A Ruthless Proposition

by Natasha Anders

  “I brought you here for a reason,” he told her.

  “Yes, to talk. So talk.”

  “I actually wanted you to see this place.”

  “Why?” She didn’t like the sound of that. Why would he bring her to see his home? And why was he now evading her eyes?

  “Look.” He sighed. “This pregnancy has taken us both by surprise, and considering how much you dislike me, I can’t imagine you were too thrilled when you first learned about it. Were you?”

  She hesitated before shaking her head.

  “I wasn’t.”

  “Yet you decided, despite your initial reservations, to keep the baby. Why?”

  “Not because I wanted anything from you,” she said, hating her own defensiveness.

  “I know you don’t have a financial motive for keeping the baby,” he admitted. “And I apologize for initially implying that you did. I’m just curious.”

  Implying? He had out and out accused her of trying to extort money from him.

  “At first I wasn’t sure if I wanted to terminate the pregnancy or not,” she said, letting the whole implying thing slide for now. She pushed her half-eaten meal aside, appetite lost. He did the same with his meal, seemingly as disturbed by her confession as she had been to make it.

  “And then I wasn’t sure if I wanted to keep him or not. But then he had fingers and fingernails.” She wiped at her blurry eyes and was surprised to discover moisture there. “I just felt so protective of him after that. And then I started to think of him as my baby. And that was it. I was going to be this baby’s mother. But in order to take proper care of him, I’d need financial support, and that’s why I approached you.”

  “Would you ever have told me about the baby if you’d decided to give him up for adoption?”

  “I don’t know. There was—is—nothing between us, so it just seemed like it would complicate things even more.”

  “I want you to know that I understand everything you’ve done, all the decisions you’ve made up till now, and I want you to recognize that I won’t attempt to take this baby from you. But I also want you to acknowledge that I have some rights here too.”

  “You were perfectly willing to give those rights up just a few weeks ago,” she reminded him, and he leveled a steady look at her.

  “And just like you, I changed my mind.”

  “So, now what?”

  “You can’t continue living in that apartment, Cleo. The stairs are dangerous, and the mold is a health hazard. And the walls are so damp you can’t tell me it doesn’t leak during the winter. It can’t be good for you or the baby.”

  “I’ll be moving in with Luc and Blue next month.”

  “I don’t want you to dismiss this out of hand . . . ,” he began, his cautious tone setting off alarm bells in her mind and making her sit up a little straighter. “But I’d like you to consider moving in here.”

  “Absolutely not.” It was a knee-jerk response, but she really didn’t want to even deliberate over the pros and cons of his proposal.

  “I know it seems preposterous, but my plan has merit.”

  “I don’t think you’ve fully considered this plan. The baby won’t be here for another six months; that’s time enough to agree on some kind of joint-custody arrangement.” The thought of sharing her baby’s time with him wasn’t at all appealing, but she did acknowledge that he had rights in this situation despite the documents he’d signed. She could only hope that he changed his mind again before she gave birth.

  “The baby is already here, and I want her to have the best possible care even before her birth,” he told her.

  “I can do that,” she insisted.

  “I can do it better.” She gasped at that arrogant proclamation, which embodied everything she had feared about his involvement. This was Dante Damaso taking charge and railroading her.

  “How dare you? I’ve been taking care of myself quite fine up until now, with absolutely zero support from you. One little letter and suddenly you’re ready to play dad? And what if you change your mind again next week? Or next month? Or years down the line? How do I deal with the fallout then?”

  “I told you I wasn’t really sure what I’d like my actual role to be, but I do want to be a part of that child’s life.”

  “As what?” Frustration made her voice shrill. “His uncle? A friend of the family? Figure out what you want before you drag my baby into your life, Dante.”

  “I don’t know what I want. All I know is that I would like an opportunity to work it out, and I still have six months within which to do that. In the meantime, you moving in here would help me make that decision while simultaneously solving the immediate predicament you have with your living arrangements.”

