Kitabı oku: «Mistresses: After Hours With The Boss: Her Little White Lie / Their Most Forbidden Fling / An Inescapable Temptation», sayfa 2
CHAPTER TWO
PAIGE was pretty sure the floor shook underneath her feet. But Dante didn’t look at all perturbed, and everything appeared to be stable, so maybe the shaking was all internal.
“You … what?”
“I accept. At least on a surface level. At least until the furor in the media dies down.”
“I … Okay,” she said, watching her boss as he stood from his position behind his desk. His movements were methodical, planned and purposeful.
He was always like that. Smooth and unruffled. She had wondered, more than once, what it took to get him to loosen up. What it took to shake that perfect, well-ordered control.
She’d wondered, only a couple of times, if a lover ever managed to do it for him. Loosen his tie, run her fingers through his hair.
Now she knew she had the power to do it. Not in the way a lover would, but by inadvertently leaking a fake engagement to the press.
“Excellent,” he said, his tone clipped. Decisive. “I see no reason why this can’t work.”
“I … Why?”
“Is this not what you want? What you need?”
Her head was spinning. This morning everything in her world had been on the verge of collapse, and now—now it seemed like she might actually be able to keep it all standing. “Well … yes. But let’s be honest. You aren’t exactly known for your accommodating and helpful nature, sorry, so it seems … out of character.”
He bent and picked up the paper from his desk, his dark eyes skimming it. “Can you imagine what the media would say if I backed out? They’re already salivating for the chance to rip me to pieces if I would just give it to them. This article is practically a setup for the following piece where they will gleefully report that I have dropped my subordinate fiancée, who I was likely playing power games with, for my own debauched satisfaction, and ruined her chances of adopting her much-loved child. It would have an even darker angle to it, considering I myself am adopted. I can see that headline now.”
“Well, yes, I can see how that would be … not good. But I’m surprised they just … believed that we were engaged anyway.” Average woman. That was what they’d called her in the paper. And Dante Romani would never be linked with a woman who was average.
In so many ways it was like a bad joke. A cruel high school flashback.
“Been reading stories about me?” he asked, his lips curving into a half smile.
“Well, I mean, I see them,” she said, stuttering. He didn’t need to know that sometimes she looked at pictures of him for a little longer than necessary. It wasn’t like anyone could blame her. She was a woman; he was a stunningly attractive man. But she knew she had no shot with him, ever. And no desire to take one. “But also, we haven’t really been seen together in public, so it seems odd that they would just assume, based on a random tip, that we’re engaged.”
He shrugged. “It sounds like something I would do. Keep a real relationship under wraps. In theory. I haven’t had one, so I wouldn’t know.”
“Right. Yes. I know that.”
“You do read the stories, then.”
Her cheeks heated and she cleared her throat. “That and I have keen powers of observation and … Oh, no!”
“What?”
Paige looked at the clock on Dante’s wall, positioned just above his head. “I have to go pick Ana up. Everyone is probably waiting on me.”
“I’ll come with you,” he said.
“What?” She needed to get away from him for a minute. Or have flustered-angry Dante back. Now that he had a plan he had taken firm control over everything and it was making her feel dazed.
“Well, I am your fiancé now, am I not?”
Paige’s head was swimming, her fingers feeling slightly numb. “I don’t know … are you?”
He nodded once. “Yes. For all intents and purposes.”
“Oookay then.”
“You seem uncertain, Paige,” he said, taking his coat off the peg that was mounted to the wall and opening the door.
Paige scrambled to collect her things from the chair. “I … I’m not, not really. I just don’t know how you went from spitting nails in my office to … agreeing.”
“I’m a man of action. I don’t have time to be indecisive.”
She walked past him and out into the lobby area of his floor. His assistant, Trevor, was positioned behind his desk, his eyes locked on to the both of them.
“Have a nice evening, Mr. Romani,” he said.
“You too, Trevor. You should go home,” Dante said.
“In a bit. So …”
“Oh, yeah,” Paige said. “We’re engaged.”
“You are?” he asked, his expression skeptical.
Paige nodded and looked at Dante who looked … uncharacteristically amused. “Yes,” she said.
He nodded. “Yes.”
“I … didn’t know,” Trevor said.
“I’m a private man,” Dante said. “When it suits me.”
