Single Mama's Got More Drama. Kayla Perrin

because I didn’t want him running back to Byron with any more stories about my love life.

      That was one of the reasons I made sure not to wear the ring Lewis had given me to work. And of course, I hadn’t wanted any questions from anyone in the office. Only Carla and Alaina knew about my engagement. I hadn’t even told Debbie.

      “You have a good evening,” I said to Edgar. I knew it wasn’t his fault that Chaz had dumped me, but if only he hadn’t told Byron. If I’d been able to broach the subject of Rayna’s father actually being alive in some other way than the dramatic fashion with which it played out, Chaz might still be in my life.

      “Yeah, you have a good night, too,” Edgar said, but his voice sounded off, and he was looking beyond my shoulder, not at me. The wary expression on his face had me alarmed.

      “What?” I asked, and quickly followed his gaze over my shoulder.

      As I did, I gasped, feeling as though I’d been scalded by fire. Byron. Then I spun back around and glared at Edgar. “Did you set me up again?”

      “No!” he protested. “He just showed up, I swear!”

      I didn’t know what to believe. All I knew was that my heart was suddenly pounding furiously. There was a chance that he wasn’t here to see me, but rather Edgar. That’s what I hoped as I secured my purse strap over my shoulder and started briskly away from the desk.

      Byron promptly blocked my path.

      I didn’t say anything to him, just moved to the right to try to step past him. He matched my movement, which made it very clear that he was here to see me.

      “Get out of my way,” I said. I didn’t care why he was in the lobby of my office building. I had nothing to say to him.

      “We need to talk,” he said.

      “I don’t want to talk to you.” I was already frustrated and spoke louder than I’d intended. I glanced around surreptitiously to see if any people were staring. No one seemed to care about me and Byron as they headed toward the exit.

      For now. If our “conversation” continued, I didn’t doubt we’d end up with an audience. The last thing I wanted was an ugly conflict with a dozen witnesses. So I made a quick step to the left and moved around him, then hustled to the front door.

      Byron was on my tail. I could feel him. But I didn’t turn. I breezed through the door behind someone else who was exiting and hurried onto the street.

      I took about ten steps before I felt a hand clamp down on my shoulder. Even though I knew it was Byron behind me, I flinched nonetheless.

      “Damn it, Vanessa. You will talk to me.”

      “What?” I demanded as I whirled around. My chest was heaving, my breathing labored.

      “I want to see my daughter.”

      “Excuse me?”

      “You heard me.”

      “Yeah, I heard you. But considering you’ve been a deadbeat dad since before Rayna was born, what you’re saying may as well be in Chinese, since it makes no sense to me.”

      “I want to see Rayna. Let’s set up a time and meet somewhere you feel comfortable.”

      “Like in your bookie’s office, perhaps?” I asked.

      “I’m done with the gambling. I already told you.”

      “And I’m just supposed to take the word of a liar?” Byron had been around intermittently when I’d been pregnant. One of those times had been when my friends had thrown me a baby shower. He’d gathered the presents and driven me home from my sister’s place—only he hadn’t given me all the gifts I’d received for Rayna. Some ended up missing and—you guessed it—were never seen again.

      “A guy can change, Vanessa. I’m ready to be a dad.”

      “Not gonna happen,” I said.

      “She’s my daughter.”

      “No, she’s not.”

      “Yes, she is.”

      “Maybe biologically, but not in all the ways that matter. And that was your choice, Byron. Not mine.”

      “Don’t be a bitch,” Byron snapped. “I’m trying to do the right thing here.”

      I laughed sardonically. “Better a bitch than a deadbeat. This conversation is over.”

      Turning away from Byron, I started to jog now. I pressed on even as my feet hurt in my shoes. When I was half a block away—and certain that my heels were destroyed—I finally looked over my shoulder.

      Byron was nowhere to be seen.

      Only then did I stop jogging. Stopped and gulped in air. Not just because I was winded, but because I was panicked. Panicked at the thought that Byron wanted to be part of Rayna’s life.

      I leaned my back against the exterior of a building, my stomach suddenly nauseous.

      This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening. I repeated that line in my mind over and over, as though just by thinking it, I could make what had happened a bad dream rather than an ugly reality.

      People gave me odd looks as they passed me, and I finally eased myself up off the wall. My heart was still pounding, and I felt sort of numb.

      I made my way to the parking lot where my car was, and as I got behind the wheel, I noticed my hands were shaking.

      Was Byron truly feeling paternal? Or was it once again a passing phase? I hadn’t heard from him after that day at the restaurant. Not one peep. Not an apology. Not a request to see Rayna. I guess there were times when the reality that he’d fathered a child hit him in the head like a giant conch shell, and he probably felt a bit of guilt over not being in her life.

      But the guilt would pass. It always did.

      When I realized I’d been sitting behind the wheel of my car for nearly ten minutes, I started the engine and drove out of the parking lot. I was going to be late for my meeting with Cynthia.

      I resolved not to let Byron get to me. It wasn’t the first time in the past two-and-a-half years that he’d had an attack of conscience and had reached out to Rayna by sending a gift. Then months would pass without a word from him or even an e-mail.

      I had a far more pressing matter to deal with. Getting to Cynthia Martin and hearing what she’d learned about Tassie Johnson.

      8

      I didn’t make it to the Barnes & Noble bookstore until five-thirty. I rushed inside, hoping Cynthia wouldn’t be upset at my tardiness. But when I saw her, she was casually standing near the perimeter of the café with a magazine in her hand.

      Seeming to sense me, she looked in my direction. Then smiled.

      I returned her smile. I never thought I’d be so happy to see Cynthia Martin, not after how some of her reports after Eli’s murder had made me look in the press. But I couldn’t help being giddy with excitement.

      As I strode toward her, she replaced the magazine on the rack.

      I’d prayed that she would come through for me, give me some kind of ammunition I could use against Tassie, and it looked like my prayers had been answered.

      “Hello,” I said as I reached her, and offered her my hand. “It is so good to see you again.”

      Cynthia took my hand and shook it firmly. “It’s good to see you.”

      “Sorry I’m a bit late. Traffic.”

      “No worries,” she said.

      I glanced around the café. There were a number of available seats. “You want something to eat or drink before we sit down?” I asked. “A coffee, a sandwich? I’m buying.”