“Nah. An enemy, I can shoot.” I watched her stroll farther into my house. “You’re worse. You’re semipermanent.”
Zonnique stopped and spun around, her lips parting in offense. “You’re such an ass sometimes!”
“And I have reason to believe you’re a thief, so sit yo’ ass down and don’t touch a damn thing while you wait.” I reconsidered and pointed toward the floor. “Matter of fact don’t even sit. Stand right there where everybody can see your hands.”
“Really, Merge? You act like I haven’t been here before.”
“Youhave, and that’s exactly why I want you to remain standing right there.”
I turned toward the butler, who looked like he was seriously reconsidering every career decision that had led him to apply for that position.
“Next time she shows up uninvited, I don’t care if she’s standing outside in heels, caught in a thunderstorm, buried in snow, or wrapped around a damn snake, you don’t open shit. Got it?”
He nodded so fast I thought his neck might snap. “Yes, sir.”
Zonnique’s mouth fell open. “Are you serious right now?”
“As a bullet,” I replied.
Then I turned and headed upstairs, the gun still tucked at my waist as I muttered under my breath.
A year later, and somehow I hated her even more than I had the day I found out there was a possibility I’d have to make her the mother of my child… and eventually my wife.
But business was business.
Until I produced an heir, I was stuck paying the price for a deal I’d made out of desperation.
***
I sat silently in the doctor’s private office; one leg crossed over the other as I watched the man behind the desk sweat through his collar.
Zonnique sat beside me with her purse resting neatly in her lap, twirling a strand of hair around her finger like she was waiting for a spa treatment instead of the news that was about to become her own personal reckoning.
Dr. Fairchild cleared his throat for the third time, eyes darting between us, betraying his discomfort.
“Thank you both for coming in. I, uh… I wanted to go over the results with you in person.”
“Then go over them,” I urged, unable to mask my impatience.
The man flinched, adjusting his glasses nervously as he prepared to deliver the news.
“Y-Yes, sir. It’s just… these things are delicate. And I wanted to be sure I interpreted them correctly before—”
“Before what?” I cut him off, my tone low and sharp. “Before you waste my time? Because that’s what it sounds like you’re doing.”
“N-No, sir. I—um—well…” He glanced down at the folder in front of him, clearly struggling to find the right words. “Miss Guidry, after reviewing your scans and blood work, it appears that your reproductive function is… compromised.”
“My what iswhat?” Zonnique shrilled in confusion.
“Compromised,” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. “You have extensive scarring along your uterine wall, likely a result of past infections or surgical procedures. Unfortunately, this condition is preventing implantation. I’m afraid that means natural conception would be… highly unlikely.”
There was a heavy silence.
My jaw ticked as I slowly turned toward Zonnique.
Not fast.
Not dramatic.