“Apparently,” Trevor said, looking back at his computer screen.
“See you tomorrow,” Dante said. Trevor made a vague nod in acknowledgment.
Paige followed Dante to the elevator and stepped inside when the doors opened. “So … Trevor doesn’t seem thrilled,” she said. Really, she was surprised at the dynamic between Dante and his assistant. Dante was something of a fearsome figure in her mind, and the fact that Trevor hadn’t been fired on the spot for his obvious annoyance with the situation wasn’t exactly what she’d expected.
“Trevor is mad because he didn’t know,” Dante said. “Because he likes to know everything, and make sure it’s jotted down in my schedule at least six months in advance.”
“And you don’t mind that he was … upset?”
Dante frowned. “Why? Did you expect me to throw him from the thirtieth-floor window?”
“It was a possibility I hadn’t ruled out.”
“I’m not a tyrant.”
“No?” He gave her a hard stare. “Well, you fired Carl Johnson. For the baseball game,” she said.
“And it makes me a tyrant because I expect my employees to show up during work hours and earn the generous salaries I pay them?” he asked.
“Well … it was for his child’s T-ball game …”
“That meant nothing to anyone else in the meeting. It might have personally meant something to Carl, but not to anyone else. And if everyone was allowed to miss work anytime something seemed like it might take precedence for them personally, we would not be able to get anything done.”
“Well, what about when you have something in your personal life that requires attention.”
“I have neatly handled what might have been a dilemma by having no personal life,” he said, his tone hard.
“Oh. Well …”
“You expect me to be unreasonable because of what is written about me,” he said, “in spite of what you see in the office on a daily basis. Which only serves to prove the power of the media. And the fact that it’s time I manipulated it to my advantage.”
Her face burned. “I … suppose.” It was true. Dante was a hard man but, other than this morning, she’d never heard him raise his voice. As bosses went, he’d never been a bad one. But she’d always gotten an illicit thrill when he was around. A sense of something dark. And it was very likely the media was to blame.
“And you do read the stories they write about me,” he said, as if he was able to read her mind.
She pursed her lips. “Fine. I’ve read some of what’s been written about you.”
“Being a tyrant implies a lack of control, in my opinion, Paige. And it shows an attempt to claim it in a very base way. I have control over this company, of my business, in all situations, and I don’t have to raise my voice to get it.”
She cleared her throat and stared straight ahead at the closed elevator door. At their warped reflections in the gleaming metal. She came just past his shoulder, and that was in her killer heels. She looked … tiny. A bit awkward. And he looked … well, like Dante always looked. Dark and delicious, supremely masculine, completely not awkward and just a little frightening.
“You raised your voice when you were in my office,” she said, still looking at reflection Dante, and not actual Dante. Actual Dante was almost too handsome to look at directly, especially when standing so close to him.
He laughed, a short, one-note sound. “It was deserved in the situation, don’t you think?”
“Was it?”
“How would you have felt if the situations were reversed?”
“I don’t know. Look, are you serious about this?” she asked, turning to face him just as the doors to their floor slid open.
“I don’t joke very often, if at all,” he said.
“Well, that’s true. But in my experience when men say they want to date me, it can turn out to have been a cruel joke, so I’m thinking my boss agreeing to get engaged to me could be something along those same lines.”
“What is this?”
She shook her head. “Nothing, just … high school. You are planning on following through with this, right? Dante, if I get caught—committing fraud, basically—it might not just be Ana that I lose.”
“As previously stated, Paige, I do not joke. I am not joking now.”
“I just don’t understand why you’re helping me.”
“Because it helps me.”
He said it with such certainty, and no shame.
Paige sputtered. “In what regard?”
“People see me … well, as a tyrant. If not that, a corruptor of innocents, and perhaps, the personification of Charon, ready to lead people down the river Styx and into Hades.”
He said it lightly, with some amusement, though his expression stayed smooth. Paige laughed. “Uh, yes, well, I suppose that’s true.”
“Already there is speculation that you might manage to reform me. The idea of giving that impression … I find it intriguing. An interesting social experiment if nothing else, and one with the potential to improve business for me.”
“Of course you would also actually be helping me and Ana,” she pointed out.
He nodded once. “I don’t find that objectionable.”
She could have laughed. He said it so seriously, as if she might really think he would find helping others something vile. And he said it like that perception didn’t bother him.
