“Yes, actually, I am.” She would rather stay with his organization than start over somewhere new. But she had certain conditions if she was going to remain with him. “I’ll call Barbara and arrange a meeting with her. But I want the same pay and the same benefits I have now, with Monday-through-Friday hours. No overtime, no mandatory weekends and no gigs. I’m not attending any of your shows, not even the local ones.”
“Yeah, right,” he scoffed. “You say that now, but I know what a workaholic you are.”
“I mean it, Tommy. I’m not going to babysit you anymore.”
“All right, all right.” He held up his hands, Old West style, as if she was preparing to shoot him. “You can have whatever you want.” He lowered his hands. “I just don’t want you to go off and start working for someone else. It’s going to be tough to replace you, as it is. I need you, Soph.”
His words sent a jolt of heat through her veins. Damn, she hated it when he had that effect on her.
He raised his water bottle in a mock toast, his hazel eyes locking onto hers. “You’re my go-to girl.”
She forced herself to hold his gaze. The unwelcome heat was still attacking her body, but glancing away would be admitting defeat. She didn’t want him to know he was making her weak.
“You mean ‘woman,’” she said.
“What?”
“Go-to woman. I haven’t been a girl since you put that rubber snake down the front of my shirt.”
He burst into a reminiscent laugh. “You’re right—you’re all grown up now. Damn sexy, too.”
Well, hell. Could he make it any worse? Struggling to form a response, she tried a joke. “Yeah, and I’m going to be one hot mama, too.” She made a big, sweeping motion over her abdomen. “Just wait until you see me then.”
He kept staring at her. Only now he was looking at her as if she was a specimen under a microscope—a pretty little organism he didn’t quite understand.
“I’ve never touched a pregnant woman’s stomach before,” he said. “When the kid is kicking, will you let me feel it?”
The heat intensified, deep in her bones. “After your recent baby scare, I’d think you’d be more shy around pregnant women.”
He shifted in his chair. “I’m just lucky they were already able to do a paternity test.”
“Yes, you got lucky.” Kara wasn’t due for four more months, but there was no reason to wait for the baby to be born. They’d agreed on a NIPP, a noninvasive prenatal paternity test, where their blood had been collected to do a DNA profile on the fetus. They’d done it just nine weeks into her pregnancy. Tommy’s brother, Brandon, had suggested the procedure. He was Tommy’s attorney. Overall, everything had been kept quiet. Kara hadn’t gone to the press, so Tommy had dodged that bullet, too.
He tugged a hand through his hair. “I’m just glad that poor kid didn’t get stuck with me being its dad. Not just from an emotional standpoint, but with the way I travel, too. I’d feel awful if it was waiting around to see me, like Brandon and I used to do with our dad. I don’t know how I’d cope with the distress it would cause. Some people take their kids on the road with them, but I couldn’t fathom doing that, either.”
“Me, neither.” Sophie’s mom had been prepared to stay home to raise her, but she’d died before she had a chance. “I want to be a traditional parent, tucking my son or daughter into his or her own bed every night.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you’ll do great. But at some point, your kid might wonder who its father is.”
“I’ve already considered that.” She’d spent every waking hour contemplating her options. “But I’m not sure if I want to use an open donor or not.”
He sent her a blank look. “Open?”
“It’s where the donor is open to contact with the child. But it can only occur after the child turns eighteen, and only if he or she requests to meet him.”
“I wonder how much of a difference that would make. I guess it would depend on the type of guy the donor turned out to be. I think having no dad would be better than having a bad one. Or one who is barely around, or drunk or stoned, like my old man was most of the time.”
“At least Kirby is trying to make amends and be a better father to all of you.”
“He still has a long way to go, especially with Matt.”
Sophie nodded. Matt Clark was the half brother in Texas whom Tommy and Brandon had never even met. Kirby had fathered Matt with one of his mistresses while he was still married to Tommy and Brandon’s mother, which eventually resulted in their divorce. It was a long and sordid story that was going to be revealed in a biography Kirby had sanctioned about himself. In a strange twist, it was Matt’s fiancée writing the book. She’d met and fallen in love with Matt while she was researching it.
Now that Tommy’s tour had ended, they were supposed to have a family gathering at the Talbot compound sometime within the next few weeks to get acquainted with Matt. His fiancée was already there, working with Kirby on the book. Both Tommy and Brandon had met her a while back, when they’d agreed to be interviewed for the biography.
No one had asked Sophie to be part of the book. But she hoped that she could attend the upcoming gathering. She was curious about the son Kirby had kept hidden away from the world. At one point, he’d even abandoned Matt.
“So how does it work?” Tommy asked.
She blinked at him. “I’m sorry. What?”
“Choosing a donor.”
She quit thinking about his family and focused on his question. “Sperm banks have websites with their donors’ information. So all you have to do is search their catalog for donors who fit your criteria. In some cases, they’ll provide childhood and adolescent photos of the donors. Some will even let you see adult photos. If the donors who fit your criteria are keeping their profile pictures private and you want your donor to resemble someone specific, you can send the sperm-bank photos showing what you want him to look like. Then they’ll go through your donor choices and rank them by how closely they match.”
“Really?” His lopsided smile resurfaced. “You should send in some pics of me.”
“That’s not funny.” She swung her legs around and kicked his longue chair, rattling the base of it. She wasn’t pleased that he’d put the idea in her head. She wouldn’t mind if her child resembled him. He was beautiful to look at, with his straight, easy-to-style hair, greenish-brown eyes and ever-playful lips. There was also a gentle arch to his eyebrows, lending his features a comforting quality—when he wasn’t making faces. She’d known him for so long that everything about him was familiar.
He leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees. He had an artist’s hands, with long fingers. He played a mean guitar, but her favorite songs of his were ballads he’d mastered on the piano, with hauntingly romantic lyrics. He sang about being painfully in love, even if he didn’t know the first thing about it. Sophie had never been in love, either, not where it tormented her soul or ripped her heart apart.
