Page 26 of Role Play (Off the Books #1)

Forty minutes and an expensive-as-hell cab ride later, I’m standing outside Hannah’s building in Midtown, a gleaming sixty-story glass monstrosity that screams “if you have to ask the price, you can’t afford it.

” The revolving doors give way to a marble-clad lobby straight out of an Architectural Digest spread—all soaring ceilings, abstract sculptures, and a massive wall of cascading water behind the concierge desk.

Maurice, the weekday doorman who usually gives me a friendly nod when I pick up Dakota, isn’t at his post. Instead, there’s a younger guy in the same crisp charcoal uniform, who eyes me with the practiced suspicion reserved for anyone who doesn’t look like they belong in this temple to wealth.

“Can I help you, sir?” His tone is polite but cool, his hand hovering near the security phone.

“I’m here to see Hannah Novak.” I run a hand through my disheveled hair, suddenly aware of my appearance—unshaven, wrinkled shirt, radiating the kind of barely contained fury that probably has him calculating the response time of building security.

“Hannah is my daughter’s mother. I’m Dakota’s father, Forrest Hawkins. ”

Recognition flickers across his face, though not the kind I’m hoping for. “Mr. Hawkins. You’re not on the weekend schedule.”

Of course I’m not. The weekend schedule. Like I need an appointment to see my own daughter. The familiar indignity burns in my gut.

“It’s an emergency,” I say, forcing my voice to sound even. “Family matter.”

He consults his tablet, scrolling through what I assume is a list of approved visitors. “Let me call up.”

Every time. Every single time it’s the same dance. Asking permission to enter a building where my child lives. Waiting for approval like I’m a goddamn salesman rather than her father.

While he murmurs into the phone, I stare at the bank of elevators—four of them, each with custom artwork etched into their brass doors.

The lobby is bustling with residents coming and going: a woman in tennis whites, balancing a small dog and a green smoothie; an older gentleman with a driver patiently holding the door; a couple in matching Lululemon, heading out for what I assume is a five-hundred-dollar-an-hour personal training session.

The residents of the building move through the space with the easy confidence of people who never have to consider what things cost. It’s a world I never belonged in, even when Hannah and I were together. Especially not now, with my current living situation and vocation.

“Ms. Novak says you can go up.” The doorman’s voice pulls me back. “Shall I announce you?”

“No need.” I head for the elevator bank, escorted by a concierge who materializes at my side. She swipes a key card and presses the PH button.

“Have a pleasant day, Mr. Hawkins,” she says with professional courtesy, stepping back as the doors slide closed.

The private elevator to the penthouse rises swiftly and silently, its walls lined with something that looks like leather.

A small screen shows the weather, stock tickers, and building announcements about the rooftop garden renovation and the new sommelier joining the residents-only restaurant on the mezzanine.

It’s a far cry from my walk-up in Brooklyn, where the elevator breaks down so often, my calves are toned from the daily trek up six flights. No wonder Hannah looks at me with thinly veiled pity on the rare occasion she drops Dakota off at my place.

The elevator opens directly into their foyer—because of course the penthouse has its own private entrance.

No hallways shared with neighbors here. Just twelve-foot ceilings, walls of glass overlooking Central Park, and the kind of pristine white furniture that makes me wonder if anyone actually lives here or if it’s just a showroom for the criminally affluent.

Hannah and Henry occupy the kind of New York City home that appears in glossy magazines.

Floor-to-ceiling windows with views that lesser mortals pay to see from observation decks, and furniture that looks like it’s never felt the weight of a human body.

It’s beautiful, but sterile. Like a hotel suite rather than a home.

Every time I’m here, I find myself scanning for signs of my daughter—a stray toy, a crayon mark on the wall, anything to indicate a child lives here. I rarely find any.

I pound on the door to the main living area, my initial attempt at civility evaporating as I replay the phone call with Principal Vaughn in my mind, imagining Dakota being shipped off to strangers.

I knock again, more forcefully.

The door swings open to reveal Henry, dressed in pressed chinos and a blue button-down like he’s a banker on his way to brunch. His salt-and-pepper hair is perfectly styled, his smile polite but reserved.

“Forrest,” he greets me, stepping back to let me in. “This is unexpected.”

“Where’s Koda?” I ask right away. The silver lining to this impromptu visit is I get to see my kiddo’s cute little smile. That ought to cheer me up and relieve my anger so I can have a cool-tempered conversation with Hannah.

