I didn't want to believe this about my father, but I should have seen it coming. I don't know why I always give my father the benefit of the doubt. He's never given me any such courtesy. 

The moment Skye agrees to take the test, my father turns and heads straight to his desk. He yanks open one of the drawers, the smooth sound of wood against wood the only sound in the room, and produces an unopened box of pregnancy tests. He obviously bought them at the drugstore around the corner in honor of our visit. The sound of ripping plastic echoes loudly in the silence of the room as he tears off the package wrapping.

Skye squeezes my hand.

For all our talk about being professional, she's looking up at me with a serious and confident expression. “It's okay,” she mouths.

But of course it's not, because Skye isn't pregnant. I thought this was the least likely scenario, so we have no backup plan. My father will find out that I have no heir—God, that sounds so fucked up, even in my head—and then this little plan is over. I'll have to delay breaking ground on the new development. I'll have to inch toward my expansion goals one painful dollar at a time. And in the meantime, there are people living on the streets and in shelters who need better places to stay. People who fought beside me in Afghanistan, or in even worse places. 

I fucking hate that I'm losing control over this situation, but my father is already handing her the test.

“Where's the restroom?” Skye says, looking around the office. It's the most massive one in the building, naturally.

One of my father's guards appears from a narrow hallway to our left. “This way, Ms. Dawson.”

I haven't told him her last name yet, but clearly someone from the firm has been watching us and investigating her. They know about Skye.

It's a small comfort that we've done a good enough job at convincing them that we're a couple. Good enough that my fucking asshole of a father has done some background research on her. Looks like they haven't been able to touch her medical records yet, because if they had, this conversation wouldn't even be happening. There are no medical records, only a fake ultrasound image that I had printed up just for this occasion.

I want to laugh out loud. I should never have tried to play him for a fool, and now he's probably going to retaliate by never releasing the trust. 

“Drink?”

Skye hasn't been gone a full minute yet, the guard disappearing down the hallway behind her. They'll probably make her piss on the stick right in front of them, so they can witness her taking the test to make sure it's the real deal.

“Why are you doing this?” I hiss.

My father gives me a skeptical look. “Do you honestly think I'd take you at your word after all the conversations we've had? After what you've done?”

Anger blooms in my chest, sick and hot. “Jesus, Richard. Are you ever going to let that go? I was eighteen.”

“You were eighteen, and you had a future ahead of you,” my father says mildly. “And I wish you wouldn't call me that.”

“Sorry, Dad.” The word is coated in acid. “Are you ever going to forgive me for doing a stint serving my country? Or are you just going to be pissed forever that I didn't go to Brown like you wanted?”

“You threw away that opportunity more than once. I'm allowed to have my own feelings about it.”

Another surge of bile rises in my throat. “You're taking it out on heroes. Real heroes. I hope you know that.”

He shakes his head, deciding to get himself a drink. There's a beverage cart parked in the corner of the office, and before my father speaks again, he pours himself a whiskey neat. “You weren't a hero for abandoning your mother and me.”

“I didn't abandon you. You're both fully functioning adults.”

“You lied to us. Imagine how she felt when we got that letter.”

That letter is the letter that gets sent to every parent when their son or daughter arrives at boot camp. I couldn't stop them from sending it. It was the first time my parents learned that I was joining the military, and I did it because there was no other way out. Brown seemed like a trap meant to keep me under their thumb, and I couldn't live that way anymore—couldn't chafe under the expectation of being filthy rich for moving money around. I wanted to do something. And they didn't agree with my choice.

He's still retaliating, seven years later. I've been out of the military for four years. There's no reason he should still be so fucking hurt about any of this.

The scar across my stomach throbs, the way it always does when I'm pissed the hell off. I take a deep breath, and then another. The scar hasn't healed. It never will. But I know what will take my mind off of this whole ridiculous ordeal—losing myself in Skye's curves, in the melodic sound of her voice, in the way that she runs her fingers through my hair, gently, so gently...

“It's been long enough to let it go.”

“I'm being generous, you know.”

I grit my teeth. “How?”

“By agreeing to have this conversation with you at all.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “You have to. Maybe you've found a way to add stipulations to the trust, but you can't change the name of the recipient without a majority vote.” I know that rule as well as anyone.

“Your mother will change her mind eventually.”

“She never will, and you know as well as I do that—”

“Mr. Hunter,” the bodyguard says as he enters the doorway to the office. I didn't even see him come back into the room. “Mr. Hunter. Apologies for interrupting.” He steps farther into the office; Skye is behind him.

The moment I see her face, I know.