  “I don’t want to live with you.” She shook her head, still unable to believe he was suggesting such an outlandish notion. Yet his eyes were deadly serious.

  “You know how much I travel. I’m hardly ever here, so you’d have the run of the place. You can make yourself at home, have friends over, live comfortably, and I can be sure that you’re safe and well taken care of while you’re pregnant with my kid.”

  It was a completely insane idea. She wasn’t going to allow him to manipulate her like this. Not while she still had options.

  “And what happens after the baby’s born?” Her question seemed to stump him, and he ruminated over it for a few moments before replying.

  “We’ll work something else out. Find a suitable home for you both. I’ll help with that, and if you have reservations about me helping with property, I’ll be more than happy to put it in the baby’s name.”

  “Why not just do that now?” she asked.

  “By the time we find the right place and complete all the paperwork, your pregnancy would be too advanced. And where would you live in the meantime? With Blue and Luc? Do you think that’s fair? Being a burden on them like that? Besides, there’s no name to put on the papers yet.”

  Oh, he had all the answers today.

  “It wouldn’t be a good idea for me to live here, Dante.” She pushed herself away from the table. “I’d like to leave now, please.”

  He nodded, the muscles bunching in his jaw as he fought to keep whatever emotion he was feeling under wraps. He tossed aside his napkin.

  “Very well.” He helped her shrug into her jacket and then lifted his phone up from one of the kitchen counters.

  “James, we’ll be down in a couple of minutes. Meet us at the elevator.” He hung up without another word and waved her ahead of him. “After you.”

  The sun was just starting to set half an hour later, when Dante walked Cleo up to the security gate of her building. An unsavory-looking young man was hanging out next to the gate. He was smoking something that smelled a little too aromatic to be a cigarette and jerked his chin at them when he saw them approach.

  “’Sup?” he muttered and then looked away from Dante’s intimidating glare.

  “Thanks, Dante,” she said firmly, hoping to send him back to the car, where James stood waiting. He was having none of that, though, and lifted an unimpressed brow at her words.

  “I’m walking you to your door,” he said, glancing at the lurking boy with palpable distaste. “For obvious reasons.”

  “It’s not that bad,” she protested. “They’re all mostly students.”

  “Well, that particular student”—he said with a nod toward the sinister-looking young man—“must be putting himself through college by dealing dope. And those two over there . . .” This time he nodded toward a giggling, swaying pair of young women in tight miniskirts and thigh-high boots. “Are probably hooking to pay their tuition.”

  Cleo peered at the girls in the gloomy light and gasped when she recognized them. They saw her at the same time and screeched in delight at the sight of her.

  “OMG! Cleo!” Coco screamed, and Cleo caught Dante involuntarily flinching at the sound of that high-pitched voice. “It’s so weird to find you waiting down here for us. It’s
like you knew we were coming.”

  “She did know, remember?” Gigi reminded her in an only slightly less shrill voice. And Cleo hadn’t really known they were coming, since nothing definite had been arranged.

  “What the hell?” Dante muttered beneath his breath, and Cleo smiled at the consternation she could hear in his voice.

  “Hi, girls,” Cleo greeted, and the two scantily clad women fell all over her, showering her with hugs and kisses. Coco, predictably, was the first one to notice Dante.

  “Oh, hi there. I’m Coco Sibiya. Nice to meet you. Always happy to meet any friend of Cleo’s.” The staggeringly beautiful ebony-skinned woman grabbed his hand before he could offer it and shook it heartily. “And this is Gigi.”

  “Hi.” Petite and pretty blonde Gigi waved shyly but didn’t try to take his hand.

  Dante thrust his hands in his pockets and stared at the three of them thoughtfully. Cleo tried to picture them through his eyes and realized that they were all approximately the same height—just slightly above five feet—with similar body types. Gigi and Coco were a little slimmer than Cleo, since she’d started to pick up some baby weight.

