“But I want your dick,” she said.
They looked at each other in shock—and then they both burst out laughing. And God it felt good. Back to normal. Almost.
“Is that a Freudian slip?” he asked. “Because hey, come on over to my side of the desk.”
“Oh, shut up.”
“Look,” he said, “seriously, what difference is it going to make if I fling you a few dollars? I could support a hundred kids and not notice the outlay.”
“It’s not supposed to be about buying a baby.”
“I’m not selling one.”
“It’s not fair to you. Not when you’ll have a real family one day.”
“You are my real family. You, Rafael, Veronica, Teague, crazy Artie.”
“You know what I mean. What happens when you get married?”
“I’m not getting married. No other kids. This is it for me. My one chance. So don’t take it away from me over something stupid like money.”
“Are you blackmailing me?”
“I’m appealing to your kind heart.”
“You are so full of it!”
“Okay, I’ll switch to blackmail if you’re going to be mean about it. I’m making it a nonnegotiable condition of my participation. No money, no kid.” He picked up the pieces of paper. “Now, are we starting negotiations on the same torn page, or not?”
“Blackmail isn’t a negotiation.”
“Ticktock, time’s a-marchin’.”
“Yes, but it’s my clock that’s ticking, not yours. You have all the time in the world to have other kids.”
“Don’t want others. I’m good with clocks. Might as well synchronize my alarm with yours. Are we on? Decide.”
“I don’t—I can’t—I’m not...not like that. I don’t make decisions on the fly.”
“But I do, Romy. And things work out just fine for me. So decide. Now.”
Long, long moment. And then, “Okay,” she said, the word sounding as though it had been dragged out against its will. “I’ll take the money, but I want it tied up in a trust. I mean it, Matt. No sneaky stuff. No saving me from imaginary destitution on the sly. I’m getting my lawyer involved—I’m warning you.”
He dropped the paper pieces. “Just so you know, I’ve already got my lawyer on the case, and I’ll bet she’s scarier than yours. If I want to sneak money to you on the sly, it’ll be done before you know it’s happening and there’ll be nothing you can do about it.”
“Now you see, that’s your inner superhero waving his flag. You think you’re saving a damsel in distress, but I promise you, I’m not in distress.”
“Have you thought that maybe this isn’t about you, it’s about me? How do you know I’m not the one buying a baby?”
“What? No!”
“And if I told you straight out that I am?”
“I guess I’d ask why you chose me.”
Their eyes met. Held. Something flashed inside him. Hot. Vivid. “And I’d answer...because it’s you,” he said. And the instant the words were out, he knew they were true. He was doing this not only for her, but because it was her. Because she was the one pure thing in his life and he needed her and if they shared a child he’d always have her. And his child...? Well, of course he had more to offer his child than money: he had her. Her light, to cancel out his darkness.
“Oh!” she said, blinking furiously.
Shit! “Don’t go troll on me,” he warned.
“I won’t. I promise. It’s just...nice. To hear that.”
“Yeah, well, don’t get sentimental about it. It’s to my benefit to give my kid a good mother. Less chance it’ll want to come and live with me one day.”
“Oh!” she said again, and gave a tiny sniff that freaked him out.
“Jesus, Romy! Get a grip. Are you on hormones or something?”
“No. No, no, that’s just nice to hear, too. In a...a twisted kind of way.”
“That’s me—twisted.”
She gave him that peer-into-your-brain look again. “Why do you always do that, Matt?”
“What?”
“Make yourself something...less.”
He hunched a shoulder. “I’m not doing anything except reminding you there’s something in this for both of us. Right, we still have a hundred documents to get through and I’ll be ripping up any that have a tear splotch on them, so get it together.”
She wiped a finger under each eye. “It’s not a hundred, it’s fifteen.”
“That’s my girl! Precision document preparer.” He laughed. “We’ll get through a paltry fifteen like a hot knife through butter.”
He hoped she’d laugh, too, but she didn’t. She was watching him, her forehead creased as though she wasn’t sure whether or not she should be frowning, and Matt felt panic edge its way up his spine because maybe she was about to call things off—and suddenly, unexpectedly, he knew he’d move heaven and hell to keep the deal alive. “Are we good, Romy?” he asked.
She bit her lip, and he did his best to make himself look nonthreatening. If he could have willed the right response out of her, he would have—he certainly directed every synapse in his brain at her as he silently urged: Say yes...say yes...say yes, damn you.
“Yes,” she said, and his limbs went weak with relief. “Yes, we’re good.”
“So,” he said, as nonchalantly as he could manage. “What’s next?”
She flipped a page, another, another, muttering something under her breath. He knew what she was doing. Sorting the documents, easiest to hardest, building her case. The muttering thing usually made him want to get her in a headlock, rub his knuckles against her scalp and warn her she was talking out loud, not in her head. But not tonight. Tonight, for reasons he did not want to face, it made him want to take her on his lap like he used to do at college when something was worrying her. But this was different from college. Because he didn’t just want to reassure her, he wanted to kiss her.
He forced his eyes away from her mouth to her hands, and the platinum signet ring on her right pinky finger caught his eye. She’d worn it every day since Teague had given it to her for her twenty-first birthday seven years ago, and he barely noticed it anymore. But now he wanted to rip it off her finger and throw it into the fire. What a fucking crazy upended night this was turning out to be.
“This one,” she said, and picked out a page.
The ring caught the overhead light, distracting him. “Huh?”
She held the page out to him. “Timing.”
He ignored the page. He wanted this done. Wrapped up. Settled, before she could change her mind. “Choose any time you want—I’ll fit in with you. Next.”
Flip. Shuffle. She held out another page. “Clinic options in San Francisco.”
He ignored that document, too. “Mark your preferred one and I’ll make an appointment. Next.”
New page—held out. “The process.”
“Fuck, Romy. I grab a girlie magazine and jack off. Do you really think I need instructions? Next.”