I sank to the hardwood floor in a daze.

What the hell had just happened?

One second Jordan had been sweet, attentive even, the next he was a raging asshole.

Dr. Jekyll, Mr. Hyde, much?

Or maybe it was more Banner-Hulk, since my insides felt smashed to pieces.

Pregnant. I was pregnant, and the father thought I was trying to trap him.

I’d barely had an hour to come to grips with the fact that a tiny person was growing inside me and my baby daddy—who I barely knew—had accused me of being a gold digger.

What level of fucked up was that?

If he only knew who my father was, that notion would be laughable.

“Too bad laughter isn’t high on my emotions right about now.” I pushed to my feet and when I felt a little dizzy, I forced myself into the kitchen for a snack.

I’d grown up with nannies, a private chef, tutors galore. I’d had a designer wardrobe and any toy I’d ever expressed half an interest in.

But none of that had brought me happiness.

Or parents who wanted to be in my life.

I had a trust fund that ended in a line of zeroes longer than my arm. But I didn’t touch the money. I didn’t have to.

I made my own way.

And if it was a little—okay, a hell of a lot—leaner than my childhood, then that was just fine with me.

I had Seraphina and my other friends. I had my job . . . well, I used to have my job. I had my books, and I had rum and Coke.

Which I couldn’t have right now.

I sighed.

“Well, baby,” I said, and cupped my stomach, wondering if the little raspberry could hear me, “you’ve made me puke more times today than I’ve done in the last decade, you’ve taken my rum and Coke, and made me expose my lady bits to the world for what I suspect is not the last time. What do you say we take it to the bedroom for an early bedtime?”

I could really use a book, a bath, and cuddly pajamas.

Everything else could hold until the morning.

“He said what to you?” Seraphina all but shrieked into the phone the next morning. I hadn’t wanted to ruin my friend’s day like Jordan and the pesky hospital visit had ruined mine, so I’d called her as she drove to work the following day.

I winced and held my cell away from my ear. “I know. It was pretty awful.”

“Who in their right mind would think you would be a gold digger?” she declared. “He’s a moron.”

“Well, that’s obvious,” I muttered, switching her to speakerphone as I pulled out my laptop. “All of that drama aside, I guess the question really is what I should do now.”

“You need a job.”

I nodded, though she couldn’t see me. “With good health insurance.”

“You know.” Her voice was careful. “I’m sure your dad’s company could use a graphic designer.”

“We’ve been through this before.” I sighed. “I don’t want to be that person. And if my dad truly wanted me he would ask.”

“He did ask.”

“No, he offered me a fluff position with no real responsibility,” I reminded her. “I’m happy to work my way through the ranks, but I refuse to be a puppet that no one respects. Plus, I don’t think after our last interactions I’ll be ready to work for him in any real capacity for a good long time.”

My father wanted me to work for him. That I could understand. But he didn’t want me to take over the reins.

No, that particular honor would go to my brother.

Me, he just wanted under his thumb.

Which was why he’d bought Frank and Susan’s company, effectively putting me out of my job.

It was also why he’d bought the building I was currently living in.

And why he’d had his business manager send me a letter stating he was raising the rent . . . to double my current rate. Oh! But my father happened to have a guest house available on his property and surprise, surprise, it was the monthly amount I was presently paying.

So, yeah no, I didn’t exactly feel peachy about working for my dear old dad.

He had a vision of what my life should look like and when that didn’t align with mine, he forced it anyway.

“I don’t blame you,” Seraphina said. “Just with everything going on—the baby, the job hunt—keep it in your back pocket in case you end up needing something fast.”

I sighed. “You’re right. Unfortunately.”

“They don’t call me The Brain for nothing.”

“I don’t think that’s what they call you.” I snorted and lay back against the pillows in my bed, tugging the blanket up to expose my feet to the cool air.

She psshed, and I could practically hear her rolling her eyes. “I need to get into work.”

“Rub it in, why don’t you?”

“Shush you and rest up. Apply for some jobs. You’ll find something in no time.”

“Hope so.”

“Know so.”

“Love you.”

“Love you more,” Seraphina said and hung up.

I sniffed, wallowing for one more minute about my circumstances before opening my laptop and pulling up a job search site.

“Anything close,” I murmured as I began typing. I couldn’t afford to be picky at this point in my life.

I sent my resume off to a minimum of twenty HR departments and five recruiters. I updated my professional profile on social media sites, threw together a quick website, hoping to drum up some freelance design work, and then spent a few hours searching for new apartments.

Two bedrooms.

Now, that was a trip down crazy lane.

With a sigh, I closed my laptop and sat up. I had snack wrappers littered all over my bedspread. It was my attempt at staving off the hypoglycemia as I worked, but the trash combined with bedhead, last night’s jammies, and not having bothered with a shower, made me feel like I was one step away from eating bon bons and watching soaps.

I gathered the trash and went into the bathroom, cranking on the shower as I brushed my teeth and wrestled my hair into a ponytail.

