Page 111 of Better Daddy

Like a complete schmuck, I whistle all the way up to Sloane’s floor. Happy doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel lately. My wife loves me, my son hasn’t climbed any structures and gotten stuck lately, and we’re in the last quarter of the trust requirement.

In four months, we can move back into our penthouse in New York and I can return to my office here as well.

And now I get to have lunch with my gorgeous wife.

I step off the elevator, humming Frank Sinatra’s “All the Way,” and nod at every lawyer I pass. Many I recognize, though there are several new, young faces.

When I see Julius, I point at him. “Caesar, my mate!”

“Oh, baby daddy’s in a better mood than baby mama.” He arches a brow in warning. “Go easy on her.”

I frown. What happened in the time between my text at ten and now?

If Will Higgins is responsible, I will actually break his nose. And I’ll fucking relish it. At my wife’s behest, I’ve said nothing since I found out about his disgusting ultimatum. It’s better this way. Knocking his arse out would only cause more problems for Sloane.But just imagining how good it would feel to wipe that smug look off his face makes my fingers twitch and my palms itch.

“Sully?” I snap to attention at the sound of my wife’s voice. She’s standing in the doorway, a sheet of paper in her hand.

Her dark hair is pulled back in a low ponytail, which is very unlike Sloane. She only wears it that way when she’s nervous or angry. She gets overheated in those situations, and she hates the feeling of her hair sticking to her skin. She doesn’t look red, though. She looks pale and tired, like she’s seen a ghost.

I eat up the space between us quickly and wrap her in my arms. Though she’s stiff at first, she softens quickly, letting out a long breath. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

“Always.” I press a quick kiss to her forehead and guide her back into her office. Figuring she needs a few minutes to compose herself, I shut the door. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”

She eyes the door, then her focus drifts down to the paper in her hand. She sighs. “My mother was here.”

Ah, that makes far more sense. “Whatever she said, she’s wrong,” I tell her.

Sloane’s mother has a way of making her feel inadequate, and she can do it in a matter of minutes. It’s ridiculous, really. Sloane was a powerhouse in law school, and she created one hell of a career for herself before T.J. was born. And look at her now, back to rebuilding what she had to put on hold for so long. I’m unbelievably proud of her, and it baffles me that her mother isn’t too.

Sloane lets out a dry, brittle laugh. The sound breaks my fucking heart. She’s tired and dejected, and she looks so damn sad. “She had me appointed as guardian in this case, then said, and I quote, ‘I can only ask for so many favors, Sloane. You won’t make partner here if you don’t think outside the box.’”

I frown. Why the fuck would she want to be partner here? I survey the room as if to emphasize my point. “Screw ’em. You don’t need it. Do whatever you want.”

Sloane shrugs. “It’s not a bad case. The little boy was abused andneeds a guardian ad litem to represent him in the divorce action.” She thrusts the paper she’s still clutching in my direction.

As I scan the case caption, my stomach sinks. “I’m on this case.”

Eyes widening, she takes the document back from me. “You are?”

“Yes, I represent the mother. It’s a bloody awful case.”

“I’ll have to read over the files.”

I shake my head. “You absolutely shouldn’t read over the files.”

Brow furrowed, she shakes her head. “Why?”

Fuck, she really is wiped. If she were thinking clearly, it’d be as obvious to her as it is to me. So I spell it out for her. “Because you’re going on maternity leave soon. This case won’t be over by then, and when you come back to work for Murphy and Machon after maternity leave, we’ll be conflicted out of the case if we’re both on it.”

Sloane steps back. “For?”

“Yes. When you come back to work for me, I won’t be able to work on this case anymore,” I explain slowly. Surely she understands the huge implications of all of this.

“With, Sully. When I come back to workwithyou.”

I nod, though the anger in her tone confuses me. “Yes, same thing.”

“No, it’s not the same thing.” Frustration practically oozes from her pores.