“Good. You?”
He shrugged. “You know how it goes. Lots of time with the family.”
“Sure.” I turned back to the bookcase I’d pulled a box of paperwork from.
“So . . .” Riley walked over to the bookcase. “I’ve got a gift for you.”
I looked up at him, my brow furrowed. “Huh?”
“Can we have dinner tonight?”
“I can’t, no. I’m seeing someone.”
“The baby’s father?”
I nodded.
Riley’s expression went grim. “He doesn’t sound like a very stand-up guy, Charlotte.”
“Really? This from the guy who stole the job I wanted and called me a whore?”
He exhaled dramatically. “I didn’t steal anything, okay? And if I’d known I’d lose you over it, I never would have applied.”
“Let’s leave the past in the past. I want to have a good working relationship with you, Riley. But don’t come into my office talking shit about someone I care about. Someone you know nothing about.”
“I know he doesn’t want to meet your family.”
I arched a brow at him. “Really? How do you know that?”
“I talked to your brother.”
“Is that right? Well, you had no business discussing my life with him.”
He sighed softly and looked at the ceiling. “He just cares, Charlotte. And I do, too. Both of us want to see you with the kind of man you deserve.”
“Cut to the chase,” I said, slapping a stack of files onto my desk. “What is it that you want?”
“I want another shot with you.” He put his hands in the pockets of his khakis, looking like a model in a casual pose. I couldn’t believe I’d once found that cute.
“No.”
“Charlotte,” he said, exasperated, “we were pretty good together. I’m very fond of you. Your baby needs a father. And I’m not a bad—”
“My baby has a father,” I cut in. “And he’s a very good man who would never stab me in the back or call me a whore.”
“You’ve figured this out in less than six months?”
“Yes. I’m a good judge of character. Present company excluded.”
He winced and gave me a dirty look. “You’re being stubborn and hotheaded as usual. Not a lot of men would walk in here with a ring for a woman who went out and got pregnant with another guy’s baby. I’m offering to take care of both of you. I’d think of your child as mine.”
“I don’t need to be taken care of,” I said, my face heating with anger.
There was a banging sound from the courthouse floor above us. An old, yellowed ceiling tile in my office broke in half and dropped to the floor, pieces of dust settling around it. This fucking office.
“Get. Out,” I said.
He did, closing the door behind him. I sat down in my office chair, put my elbows on my desk, and buried my face in my hands.