She doesn’t answer right away. If Bliss has an attorney, I’ll have to end the call and speak with her counsel.
“I don’t have an attorney at the moment. No need to waste a bunch of money on lawyers. Once Fletcher takes the paternity test, this is a done deal. But now that Fletcher has a lawyer, I guess I should consider hiring myself a mouthpiece too.”
I hope to have this matter all wrapped up long before Bliss has time to do that.
“That’s up to you,” I say. “However, I think we may be able to resolve this without you having to spend money on an attorney.”
“So Fletcher is finally ready to admit that he’s Harmony’s father?”
I sidestep her question. “I’m wondering if you’d be willing to come to my office to discuss settlement.”
“We don’t have anything to settle. The paternity test will do that.”
“As you know, Fletcher doesn’t believe he’s the father of your daughter.”
“And as you know—or maybe you don’t—your client is a big fat liar. He is most definitely Harmony’s father.”
The flash of anger in her voice reverberates through the phone.
“Are you saying you two didn’t break up more than eleven months before your daughter was born?”
“Depends on how you define break up.”
“And how do you define it?”
“Ms.—What did you say your name was again?”
“Henderson. Vernetta Henderson.”
“Ms. Henderson, I feel like I’m on the witness stand and I don’t particularly like that feeling. Why don’t we skip the bull? Exactly what is Fletcher trying to pull?”
“Fletcher is hoping the two of you can reach a financial agreement that would make this matter go away.”
“My daughter’s not a matter.” Her voice hardens into steel. “And she’s not going away.”
“Please forgive my poor choice of words. But I do have a rather generous offer that Fletcher would like to present to you. Would you be willing to come to my office so we can discuss it in person?”
The line seems to go dead, but I wait her out.
“So Fletcher plans to offer me a few bucks to disappear? Is that how he wants to make this matter go away?”
“I would really prefer to give you the details in person.”
“I don’t know what Fletcher told you, but trust me, he is definitely Harmony’s father.”
As confident as Fletcher is that he is not the father, Bliss sounds equally confident that he is.
“It would be great if we could talk in person,” I press.
“Sure. I’d at least like to hear what he’s putting on the table. I’m busy for the next couple of days. How about Friday?”
That’s three days from now. I was hoping to meet with her sooner, but decide not to push it. We schedule the meeting for eleven and I hang up.
I sit there for a few minutes wondering if Fletcher has given me the full story. Then I remember Special’s theory about women getting pregnant by confiscating sperm-filled condoms. If that’s what Bliss did, it would explain how Fletcher could strenuously assert that he isn’t the father at the same time Bliss insists that he is.
I turn to my computer, call up Google and start researching turkey baster pregnancies.
CHAPTER 8
Special checked her makeup in the rearview mirror and applied another coat of passionate plum lipstick. She was so thrilled about meeting Darius that she felt like a bubble ready to burst. If the man turned out to be half as wonderful in person as he was on the phone, he would definitely be The One.
She paused abruptly and gave herself a stern look in the eye.
“Just calm down,” she told herself.
Vernetta was absolutely right. She needed to take it slow. Every time she got hyped about a guy, she only ended up getting her feelings hurt in weeks or months, sometimes even days.
“Slow,” she mumbled. “Take it slow. I’m just meeting a new friend. Not a husband.”
Stepping out of her car, Special glided toward the restaurant. She had insisted that Darius choose their meeting spot. She wanted to check out his taste early on and prayed he didn’t select some tacky chain restaurant. She was pleasantly surprised when he picked Lido’s in Manhattan Beach. She loved Italian food.
Standing at the hostess stand, Special scanned the room, hoping to spot him before he noticed her. She’d intentionally arrived a few minutes late. She wanted Darius already seated so he could watch her strut toward him. Her bright yellow, t-strap dress—thigh-high in the front, floor length in the back—showed off her best feature, her mile-long legs. On most dates, she’d be showing enough cleavage to make a grown man want to breastfeed. Tonight, she revealed just a sliver. No need to bombard the brother with all of her goodies at once.
The hostess seated another customer, then directed her attention to Special. “My reservation’s under the name Darius Reed.”
The perky brunette flashed a big grin, then whispered. “He told us all about meeting you on MyHarmony. That’s how my cousin met her husband. I have my fingers crossed for you two.”
Special’s face glowed. The fact that Darius was blabbing their business to the hostess meant he was just as excited as she was. Nice.
“Follow me,” the woman said. “Mr. Reed requested a secluded spot out on the patio.”
When Special saw him in the flesh, the apprehension eased from her body. She’d heard horror stories about people posting pictures online that had no resemblance to how they looked today. That wasn’t the case with Darius.
He’s even finer than his profile picture.
Darius had mentioned that he worked out, but this man had the bulging chest of a professional body builder.
“You are one fine sista,” Darius blurted out, as soon as she was within hearing range. He picked up a single, long-stemmed rose from the table and handed it to her.
