“Who is the petitioner? Winter, or whatever her name is? Why isn’t Mallory the one coming to me about custody?”
John frowns slightly. “I called her attorney when you had the paperwork delivered to me. Mallory Crow, the baby’s mother, is deceased.”
My lips part in unabashed shock. “Mallory’s…dead?” I can’t even believe it.
John nods. “And she hired an attorney to arrange for her friend Winter Stevens to get custody of her daughter upon her death.”
I swear under my breath. “The paperwork said the baby’s only five weeks old. When did Mallory die? How did it happen?”
“I don’t know.”
I get up from my chair and walk over to the window, not really seeing the city on the other side of the glass as I look out. “So what is this, then? She wants me to sign away my rights? Is she after money?”
“We’ll know for sure when she and her attorney get here. But it looks like all she’s asking is for you to sign away any claim to the child.”
“But what if she’s mine?”
“Then we’ll easily be able to get custody of her—if that’s what you want.”
I narrow my eyes, my blood pumping hard. “Of course it’s what I want. If that’s my daughter, I want her right now.”
John nods with understanding. “We’ll get a paternity test done as soon as possible. We’ll know within a few days if she’s yours.”
“And if she’s mine, I’ll get her immediately?”
“Yes. As the biological father, if you want custody of the child and the mother is deceased, you’ll get her once paternity is established. This Winter woman won’t be able to get custody without proving you an unfit parent.”
“That won’t be an issue. So it won’t matter what Mallory wanted? Will there be a long court battle?”
John shakes his head. “There could be a court battle, but she’s highly unlikely to get anywhere with it. The court wants to keep children with their biological parents when possible.”
I stalk back over to stand in front of John’s desk, where I look down at him. “I don’t care how much money or how many attorneys it takes. I don’t want my daughter with anyone but me for even one minute longer than she has to be. If Mallory’s gone, the baby belongs with me.”
“First,” John reminds me, “we make sure she’s yours. I just want to caution you against forming an emotional attachment to this child before we know. I’ve seen wealthy men taken advantage of and disappointed before.”
I nod and sit back down, nervous energy pulsing through me.
“I’ll have someone draw up an order for a paternity test and get me on the docket, just in case we need it,” John says. “That way, if there’s any pushback from this other attorney, we’re ready to file it today.”
I run a hand through my hair. “How the hell does this even happen? If Mallory hadn’t died, I might’ve never even known I had a child. It’s fucking ridiculous.”
John nods and stands up from his seat. “Paternity test first, Harry. I’ll go talk to one of my paralegals about getting that order drawn up. Do you want some coffee or water?”
“No, I’m good. Unless you’ve got a glass of bourbon.”
I’m only somewhat joking. I’ve never been as stressed as I have this past week, knowing there’s a baby out there that might be mine. A baby whose birth I didn’t get to witness. Who’s more than a month old and has never met her father.
“I’ve got some excellent bourbon.” John puts a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll pour you a glass after our meeting.”
He leaves the room then, and I walk back over to the windows, glancing down at the pedestrians going about their normal lives. In less than an hour, Winter Stevens will walk up that street and into the office building that houses Gallagher, Lane and Morelli.
She’d better come in ready for a fight. Because if she thinks I’m going to hand over my daughter, she’s dead wrong.
I wasn’t ready for kids. Many women have tried to change my mind about children, but I’m a successful and busy CEO at the top of my game. I wanted to wait a few more years.
If there’s a little girl in this world who’s mine, though, I’m not letting some stranger raise her. If this woman’s after money in exchange for my little girl, she’ll feel my wrath courtesy of the best legal team money can buy. And she’ll end up empty-handed.
That is, if this baby is mine. But my gut has never steered me wrong, and it’s telling me she is.
Chapter Three
Winter
As soon as I enter the offices of Gallagher, Lane and Morelli, I’m escorted into a large conference room, heavy car seat carrier in tow, and my gaze immediately lands on Harry.
He stands as I walk into the room with my attorney, buttoning his dark suit jacket as he gets to his feet. His dark blue eyes take me in, sizing me up before he tries to get a look at Avery.
Fuck him. I’ve got the carrier turned so he can’t see her face. My pulse is pounding as our eyes lock, pure contempt running through my veins.
There’s a famous picture of Harry that he posed for when he played for the Chicago Blaze. He’s naked and the photo displays his perfect profile, chiseled and tattooed, while holding a hockey stick. After he joined the Army and became larger than life, it was printed and sold as a poster and even used on a billboard.
He looks different now. His dark hair is cropped shorter, and his ink is hidden under the sleeves of his expensive suit. The cost of that suit would be enough to change my life right now. But while I’m struggling, that pompous, heartless asshole hasn’t contributed a single dollar to his daughter’s care.
My attorney, Helen, introduces herself to Harry’s attorney. We’re both offered a seat and asked if we’d like something to drink, but all I can think about is the loathsome man sitting on the other side of the conference table. His gaze is calculating, and I know he’s jumping to all kinds of conclusions about me right now.
I pulled my long, unruly auburn curls back and applied some light makeup for this meeting, trying to make myself look presentable, but my plain black V-neck T-shirt and worn jeans give me away. I’m just an ordinary Southside Chicago woman.
“Can I see her?” he asks me, an edge of aggravation in his tone.
I look at Helen to see if I have to comply with his request. She arches her brows and gestures at Avery’s carrier, which is sitting on the floor next to me.
Sighing heavily, I glare at Harry before picking up the carrier and setting it on the conference table so it’s facing him.
His expression immediately shifts, softening as he studies Avery’s black hair and blue eyes. She’s wearing a pink onesie, gray cotton pants and a pink headband with a bow on top. Harry looks smitten with her—which is ironic given that he could have been in her life this whole time but chose not to.
“What’s her middle name?” he asks.
“Rose. Her name is Avery Rose.”
“Can I hold her?” he asks me.
“No,” I snap.
His eyes narrow. He’s about to respond when his attorney interjects.