Page 15 of Starving for Her
“Seemed happy about it, too,” he nods. “I think she sees you as a meal ticket.”
I shake my head. “Of course she does.”
“But not Layla?” he asks.
“No,” I reply firmly. “Now, tell me what the deal is.”
“We’ve been sent an e-mail from your lawyer. Apparently Becky has had a paternity test done and well—it’s showing the kid is yours.”
“What!?” I exclaim, a flood of anger causing my cock to subside as I grab the edge of my desk in an iron grip. “Impossible! How the fuck did she get my DNA!?”
“We don’t know,” Al replies as my blood starts to boil. I knew Becky was insane, but this is a new low for her. The kid can’t be mine!
“So what’s she want?” I snarl. “Money?”
“She wants to meet with you. Now.”
“Now?” I snap. “What are you talking about, Al?”
“She’s alone at her house. She says if you don’t come see her tonight, she’s going to…take some steps.”
“Fuck.”
Tonightthis has to happen? I turn and look up at the ceiling toward the bathroom where I left Layla. I have the perfect girl here, naked and waiting, and I have to go see my lunatic ex-wife. See—even billionaires have to eat shit sometimes.
“I have a car running out front,” Al tells me. “Might I suggest changing first?”
“Fuck that,” I shrug. “I’m not dressing up for her.”
I make my way outside and jump in the Ferrari. The engine roars like the anger inside me as I speed down the drive and out the gate. Of all the mistakes in my life, she was the biggest. I can hardly remember the few failures I had with my business, but the memories of Becky stick in my mind like a poison.
I take a few deep breaths as I pull up and park outside of the amazing house that I paid for. Thankfully, she didn’t take me for half when we divorced, but she did get a nice fucking payday. But I guess that wasn’t enough for her.
I want to break the damn door down as I knock, and see red when she opens it up, wearing short-shorts and a white tank top, the same outfit she used to wear to bed with me. She’s playing games.
“Paternity test, eh?” I ask her. “You didn’t get enough out of me, Becky? It’s not enough to be a millionaire? You want to be a multi-millionaire?”
“Hi, James,” she smiles—utterly patronizing. “Why don’t you come in?”
“Not on your life,” I tell her. “Just tell me what it is you want.”
“I just want what’s best for my child,” she replies. “Our child.”
“He’s not our child, Becky,” I tell her, trying to keep things under control. “He’s your child.”
“That’s not what the paternity test says,” she says with a smile that enrages me.
“Where did you even get my DNA?” I ask. “This is bullshit.”
“Found some of your hairs in your old gym bag,” she replies. “One you didn’t care enough about to take with you.”
I’m steaming. It looks like she finally got that butterfly tattoo on her arm that she mentioned getting while we were together. She asked me what I thought of it, and I told her honestly that I wasn’t a fan. I know her well enough to know that her getting it now is a blatant fuck you to me. Yes, she’s that level of crazy.
“And the money you have isn’t enough to raise him?”
“This isn’t about money,” she tells me, stepping out of the house. “This is about us. I don’t want our child being raised in a broken home.”
“So go find his real dad,” I tell her. “And marry him.”