Special hesitated for an awkward moment as the hostess pulled out her chair.
Why don’t you get your butt up and give me a hug?
During her drive over, Special had fantasized about their first hug. He should have been the one pulling out her chair.
Strike one.
That simple mistake was enough to make her slow her roll. She did not want a man who didn’t have basic home training. Her lips were about to twist into one big pout when she caught herself. She would not let that one faux pas ruin the entire evening. Darius would have to screw up at least two more times before she wrote him off. She would let it go. For now.
Special placed the flower to her nose and took a whiff. “Thank you very much.”
“You’re most welcome.”
As they sat there gazing at each other with smiles so big their cheeks hurt from smiling so much, it was as if no one else existed.
Darius had thick, luscious lips flanked by deep dimples on both cheeks. His hair was closely cropped and his face cleanly shaven.
“Just give me a few more minutes.” He shifted in his chair. “You’re so beautiful, I just want to look at you.”
She let him.
“I’m not sure we have anything left to talk about,” Special quipped. “I feel like I already know everything about you.”
“There’s more,” Darius said with a mischievous wink. “I didn’t give it all up. I’m kinda cautious about opening myself up to people. There’re way too many fake people in L.A.”
“Wait a minute.” Special’s right hand flew to her hips. “So you’ve been holding back on me?”
Darius winked. “You’ll learn everything you need to know when the time is right.”
“I’m going to hold you to that.”
“Tell me more about your work as a private investigator,” he said.
“I’m not quite official yet. I’m working as an apprentice for a friend of mine to
rack up enough on-the-job hours to take the PI exam.”
She went on to tell him about her new case, neglecting, of course, to mention any names or too many specifics. “I’ve already started checking out the woman online.”
“That’s a good place to start. You should also delve into court records too. You can do that online now. And you’d be surprised how much intel neighbors are willing to divulge.”
“That’s great advice. I’ll definitely follow up.” These tips weren’t anything she didn’t already know, but she didn’t want to bruise his ego. “So do you miss being in the military?”
“I miss the camaraderie, but I dig what I do now. Helping companies strengthen their security platforms allows me to use all the stuff I learned in the Marines on a more strategic level.”
Darius rested his forearms on the table and repositioned himself in the chair for the second, or was it the third time? Special smiled. The brother was probably just flexing, trying to show off his muscles. She could see the outline of his impressive pecs through his tight-fitting Lycra shirt.
“What I do now is also a lot safer and gives me time to smell the roses,” he continued. “I just closed escrow on a vacation home in Palm Springs. Paid cash for it.”
He paused to dip a piece of bread into a dish of olive oil and Parmesan cheese.
If he was trying to impress her, it was working. “I love Palm Springs.”
“Then we’ll most definitely have to take a drive down there for the weekend.”
“Just say when and I’m there.”
They ordered appetizers and entrées and their conversation continued to flow.
“So did you remember to bring yours?” Darius asked.
“Yep.” Special opened her purse, pulled out a copy of her MyHarmony.com questionnaire and handed it to him. Darius placed his on the table in front of her.
“This is scary,” Special exclaimed as she read. “Our answers are almost exactly the same on nearly every question.”
Darius smiled and nodded. “I guess they knew what they were doing when they hooked us up.”
By the time dessert arrived, there were only a handful of customers left in the restaurant.
Darius glanced around. “I guess we’re closing the place down tonight.”
“Sure looks that way.”
He reached across the table and grabbed her right hand and held it in both of his. “There’s something we need to talk about. Something important.”
In a snap, his somber tone had cast a dark curtain of dread over the entire evening. Special felt her stomach do a double flip.
“I should’ve told you this the first time we talked,” Darius began. “So I’ll need to ask your forgiveness for not doing that.”
Special fought the urge to pull her hand away.
“If you’re asking for forgiveness on the first date,” she joked, hoping her nervousness didn’t show, “that can’t be a good sign.”
The brothers in L.A. are so dang trifflin’! If this man tells me he’s married, I swear to God I’m going to punch him in the face.
“Okay, let’s hear it.”
“I neglected—intentionally neglected—to tell you something about myself. Something important. But I needed to know that we could connect without it getting in the way.”
“You’re starting to scare me, Darius.” His nervousness was beginning to rub off on her.
“I noticed the expression on your face when I didn’t stand to greet you when you first arrived,” he said.
“Actually,” Special admitted, wanting him to hurry up and get to the point, “I was a little put off by that.”
“Yeah, um…well, there’s a reason I didn’t get up.”
Darius slowly pushed back from the table, which left her even more confused.
It wasn’t until he lifted the tablecloth and Special saw the wheelchair that her heart stopped beating.
CHAPTER 9
I’ve been sitting in the waiting area outside Fletcher McClain’s office long enough to be perturbed. I’m anxious to talk to him about my research on the turkey baster cases. Our scheduled meeting should have started twenty-six minutes ago.