“Okay. Good.” She continued on down the hall with him, on the way to the day care center that she’d come to be so grateful for.
She opened the door and sighed heavily when she saw Genevieve, the main caregiver, holding Ana. They were the last two there. “I’m so sorry,” she said, dumping her things on the counter and reaching for Ana.
Genevieve smiled. “No worries. She’s almost asleep again. She did scream a little bit when five rolled around and you weren’t here.”
Paige frowned, a sharp pain hitting her in the chest. Ana was only four months old, but she already knew Paige as her mother. There had been such few moments in Paige’s life when she’d been certain of something, where she hadn’t felt restless and on the verge of failure.
One of those moments was when she’d been hired to design the window displays for Colson’s. The other was when Shyla had placed Ana in Paige’s arms.
Can you take care of her?
She’d only meant for a moment. While she rested and tried to shake some of the chronic fatigue that came with having a newborn. But Shyla had lain down on their sofa for a nap that day and never woken up. And Paige was still taking care of Ana. Because she had to. Because she wanted to. Because she loved Ana more than her own life.
Genevieve transferred Ana and her blanket into Paige’s arms, and Paige pulled her daughter in close, her heart melting, her eyes stinging. She looked back at Dante, and she knew that she’d done the right thing.
Because she would be damned if anyone was taking Ana from her, and she would do whatever she had to do to insure that no one did. Ana was hers forever. And even if marriage to Dante wasn’t strictly necessary, she would take it as insurance every time.
Genevieve bent to retrieve Ana’s diaper bag, then popped back up, her eyes widening when she registered the presence of their boss. “Mr. Romani, what brings you down here?”
Paige thought the girl had a slightly hopeful edge to her voice. As if she was hoping Dante had come to ravish her against the wall. Something Paige could kind of relate to, since Dante had that effect. Even Paige, who knew better than to fantasize about men who were so far out of her league, struggled with the odd Dante-themed fantasy. It was involuntary, really.
“I’m here to collect Ana,” he said.
Genevieve looked confused. “Oh … I …” He reached over the counter and took the diaper bag from the surprised-looking Genevieve.
“With Paige,” he finished. “It was announced in the news today, but in case you haven’t heard, Paige and I are to be married.”
Genevieve’s mouth dropped open. “Oh, I …”
“Let’s go, cara mia,” he said, sweeping Paige’s things from the counter and gathering them into his arms. Her big, broad-chested Italian boss, clutching her sequined purse to his chest, was enough to make her dissolve into hysteric fits of laughter, but there was something else, another feeling, one that made her stomach tight and her chest warm, stopping the giggles.
She wiggled her fingers in Genevieve’s direction and walked through the door, which Dante was currently holding open for her with his shoulder.
Paige continued down the hall, heading toward the parking garage. Dante was behind her, still holding all of her things. She stopped. “Sorry, I can take that.”
“I’ve got it,” he said.
“But you don’t have to … I mean … you don’t have to walk me out to my car.”
“I think I do,” he said.
“No. You really don’t. There’s no reason.”
“We have just announced our engagement. Do you think I would let my fiancée walk out to her car by herself, with a baby, a diaper bag, a purse and … whatever else I’m currently holding?”
“Maybe not,” she said. “But then, you don’t really have a reputation for being chivalrous.”
“Perhaps not,” he said, “but I’m changing it, remember?”
“Why exactly?”
“Walk while you talk,” he said.
Not for the first time, Paige noticed that he didn’t look at Ana. She seemed no more interesting to him than the inanimate objects in his arms. Most people softened when they saw her, reached out and touched her cheek or hair. Not Dante.
“Okay,” she said, turning away from him and continuing on. “So … how are we going to do this?” she asked.
She paused at the door, a strange, new habit she seemed to have developed just since coming down from the top floor with Dante. And he didn’t let her down. He reached past her and opened the door, holding it for her as she walked into the parking garage.
“Where are you parked?” he asked.
“There,” she said, flicking her head to the right. “I get to park close now because of Ana.”
“Nice policy,” he said. “I don’t believe I was responsible for it.”
“I think your father was.”
