‘Good,’ he said, impatience more than satisfaction weighing down the word as he leaned forward to switch the machine on. ‘Let’s get on with it. First to the basics. You’re currently approximately twelve weeks pregnant with a child that is not your own, is that so?’
‘That’s right.’
‘After being mistakenly implanted with my biological child rather than your own embryo.’
She nodded, adding a late, ‘Yes.’
‘And you called me yesterday to tell me this.’
‘Yes.’
‘And why did you do that, Mrs Cameron? What is it you’re proposing, exactly?’
Was he kidding? ‘I’m having your baby, Mr Pirelli. And I’m here now. What do you think I’m proposing?’
‘You’re the one who called. You tell me.’
‘Okay.’ She sucked in a breath tinged with frustration. Hadn’t they been through this? ‘The way I see it, this baby growing inside me is not my child. I thought that you would want to know about it. And I was hoping that maybe, just maybe, you might actually want the child once it is born.’
‘Because you don’t?’
He made it sound like an accusation. She didn’t want any baby. Not really. But that was none of his business. ‘This baby is yours. I thought—I hoped—that you’d want it.’
‘So you’re saying you’re prepared to have this baby and hand it over?’
‘Of course.’
‘As soon as it’s born?’
‘It would be difficult to do it any earlier.’ Across the table, a jaw clenched, tightening to rock and dark eyes glittered ominously, warning her this was no joking matter. But what did he expect? He was the one turning this meeting into an inquisition. ‘Of course that’s what I’m saying! That’s why I’m here. This child, this baby, has nothing to do with me. Not really.’
‘So you would hand over this child and walk away, and expect to have nothing to do with it ever again?’
‘Why would I want to when it’s not my child?’
He leaned forward. ‘You see, that’s what I’m having trouble understanding, Mrs Cameron. Why would you carry through with this pregnancy when it is not your child?’ Dark eyes caught menacingly in the downlights, gleaming dangerously as he leaned across the table towards her. ‘Unless there’s something you’re expecting in return?’
CHAPTER FOUR
ANGIE blinked, her heart racing, her mind scrambling to keep up. ‘I have no idea what you mean.’
‘Oh, come on. You expect me to believe you’re making some kind of altruistic gesture out of the goodness of your heart and that you’ll hand this baby over and expect nothing in return? Nothing? Why don’t you just come clean? How much are you asking?’
She shook her head. He’d asked her yesterday over the phone what was in it for her, but she’d figured it was a knee-jerk reaction, born of shock. She’d never imagined he really believed it of her. ‘This has nothing to do with money.’
His expression darkened with disbelief, his eyes raking over her and making no attempt to disguise his scorn. ‘Come on, Mrs Cameron. You’re expecting me to believe you couldn’t do with a little extra cash?’
He was actually serious. Okay, so maybe she could do with some extra cash and it showed. But there was no need for him to sit there, looking so smugly imperious, like a Roman emperor ready to toss some scraps to a waiting pleb. She didn’t want his scraps. She didn’t want anything of his.
Ever again.
But some perverse part of her insisted she play his game. Maybe he was right. Maybe she should be asking for money if he was so very keen to force it on her. The clinic had promised to cover all her medical expenses, but Shayne had given her nothing in maintenance and her little nest egg wouldn’t last for ever now she’d lost her job. And that perverse little voice asked if it would be so very wrong to ask, given he seemed so keen to part with his money. ‘So what exactly are you offering?’
Nothing about him moved, save for his lips that turned into a half smile, and she tried to ignore the feeling that she’d just made some terrible mistake and wondered whether there was any chance she could make it right if she had.