Page 37 of Worth the Try (Atlanta Granite #1)

Elodie

“ W hat do you want.” It’s not a question. It’s a demand. I keep eye contact with her as I stalk to the sink to wash my hands, and I’m surprised to see they’re not shaking.

Given how furious I am at this woman, that’s honestly a miracle.

“Seems you’re getting awfully cozy with the father of my child,” Lauren sneers. It’s a terrible look on her, turning a face that should be beautiful into something horrible and ugly. Her dress should be embarrassed to be seen on her.

“Great observation there, genius,” I drawl, happy to have found my well of anger brimming and ready to go. “Anything else?” I ask, grabbing a paper towel and drying my hands. For the briefest of moments, I seriously consider balling it up and throwing it at her, too.

She steps forward, putting us about five feet apart. “You need to convince Ansel to do what’s right.”

“And what’s that—pay you to go away, or let you take his little girl away from him?”

Lauren’s eyes flash. “She’s my daughter, you know. Not yours.”

A bark of laughter comes out. “Your daughter? Your daughter ? Bitch, please.” I close the distance, getting right up in her face while keeping my hands fisted at my sides.

“You lost the right to call her that when you left her on Ansel’s doorstep all those years ago.

When you told him that if he didn’t take her, you were tossing her into the system.

When you didn’t so much as call to check on her in the years since.

So let me be perfectly clear: You. Are. Not.

Her. Mother. Not by a fucking long shot. ”

“And you think you are?” she asks, a hand on her hip.

When I speak, my voice is low, seething.

And now? Now I’m shaking. Because fuck her.

“I’m a hell of a lot better mother than you’ll ever be.

And if you think for one fucking second that I’m going to let you get your bitch-ass paws on that sweet little girl, you can get fucked.

Because she deserves better than you. He deserves better than you.

The best thing you can do is go back to the sewer you crawled out of. ”

“Oh, sweetheart,” she croons, a vicious smile on her face, “you have no idea who you’re messing with.”

I look her up and down, years of pageant training roaring back to the surface with a vengeance.

“Oh, really? Let’s see. You’re in an out-of-season gown, your spray tan is so orange it was probably done by an intern, your heels are scuffed, your pedicure is non-existent, your jewelry is fake, your makeup is a decade out of style, and your hair?

” I suck my teeth. “Honey.” With a tsk, I tilt my head.

“But please. Do tell me. Who, exactly, am I fucking with?”

She just smiles. “You’ll see.”

And with that, she turns and walks away, hips swishing beneath a black glittery gown, a discount sticker on the sole of one of her heels.

The door shuts behind her, and I hiss the anger out in one long exhale.

I shake my hands, adrenaline coursing through me, and give myself exactly five seconds to pull myself together.

Turning to the mirror, I swipe on some lipstick and give my reflection my best pageant smile.

There’s no trace of the seething woman I am below the surface.

Time to fake it for the crowd and get the heck out of here.

After exiting the bathroom, I force myself to go slow as I walk back to the table, scanning the massive ballroom for any sign of Lauren. But she’s gone, likely having fled the moment we finished our little talk.

Ansel stands as I near, his gaze roaming my body appreciatively, then widening as he takes in my expression. “Are you okay?” he asks, voice low as he bends to me.

“We need to leave now,” I answer. “I’ll explain everything as soon as we’re in the car. Right now, we need to pretend like everything is perfectly fine, but it’s time to go.”

He straightens, eyes narrowing. “Tell me,” he bites out.

My own spine stiffens at his tone. “In the car .”

He jerks his chin down in wordless agreement, then turns to the rest of the table to make our departure known.

We leave, his hand once again on the small of my back, and in minutes the valet is running to get our car.

Mercifully, I don’t see anyone taking photos, and after longer than I’d prefer, Ansel is helping me into the car before shutting the door behind me and walking to his side.

We aren’t even ten feet away from the valet before he’s looking over at me, ready. “Well?”

I exhale. “Lauren cornered me in the ladies’ room.”

“She what ?” The steering wheel leather protests beneath his clenched hands. He shoots a glance at me before focusing back on the road. “Are you okay? Goddammit, Elodie.”

I force myself not to shrink into the seat. “I’m fine.”

“Sorry.” He catches himself. “I’m not mad at you. I just—I wish you’d told me while we were there. I want to give you a hug. And then find Lauren and shake her,” he admits.

I reach over and place a steadying hand on his leg.

It works, but only to a point. He reaches down to grab it, squeezing once before pulling it up to kiss my palm.

He threads our fingers together before resting our hands on his leg, the other hand still gripping too tightly onto the wheel before him.

“Tell me.” It’s a gentle request, but tension radiates off him.

I relay the exchange, his jaw dropping with every bit of the conversation I give him. When I’m done, he looks at me longer than he should.

“Holy shit, Elodie,” he breathes. “I—I don’t know what to say except…thank you.”

“You’re thanking me?” I repeat, my own mouth agape. “It’s a miracle that we didn’t come to blows in there.”

The corners of his mouth lift. “I’d put my money on you.”

I huff a laugh, but the comment releases the rest of my anger. “You’re ridiculous.”

He kisses my palm again. “Maybe. Maybe not. But I know one thing for sure.”

I wait.

With a wink, he says, “I love you.”

The words bubble up, I love you, too , but my throat tightens again, my body refusing to let them come out. I said it plenty to my ex, and it was never enough. My love wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough. And even now, in the car with a man who lets the words flow as easily as water, I can’t do it.

I blame my argument with Lauren.

That must be it.

We’re silent the rest of the way to the house, both of us lost in our own thoughts. When we pull into the driveway, Ansel kills the engine and looks over at me, his expression thoughtful.

“Stay with me.”

I grin. “I always stay with you.”

But he shakes his head. “No. I mean stay. Stay even when the preschool slot opens up in September?—”

“Oh my gosh, they finally called you?” I interrupt.

He exhales a laugh. “Not the point, Elodie.”

I bite my lip, and his eyes darken in response. He reaches for me, threading his hand into the curls at the nape of my neck and guiding me across the console for a kiss. I melt, happy to fall into the safety of his lips.

When we break away, he studies me in the dim light, his eyes darting over my face. “You don’t have to answer now. But the offer stands.”

“Look at you, finally learning to ask for what you need,” I tease.

He smiles, sweet and bashful. “Not what I need, Elodie. What I want .”

I pick up on the double meaning and smirk. “And what else do you want, Ansel?”

He opens the door and gets out, tossing a devilish grin as he goes. “Why don’t you come inside and let me show you?”