I couldn’t be bothered with an hour spent blow-drying my mop today.

Especially since I had absolutely zero need to look good for anyone.

When the shower was hot enough, I stepped in and rinsed off, shaving my legs and armpits. I used my expensive body wash, the one that reminded me of my father’s rose gardens and the few happy memories from my childhood.

I’d loved to get lost among the flowers, a book in hand, wandering through the maze of planter beds. In the spring, color had exploded around me, a fairy-tale world straight out of a kids’ movie. In the winter, the bare vines had looked almost menacing, a villain come to life.

I’d held tight to the escape from reality. In fact, I’d reveled in the chance to get lost in my imagination. Especially when everything else in my life was so cold and artificial.

Calculated.

A battleground.

With me in the middle.

I didn’t want that for my baby.

Thankfully, I didn’t have to worry about that. Jordan was long gone. My little raspberry and I didn’t need the drama he’d no doubt bring to our lives.

It would be easier without him.

Nodding in agreement with myself—don’t judge—I turned off the faucet and dried off.

Since I had no plans of leaving my apartment, I pulled on a pair of sweats and a “Taco Cat spelled backward is still Taco Cat” T-shirt. I only bothered with a bra because my nipples were so sensitive that I’d probably poke out an eye if I didn’t. Fuzzy red and green striped socks completed the ensemble.

I was a mess and that was totally fine because I was all by myself—

I shrieked and stumbled back against the wall, rattling the framed picture of Seraphina and me wine-tasting. I’d, of course, hated all the wine. Which was really not the point at all, I thought as I straightened the photograph and took a deep breath. The important part of the current situation was that my living room was full of suits.

And one of the suits was Jordan.

“Glad you could join us,” he said coldly, eyes surveying me from head to toe in one slow glare.

I lifted my chin, the blatant dismissal I found on Jordan’s face giving me the strength to ignore my uneasiness with the current situation taking place in my living room. “I wasn’t planning on ever seeing you again, so consider yourself lucky to be in my apartment. How’d you get in?”

“You should be more careful about who you let see the code.”

Perfect.

“Or maybe you should go fu—”

“Careful,” Jordan said.

I sighed and leaned back against the wall. “What happened to you?” I asked softly. “For a moment, I thought we might have some fun together, get to know one another. Since, you know, we apparently made a baby together.” I pointed to the room full of suits. Not one of them who’d deemed to take a seat on my couch.

They probably thought the used piece of furniture was beneath them.

I smirked, thinking that Jordan hadn’t seemed to mind it during our night together.

“Apparently is the key word,” he said.

Sighing, I pushed off the wall, feeling the rough abrasion of plaster against my fingertips before I strode into the kitchen and filled a glass with water. I took the prenatal vitamin the doctor had given me and chased it with a few crackers to prevent any nausea.

Less puking was a good thing.

The sound of a throat clearing didn’t draw my gaze.

Or, I didn’t let it. I was very aware of Jordan standing a few feet away in my kitchen, very aware that the suits were there for a display of strength and to intimidate me.

But I was the daughter of Bernie-freaking-Roberts. I didn’t get intimidated. Not by a couple of junior lawyers who were in my apartment for show.

“One partner, one business manager, two lawyers who barely passed the bar, and one egotistical asshole of a baby daddy,” I said, placing my glass carefully in the sink and turning to face Jordan.

“Did I forget anyone?”

He just stared at me.

I shrugged. “No? Okay then.” I walked out of the kitchen and into my bedroom.

“Where—?”

I closed the door, cutting off the rest of his question and picked up my cell, dialing a number I didn’t want to call, but one I knew I needed to.

“Bec? Can you come to my apartment?” I asked. “I’ve got an issue.”

Her voice was crystal clear in my ear, a sharp New England accent with a side of no bullshit allowed. “What is it?”

“Suits. A baby daddy trying to intimidate me.”

“Assholes. I’ll be there in fifteen.” Then, “You’re pregnant?”

“Just found out yesterday,” I assured her.

I could picture Bec’s red lips pursing. “Okay, fine. Was going to give you shit for not telling me, honey. You know I’m prime godmother material.”

I laughed, already feeling less on edge just knowing my friend, who also happened to be a hotshot lawyer, was on her way. “Godmother? Maybe minus the cursing.”

“That’s an important part of a child’s education.”

“If you say so.”

“I do say so.” A pause, then beeping followed by the rumble of an engine. “I’m on the road. You just ignore those asswads and let me do my thing.”

“I can do that.”

“Good.”

She hung up and I sat on the edge of the bed, taking a moment to swap my fuzzy socks for a pair that matched my fancy outfit. Or at least a pair that didn’t clash so horribly.

Then I went into the bathroom and calmed my mop of hair down, wrestling it into containment.

Also known as a bun.

When I came out of the bathroom, Jordan was standing across the hallway, arms crossed.

