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“C’mon, Kit. You’re really gonna make me ask who?”
I tug at my tie, loosening it a little, then state, “It’s Collins Tate.”
“Collins Tate, Collins Tate?”
I cock an eyebrow. “You know more than one person named Collins Tate?”
“No. But I’m hopingyoudo or else you’re telling me the girl you knocked up is yourassistant.”
I slouch in my seat, tilt my head back, and blow out a long breath. “It happenedbeforeshe was my assistant.”
Bash barks out a stunned laugh. “And then youhiredher? What the fuck, Kit?”
“I didn’t know she was pregnant.”
“You knew you’d screwed her.”
“I know.” I drag a palm down my face. “It was a bad judgment call. But it was only one night. We weren’t in a relationship or anything. If she was willing to work with me, I knew I could be professional.”
“Professional,” Bash echoes, dubious. “You’re full of more bullshit than scotch right now. You know that, right?”
I reach for my empty glass, stand, and head toward the bar cart to even out the balance.
“What’s the plan, Kit?” Bash calls after me.
I’m silent, watching the liquor splash in the glass.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “She tried to quit, to leave New York, and I asked her not to.”
“Why not? Wouldn’t that be for the best?”
I spin back around. “No, it wouldn’t be ‘for the best.’ She’spregnant, Bash. When she’s not pregnant, there’s going to be a baby.Mykid. I’m not going to write a check and help her pack. I’m not going to miss everything. I want to be there when he or she is born. When it talks. When it takes its first steps …” My voice trails off.
I’ve been too preoccupied with current crises to truly think about what life past approximately May 18 will look like. Joking about our kid acting or playing sports felt abstract when Collins and I had dinner. But all those milestones will actually take place.
“So, you’re going to share custody?”
My grip tightens on the tumbler as I walk back to the armchair. “I guess,” I mutter, sinking back down.
But I don’tknow. And I doubt Collins is going to want to be separated from our newborn often or for long. If she’s still living in Brooklyn, where does that leave me? Camping out on her floor to help with whatever I can? I will, but it doesn’t feel like a sustainable solution. It’ll be years until our kid is old enough to understand parentssometimes live in different places.
“Did you ask for a paternity test?” Bash asks.
I swirl the contents of my glass, avoiding answering.
This is another reason I’ve told no one. Because in my world, that’s one of the first questions—if notthefirst question—that gets asked. Any kid I have stands to inherit a lot of money, and a lot of people know that fact.
“Kit.” My name is weighed down with the heaviness of disappointment as Bash correctly reads my silence.
My little brother soundsexactlylike my dad when he disciplines me.
“Bash.” I match his tone.
“You have to get a paternity test. You’d be crazy not to.”
“I don’thaveto do anything.”
“I’m not saying she would … you know, lie, on purpose … but she might not be sure and scared to tell you. It’s a messy situation. You’re her boss too. Finding out for sure is?—”