“Bullshit. You’ve been somewhere else all day.” He leans back in his chair. “Let me guess: The hot doctor sent you a love note?”
I pocket the phone. “We done here, or do I need to hit you in the face?”
He sighs. “Yeah, we’re done. Go home to your woman.”
“She’s not my—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever helps you sleep at night, brother.”
The drive home takes forever. Traffic crawls through downtown while my mind runs scenarios.
Maybe she wants to thank me for the article. Maybe she wants to talk about us, whatever the f**k us means now. Or maybe—and this thought makes my jaw clench—maybe she’s done. Madison’s investment means she doesn’t need me anymore. Doesn’t need my money, my protection, my anything.
The contract says she carries my child, then walks away. Clean. Simple.
Except not
