Page 36 of Anti-Hero (Kensingtons: The Next Generation #2)

I sigh and set the glass down. “Sorry. If you’re looking for cheerful company, keep looking. Lili’s pretty chipper.”

Fran laughs. “Lili’s bloodstream is half caffeine and half alcohol right now. No one’s as chipper as she is.”

“Did you know she was coming home?”

“Nope. We brunched earlier, caught up. She said you’re doing really well at the company.”

“After how many mimosas?”

Fran smiles. “She was sober. And she showed me the photos of you in your office.”

I groan. “Are my eyes closed in every single one, or was Bash exaggerating?”

“Don’t worry; you looked hot. Then again, you always do.” She winks, drawing a startled laugh out of me.

Fran—and several of Lili’s other friends—have flirted with me before.

But the only one I’ve hooked up with is Collins, which also happens to be the last time I had sex. The longest drought since I started having sex. I should be dying to get laid. But just like at Proof with the gin-and-tonic girl or around Sadie, my dick doesn’t react.

Collins might not want me, but I don’t want anyone else.

“Thanks,” I say.

“ Thanks ?” Fran repeats incredulously. “You’re not going to compliment me back? Or invite me upstairs?”

“I can’t,” I say, which sounds marginally better than I don’t want to .

“Oh. My. God. You’re dating someone?” Fran’s voice is low. Shocked but low.

Still, I glance around to make sure no one else is in hearing distance before saying, “No, we’re not dating. But I am interested in someone, so …”

Fran shocks the shit out of me by asking, “Is it Collins Tate?”

I blink rapidly, convinced I somehow misheard her. “What?”

She rolls her eyes. “I was totally interested in hooking up with you at that party in the Hamptons. You were too busy sneaking looks at her to notice. And I noticed you left right after she did. Lili said she’s your assistant now?”

I sigh.

I’m starting to really hate that word. Assistant. I don’t want Collins to assist me with anything. I want to be the one who helps her . Who she relies on.

Fran’s waiting for an answer, so I acknowledge, “Yeah, she is.”

“Why would you hire someone you have feelings for?”

I revert to my default, “It’s complicated,” then add, “And it doesn’t really matter. She’s not interested.”

I flipped out about Perry because I was jealous. There’s no way Collins didn’t realize that, and her response has been to act as professional as possible ever since. So, I need to get over my silly crush on her before it permanently affects our co-parenting relationship. If it hasn’t already.

Fran scoffs. “Yeah, she is.”

I raise my eyebrows. “You’ve met her, what, twice?”

“And I saw her face when I came over and started talking to you.”

“That was probably disgust,” I say. “She thinks I’m a player.”

“ Should she think that?”

“No.”

“Does she know she shouldn’t think that?”

I stare at the smooth ivory keys, considering.

I’ve flirted with Collins at every opportunity since we first met.

I’ve made it clear—at least, I hope I’ve made it clear—that I’m in this kid thing for the long haul.

That she can trust and rely on me. But have I told her I have trouble focusing on anything and anyone else when she’s around?

That I’ve become abstinent at age twenty-three because touching a woman who isn’t her feels wrong?

That I’ve memorized every single outfit she’s worn since she started working for me because I stare at her so often?

That the photo on my desk is of me, my siblings, my best friend, and … her?

No, I haven’t shared all—any—of those details.

Partly because I’m embarrassed. Mostly because I’m worried I’ll freak her out, affecting our professional and parenting relationships.

I can handle Collins avoiding me at work.

But I don’t want to put her in that position.

And I can’t handle missing moments like the ultrasound or discussing the nursery decorations.

“I’m going to take that very long pause as a no,” Fran says. “So, I’d start there.”

“We work together, Fran.”

“So? Wouldn’t be the first time it happened. Bridget’s ex got all chummy with a waitress he worked with.”

I lift an eyebrow, and she laughs.

“Okay, yeah, that was a bad example. But my point is, it’s natural—common even—to develop feelings for someone you spend a lot of time around.

” Fran straightens, leaning her hip against the side of the piano instead of resting her elbows on it.

“Plus, you’ve never struck me as someone worried about breaking a few rules. ”

I muster a smile.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Lili appears, one hand holding a cherry-red cocktail and the other stuck in her hair. “One pin was stabbing my skull, so I pulled it out, and the whole braid’s falling apart now.”

“What an emergency,” I drawl.

Lili glances down at me, eyes narrowing. “You can’t play piano.”

“I’m not playing; I’m sitting.”

“I think I have a mini hair spray in my bag,” Fran says. “I’ll go grab it.”

She disappears through the doorway, and Lili focuses on me.

“You look tired.”

“So do you.”

My sister scowls. “I’m running on four hours of sleep. What’s your excuse?”

“Late night at Proof.”

I don’t want Lili wondering or worrying about me.

Staying out all hours partying isn’t behavior she’ll blink twice at.

The truth—that I read about Braxton-Hicks contractions and congenital disorders, then stared at the ceiling for a few hours, brainstorming what to send Collins today (whole lot of good that did me)—would elicit a very different reaction.

Sure enough, my sister shakes her head and spins to follow Fran. “Mom’s looking for you,” she calls over one shoulder.

I sigh, stand, and head deeper into the house.

Bash wanders into the living room while I’m staring into the fire. He’s changed into sweatpants and a green hoodie. I’m still wearing my suit even though we got back from Mom and Dad’s over an hour ago.