His assistant, Gabriella, a gorgeous Salvadoran, apologizes for the third time for her boss’ tardiness.
“He’ll be on his way down from the boardroom any minute now. Why don’t I have you wait in his office?”
Fletcher’s office is about the size of a ritzy hotel lobby and has the same posh ambience. There’s a marble desk in one corner and a living room setup in another, complete with a couch, two armchairs, and a coffee table. I take a seat on the leather couch and enjoy the view of the Hollywood Hills. Five minutes later, Fletcher flies into the room and plops into an armchair across from me. He’s not wearing a jacket and his shirtsleeves are rolled up to the elbow. An earpiece protrudes from his left ear.
“Hi, Fletcher. I wanted to talk to you about—”
He holds up a finger cutting me off as he speaks into his Bluetooth earpiece. “Talk to Jackson about that, and don’t sign the contract until I’ve had a chance to go through it one more time.”
He stands up, snatches a bottle of Tums from his desk drawer and pops two pink tablets into his mouth. I’m certain the deep creases etched into his forehead weren’t there when I saw him two days ago.
The phone on his desk rings, but he ignores it.
“Gabriella will get it.” He returns to the armchair. “Okay, what’s up? Did Bliss take my offer?”
Instead of looking at me, he’s scrolling through his phone.
“Fletcher, I’m going to need your full attention.”
“You got it”—he glances up at me, then back down at his phone—”for the next seventeen minutes. Sorry, but it’s turning out to be a hellacious day.”
“We’re going to need a lot more time than that.”
“Fine, but you can’t have it today.” He slips his phone into his shirt pocket. “The clock’s ticking. So shoot, counselor.”
“First, I wanted to let you know that I have an appointment with Bliss on Friday morning. Hopefully, she’ll take the money and run. But I have to be honest. After talking to her, I don’t think she will. She’s pretty insistent that the child is yours.”
He shakes his head. “Not possible.”
I inhale. “I think I have an explanation for why Bliss is so confident that you’re the father. It’s a little far-fetched, but it’s a very real possibility. I’ve been researching—”
“I don’t mean to be rude, counselor, but I need you to cut to the chase. Time is money.”
I decide not to take his curtness personally and do as instructed. “Bliss might’ve stolen your sperm.”
“Excuse me?” Astonishment bathes his face. “How in the hell could she do that?”
“I’m assuming you used a condom when you were with her.”
“Always.”
“They’re called turkey baster pregnancies. It’s where a woman retrieves sperm from a used condom and uses a turkey baster or a syringe to inseminate herself. We need to consider the possibility that Bliss did that to you.”
Fletcher takes off his earpiece and sets it on the coffee table. I definitely have his full attention now.
“So even if the child was born eleven months after you last slept with her,” I continue, “it could be your kid if she saved your sperm.”
He squints in confusion. “That’s crazy.”
Fletcher is a bright guy, but he seems to be having trouble wrapping his mind around this concept.
“Wouldn’t the sperm cells dry out or something?”
“Not if the semen is frozen. That happened in several of the cases I read about. I copied a few articles for you.” I place a folder on the coffee table. “You should read them when you have some time.”
�
�If you’re trying to scare the hell out of me, Vernetta, you’ve accomplished your goal.”
“I just wanted you to be aware of this possibility.”
Fletcher rubs his jaw and stares out of the window.
“No way.” He whips back around to face me. “She never had access to my condoms. I either tossed them in the trash or flushed them down the toilet.”
“Always?”
He hesitates. “Yeah, I’m almost certain.”
“And you never let her take it off?”
He hesitates again. “Uh, a couple of times. Maybe.”
He stands up and starts pacing.
“This is nuts. I only dated that psycho for six months. She’s not going to disrupt my life like this. If she—” He abruptly stops talking. “Hey, if she got pregnant by stealing my friggin’ sperm, that would be fraud.”
“Yeah, probably. But even if you have a valid fraud case, that has no bearing on your obligation to pay child support. If the kid is biologically yours, you’ll be on the hook financially for the next eighteen years. The law will focus only on the well-being of the child. It doesn’t matter how she got here.”
Fletcher dashes back over to his desk, grabs the Tums bottle and pops two more pills.
“And Fletcher, with your income, the child support payments are going to be pretty significant. I spoke to a family law attorney this morning. California uses a straightforward mathematical equation. After subtracting your basic living expenses, it could be somewhere around ten percent of your monthly income.”
“Bullshit! I made five-hundred grand last month. Ten percent of that is fifty grand. Over eighteen years”—he must’ve been a whiz in math because he calculates the numbers in a flash—“that would be ten-point-eight million dollars!”
His voice goes up two octaves and his face looks as if it might crack. “Nobody needs that much money to take care of a kid.”
“The law doesn’t base child support on how much the kid needs, but on how much the parents earn. The child is entitled to have the same standard of living as the non-custodial parent.”
“But I didn’t want a kid with her and she knew that.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
Lawful Deception Page 4
