“Okay. Great. You’re sorry. Message delivered. You can stop texting me and get on with your life.” She made a move to get behind the wheel, but he stepped closer and covered the hand she’d rested against the top of the door.
“I sent those texts because I couldn’t stop thinking about you, worrying about you. Wondering how you were doing.” He hit her with the earnest eyes again. “You and our baby.”
Our baby. Even in his messages, he’d never actually gone so far as to acknowledge paternity, but now, face-to-face, she heard the keen interest in his voice. The almost desperate thirst for details. Maybe knowing some part of him existed outside of himself had finally unlocked his daddy instincts? Maybe he really had spared a thought about Joy’s welfare? “You can stop wondering and worrying. We’re fine.”
“Madison, please.” He paused and wiped a jittery hand over his forehead. “I’m dying here. I don’t even know if I helped make a boy or a girl. I haven’t seen so much as a picture.”
If he wanted to butter her up before asking her for money, discussing the baby—her most important obligation and her number one priority—was a lousy way to do it. Was it possible his interest and concern were genuine? He was Joy’s father. If showing him a picture and telling him a few details helped him understand he’d played a crucial part in creating one miraculous thing in his sad, screwed-up life, who was she to deny him that truth? She dug her phone out of her purse, flipped it open, and accessed her photo gallery. A close-up of Joy snuggling with the giant teddy bear Hunter had given her offered a good look at her pretty features. Cody might even recognize himself in the slant of her forehead and the shape of her brow. She handed him the phone.
“Meet Joy. She’s healthy and happy. Growing like crazy.”
“Damn, she’s pretty as a shiny new penny.”
Something about his reaction—the jackpot expression on his face instead of awe and wonder—made her reach for her phone.
“Hold on…” He pushed her hand away and raised the phone out of her reach while he pressed buttons. “I just want to send the picture to myself.”
“Give me my phone.” She kept her voice firm and even, even though her heart raced with unspecified anxiety. “I have to go.”
He hit send and handed her phone back, smiling now. “Don’t rush off. We need to talk. I want to help my daughter have the best life possible. It’s my responsibility as her daddy—our responsibility as her parents—to do that for her.”
Cold, sharp claws raced under her skin. She clasped her phone and took a step away, until the car brought her up short. “I plan to provide a very good life for her. I love her.”
His smile widened, but his eyes went flat and hungry, like a shark’s. “Sure you do. Look at her.” He gestured to her phone. “She’s loveable. Anyone would love her. But it takes more than love to raise a kid.” Leaning close, he lowered his voice. “What if I told you I’d figured out a way to guarantee she has the best of everything? Don’t you want Joy to have every opportunity?”
Ugh. He smelled awful. Sweaty. She leaned away. “Of course I do, but—”
“How many opportunities can you afford?”
“I…” She didn’t bother finishing. She couldn’t afford a lot, and he knew it. Suspicion danced along her spine. “What’s your point, Cody?”
“My point is, sometimes being responsible means accepting help.”
“I’ve already learned that lesson.” She straightened and crossed her arms to take up more space. “I have all the help I need.”
He gave no ground. “For how long? Eighteen years?”
“I have the help I need,” she repeated, refusing to get dragged into a conversation about the future.
“Maddy, face it, there are things you and I will never be able to give her. I’ve talked to a friend, and I’ve figured out how to make sure our little girl lacks for nothing, and we receive some consideration, too.”
Waves of acid roiled in her stomach. She didn’t want any “help” from the kind of people he knew. She dropped into the driver’s seat and grabbed the door handle in preparation to slam it closed. “We’re fine. We don’t need any help. Tell your friend we’re not interested.”
He braced his hip against the door and blocked her attempt to close it. “We are interested. My friend can put Joy in the arms of a grateful, financially secure couple that will give her the best of everything. Nice house, fancy schools—everything a kid could want—and you’ll get five thousand, cash.”
Red hazed her vision. “You bastard. Get out of my way.” She grabbed the door handle and started to pull it shut, not caring if she slammed one of his body parts in the process.
He braced his hand on her window, using his arm to keep the door open, and started speaking quickly. “Okay, ten thousand. We both made her, so we’ll share equally in the placement fee. This is no bullshit, Madison. The couple has the money parked in some kind of escrow account with their attorney. It’s legit. We sign some papers, hand the kid over to people who are far better qualified to raise her than we ever will be, and collect a well-deserved birth parent stipend for doing the right thing. It’s all win.”
“Get away from me.” She shoved him away and grabbed the door handle again. He sprang forward and stuck his leg in the door before she could close it.
“Ow! Shit, Madison. What the fuck’s you’re problem? Ten thousand is the best I can do. It’s more than fair. I’m splitting my share fifty-fifty.”
“My baby is not for sale.” She crunched his leg in her door again, with the kind of determination that said move it or lose it. He moved it. She slammed the door and revved her outdated engine.
Over the noise, he called, “That baby’s half mine. You want to keep her for yourself? Fine. You owe me ten thousand dollars.”
A vile taste burned in the back of her throat. “You want to talk about who owes what?” She shouted out her window. “If you cross my path again, I’m suing you for paternity, and every penny of child support I can wring out of your worthless ass.”