Graham finally spoke to her. “I thought we discussed the fact that I preferred you not come here today.”
“I need to be here, Graham. I’m sure you’ve given Syreeta an earful about what a bad person I am, but I’m here today to support you, too.”
Graham’s tone was stern. “It’s Soraya. Not Soreena. Not Syreeta. So-RAH-ya. What is so hard about that?”
“Soraya….Soraya…sorry…I’m a bit nervous myself, okay? I didn’t come here to make trouble. I’m just trying to be supportive as well. I realize that this whole situation is all my fault. I’m not denying that, but I can’t change the past. I’m just trying to make things right moving forward. If I have to spend the rest of my life making up for it, I will.” She looked like she was about to cry. Either she was truly upset, or she deserved an Academy Award. Graham remained unaffected by her mini breakdown.
Several minutes of awkward silence ensued as Graham went from fiddling with his watch to twirling the ends of a pen between his two index fingers.
He tossed it across the room and grumbled, “What the hell is taking them so long?”
Genevieve was trying her best to lighten the mood and looked down at my feet. “I like your shoes. What brand are they?”
“Michael Kors. They’re not Louboutins or anything, but I like them. They’re comfortable for wedges.”
She smiled. “I like them, too.”
Graham rolled his chair back and got up. He started to pace and seemed to be losing his cool, so I attempted to calm him down. “They said before noon, right? Well, there’s still a little time.”
He took out his phone. “I’m calling the lab.” He put it on speaker.
A woman answered, “Culver Laboratories?”
“Yes. This is Graham Morgan. I was supposed to be getting a call before noon today with the results of a paternity test your lab conducted for me this week. We’re three minutes away from the deadline. I’d like my results now, please. Arnold Schwartz indicated that he would oversee everything personally to ensure those results would be in by this morning. I have a special reference number he gave me if you need it.”
“Yes, sir. That would be helpful.”
As Graham gave her the information, I said a silent prayer that by some miracle, it turned out he wasn’t the father. I wasn’t sure if that made me a bad person or what. Until those results came in, there was still hope as far as I was concerned. What if there was a third man we didn’t know about…one who was darker like Graham, maybe resembled him? Anything was possible, right?
The clicking of a keyboard could be heard in the background as the woman retrieved the information. “I’m going to put you on hold, Mr. Morgan. It seems that the results are in, but when they indicated that someone would call you to read them, they were apparently basing it on Pacific Time. But I do show here in the system that the test has been completed. I just need to see if we have authorized personnel available to give you those results.”
He whispered under his breath, “Jesus Christ.”
These people on the West Coast had no idea how much was riding on this. If they did, they’d surely hurry the hell up.
Genevieve exhaled and looked over at me. “This is very nerve-wracking.”
I didn’t know why she was making an attempt to talk to me. In any case, I was too worked up to respond. I turned my attention toward Graham. The relaxed demeanor from earlier was like a distant memory. He looked so worried. I think a part of him wanted Chloe to be his while another part was terrified for the opposite scenario, one where a little girl he had imagined as his own was left fatherless.
My insides felt like they were twisting, and I wondered if this was what happened when you truly loved someone, that you could physically feel that person’s fear. His fear was mine. His pain was mine. His life had now merged with my own. I hadn’t told him I loved him, but as I sat there feeling like my entire future depended on the next few minutes, I came to the conclusion that this had to be the real thing.
I loved Graham J. Morgan. Mr. Big Prick. Stuck-up Suit. Celibate in Manhattan. Fifty Shades of Morgan. I loved them all. I loved that he appreciated all of my idiosyncrasies. I loved that he protected me. I loved that he made me feel for the first time in my life like I was the most important person to someone—to him. The thing was, depending on these results, I would no longer be the most important thing. His daughter would and should always come first. That was the way it was supposed to be. That was what Frank Venedetta never understood.