The planet seems to stop spinning for a moment. “What?”
“You heard me. I want a grandbaby. That fuckin’ Josh Singer’s bragging about his grandson.” Contempt drips from the last word.
Josh Singer is, in my father’s mind, the Arch-Nemesis. There doesn’t seem to be any real reason, but then, Dad doesn’t need a reason to hate someone.
“Fuck him and his bragging,” Dad grouses.
“Okay, let’s back up a bit. Number one, Josh’s kids are married. Grandchildren are what happen when your children are married.” Why do I have to be the one to unruffle his feathers? Some young, nubile thing should be on that. He’s surrounded by women all the time.
“You don’t need to be married to make a baby!”
“Yeah, well, I’m not doing it your way.” When I have a baby, I’m going to marry the mother of my child first. Do things properly.
“I just want one, not seven! Just one! What does a man need to do to get what he wants for his damn birthday?”
Oh for God’s sake! I’m not having a baby just to give him something to rub it into Josh Singer’s face. “I gotta go. I have an urgent call.”
“Nothing’s more urgent than this!”
“Actually, everything is.” I hang up, turn my phone off and let out a rough breath.
“Um. You okay?” comes Amy’s voice from behind me.
Oh, fuck. Rubbing my forehead, I turn around. She’s standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking gorgeous and sexy as hell in her shirt and shorts, her long legs and feet bare. “How much did you hear?”
She rolls her eyes left and right in a slightly amused do-you-really-wanna-know expression. “Something about an urgent call? Did you mean a call of nature?”
I laugh. “No, don’t worry. Nothing that urgent.”
“If you say so. But don’t deny yourself just because I’m here.” A corner of her lips twitches, then she lets out a small giggle. “By the way, who was that?”
“My dad.”
“Oh. Do you two…um…get along?”
With another woman, I’d just shrug and smile. No need to go into detail about my personal life. With Amy, I want to answer…but honesty would be embarrassing. Dad is one of the things that my brothers and I pretend don’t exist as much as possible.
“We get along great.” As long as we don’t have any contact. I grin, determined to move the conversation into more pleasant territory. “Wanna see the place? I haven’t given you a tour.”
Chapter Nineteen
Amy
Emmett doesn’t seem that interested in talking about his father, so I decide not to probe. Just because he gave me more soul-destroying orgasms today than all of my past boyfriends combined doesn’t give me the right to dig into his personal life.
Especially after I said that what we’re doing is a fling—just sex. So I focus on the tour of his mansion.
Emmett’s home is rich. But not gaudy-new-money rich. It’s understated and classy, an interesting combination of marble, wood and crystal. The furniture is contemporary and expensive, but it doesn’t have a don’t-touch museum vibe that you see in some homes. It invites you to relax and let your guard down, which isn’t so easy to pull off in a place that’s dripping with money. Original paintings hang from walls. No family photos with his dad, although I do spot a couple of shots with Grant and a few other guys Emmett’s age. There are also several photos of Emmett with a well-preserved brunette, whose similarities to Emmett are so striking that she has to be his mom. Lots of pretty flower arrangements everywhere—and they’re fresh. Can’t be more than a day old.
“I’m surprised you have so many flowers.” We settle on a plush couch in the living room opposite a huge TV. Since our situation is mainly about sex, I don’t want to get too personal.
“Why is that so surprising?”
“When do you have the time to enjoy them?” Besides, Emmett doesn’t strike me as the type to buy flowers just because.
“I don’t, but there’s a local florist my mom likes. It makes her happy that I support him.”
Emmett must adore his mother. He’s spending a fortune on flowers he doesn’t care for, and he didn’t become rich by wasting money. Maybe those nasty articles about his mom’s mercenary ways weren’t exactly true. Lowbrow publications aren’t generally interested in the truth, just whatever gets the most clicks.