Tailored for Trouble (Happy Pants #1) - Mimi Jean Pamfiloff Page 0,114
of her space and such a Bennett Wade sort of thing to do. So damned like the man to only think about himself.
She shook her head, and turned to head back to Jack’s house, deciding she’d call his mother and try to get her to reason with him. Yes. That had been the fourth wonderful thing to happen this past month; she and Linda, Bennett’s mother, had made a pact. Linda would attempt a new cancer treatment that had just come on the market and focus on getting better. And who knew? Miracles happened every day. Maybe Linda might live long enough to see the baby graduate. Maybe even longer. Whatever the case, Taylor was determined to make the most out of whatever time she had left and promised to bring the baby over as often as possible. She genuinely enjoyed spending time with Linda anyway. It was amazing how they were able to separate out the stuff with Bennett, but she supposed babies did that to people, made them reprioritize.
“Taylor!” she heard Bennett’s voice echo from behind.
Damned stubborn man. Does he really think he can do this? Well, ha! I’m moving next week so he can stay there and fistfight Jack every morning. Almost to the edge of the walkway, she heard him again.
“Ms. Reed. Don’t you walk away from me,” he snapped.
What? Had he just spoken to her like some…some child?
Furious, she turned to face him. “Who do you think you are, Mr. Wade? Some god? Some supernatural being who can command me like a mindless puppet?”
His lips twisted with the hint of a cocky smile. “Oh,” he crossed his arms over his well-defined chest, “I see I’ve been promoted. I’m Mr. Wade again.”
She charged forward. “What are you doing, Bennett?” she hissed. “This isn’t funny. I meant what I said at the party, and I meant what I said in that note to your lawyer. I don’t want you in my life—at least, any more than you have to be for the sake of the baby.”
“Oh now,” he unfolded his arms, “there you go again, thinking so little of me.”
“I don’t think little of you. I think you’re a big giant ass. The biggest.”
“I always said you had a knack for figuring people out. Except you’ve misjudged me again. A bad habit of yours, perhaps?” he said with an arrogant-Bennett-esque tone.
“I said I was sorry, Bennett. And I meant it. What more do you want? You want me to beg? Because I tried that. It didn’t work.”
“The house isn’t mine; it’s yours.”
She looked at him, trying to process. “What do you mean?”
“Yours. All yours.”
“But that’s…” These were the Berkeley Hills—views of San Francisco, the Bay Bridge, and the Golden Gate. The sorts of people who lived there were the sort of folks who wanted to be close to the city, but also wanted privacy and wonderful views. “That’s a five-million-dollar house.”
Bennett made a little pucker with his lips. “Give or take a million.”
Taylor looked at him, unsure if she wanted to slap him or slap him hard. “I. Don’t. Want your money, Bennett.”
“It’s not my money. It’s his. Or hers. When eighteen rolls around.”
“You can’t gift my baby a house.”
“Our baby. It’s our baby. And I can, and I did. Care to see inside?” He gestured toward the front door.
Did he think he was cute? Or smart or charming or…“Why are you doing this to me?” She began to cry.
Bennett’s cocky, mule-headed, controlling disposition instantly turned off. He held out his hands. “Oh. No. Please don’t cry, Taylor. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He approached her, but she took a step back.
“Don’t.”
“Okay.” He held up his palms as if being arrested. “I won’t. But please, just come inside, and let me explain. Then I promise, I’ll do whatever you want.”
“You’ll sell this house?” she asked.
He nodded. “Anything you want.”
“Okay.” She folded her arms. “I’ll give you ten minutes, but then I have an important dinner meeting.”
—
Taylor followed Bennett inside the home, through the beautifully decorated living room—overstuffed furniture with neutral-toned upholstery, no coffee table, but a large navy blue ottoman with a tray in the middle. She spent all of two seconds in the room, passing through, but she noticed how every inch, right down to the plush light khaki carpeting had been baby-proofed. She’d bet her favorite pink jammies that the pale yellow walls with white trim had washable paint, just perfect for reckless toddlers armed with crayons.