A strange expression passed over his face. “Interesting. But very like Don. He’s always been very practical. One reason he put in the day care facility early on. Because he knew that employees with children needed to feel like their family concerns were a priority. And better for the company because it ensures that there will be minimal issues with employees missing work because of child care concerns. Of course, missing baseball games cannot be helped sometimes, and I am not putting a field in the parking garage,” he finished dryly.
“I imagine not.” She shifted, not quite sure what to do next. “Well, I’ve never met your father, but judging by some of the policies here, he’s a very good man.”
Dante nodded. “He is.”
Paige turned and headed toward her car. “Oh … purse,” she said, stopping her progress and turning to look at Dante. He started trying to extricate the glittery bag from the pile in his arms. Then she checked the door. “Never mind, I forgot to lock it.”
“You forgot to lock it?”
“It’s secure down here,” she said, pulling the back door open and depositing the sleeping Ana in her seat.
“Locking it would make it doubly secure,” he said, his tone stiff.
She straightened. “How long have you lived in this country?”
He frowned. “Since I was six. Why?”
“You just … you speak very formal English.”
“It’s my second language. And anyway, Don and Mary speak very formal English. They are quite upper-crust, you know.”
“And you call them by their first names?”
“I was fourteen when they adopted me, which I’m sure you know given your proclivity for tabloids.”
“Wow. Exaggerate much? Proclivity …”
“And,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken, “it would have seemed strange to call them anything other than their first names. I was adopted to be the heir to the Colson empire, more than I was adopted to be a son.”
“Is that what they told you?”
His expression didn’t alter. “It’s the only reason I can think of.”
“Then why aren’t you a Colson?” She’d often wondered that, but she’d never asked, of course. Partly because until today she’d never had more than a moment to speak to him.
“Something Don and I agreed on from the start. I wished to keep my mother’s name.”
“Not your father’s?”
His face hardened, his dark eyes black, blank. “No.”
Paige blinked. “Oh.” She looked back down at Ana, who was sleeping soundly and was buckled tightly into her seat. She closed the door and leaned against the side of the car. “So … I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
“You’ll see me tonight,” he said, turning away from her.
“What?”
“We’re not going into this without a plan. And if I’m going to help you, you will help me. It’s in both of our best interests that it look real, once we take one step into confirming this, there is no going back. You understand?”
She nodded slowly.
“And you need to remember this. It’s essential for you, much more than it is for me. If this blows up it would simply be another bruise on my reputation, and frankly, what’s one more beating in that area? You on the other hand …”
“I could lose everything,” she said, a sharp pang of regret hitting her in the stomach.
“So we’ll make sure we don’t misstep,” he said. “I’ll follow you to your apartment.”
The thought of him, so big and masculine and … orderly, in her tiny, cluttered space, made her feel edgy. Of having a man, any man really, but a man like him specifically, in her space, was so foreign. But really, there was no other option. And she couldn’t act like he made her nervous. He was supposed to be her fiancé.
And people were somehow supposed to believe that he had chosen her.
“I feel dizzy,” she said.
He frowned. “Should I drive?”
She shook her head. “I’ll be fine,” she said, opening the driver’s side door. “I’ll be fine,” she repeated again, for her own benefit more than his.
And she really hoped it was true.
CHAPTER THREE
PAIGE’S house was very like her. Bright, disordered and a bit manic. The living area was packed with things. Canvases, mannequins, bolts of fabric. There was a large bookshelf at the back wall filled with bins. Bins of beads, sequins and other things that sparkled. Her office had simply been the tip of the iceberg.
This was the glittery underbelly.
“Sorry about the mess,” she said. “You can just dump my stuff on the couch.” She set the baby’s car seat gently on the coffee table and bent, unbuckling the little girl from her seat, drawing her to her chest.
He looked away from the scene. Watching her with the baby reminded him of things. He wasn’t even sure what things exactly, because every time a piece of memory tried to push into his mind, he pushed it out.
He focused instead on trying to find a hook of some kind, something to hang her bag on at least.
“Just dump it,” she said, shifting Ana in her arms.
“I don’t … dump things,” he said tightly.
She rolled her eyes. “Then hold Ana while I do it.”
He drew back, discomfort tightening his throat. “I don’t hold babies.”
She rolled her eyes. “Pick one,” she said.
He set her purse on her kitchen counter and then went farther into the living room, depositing her fabric on another pile of fabric, and placing her sketchbook next to a bin that had paints and pencils in it.
