Chapter 7 · Thirty Feet

"Don't," I said, and my own voice didn't sound like mine. Wrecked. Low. His hand was still flat on my spine, my blouse half off my shoulder, and my phone was screaming on the desk between two folders like it knew exactly when to ruin everything.

Cade didn't move his hand. "Ignore it."

"It's my lawyer." I twisted out from under his arm and grabbed the phone before he could read the screen over my shoulder, which he tried to do anyway, because of course he did. Cade Vane doesn't ask. He looks.

THE ORDER'S BEEN AMENDED, the text said. JUDGE MOVED THE HEARING UP. AND CADE CANNOT BE WITHIN THIRTY FEET OF MAYA UNTIL PATERNITY IS FILED. CALL ME.

I read it twice. Then I looked up at him — shirt still open, my lipstick on his jaw, five minutes ago none of this mattered — and something in my chest went cold and useful.

"Thirty feet," I said out loud.

"What?"

"You can't be within thirty feet of your own daughter. Judge's order. As of an hour ago." I buttoned my blouse with hands that were shaking and hated that they were shaking. "Congratulations, Mr. Vane.