DADDY ISSUES: A SINGLE DAD ROMANCE

by Morris, Liv

  I placed the page I’d just read on the coffee table. There were two more. Coco’s untouched glass of Macallan scotch was in my reaching distance. Without a thought, I downed it like a shot. The amber liquid warmed my throat, but I doubted it would soothe my mind. I’d settle for a little numbing, though. I set the glass back down on the coaster and read on.

  I believed the child I was carrying belonged to my boyfriend, Peter. We weren’t as careful as we should’ve been, considering I lost my pills somewhere in the move. Peter urged me to keep the child, and I didn’t have the heart not to, even though I was scoring some auditions for minor TV parts. Being tall helped me hide the pregnancy until I was six months along. At that point, I’d put on too much weight for the camera and ended up cleaning one of the producer’s houses to help pay the bills.

  After Esmé was born, I worked my butt off—literally. I started auditioning again as the weight dropped off, and had a promising callback for a major studio movie. I hit the jackpot when I was given a supporting character role. I had two weeks to prepare for shooting in Europe. But there was one big problem: Esmé was only three months old. The studio didn’t know I had a small child, and I was afraid to tell them. Peter promised he’d take care of her while I was gone, even though it was for two months, maybe three. With my new salary, I could afford a decent daycare, so I started packing.

  A wave of impending doom washed over me. Somewhere in this letter, the words connecting me to this child were going to crash into my life at full force. I steeled myself for the blow.

  Peter brought the suitcases from our storage closet and cleaned them off before I began packing. An old photo of you fell out of an unzipped compartment on the luggage and landed on the ground. He stuffed the photo in his back pocket, not taking the time to look at it closely. Later that night, I fell asleep, and he stayed up with the baby, letting me rest.

  Here’s something I didn’t know before Esmé: all babies are born with bluish eyes that change over their first six months. Esmé’s eyes transformed into an unearthly shade of icy blue—a color I am very familiar with, as are you. Peter had marveled at their uniqueness, but I panicked because they matched yours.

  After putting the baby down for the night, Peter undressed, emptying his pockets on the bathroom counter. When he glanced down at your face on the photo, Esmé’s eyes stared back at him. He had no idea who you were, but a doubt formed in his mind he couldn’t shake. So, he decided to confirm she was his child. Three days later, he received a damning call from the lab and walked out our front door, never looking back.

  You don’t deserve what I’ve done to you, Lucas, but Esmé has to be your child. I have no one else to turn to and can’t afford to miss this opportunity. I will be back to pick her up in two months. Please forgive me and use this time to meet your beautiful daughter. She’s an angel baby.

  Inside her diaper bag is a list including her schedule, formula, plenty of bottles, and a two-day supply of diapers. I will call you in five days. You should have the paternity test results back by then. Please try to forgive me and understand my situation.

  Until later,

  Coco.

  11

  Lucas

  “Hello, Mr. Shaw,” Jared answered on the first ring. He had perfected his brown-nosing skills.

  “Meet me at the benefit in thirty minutes.” I ended the call before hearing his reply.

  I turned to the woman who saved my life by helping me with the infant. She held up the bag Coco had left with all the baby paraphernalia in it.

  “I made some fresh formula for her just in case she wakes up before you arrive downtown.” She pulled out a bottle filled with something white from the bag. “It’s only fresh for thirty minutes. There’s a full can of it in the bag with directions for later. If I didn’t have to pick up my son from his sitter, I’d stay and help.”

  “I’ll manage.” I tossed a hundred dollars on the coffee table to cover the drinks and took the bag from the woman. I still didn’t know her name, but she was a lifesaver to drop everything and assist me.

  “Do you have a car seat?” she asked.

  I was holding the baby seat in my hand by its handle. The kid was starting to rustle around but hadn’t woken up yet.

  “Isn’t this a car seat?” I answered her question with one of my own, wondering if it was a big deal.

  “Nope.” She shook her head. “It’s just a carrier.”

  Ah, fuck. “Thanks for the heads up.”

  I carried the seat out the Fifty-Seventh Street entrance to meet my driver, using the side door.

  I wanted to lose my fucking shit, but I didn’t have time to be angry or out of control. A room full of people expected me to show up in twenty-five minutes. I walked to my waiting car and opened the back passenger door.

  “Can I have a hand here?” I shouted through the open car. My driver hopped out and was by my side in a flash.

  “Yes, sir. I didn’t see you coming out.” His eyes trailed to what I was holding in my hands. He glanced back at me with wide eyes, his mouth hanging open. “Um, what the hell is that?”

  “It’s a baby. I need you to take me and the kid downtown now.” I started to angle the seat into the car, but my driver put his arm on mine to stop me.

  “Sir, I can’t drive you unless this is a car seat, and it doesn’t look like the kind my kids use.”

  “Come on. I don’t see the problem. I’ll strap it in.”

  “You don’t understand. I could lose my commercial license or insurance if I get caught. I can’t chance it. I’m sorry, Mr. Shaw.”

  I had to think around this problem. Baby land wasn’t in my wheelhouse. I was only left with one viable solution. I set the carrier down in the back seat, assuring my driver it was only for a second.

