his newest but deepest hope voice, a name.
Even as a now recognizable and intimate anger stirred within him like a flickering, dancing flame. He’d been denied the first two years of his son’s life, and Charlotte had denied their son his last name. She hadn’t even given Ben that—given Ross that.
Did she really hate him that much? His fingers curled into a fist on top of his desk, the skin over his knuckles blanching before he deliberately relaxed his hand, extending each finger one by one. He inhaled, held the air in his lungs, then slowly released it, attempting to blow a cooling breath over his rage.
It didn’t matter if she hated him or not. Or what her trumped-up reasons were. She had chosen to leave Royal. She had chosen not to tell him she was pregnant. She had chosen to rob him of his son. Every step of the way, Charlotte had made the decisions for all three of them, uncaring of the repercussions. Ben deserved both of them—a mother and a father.
And Ross was through letting her have all the power in their lives.
His desk phone intercom buzzed, interrupting his thoughts. “Ross.” His assistant’s voice echoed through the console speaker. “There’s a Charlotte Jarrett here to see you.”
Pressing the button, he ordered, “Send her in, please.”
Rising from his office chair, he rounded the desk. Grim satisfaction thrummed within him. As soon as he received the paternity report, he’d texted Charlotte and asked her to come by his office so they could speak.
Those dots had bubbled for a while before she actually replied. But she’d agreed, and now that she stood on the other side of his office door, the anticipation of getting answers, of demanding his rights as a father to their baby coiled inside him like an agitated rattlesnake ready to strike.
The knock came a second before the door opened, revealing his assistant and Charlotte. But all he saw was her. It was that goddamn superpower of hers, that ability to dominate a man’s attention so all else faded to blurred nothingness. Today she wore a short black leather jacket in deference to the February morning. A simple but formfitting white shirt emphasized the full curves of her breasts, and dark blue skinny jeans clung to her sensual, rounded hips and thick thighs. Camel-colored ankle boots elongated legs that already seemed to stretch for eternity.
She might as well have been wearing a couture ball gown with miles of skin revealed by strategic cutouts. Or nothing at all. She commanded every bit of his full, undivided attention. And even unwillingly, he complied.
With her, he’d never been able to do anything but be attuned to her.
To want her.
She’d left him, lied to him, kept his son from him. And yet, his dick didn’t give a damn.
Yeah, if only it were that simple.
His cock had gotten hard for plenty of women over the years. But none had elicited this visceral, nearly primal hunger like Charlotte Jarrett had from the very first time he’d seen her in his father’s study when Rusty had hired her.
If he could, he’d claw that traitorous part of him out of his body, his soul, wherever it hid inside him.
He tore his gaze away from Charlotte to nod at his assistant. “Thank you, Sandra. No interruptions for the next hour, please.”
She nodded and left the office, closing the door behind her.
“Do you want to put your things down?” He gestured toward the large purse slung over her shoulder that was more akin to a messenger bag. “Can I take your coat?”
“No, thanks. I have to be at the restaurant soon, so can we get this over with?” she asked. The belligerent words belied the calm tone. The same calm tone she’d employed at her home before her temper had flared and she’d lit into him. “I assume you received the DNA results.”
“I did,” he said and waved a hand toward the couch and chairs in the sitting area. “Please sit.”
“Really, Ross.” Her lips twisted into what could’ve been called—incorrectly—a smile. “Pleasantries? We’re past that, aren’t we?” She shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest. Then, as if thinking better of the gesture, slowly lowered her arms to her sides. “I’d rather stand. And get to the point of this.”
“The point, Charlotte? Okay, we’ll do this your way. For the last time,” he murmured, moving toward her.
He halted when several inches separated them. Far enough away that he couldn’t accidentally touch her, but close