My brother surveys me for a few seconds. He scratches his jaw, then flops down in the armchair opposite mine, resting his socked feet on the coffee table. “Dude, I’m stuffed.”

I nod in agreement. “Yeah, me too. ”

“You going out tonight?”

“Nah.”

“Lili asked if I was at Proof with you last night. Unless you snuck out after telling me you were going to bed at eleven …”

I say nothing.

“I covered for you. Said you went with Flynn.”

I nod. “Thanks.”

“So, you ready to tell me what the hell is going on with you?”

I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. Deliberating. If I’m going to tell someone, my brother is my best option. He’s not my boss, like Dad. He’s not connected to Collins, like Lili. He won’t get emotional, like Mom.

“I got a girl pregnant.”

It’s a sick relief to finally say the truth aloud, like pressing on a bruise. A painful release.

Bash laughs once, settling deeper into the chair. “Ha. Good one. Okay, I’m invested. What’s really going on?”

“I’m fucking serious, Bash. That is what’s going on.”

The broad smile slides right off my little brother’s face.

Wordlessly, he stands and strides over to the bar cart in the corner. He fills a crystal tumbler with my favorite single-malt scotch—almost to the brim—then returns to his seat and downs a healthy amount.

“Don’t overreact,” I warn.

He makes an incredulous sound in the back of his throat between sips. “She’s keeping it?”

I nod. “She’s due May 18.”

“May 18.” Bash whistles, long and low. “Holy fuck. Who knows?”

“She told her family. You’re the first person I’ve told.”

He downs more scotch, inhaling it like oxygen .

Unease swims through my bloodstream. If Bash is reacting like this …

“Mom and Dad are gonna freak out,” he tells me. “You’re twenty-three.”

I shrug. “So? Mom was twenty-five when she had Lili. What difference does two years make?”

“Mom and Dad were also married.”

“A piece of paper doesn’t make you a better parent,” I snap.

Bash sets down his drink and holds up his hands. “Whoa, whoa. I’m just saying, that’s what other people are going to say.”

“Well, don’t.”

He crosses his ankles, studying me speculatively. “Is it the blonde from the elevator earlier? Was ‘special lady friend’ some kind of weird code between you guys?”

“No, it’s not Sadie.”

Silence.

“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 hoping you do or else you’re telling me the girl you knocked up is your assistant .”

I slouch in my seat, tilt my head back, and blow out a long breath. “It happened before she was my assistant.”

Bash barks out a stunned laugh. “And then you hired her? 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’s pregnant , Bash.

When she’s not pregnant, there’s going to be a baby.

My kid. 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’t know . 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 parents sometimes 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 not the first 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 sounds exactly like 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’t have to 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?—”

“I’m not asking her for a paternity test,” I state.

Bash sighs. “You barely know her. She lived with Lili for a couple of semesters years ago and now?—”

“I do know her,” I insist. “And she wouldn’t lie to me. Not about this.”

“What if it were me? What if I told you I’d knocked up a girl?”

“I’d …” I exhale, opting for honesty. “I don’t know what the fuck I’d say now that I’m on this side of it.”

“And before? The first thing you would’ve said was to get a paternity test.”

He’s not wrong, and I hate that he’s right. But it doesn’t shake my resolve .

“It’s mine , Bash. I’m sure.”

“Well …” He drains the rest of his drink. “We both know I’m not the one you’re going to have to convince.”

I hate that he’s right about that too.

Bash chuckles. “Thanks, by the way.”

“For what?” I question, confused.

My brother grins. “Are you kidding? This is the best gift you ever could have given me. A lifetime get out of jail free card.”

I scowl. “You’re a dick.”

“We both know where I learned it from.”

I roll my eyes, then focus on the flickering flames. A log crackles and pops, creating a cozy ambiance. The alcohol is making me feel warm and sleepy, and so is the relief of having finally told someone the truth.

“You got a photo?” Bash asks suddenly.

I glance at him. “Huh?”

“Of the baby. Have they given you a picture of it yet?”

I stare at my brother for a few seconds, then clear my throat. “Uh, yeah. They gave us a sonogram after the first ultrasound.”

Bash waits expectantly.

“You want to see it?”

“Might be your kid, but it’s my niece or nephew.”

I clear my throat again and stand. “One sec.”

The sonogram is tucked in the same spot I left it. It only takes me a few minutes to grab it and return to the living room.

Bash hasn’t moved.

I hand him the sonogram, then continue toward my seat.

“Wow, I can see the resemblance,” he jokes, squinting at the blob.

I flip him off, then reach for my phone when I feel it buzz. Stiffen when I read the name on the screen and hastily unlock it.

Collins: Happy Thanksgiving!

Below it, she’s sent a photo of her stomach. In profile, so the subtle bulge of her midsection is more obvious.

Collins: Too much turkey.

I grin.

“Oh, I get it now,” Bash says.

I glance at him. “Get what?”

“You like her. That’s why you’re so defensive.”

“I’m not defensive. And of course I like her. We work together, and she’s the mother of my child.”

“Nope.” Bash shakes his head. “It’s more than that.”

“Whatever. I’m going to change. Leave that”—I point at the sonogram—“in the kitchen when you’re finished looking at it. Been meaning to put it up on the fridge.”

Bash salutes me. “Will do. And congrats, by the way, on the whole baby thing.”

“Thanks,” I reply, then head down the hall.