“Dakota is upstate with Mr. and Mrs. Novak this weekend. They heated the pool so she could swim.”

My agitation rises again. “Henry, do you think it’s odd that even though I’m Dakota’s dad, I seem to never know where my daughter is or what she’s up to?”

“I, uh…” Henry diverts his gaze, taking another small step backward. I’m pleased I’ve made him visibly uncomfortable.

“Anyway, I’m here to speak with Hannah,” I say, not bothering with forced pleasantries. “Is she here?”

“She’s in the study.” Henry gestures down the hallway.

“Studying what?” I snark. Gold-digging one oh one? I think to myself. Or has she moved on to an advanced degree when it comes to taking advantage of men’s money?

“It’s just an expression,” Henry adds. “It’s where we keep the desk and computer. I believe she’s editing some photos. I was just heading out, actually.”

I nod, trying to dial back my ire. It’s not Henry’s fault his girlfriend is trying to abandon our daughter. “Sorry to interrupt your weekend.”

He waves off my apology. “Not at all. Family matters are important.” He gives me a strange look, something like pity mixed with relief. “I’ll give you two some privacy.”

Henry grabs his jacket and slips out the door, leaving me alone in the expansive living room. I take a deep breath and head toward the study.

I find Hannah at her desk, typing on her keyboard. She looks up when I enter, her expression guarded. “Forrest. What are you doing here?”

“Wesley called me.” I leave the door open and halt two strides away from the desk. “Care to explain why our daughter is being enrolled in a boarding school without my knowledge or consent?”

Hannah’s face does something complicated—surprise, guilt, then defiance, all in rapid succession. “She was accepted into their gifted program. It’s a tremendous opportunity.”

“She’s four years old.” My voice rises despite my effort to stay calm. “And you forged my signature, Hannah. That’s illegal.”

“Don’t be dramatic.” She stands, smoothing down her silk blouse. “I knew you’d react like this without considering the benefits. Dakota is gifted , Forrest. We’d be irresponsible not to give her the best opportunities.”

Obviously, Dakota is precocious. She’s been carrying on conversations like an adult since she was three. But while she’s intellectually advanced, emotionally, she’s still a baby. My baby.

“What’s irresponsible is robbing her of her childhood. Take it from a guy who spent more than twenty years in school. Let her be a kid while she can.”

“For fuck’s sake, get over it. You didn’t slay a dragon. You’re not the only person to graduate from law school. I mean, maybe the only person to graduate and then piss away a multimillion-dollar employment opportunity?—”

“Here we go again,” I grumble.

“Anyway, Dorimer is the best educational institute in the country. The connections she’ll make there, the opportunities she’ll have?—”

“She’s a child, not a networking opportunity.” I take a step closer, forcing myself to lower my voice. “What’s really going on? This isn’t like you. Hannah, you’re a lot of things—a bad mom isn’t one of them. Can’t you see this for what it is?”

Hannah sighs, the fight seeming to drain out of her. She sinks back into her chair. “Henry got offered a position in Tokyo. Six months, maybe longer.”

“So?”

“So I’m going with him.” She meets my eyes, and I see the determination there. “It’s an incredible opportunity for his career. For both of us, really.”

“And Dakota?” I ask, though I already know the answer.

“Henry feels that she…complicates things.” Hannah at least has the decency to look ashamed. “He’s not ready for full-time parenting. Especially abroad.”

“Well, good thing he’s not Dakota’s parent, right?”

“Forrest—”

“Look, you want to know my honest opinion about Henry?”

“No,” she snaps.

“Tough shit. He’s not a bad guy, but he’s too old for you and he’s rigid—stuck in his ways. Just like your parents who you spent the majority of your life trying to escape. But if you really love him, I’ll help you.”

“Help me?” Her expression changes, as if that were the last thing she expected me to say.

“Breaking up doesn’t mean we have to be enemies. Don’t you know I still want you to be happy? You and Henry can survive six months of long distance. Go visit him whenever you like. I’ll keep Koda while you travel. You know I want more time with her anyway.”

Hannah smooths her long hair, then tucks it behind her ears—her nervous tick. So, I know bad news is coming. “Henry wants to propose. And I want to say yes. But…”

“But what?”

“He doesn’t want kids. He doesn’t particularly like it when Dakota’s around. He made some calls to get Koda into Dorimer. And he’s willing to pay for tuition, room and board, visits, everything . If she doesn’t go, Henry’s not going to ask me to marry him.”