That had some reason to it, at least.
She laughed. “You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t just dump it.”
“There’s nothing wrong with caring for what you have.”
“I do care for it.”
“How do you find everything in here?”
She cocked her head to the side and he caught sight of the flash of pink buried in her hair again. “Easily.” She put her hand on Ana’s back and patted her absently, pacing across the living room.
There was no denying that she looked at ease in her surroundings, even if he couldn’t fathom it. He needed order. A space for everything. A clear and obvious space for himself. He prized it, above almost everything else.
He cleared his throat. “What size ring do you wear?”
“Six,” she said, frowning. “Why?”
“You need one.”
“Well, I have rings. I can just wear one of those,” she said, waving her hand in dismissal.
“You do not have the sort of ring I would buy the woman I intended to marry.”
She paused her pacing. “Well, maybe you wouldn’t buy the sort of ring I would want.”
“We’ll come to a compromise, but your engagement ring must be up to my standards.”
She groaned and sank onto the couch, baby Ana still resting against her chest. “This is bizarre.”
“You’re the one who said we were engaged.”
“Yes. I know. And I knew the minute I said it I was in over my head but it just … popped out.”
For some reason, he didn’t doubt her. Probably because he was the least logical option to choose. If she’d been thinking, she would have chosen a different man. One who liked children and puppies and had some semblance of compassion.
He was not that man, and he knew it as well as everyone around him.
“I can’t lose her,” she said, her focus on the baby in her arms. “I can’t let one stupid mistake ruin her life. And mine.”
He looked at Paige, at the baby nestled against her, ignoring the piece of his brain that demanded he look away from the scene of maternal love. Ana took a deep breath, almost a sigh, that lifted her tiny shoulders and shook her whole little frame. She was content, at rest, against the woman she knew as her mother.
Unexpectedly, genuine concern wrenched his gut. It was foreign. Emotion, in general, was foreign to him. But this kind even more so.
“I understand,” he said. And he found that he did. “But that means this can’t just look real, it has to be real.”
It occurred to him, just as he spoke the words. The engagement wouldn’t be enough. It would have to be more. It would have to be marriage.
“You want to keep Ana.”
“More than anything,” she said.
“Then we have to be sure that the adoption is final before we go our separate ways. We need to get married, not just get engaged.”
She blinked twice. “Like … really get married?”
“I think a government office would be especially concerned with the legality of our union so we can’t very well jump over a broom on the beach.”
“But … but a real marriage?”
“Of course.”
Her blue eyes widened. “What do you mean by that?”
He almost laughed at the abject horror evident in her expression. Most women didn’t look horrified if it was implied they might sleep together; on the contrary, he was used to women being eager to accept the invitation or eager to seek him out.
Though he turned his share down. Far too many were out to reform the bad boy. To make the man with the heart of stone care, to reach him, save him, perhaps. Something that simply wasn’t possible.
He wasn’t a sadist and he had no interest in hurting people. He could easily take advantage of wide-eyed innocents with a desire to reform him. But he didn’t. He wouldn’t.
Still, he found Paige’s clear aversion to it interesting.
“I don’t mean in that way,” he said.
Her blue eyes widened further. “What way?” As if she had to prove her thoughts hadn’t even gotten near the bedroom door. She was a very cute, unconvincing liar.
“I don’t intend to sleep with you.” Even as he said it, he wondered if the underwear she had on beneath her clothes was a bright as the rest of her. Bright pink, showing hints of pale skin beneath delicate lace? He could imagine laying her down on white sheets, the filmy garments electric against the pristine backdrop.
Color flooded her cheeks and she looked down at the top of Ana’s head. “I … of course not. I mean … I never thought you did.”
He shouldn’t. He shouldn’t be toying with fantasies of it, either. He had to stay focused. He tightened down on the vein that seemed to bleed a never-ending flow of erotic, Paige-themed imagery through his brain.
“The look on your face said otherwise.”
“It was just an honest question. And anyway, you’re taking this a step deeper, and I’m entitled to ask some questions, and I just need to know what ‘real’ would mean to you. Other than the license, I guess.”
“What I mean by it being real, has to do with our activities outside the bedroom. You will need to accompany me to any events I might need to attend. We will have to get married, and you will have to move into my home. It has to look real.”
