn’t mean it’s officially over.
We still have to go to court and there’s still a waiting period where she can change her mind.
But she won’t.
I’ll make sure of it.