Page 17 of Manhattan Kiss

“I’m not sure brutal is the—yeah, brutal is true. But it’s also completely awesome. I never thought anything could…feel like it fills me up like being a father does.”

“That’s great, man.”

“Is it something you want?” I ask. “Kids, a family, that kind of thing?”

He gives a noncommittal shrug and sets about pouring tequila into two of the three shot glasses in front of us. “Maybe,” he says. “I’m having plenty of fun and working hard. It’s not like I see a huge gap that needs to be filled.”

Ben always enjoyed his fair share of women. He’s also a workaholic, and a control freak, so having a child doesn’t fit like a glove in those circumstances. But having a child in any circumstances isn’t ideal. That’s what I said to Gabby when she told me she was pregnant. We weren’t living together at the time, we weren’t exclusive, and I certainly hadn’t considered whether she might one day be the mother of my children.

But when she told me, it wasn’t even a consideration that we had to try to make it work between the two of us. I wanted my kid to grow up in a family.

It didn’t last long.

Gabby and I weren’t compatible and a baby just made the cracks between us open up. She’s not a bad mother, or a bad person, but she’s not someone I feel comfortable going deep with. And I covered that up by avoiding her. Gabby’s family is wealthy, and she grew up privileged in New York. As a former army brat, I know what it’s like to never call one place home for long. We had such different backgrounds, and I just couldn’t relate to her view of life—that everything’s great. Because not everything is great. Or at least at any moment it can stop being great.

“I get that,” I say. “It’s a lot.”

“I wondered if you and Gabby would get back together.”

I pull in a breath. “Nope. I told you it was done.”

“I know, but you’ve always been so big on trying to make things stable for Willow.”

“Yeah. But it’s very amicable between us and she’s moved on, so that’s great.” Kinda great. I don’t see why she had to get engaged to the guy. She has a kid. Does she need to get married?

“You still do that weird thing where you move in and out?” he asks.

I nod. It’s unconventional, but it works.

“So why don’t you get a place of your own?” he asks.

I take another swig of beer. “Because my home is where Willow is. I don’t need another.”

“So you live out of a suitcase and waste money on hotel bills?”

“It’s a matter of perception. As she gets older, I don’t want Willow to think she’s missing out on a part of my life that she doesn’t get to see. My only home is with Willow.”

He pauses and looks at me like he’s inspecting some kind of museum exhibit. “You’re a sentimental guy, Deacon.”

I laugh and raise my bottle of beer. He clinks his to mine.

“I’m not sure I’m sentimental when it comes to anything but my daughter.”

“Are you sure you’ve not lost your killer edge?” he asks. “You always knew exactly the right time to strike when it came to buying tech businesses on the cusp of greatness.” He chuckles.

“You’re an arsehole,” I say. “I buy them and make them great.” I take a shot of tequila.

“Oh is that right?”

“That’s a fact.” I’m probably more strategic now than I ever have been about the businesses I’ll buy. Unless I’m completely sure I can help them, level them up, I won’t take a chance. Some people think that makes me ruthless. To me, it makes me smart. But I know I have a reputation for being an asshole.

I can’t help but think about the woman I saw at the hotel, first in the lobby and then again when I saw Sienna out last night. I wasn’t certain at first, but she’s definitely the one I spilled coffee on and then barked at for being in the way. It wasn’t my finest moment. I should have apologized and offered to pay for a new shirt or pick up her dry-cleaning bill or something.

I’d had a thousand things swirling my brain because of the news of Gabby’s engagement, but that’s no excuse. I shouldn’t have treated her like that. Maybe that does make me an arsehole.

Then when I saw her last night, as Sienna was leaving, she’d looked flushed, hurried.

Maybe I’m being an egotistical prick, but I can’t help thinking she was flustered by seeing me. Does she hate me?