Dante didn’t like the idea of it. Not in the least. Of bringing this little rainbow whirlwind into his personal space. And not just Paige, but the baby, as well.
He gritted his teeth. His house was big. It would be fine. And it would be temporary. He didn’t question the decisions he made. He simply made them.
She nodded slowly. “I know. But I mean … it seems crazy and extreme.”
“It’s hardly extreme. Understand this, Paige, you’ve gotten us both into a bit of a dangerous game. There could be very real consequences if we’re caught in the lie. Very real for you, especially.”
She looked away, pulling her lush bottom lip between her teeth. “You’re right.”
He pulled his focus away from her mouth. “Of course I am. Do you have anything to drink?”
“Uh … there’s a box of wine in the fridge.”
Dante didn’t bother to keep the disapproval from showing on his face. “A box?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Sorry if that doesn’t meet with your standards. Maybe you can choose me some wine and a ring?”
“I’m not opposed to it. However, when you move into my home, there will be a wine selection waiting for you. And none of it will be boxed.”
“Well, la-dee-da,” she said, standing. “I’m going to put Ana in her crib. Do you think you can stand here for a minute and keep the internal judgment to a minimum?”
“I’ll do my best,” he said drily.
He watched her walk out of the room, his eyes drawn to the sway of her hips and the rounded curve of her butt. He was only human, and she was beautiful. Not his type in the least, and yet, it wasn’t the first time he’d noticed her.
He liked women who were cool. Contained. In both looks and manner. And Paige was none of those things, which made her both a fascination and impossible to ignore.
Paige returned a moment later, hands free, a wet spot on her shirt near her shoulder. “You have something on your shirt,” he said.
She looked down. “Oh. Yeah. She’s really drooly right now. No teeth to hold it back.”
He let out a long breath and sat down on the couch. “I think I will take some wine.”
The idea of having this woman and her explosion of belongings and a baby who was, by Paige’s description, drooly, in his home was enough to send a kick of anxiety through him.
Paige shrugged and headed to the kitchen, reaching up into a high cabinet and taking down two mismatched pieces of stemware. A green champagne flute and a clear wine goblet. Then she opened up the fridge and bent down, dispensing wine from the plastic tap that was jammed into the cardboard box, into the cups.
She kicked her shoes off and pushed them to the side as she walked to the couch, wineglasses in her hands. “I haven’t had anyone over in a long time. You know, other than the social worker.” She handed him the clear glass and moved to a chair that was positioned next to the couch. She sat down on her knees, her feet tucked up under her.
“In how long?”
Paige looked down into her wine. “Since Shyla died.”
“That must have been difficult.” It was hard for him to find the words you were supposed to say when people were grieving. Hard to know what they wanted to hear. He had experience dealing with death, and yet, he couldn’t remember what people had said to him. If they had said anything.
Paige took a sip of her wine and nodded. “Yes. She was my best friend. She and I moved to San Diego from Oregon together shortly after we graduated.”
“Why here?”
She shrugged. “It’s sunny? I don’t know. A chance to start over, I guess. Be new people. She met her boyfriend really soon after we got here, and she ended up moving in with him. Then she got pregnant and he freaked out. And I had her move in with me. It was crowded but great. And then … and then Ana was born and it was so fun to have her here. So amazing.” Paige looked down into her glass, tears sparkling on her lashes like shattered crystal. “We were making it work. The three of us.”
“How old are you, Paige?” he asked. She looked young. Beneath all the makeup, he was sure she looked like a girl who could still be in school. Her skin was smooth and pale, her blue eyes round, fringed with long, dark lashes. Her lips were full and pink, turned down at the corners, giving the illusion of a slight pout.
“Twenty-two.”
“You’re only twenty-two?” Ten years younger than he was. And yet she was willing to take on raising a child by herself. “Then why do you want to raise a child right now? You have so many years ahead of you. And don’t you want to get married?”
She shrugged. “Not really. And anyway, I guess … no this isn’t the ideal time for me to have a baby. And if you had asked me a few months ago if I was ready to have a baby, I would have told you no. But that would be a hypothetical baby. And Ana isn’t hypothetical. She’s here. And she doesn’t have anyone. Her birth mother is dead, my friend, my best friend is dead. The line on the birth certificate that should have a father’s name on it is blank. She needs me.”
