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His brows crossed.
“I’m nothavinga baby,” I tried to explain. “I mean I am, technically. I’m just not havingmybaby.”
Dante sighed and wiped the sweat from his brow with an even sweatier forearm. “You’re losing me, kid.”
“I’m having Elliot Chase’s and someoneelse’sbaby,” I continued. “I’m going to be their surrogate.”
“Ah,” he said. “So not your egg.”
“No.”
“Not your sperm.”
“Obviously,” I smirked.
“You’re just carrying the baby for someone else,” he said, considering the statement as he said it. His face went introspective. “Wow. That’s admirable.”
“I know, right?”
He reached out took the hydro flask from my hip, where I always kept it mounted for easy hydration. Shaking it to rattle the ice, he put it to his lips and drained it in three big gulps.
“Look, Jordyn, you barely get a paycheck here as it is.”
What he said was true. Although I did work long hours at the shop, I traded back a good chunk of my paycheck each week for furnace time and materials. I was constantly working on projects, before and after hours. It ate up virtually all the money I had left after paying rent and utilities.
“If you work any less hours, you’ll have to give up some of your projects,” Dante went on. “Keeping the furnaces lit costs money, even after closing. Add that to all the rods you clip, and the special colors you’re always ordering…”
“I know what you’re saying,” I told him. “But trust me. Between the regulars, the weekenders and the private lessons, I’ll bring in more than enough to cover the extra hours. This place won’t miss a beat.”
“You’ll keep it running on all cylinders?” he asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow.
“Shit yeah I will.”
Dante was good people. He’d come up as a child from the Dominican Republic and watched his parents start from scratch. He’d built the glass shop up from an abandoned warehouse into a thriving business, complete with a cute little storefront that faced the street. He sold mostly bowls, vases, and decanters, like the one he’d just put in the annealer. A few of my own artistic pieces were shelved there on consignment, and every once in a while they offered me a little extra income.
“And you won’t rob me blind while I’m atShatter II?”he was asking.
The second shop was still in its infancy. Dante had been babying it since opening day.
“Maybe a little pickpocketing,” I smiled. “But I won’t totally pants you or take your wallet or anything.”
He held my empty hydro out at arm’s length, rattling the ice some more. “Uh huh.”
“I can take some shifts there too,” I suggested. “Actually, the new shop being on the upper east side is even more convenient for me. It’s closer to where I live.”
“But you live in Flatbush,” he countered.
Smiling merrily, I plucked the hydro from his grasp and grinned. “Not anymore.”
Seven
JORDYN
One of my favorite things in the world was sprawling across my bed, staring up at the ceiling after a nice hot shower. Only now my showers were longer, and my bed bigger and softer. The cashmere bathrobe wrapped around me felt sinfully good, to the point where I was afraid of being spoiled on all other bathrobes for the rest of my life.
This is totally ridiculous,I thought, hugging myself with a contented sigh.In all the best ways.
Even my ceiling had been upgraded, because my bedroom was just about the size of my entire previous space in Brooklyn. When the guys said I’d have my own rooms, they hadn’t been kidding. I had my own luxurious bathroom, plus my own living area and kitchen too. The latter were basically another pair of rooms that had been converted into a private apartment, all decked out with couches, a television, and the same beautiful Spanish-style decor as the rest of the house.