  “How do you all know one another?” he asked curiously, momen-tarily diverted from the loitering wannabe thug, who was also watching them curiously.

  “We went to dance school together. And Cleo and I danced with the same company for a year after we graduated,” Coco explained. “She always was the most talented and going on to bigger and better things before Cal dropped her.”

  Cleo glared daggers at Coco for wording it like that. Cal still felt immense guilt over what had happened and had tried his damnedest to make it up to her. He’d taken time off from his own career to help her recuperate, and in a way the incident had ruined his career too. Cleo suspected that he was unable to allow himself to succeed.

  “He dropped you?” There was a dangerous edge in Dante’s voice.

  “It was an accident.” It was the first time—since it had happened—that Cleo could hear a ring of absolute truth and sincerity in her own voice. How could she have allowed one of her best friends to wallow in his own guilt for so long? How could she have steeped herself in such absolute self-pity that she’d been blind to what she was doing to him? God, she was an awful person. Shallow, selfish, and weak. She shook her head, slightly dazed by the direction of her thoughts.

  She looked up at Dante, whose eyes were narrowed in concern, and hated the doubt she now felt about him, about how she was dealing with her pregnancy and his need to be involved.

  “Yeah, well, his career took a hit after that too,” Coco cheerfully divulged.

  “This is ancient history, Coco. I’d rather not discuss it any longer,” Cleo said pointedly, and Gigi, bless her soul, jumped right into the awkward breach.

  “Well, we’re here to take Cleo out for a night on the town. Would you like to join us, Mr. . . . ?”

  “Damaso,” he informed her, and held out a hand to Gigi, who shook it with enthusiasm. “And I’m not sure Cleo’s feeling up to a night on the town.” The last was said with a worried look at Cleo, who felt a little punch-drunk after her epiphany.

  “Cleo?” Coco waved a hand in front of her dazed eyes. “What’s up with you, girl?”

  “Uh . . .” Cleo blinked, finally coming back to the present. “I’m a little tired. Not up to a night of partying, I’m afraid.”

  “Aww, come on, don’t be such a spoilsport, it’ll be just like old times.” Coco pouted and Cleo nearly giggled at that. “Old times” had included early bedtimes, brutally long rehearsals, tired minds and bodies, and disgustingly painful feet. The few nights they had gone out to “party” had nearly always ended after only two or three drinks before midnight had effectively wiped her out. Not exactly halcyon party nights.

  “I’m a little pregnant,” she admitted with a smile, happy at that moment to let that old life go and excited for whatever the future held. “No drinking for me.”

  “Seriously?” Gigi’s shriek was impressive and could rival anything Coco had in her bag of screeches. “That’s awesome. I’ll make a fantastic aunt, Cleo.” She hugged Cleo tightly. Cleo laughed at her enthusiasm. Coco seemed a little shell-shocked but hugged her as well.

  “Wow, this is unexpected news,” she said.

  “Yeah, I’m making a few lifestyle changes. I have to leave this place, for one. Cleo pointed to the building behind her. “I’ll probably wind up moving in with the baby’s dad.”

  She saw Dante’s head swivel in her direction, and she met his shocked, questioning gaze with a shrug. After everything she’d just learned about herself, she felt that maybe giving him the benefit of the doubt would be the best thing for her baby, for Dante, and for herself. She hoped this was the right course of action. Only time would tell.

  In the end, Coco and Gigi walked her up to her apartment, and Cleo managed to send Dante on his way after he extracted a promise from her that she would call him later. Cal wasn’t home when the women reached the apartment, which was a blessing—in that he absolutely hated Coco and, to a lesser extent, Gigi—and a curse because Cleo was desperate to talk to him after her revelation. She figured he was probably uncertain of her mood and hiding out after “abandoning” her at the doctor’s office that afternoon.

  Coco and Gigi stayed for a couple of hours, eating forbidden chocolate truffles, chatting about the company’s new production of Cinderella and Coco’s role as one of the evil stepsisters, Cal, the weather, and eventually Dante.

