Didn't Expect You (Against All Odds #2) - Claudia Burgoa Page 0,90
Nyx or the baby and you’re out.”
“That is my house,” she claims. “Our son was born in that house and now you just expect me to leave. You gifted it to me.”
She glares at me and throws her poison, “He’s going to set you up nicely until he’s bored of you and starts traveling,” she complains. “You are no different. One day you’ll live in this palace and the next he’ll shove you to Brooklyn. Do you know when was the last time he saw his son?”
“When he had to find out that you lied to him and get his cheek swabbed hoping that the baby he called his wasn’t going to be taken away from him,” I answer.
She looks at me, frozen, and then at Nate.
“Listen,” I continue. “I’m sure the notice came unexpected, but if you need more time, your lawyer can request an extension. This isn’t about my baby or me. Not at all. This is about Nate and you moving on with your lives. This situation is…unhealthy.”
Fucked up is more like it, but I am trying to sound classy and professional.
She points at my belly and yells, “He’s going to leave you, and your kid will never have a father. No one will love him.”
“I might fuck up in a lot of ways as a father,” Nate says with a calm voice. His thumb caresses the tattoo on my wrist. “But our baby will always know how much I love her. She might fear me when she breaks curfew, but she’ll never doubt that we adore her and will do anything for her.”
Words are being said, but my mind is frozen as it keeps analyzing what Nate just said. He loves my baby.
Our baby.
“Callum…he skips child support,” she complains.
“You can get a lawyer to help you with that,” I suggest.
“Well, my lawyer will be busy fighting for the house,” she presses.
“Actually,” I stop her, ready to bullshit her with my words. “I wouldn’t do that because then you’ll piss me off, and I’ll be demanding you to pay for the five years you lived in that house—rent-free. Not sure how good you are at math, but we’re talking about a property that can lease as low as five thousand dollars and as high as…well, I’m sure you know how much you can charge. That times seventy-two, plus the interest accumulated for all the years you missed paying rent…”
“Who are you?”
“I could be many things, like an advocate for your child seeking child support from his real father, or your worst nightmare if you try to screw with Nate.”
“We could work things out,” she begs Nate. “You said you’d love me. Forever.”
He turns to look at me and says, “You can see her, can’t you?”
“She’s not your type,” she presses. “This woman looks like she can recite the Constitution if I provoke her.”
He grins, “And in seven languages.”
I glance at her. She’s wearing a pair of shoes that Persy just posted on her blog. They cost more than a thousand dollars. They are almost brand new, and I doubt there’s a knock off style out yet.
“We’re going to have our P.I. investigate your son’s father to see how much we can get for child support,” I throw a little fib. “I can get you a good lawyer to—”
“That’s not necessary,” she interrupts me. “I can figure that out for myself.”
“Leasing out a property that doesn’t belong to you is illegal,” I throw another fact. “Just food for thought in case we feel like visiting you soon and we find out that it’s being occupied by another family.”
“Time for you to go,” Nate prompts her. “I’ll walk you downstairs.”
He presses a kiss on top of my head and whispers. “I'll be right back.”
I stare at him suspiciously as he steps into the elevator with her.
Thirty-Seven
Nate
“So, you live with her?” she asks.
“This has to end, Bronwyn,” I request. “You need to stop mailing me pictures, handmade crafts, and updates. You made your choice. You’re exploiting your kid, for what?”
“You never looked at me the way you look at her,” she argues, her voice even sounds like an accusation. “When you found out I was pregnant, you proposed to me, but you never asked me to live with you. Mom is the one who said I should move in with you. It never came from you.”
“My feelings for Nyx are not of your concern. My feelings for you were never your concern,” I say, firmly. “Maybe I made a mistake