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I hang up and race for the shower.
Six hourslater I’m in the elevator with my suitcase heading up to Cole’s penthouse. He owns the top two floors of a gorgeous historic building in the Flatiron district.
I glance at my reflection in the dark polished marble of the elevator walls. I look cute in my leggings, cropped sweatshirt, and Ugg boots, but I can’t help but feel underdressed.
The elevator door slides open, revealing an old-fashioned door with a gold handle. Do I...knock? It seems rude to just walk into Cole’s home. But it also seems kind of rude to hog the elevator.
I split the difference, knocking on the door, and then stepping inside immediately.
“Hello?” I call, as I step inside.
“You’re here!” a child’s voice shouts. And then a seven-year-old girl slides into view.
It takes me a second to realize who I’m looking at—Cole’s daughter.
She’s got Cole’s blue eyes, but that’s where the resemblance ends. Her face is sweet and round, with freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her nose. There’s a designer logo on her light pink T-shirt. But the dribbles of what looks like hot chocolate stains remind me she’s still a normal kid. Even if she’ll one day inherit an amount of money I can’t comprehend.
“I’m Kiera,” she says, thrusting her hand out.
“Please to meet you,” I say, shaking her hand. “I’m...”
I trail off as I realize Cole and I never discussed what to tell his daughter. We never discussed mymeetinghis daughter, but clearly that ship has sailed.
“You’re my dad’s pretend girlfriend,” she finishes for me. “And I can’t tell anyone at all,especiallyGrandma. Because Grandma wants Dad to settle down.” Kiera repeats that last part like it’s something she’s heard the adults say alot.
“Yep, that’s me,” I say. “Where’s your dad?”
“He’s on a work call,” Kiera says.
“Oh.”
I look around the lavish apartment surrounding us. We’re in a tiled entryway that opens out onto a living room. There’s also an elaborate marble staircase that leads upstairs.
You wouldn’t know a kid lived here, if it weren’t for the toys scattered over the expensive carpet in the living room, or the tiny tennis shoes lined up by the door next to Cole’s much larger ones.
“Do you live with your dad all the time?” I ask, then wonder if that’s a rude question.
“My parents have a sixty-forty custody arrangement,” she says. She trips over the wordcustody,saying itcusto-didy. “My mom says dad can have fifty-fifty when he stops working so much. Grandma says that won’t happen till he gets married again.”
“Sounds like people have a lot of opinions,” I say.
“Do you want to see my room?” she asks. “It has dinosaurs.”
“Dinosaurs are cool,” I say, following her down a hallway to a room that’s almost as big as my whole apartment. There’s a hand-painted dinosaur mural that covers the walls. There’s also a dinosaur bedspread, dinosaur stuffed animals, and a dinosaur night-light.
Down the hall I hear a door opening and then steps approaching.
I’m not quite ready to face Cole, so I keep my attention on Kiera. “How long have you liked dinosaurs?”
“Since last month,” a woman’s voice says.
I turn to see a woman with the same soft face and freckles as Kiera. Only she’s got gorgeous red hair, and no hot chocolate on her designer clothes.
It only takes me a second to recognize her from the social media images I saw. This is Cole’s ex-wife.
“Cole spoils her,” she says with exasperated fondness. “I’m Bridget.”
“Amelia,” I say.