“We need to talk.”

“Technically, I’d say we didn’t need to, but I think in this you’re right.”

“Good.” He pushed off the wall. “Come sit in the living room. I’ll break it down for you.”

There were way too many condescending factors in his statement for me to let any of them slide.

“You’ll break it down for me?” I lifted both brows. “Do tell? Oh and maybe if you’re going to invite me to sit down on my sofa, the least you could do was offer a girl some chocolate and a glass of water.”

“Didn’t know I was your slave.”

I rolled my eyes. “Didn’t know being inhospitable was a life goal of yours.”

“This isn’t my house,” he snapped.

“Case in point,” I snapped back. “So why. The fuck. Are you. Inside of it?”

“We need to talk.”

“That, I think, is overrated,” I said. “You’re trying to threaten me into agreeing to some shitty contract that lets you off the hook for all responsibility. But”—I gestured at him to lean in—“I don’t want anything from you, so you can take your shitty papers, your subpar lawyers, and fuck off.”

“Subpar?” one of the suits said. “We’re from Lincoln and Associates.”

“Like I said. Subpar. My attorney is Rebecca Darden.”

One of the suits went pale.

“Yeah,” I told him with a smile. “I know.”

Rebecca—Bec—was one of the most famous attorneys in the country. And, luckily for me, she also happened to be one of my closest friends.

I wrinkled my nose as I started to push past Jordan. He was wearing that disgusting deodorant again and the smell was enough to make me shudder.

Jerk was probably doing it on purpose.

I shot him a glare when he snagged my arm and halted my progress. “You smell like shit.”

He laughed coldly. “You’re insane.”

“And you’re a complete mindfuck! How did you go from nice and caring and sweet to . . . this?” I ripped my arm free. “When I say I don’t want anything from you—financially or emotionally or otherwise—I mean it. I don’t need you or your money or your suits. I am fine on my own.”

I plunked down into my cozy armchair, avoiding the couch and the possibility of Jordan sitting next to me.

One of the suits wrinkled his nose as he sat on the worn leather sofa and extended a thick folder toward me. “You’ll find our terms very favorable.”

I set the contract on the table. “Does this contain a document eliminating Mr . . . .uh . . . ” I trailed off, realizing that I literally had screwed a man, practically puked on him, certainly passed out on him, and still I didn’t know his last name.

This was why one-night stands never worked out.

“Does this contract eliminate Jordan’s paternal rights?” I nudged the folder with my fuzzy covered toe. “If not, it’s of no use to me.”

The suit looked at me for a moment before flicking his gaze over my head.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Jordan snapped. “We all know that she’s using this as a ploy to get more money. Just have her sign the agreement and let’s be done with this already.”

My vagina was seriously never allowed to pick another man in my entire life.

“She will do no such thing,” Bec announced, pushing her way through the front door.

“Is there anyone who doesn’t know the code to your apartment?” Jordan drawled.

“I guess not,” I snapped. “If you were able to get in.”

“Okay, children,” Bec said. “What seems to be the problem?”

“Jordan, here,” I said, “apparently has a fat wallet and is afraid that I’m trying to take a chunk of it.

Bec froze, eyes wide, then she bent at the waist and started laughing. I crossed my arms, not nearly as amused. The rest of the room was silent, listening to her wind down from roaring laughter to chuckles to the occasional giggle.

When she’d regained control of herself, Jordan pushed off the wall and came to stand between us.

“Care to share what’s so funny?” he gritted out.

“I’m sorry,” Bec said, wiping a finger under one eye and picking up the folder on the coffee table. “It’s just that anyone thinking our Abby is a gold digger is laughable.”

Jordan frowned. “And why is that?”

“Because Abby is Abigail Roberts.”

His jaw dropped open. His eyes scoured the room as though looking for a billboard that declared in bright flashing lights:

Abigail Roberts—daughter of a billionaire!

Then he focused back on me, something like regret trailing across his face.

“Touché, motherfucka,” Bec announced, miming a mic drop.

“Language,” I reminded her as she sat on the arm of my chair and started reading.

“You and your language,” she murmured. “And the things we do for our godchildren.” Bec started reading the document, ignoring the suits. “You’re dismissed. I’ll contact you with our response.”

Her eyes flicked back down as she rapidly devoured what looked to be gibberish to my eyes.

After a moment of the suits not moving, she snapped her fingers. “You’re dismissed.”

And somehow, that got the men moving. They filed out of the apartment in rapid time.

All except Jordan.

He paused in front of my chair and glared down at me. “This isn’t over.”

“And you sound like a shitty villain in a B-movie,” Bec said before I could reply. “I said we’d be in touch. Your”—her eyes drifted down, then up—“services are no longer needed.”

Jordan’s lips pressed tightly together, but he didn’t say anything further. Instead, he followed his team of suits out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him.

I gave the men a few minutes to clear the area then stood.

“Where are you going?” Bec asked.

“To change the freaking code.”