Wealthy Madam Boss She Doesn't Need You novel Chapter 21

Chapter 21 

Chapter 21 

PASHA 

I can count on zero fingers how often in my life I’ve chased down a woman. 

First time for everything, I suppose. 

Maybe that’s why I feel a rush of adrenaline instead of irritation as I rush after Daphne, not giving a fuck who I bump into or offend on my way. 

I finally catch her elbow through the double doors. “Stop.” 

She turns, flustered and out of breath. “I–I have t–to go, sorry! I have to-” Her voice dies when she tries to tear out of my grasp and her bag slips off her shoulder and upends. We both reach for it at the same time and the jostling knocks a smaller bag out of it. 

“Here, let me get that-” “No!” 

I bend down to pick up the baggie, intending to just give it back to her. But when I see what it’s holding, I 

freeze. 

I look at it. 

At her. 

At it. 

At her. 

Say something. You need to say something. But what the fuck am I supposed to say? “Congratulations“? 

“Who’s the father“? 

“Are we having a boy or girl“? Oh, fucking hell. 

The valet pulls my car up right behind where Daphne is standing, staring at me with utter terror in her eyes. That bothers me. She shouldn’t be afraid of me. What kind of man does she think I am? 

The kind who just stares at her without saying a single word while holding her pee stick like a fucking creep–that’s what kind of man she thinks I am. 

But there aren’t words for this situation. None that I can think of right now, at least. So I do the next most rational thing… 

Chapter 21 

And shove her in the back of my car. 

Surprisingly, she doesn’t utter a single protest. I expect her to shout or even scream at me to let her go, but instead, she just sits there and waits for me to grab my keys from the valet and slide into the driver’s seat. She doesn’t look at me, but she doesn’t try to get out, either. 

1 

I should say something. Instead, I pull us out of the parking lot and start driving. 

To where? Fuck if I know. “Did you eat?” I finally ask. 

Daphne stares at the dashboard. “I had a salad.” “So no.” 

Now she looks at me. “What?” 

“A real meal provides calories, protein, nutrients. What that place serves is two pieces of lettuce and a 

carrot even a rabbit wouldn’t touch.” 

She snorts a small laugh. I take that as a win. 

Then I take her somewhere we can talk. Some place to break the ice, catch up, answer a few pressing 

questions like, “What the actual fuck?” 

Daphne’s eyes widen when we pull into the parking lot of VitaSmooth, a smoothie bar Sofiya is obsessed with. My sister swears it’s going to take over the world by storm. 

into over kn 

I wouldn’t know and couldn’t care less. But I do know that vitamins and nutrients are important for pregnancy and there’s no way in hell that Chez Delacourte served Daphne enough of either to nourish 

our baby. 

Her baby, I correct in my head. We don’t know anything for certain yet. 

I hold the car door open for her and she slinks out. When we step inside the smoothie shop, we’re accosted by this thick smell of wheatgrass and ginger. I jerk my chin toward the menu hanging over us. 

“Pick what you want.” 

“I, uh–okay. Okay.” Daphne blushes and turns to the cashier. “I’ll have a small-” 

“Large,” I interrupt. 

She side–eyes me. There’s that fire. The first flickers of it I’ve seen in a while. “Medium-” 

“Large.” 

She sighs. “Large Açai–cado Avalanche.” 

“With a VitaPack,” I order the cashier. “Add the prenatal mix as well.” 

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Daphne sucks in a deep breath. I’m pushing her buttons. Good. I’d rather that than the stunned, terrified 

silence she’s been stuck in. 

The cashier darts a curious glance between us but otherwise doesn’t say anything. We grab our drinks and head back to the cat. I don’t think either 

one of us wants to have the much needed conversation in public. Or at all. So we slide into the Charger, settle into the leather seats, and brood in silence. 

“Thank you.” Daphne wraps her lips around the straw again and now that I’m watching her do it. I’m all sorts of distracted by thoughts of those same lips doing that same thing to something else. 

“Not a problem.” 

“I hate the way prenatals taste like freaking horse pills. Makes me gag every time I try to take them. I keep hearing these smoothies are good for you, but I mean, twelve dollars a day? Just for some stupid 

vitamins? 

