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The ice in his eyes had only been the tip of his iceberg. Maybe he had let me peek behind his facade because he never planned on seeing me again. I believed the real Lucas was Herb and this incarnation was as fake as professional wrestling.
“Of course. Mr. Shaw.” I put emphasis on his last name, playing his games.
“I hope I didn’t ruin your evening.” Lucas opened the door wider for Barclay to enter the apartment. “My attorney just left. He’s making sure this situation gets sorted out on Monday.”
Lucas was one coldhearted bastard. I didn’t care what he said to Barclay at this point. He was acting like having a baby land in his lap was the same as getting the wrong package in the mail—an inconvenience. What was going on in that thick skull of his?
I turned my attention to the baby—the reason I was here. She had quit crying and was sucking her thumb. It was a built-in pacifier. Hallelujah. Dried spit up was crusted down the front of her cute little dress, but she didn’t seem to mind. Though, she smelled retched for being such a precious angel.
When she locked eyes with mine, her lips puckered around her thumb, I froze. Whoa. Her icy blue eyes weren’t cold like the ones that matched hers, but warm like blue fire.
How could Lucas deny this child was most likely his? His blue eyes were a one in a million color—two in a million now. It was almost as strong of a confirmation as a DNA test. Lucas was going to drown in his sea of denial. I shook my head.
After only two minutes in Lucas’s presence, I hated his guts. If Herb didn’t appear soon, it was going to be a long couple of days.
“Here, sweet little girl,” I spoke softly to the baby as I picked her up and brought her to my chest, barf and all.
“Excuse me, Mr. Shaw.” Forget being nice. I added a big scoop of sarcasm to his last name. “What’s her name?” Surely we weren’t going to call her “kid.”
“Pardon me, Barclay.” Oh, his ability to avoid reality was Oscar-worthy. He treated the baby and me like we were a sideshow. He turned toward me but didn’t look me in the eye. “Her name is Esmé. At least…that’s what Coco said in her letter.”
“Oh. It was Coco who did this?” Lucas nodded as Barclay rubbed his chin. “That surprises me. I thought she was headed to Hollywood to be an actor.”
“Who knows? She may have made up this entire scenario and the child isn’t even hers. My lawyer is preparing for every possibility. He’s turning over every possible stone to find her too.”
“I’m assuming that’s not her real name,” Barclay added, an edge of disgust in his tone.
My ears perked up. This Coco must’ve been one of his paid lovers. Lucas moved closer to Barclay, putting more distance between us. I didn’t care to hear anymore and headed toward the kitchen.
His apartment was huge, massive, land-a-plane-in-it big, possibly even a 747. Clear panes of glass served as the outside walls. I spun around to see the lights of the city somewhere down below. I only saw a couple of buildings in the distance. How high up was the fifty-fourth floor? It appeared we were up in the clouds.
Esmé fussed in my arms. Who cared about some playboy’s fancy pants apartment when an innocent child needed her pants changed? I decided then and there not to be impressed by his gilded cage in the sky. I lived in a messy room in an apartment that probably was smaller than his bathroom. I was strong. Passionate. Scattered. Messy. Underemployed. Uncertain about New York City. But I could hold my head up, because I wasn’t a fake. What a person saw of me during a corporate interview or at a coffee shop was the real Maggie. Unlike some people.
The diaper bag was sitting on the island in the dark kitchen, but I had no idea where the light switches were located. Digging around in the bag, I found a fuzzy blanket and spread it out on the hard counter, giving the baby a soft place to lie. She didn’t look over three months, but I kept my hand on her stomach as I searched the bag for wipes and a clean diaper. I didn’t want her rolling off onto the tiled floor.
“Hey, Esmé.” She smiled up at me, keeping her thumb in her mouth. It appeared they were best friends.
I’d been changing diapers since I was a pre-teen and considered myself a semi-professional. I had a special system too. First, I decided how many wipes I would need. Since I didn’t know how long she’d been sitting in this diaper—poor thing—I pulled five wipes out and sat them next to her. Next, I placed the clean diaper under the one she was wearing. This way I wouldn’t have to grab the diaper while she was wiggling around uncovered. It eliminated cleaning up surprises.