  “So, that man is gorgeous,” Coco said, licking some melted chocolate off her fingertips.

  “Which one?” Cleo asked evasively, and both Gigi and Coco threw her a dry look.

  “Do we have to answer that?” Coco asked incredulously.

  “Okay, fine. Yeah, he’s good-looking.”

  “And he’s the baby’s dad?” Coco prompted. With everything that had happened, was the nondisclosure agreement still valid? Cleo had no idea how things stood between her and Dante now.

  “He’s my ex-boss,” she hedged. “We were just going over some details involving my old job. He’s a bit of a prick, actually.” Most of that was technically true.

  “So, who is the baby’s dad?” Gigi asked, falling for the subterfuge like the sweet, trusting soul she was. Coco’s eyes told Cleo that she wasn’t buying it at all, but thankfully she didn’t pursue the matter.

  “Nobody you’d know,” Cleo said dismissively, before asking Coco another question about her new role. As a diversion, it was pretty effective, because there was nothing Coco loved more than talking about herself.

  Cal wasn’t back by the time they left, so Cleo bit the bullet and called Dante. Luckily she still had his number in her phone. He answered after the second ring.

  “Did you mean it?” he asked without preamble.

  “Yes, but there are a few caveats.”

  “Of course there are,” he said drily.

  “I won’t have my freedom curbed,” she said, ignoring his sarcasm.

  “How the hell would I curb your freedom?” He actually sounded offended. “I won’t shackle you to the kitchen sink or whatever the hell it is you’re imagining.”

  “I just mean that I’ll come and go as I please. I still dance regularly at a studio in Newlands, and I’m thinking of teaching a few classes to earn some money.” She’d been thinking about this option more and more after her last visit to Susan’s studio. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad; maybe she could finally let go of her old ambitions and take pride in her students’ achievements. It would help if said students were kids instead of teens or adults, though. She wasn’t sure she’d be any good at it, but she was still excited at the thought of a fresh start.

  “You don’t have to work,” Dante said.

  “Yes, I do.” There was a long silence after that firm proclamation before she heard him clear his throat.

  “What else?” he asked.

  “My life is my own, and where I go, what I do, and who I do it wit
h are none of your concern.”

  “You mean with men?”

  “I mean in general. But yeah, any relationships—platonic or otherwise—I happen to form with other men are not your business.”

  “You intend to get involved with guys while you’re pregnant?”

  “Who knows? Life is weird like that.”

  “Fine, and the same rule applies to me.”

  “Whatever.” Like she cared. Okay, maybe she cared. A little. “And we’ll be looking for a small—not huge, expensive, or ostentatious—place for the baby and me to move into after he’s born. The place will be in his name. It will never belong to me. Any money from you will go toward my medical bills and the baby’s necessities, like clothes, medical bills, and education.”

  “I want to set up a trust fund and a university fund.”

  She let him have that one, since the next one was so important to her.

  “The baby’s last name will be Knight, and while you will play a role in his or her life, you will never be named as this child’s father.” He was silent for so long that she feared they had lost the connection. When his voice eventually broke the silence, it was quiet and a little hoarse.

  “Fine.”

  Cleo exhaled the breath she’d been holding and allowed herself to relax.

  “I want all of that in writing and witnessed by both attorneys before I move in,” she added shakily.

  “Right.”

  After another achingly long silence, Cleo felt her eyes well up with tears. She hoped to God this was the right move for all of them. She didn’t want to be unfair, but she didn’t want to screw herself over either.

  “Dante,” she whispered.

  “Yeah?”

  “Thank you.”

  “Mi placer, cielo.” The Spanish startled her. Dante’s English was so good that, despite his accent, she sometimes forgot that Spanish was his first language. She was starting to learn that he only ever used it when he was under emotional duress.

  “I think I’ll have to tell Luc about this now,” she acknowledged, saddened by how the news would potentially affect her brother.