“Worth every penny if it means keeping your baby safe and healthy.” 

Daphne flushes and looks away. I scowl. She isn’t getting off that easily. “Were you ever going to tell me?” 

She sighs. “I don’t know. I mean, I wanted to.” “But?” 

“But I’ve only just found out myself. I’m still…” She waves her fingers in the air in a little circle. “Still trying to wrap my head around it, I guess. It still doesn’t feel real.” 

“How far along are you?” 

She looks down at the lid of her cup. “Four months,” she mutters. 

I wince. Rub my jaw. Try to find the right words that aren’t How the FUCK did you think you could keep 

that from me? 

“But you had a test in your purse.” “Yeah,” she whispers. “I did.” 

“How is it possible to go so long without knowing?” 

She cringes and withers like she wishes she could disappear from my sight. “Sometimes, stress can make a period vanish, just like pregnancy. After the 

breakup and everything at the gallery, and my bosses, and the move-” “You moved?” 

“Yeah. About a month ago. Had to juggle that with work and my family, and I just… I was under a ton of stress. I’ve had it happen plenty of times before. So it just never occurred to me.” 

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“What tipped you off?” 

“Who,” she corrects. She takes another long sip. “Hazel is the one who put two and two together. I hadn’t been using the pads in the bathroom, but I’d also been battling nausea a lot. When I complained last week about needing to buy a new bra, she came home with a box of pregnancy tests.” 

Daphne offers me a shy, regretful smile. “I’m sorry to break the news to you like this. I really didn’t plan on running into you.” 

“I’m glad you did.” 

Now, she really smiles. Something in my chest boils uncomfortably. 

The moment passes. She grows serious again and slurps on her straw. “I’ll take a paternity test, if you want. Just to make sure everything’s super clear. I mean, it’s, ah…” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s definitely yours, to be honest. I haven’t been with anyone since we met, and I hadn’t slept with anyone for at least two months prior.” 

I frown. “What about Ewing?” 

“Conrad? Right.” Daphne rolls her eyes. “Too busy dancing the horizontal mambo with his mistress.” 

Makes sense. 

Doesn’t do anything to calm my racing heart. 

I drive us out of the VitaSmooth parking lot. Our next stop isn’t far. 

Daphne sighs. The look of defeat on her face as she stares at the new building in front of us is not one I expected. Nor do I like it. 

“I get it. Really. I can’t expect you to believe me.” 

“It’s not that.” I do my best to ignore the glowing sign of the public fertility clinic advertising abortion services. “I do believe you.” 

Her mouth twists into a wry smile. “You don’t think I sleep around with half the city?” 

“Fuck no. Who the-” “My mother.” 

Ah. Of course. The family drama causing the sudden wave of rubbernecking at the restaurant club. “Just because she’s your mother doesn’t mean she’s right to say that.” 

Daphne sniffles. Shit, is she crying? But instead of bursting into tears, she only nods. “Thanks.” 

I rub my jaw again. “Look, it’s not for me. I believe you. But the, uh… the company I work for… they need 

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Chapter 21 

the paperwork proving it’s mine. Plus the inheritance, naming of my heir, et cetera…” 

“What, are you some hotshot CEO or something?” Daphne chuckles. I look at her. The heavy silence does 

the talking. 

After it gets too awkward, she shuffles out of the car. I follow her inside. 

She stiffens as I step up behind her at the counter. I don’t interrupt her conversation with the receptionist. Just shadow her and wait. 

Which is how I hear that she gives a fake name. “Sara Harcourt.” “And yours?” the receptionist asks, 

peering over at me. 

“Jacob Harcourt,” I say. 

She nods and scribbles it down. We both step aside and take seats in an empty corner of the waiting room. 

Daphne lofts a brow at me. I shrug my shoulders in response. “We’re happily married.” 

She laughs miserably, then plucks up a magazine and starts thumbing through the pages. I don’t think she’s actually reading anything, because she asks me without looking up, “So… was that a yes to the 

‘hotshot CEO“?” 

“Something like that.” 

“Old money or nouveau riche?” “Old World old money.”