Amedeo, Her Italian Billionaire(4)

“Ask me anything,” he said. “Come sit, so we can talk.”

She eyed the chair as if it were a trap. Was it? She didn’t understand. She hadn’t been one to babysit as a kid. She’d never been enamored of ankle biters. She wasn’t one to rush to hold a baby. What did she know about being a mother? Nothing. Her own mother had been deficient in the warm and fuzzy part of mothering.

Not seeing any way around it, Violet sat in the chair opposite him. She didn’t sit back. She didn’t make herself comfortable. She kept herself ready to bolt at the slightest hint of anything going south.

He eyed her for a minute. “What do you need to know to make this happen? Ask me anything, Violet. My life is an open book.”

He sat there with his long-fingered hands and his designer suit as if life was always this easy. Life wasn’t easy. It wasn’t supposed to be, but she’d bet it had been for this man. He didn’t look over his shoulder to make sure no one was following him when he walked home from the bus stop.

It took her two trains to get to his office. Did he even use public transportation? Did he even understand the struggle of living paycheck-to-paycheck? Probably not, but he wasn’t being a jerk. If he was to be taken at face value, he was offering to pay her way. Offering to keep her safe and healthy during the pregnancy.

“What’s in it for you?”

“I’ve explained that. I get a baby. Either I get to have him or her part-time or he or she lives with me. Either way, I get to help shape the next generation.”

“You like kids?”

“I love kids.”

She snorted. This didn’t make sense. None of this made sense. “You actually like kids. They smell and are loud and don’t have any sense of what not to say.”

He laughed. “That’s what I like about them. They don’t lie most of the time,” he said. “I am completely serious about my offer, Violet. You can move in as soon as we do another pregnancy test.”

So he didn’t believe her. She stood. “I think we’re done here. I’ll figure out another way to pay for the abortion.”

“You don’t want to keep your child?”

“I’ve never wanted children. Wouldn’t know the first thing about raising them.”

“I’ll get you parenting classes.”

She shook her head. She almost couldn’t breathe at the idea of raising a child. Her lifestyle didn’t fit it. No insurance. No car. No steady income. It wouldn’t work. “I don’t think they will help.”

“My offer has a deadline, Violet.”

“So it isn’t that simple.”

“I’ll give you one week to think about it. If I don’t hear from you, I won’t think about you again. You won’t be able to come to me when you’ve had the baby.”

That was cold, but she should have expected that. One doesn’t get a large office and company like this without stepping on a few toes. She brought herself up tall. “I’ll be fine.”



*



Amedeo entered his brother Dante’s newly-renovated offices in Princeton. They didn’t work far from each other, so they sometimes had lunch. He needed some advice from his brother, who would soon be a father.

He greeted his Dante’s new secretary, introducing himself.

Dante’s wife had been his assistant for years, but she was now home awaiting the arrival of their first child. Or she was off somewhere being a sommelier. He couldn’t keep track of Gwen.

“Hi, I’m Amedeo.”

The thirty-something woman smiled up at him. “You must be his brother.” She held out her hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Zena.”

He shook her hand. She could see the resemblance. “Nice to meet you, Zena. Is my butthead brother free?”

“He’s in there with your other brother Salvatore,” she said.

Maybe this was serendipitous. He should have Salvatore run a check on Violet. No reason not to be forewarned so he knew what he was getting into. “Can I go in?”

“I would imagine it’s fine.”

He knocked then entered his brother’s office. The building had been torched, but now it stood looking even better than before the fire. Dante had been able to design exactly what he wanted and insurance had paid it all.

Amedeo hugged his brothers. “Good to see you, Sally.”

Salvatore cringed at the nickname, but Amedeo always called him that, just to annoy him. “You, too, Amedeo. How’s it hanging?”

“To my knees, like always,” Amedeo said.

They sat on chairs as Dante observed them. “You two young bucks done posturing?”

Amedeo looked at Salvatore. “Listen to the old, married man. I think he’s jealous.”