“I guess I’ll walk you down. Let me grab my purse.”
“I told your father I would come along.”
“What are you doing, Tuck?” I grab my phone and purse before I head for the elevator. He hovers close like I might try to give him the slip or something. At this point, I know it’s no use.
“I wanted to talk about last night.”
“I don’t.” The elevator doors slide open. We both get on. “Are you really coming with me?”
For years, I tried to get Tucker’s attention, and now I can’t shake the man. I’m still pissed about last night, and I don’t see that changing anytime soon. I can’t believe he’s wanted me all these years but was too damn stubborn to tell me. I know I should be happy about that, but damn, that burns.
“Morning, Miss Frank-Hyde,” Henry the doorman says when I step off the elevator. I’ve lived here for three years, and I still can’t get the man to call me by my first name.
Tuck wraps his arm around me, pulling me close to him like we’re a couple or something. I ignore him, wanting to get under his skin like he’s doing to me.
“Morning, Henry. How's the wife?”
“She’s good, thanks to you. I’m husband of the year.” His smile makes me smile. “I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to top this birthday for her.”
“Did you at least enjoy the ballet a little?”
“It was better than I thought it would be,” he admits. “You should have seen my Penny’s face when I told her we had backstage access. I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to thank you enough for those tickets.”
“Maybe by calling me Cam?” I suggest. His face falls. “I'm only teasing you, Henry.”
“We should get going,” Tuck cuts in. “My driver is here, and everyone knows you hate to be late.”
“That’s true,” Henry agrees. He and Tuck share a look. I have a feeling Tuck got him to tell him how I take my coffee.
“Later, Henry.” I let Tuck guide me toward the waiting car. He motions for his driver to get back in the car when he tries to come around to open the door for me. I slip in and text my girlfriend Andrea to call me as Tuck makes his way around the car to get it. My phone rings right as he’s getting in.
“Sorry. I have to take this. It’s the fertility clinic,” I say before I answer the call.
“It’s a Sunday,” Tuck growls. The sound goes straight between my thighs. I never figured Tuck to be the growling, possessive type. I’m learning so many new things about him.
“And I’m wealthy,” I toss right back.
“Yes. I want someone around 5’11” and slender. I don’t like the overly muscular type,” Cam informs the person at the fertility clinic. I try not to look at my own biceps. Can I help that they’re big due to calfing and roping? It’s not like we have a gym at the ranch like these city boys. And since when didn’t Cam like muscular types? I’ve been built like a truck since junior high.
“His IQ?” She fields another question. “It should be at least 150.”
One-fifty? Why does she need a Mensa candidate as the father of her child? It’s enough that you’ve got street smarts and can make good decisions on the fly and that’s not taught in some book. Only life can teach you that shit.
“I’d also like blond hair and blue eyes.”
Blond hair, blue ey—I catch Cam’s eyes in the reflection of the window. The corner of her mouth turns up a tiny fraction as if she can’t help her smirk. I whip around and grab the phone out of Cam’s hand.
“Sorry, Ms. Frank-Hyde will have to call you back.” I snap the foldable phone shut and drop it onto her lap. “A fertility clinic?”
“That’s what single people do to have babies these days. Maybe in the backwaters of your ranch, you aren’t aware.” She lifts her chin. The tip of her nose points upward, and I want to kiss her so badly.
“We’ve got Wi-Fi out there. Full five bars everywhere.” Thanks to the fiber optics that we’ve run through the two thousand acres. Makes sense these days with electronic monitoring of the cattle and prevents people from losing signal if they get injured while repairing fences or tracking livestock.
“Oh, you guys are full twenty-first century.” She doesn’t make that sound like a good thing. “Don’t tell Daddy about the baby thing. He’s not aware.”
“You mean he wouldn’t approve.” Ed Hyde doesn’t seem like a man who’d be thrilled his daughter’s getting shot up with the sperm of some rando who gave it out in need of a few dollars. The car pulls to a stop, and my driver jumps out. His eyes start to drift down to Cam’s pretty legs as she climbs out of the back seat. I clear my throat, and they shoot up to the sky.