Oops! My Secret Baby Is Caught By His Top-Lawyer Daddy! Novel

---- Olivia didn't answer. She just started the car and drove off. Traffic in Silverton was as miserable as ever. Stop-and-go, horns blaring, tempers short. Olivia focused on the car ahead, irritation creeping in as the GPS told her it would still take forty minutes to get there. Tristan, however, seemed completely at ease. "Busy yesterday? You didn't reply to my message." "Yeah. Too busy. I forgot," she said curtly, gripping the wheel tightly. Tristan leaned back, smirking. "Then how about tonight? Do you have-" "Tristan. It's work hours," Olivia cut him off sharply. He chuckled.

"Then I'll ask again at noon." Olivia had no comeback for that. The car fell silent. Tristan turned his head to study her. Her black hair was cropped neatly to her chin, tucked behind her ears. Clean, sharp, professional. He had never realized short hair could look that good ona woman. ---- Her earlobes were small and slightly pink, her side profile soft but defined. When she pressed her lips together, he could see the faint hint of a dimple. It was adorable. She wore a crisp white blouse under a light gray cropped blazer, with a diamond-studded watch on her delicate wrist.

Her slim-fit pants and black low heels tied everything together perfectly. Her taste was impeccable. In fact, he thought, everything about Olivia looked amazing. His gaze lingered too long. Finally, Olivia turned her head, glaring at him. "Have you stared enough?" "Not even close," he said honestly. He rested his elbow on the window, chin in hand, his whole body angled toward her. "Didn't know your eyes were this big. They're beautiful." Olivia's mind blanked for a moment. A strange flutter ran through her chest-the same tingling feeling she'd had that night after drinking with him.

Was alcohol supposed to last forty-eight hours? "The light's green," Tristan reminded her with a grin, ---- his tone dripping with amusement. Olivia looked straight ahead, pretending not to hear him. She turned up the volume on the traffic report and focused on the road. By the time they reached their destination, she was more than ready to get out. It was an old, run-down apartment building. Olivia parked, grabbed her briefcase, and headed for the stairs. Tristan followed close behind. "What floor?" "Eighth," she said without looking back. She'd been here five times already.

With practiced ease, she turned on her phone flashlight, pushed open the barely functional security door, and started up the stairs. The stairwell was pitch-black for a moment until her eyes adjusted. Tristan turned on his own flashlight. The walls were cracked and peeling, the air thick with mildew and dampness. The smell of rot hung in the air. He walked carefully, avoiding the walls like they might stain his suit. Olivia moved with confident steps, clearly used to it. ---- Years of working in law had taken her to every kind of home imaginable. This was nothing new.

By the sixth floor, Olivia was breathing a little heavier and stopped for a quick break. Tristan reached out. "Want me to carry your bag?" She shook her head. "It's fine. It's not heavy." He ignored her, his hand brushing hers as he took the bag anyway. Before Olivia could protest, a shrill voice echoed from above. "You heartless woman! My son hasn't even been dead that long, and you're already ignoring me? Hoarding money like that-are you planning to run away?" Another voice answered, trembling. "Mom, that's not true! Jacey still needs to go to school.

How could I ever leave?" Olivia whispered, "That's Mrs. Blaze's voice." Rachel Blaze was the wife of the deceased, Joe-the very person they had come to see. They exchanged a look, then hurried up the remaining stairs. At the landing between the seventh and eighth floors, they finally stopped.