  I reached in my jacket for my phone and sent Jared a text. How in the hell would I even begin to explain my current situation to him? I didn’t even understand it, so a quick message would have to suffice.

  Me: Tell the Cranstons I will not be attending tonight due to unforeseen circumstances. Give them my regrets by adding 500k to my gift. Tell Susan I’ll call her next week.

  Jared: Understood.

  Well, I had to give him a hand and a bonus. The man knew how to follow orders, even when they didn’t make a fucking bit of sense.

  My driver apologized again for not being able to help me and suggested I use my Uber app. He said I could request a car with a child’s seat. At this point, I was done—put a fork in me kind of done.

  My next move to try to sort this out would be giving my private attorney a call. He’d given me his personal cell number, telling me I could call him anytime. Tonight, I was going to take him up on that offer.

  The kid was still sleeping peacefully. It was my one stroke of luck in this night from hell. I started walking back to my building. People kept staring at me, some even stopping as if in shock. A tall man wearing a tux and holding a baby seat wasn’t a normal sight on a New York City sidewalk, especially on a Saturday night.

  I stood at the corner of Fifty-Seventh and Seventh, waiting for the crosswalk sign to change. I glanced down at the kid only to find her staring right back at me. She was sucking her thumb like it was life itself. She was probably hungry. I patted myself on the back for my deduction. Truth was, I didn’t have a clue. One thing I did know: her big blue eyes were a perfect match to mine. My stomach sank.

  I shook my head and raised my face to the sky, cursing myself and whoever else might have been up there for having a sick sense of humor. Just because our eyes matched didn’t prove a damn thing. It could be a fluke and Coco was just trying to pass the child off as mine. Maybe she never even had a boyfriend named Peter. She was a trained actress. Who knew what was real with her?

  I took a deep breath and noticed I’d missed the signal allowing me to walk across the street. Instead, I’d stood in place as everyone passed around me, completely zoned-out.

  I started laughing. Not just a small chuckle, mo
re like a hysterical, I’ve-never-heard-anything-funnier-in-my-life kind of laugh. I bent over, letting the laugh consume me, and looked down at the kid. She was smiling up at me with the biggest toothless grin imaginable.

  I froze on the spot. Her big happy baby face had slapped me back to reality. When I squinted my eyes at her, the smile on her face faded.

  “Nice try, kiddo.” My tone was sarcastic, not at all gentle, maybe even borderline offensive.

  The baby’s face scrunched up into a round ball. Her mouth was open, though no sound came out. Two seconds later, she started to cry. Not a subtle one that could be muffled by the busy traffic of the city flying by. Nope, it was a full-on, fire-alarm-blowing wail.

  “Jesus Christ,” I cursed under my breath, rechecked to make sure she was buckled in, then crossed the street in the fastest run-walk imaginable, weaving between people like a downhill slalom skier.

  I continued on for a couple blocks until I reached my building. I’d never been so happy to see my doorman in my life.

  “Matt,” I called out ahead of my arrival. “Open the door for me, man.”

  The kid continued to protest my jostling as I made my way to the door. She had tempered her cry from ear-piercing to annoying. With the building a few feet away, I slowed, catching my breath. It was like I’d run the New York City Marathon.

  A woman leaned against my building dressed in professional black attire. She stepped in front of me, looking me dead in the eye. I tried to walk around her, but she moved with me. What the fuck?

  “Move.” I had no patience or will to be nice to her. I needed to get this child inside—and fast.

  “Lucas Shaw.” My eyes flashed up to hers. “I understand you’re the father of a baby girl. The one you’re holding in your hands. Can you confirm this with us?”

  To my side, a flash went off. I twisted my head to see what the hell was going on. A man with a camera and a shit-eating grin looked at me.

  “Who the hell are you guys?” I said to no one in particular.

  “I’m Katherine Nickels. Page Six with The Post. This is my photographer, Jimmy Palmer.”

  Great. Just fucking great.

  “No comment,” I spat, rounding her and dashed into the building. A few more flashes followed behind me, lighting up the sidewalk.

  Matt stood by the door, and I dashed inside, not even pausing to thank him. I hurried to the bank of elevators and pushed the button for my floor.

  Once I was inside, I placed the baby seat on the plush carpet, then collapsed with my hands on my knees. My shoulders heaved with each breath I took. I thought I was in shape. Could have been all the adrenaline pumping through my veins, getting the best of me.

  It took a second for me to realize the elevator was quiet. The kid had stopped screaming. She’d found her thumb again and was sucking away. Big blue eyes blinked, judging me, or so it seemed.

  When the elevator doors opened at my floor, I scooped up the seat and headed toward my apartment. I punched the keypad at my door and heard the releasing click. Once inside, I placed the kid down on my granite kitchen island. It brought our faces closer together. I looked at her. She looked at me. Two identical pairs of eyes caught in a stare down, but there was one difference: I wasn’t sucking my thumb.

  “What should I do with you?” I spoke the words out loud as if the kid would answer me. I was met with silence and a small grin.

  Yeah, you won the staring contest. Whatever.

  I texted my attorney, telling him to get back to me ASAP. I didn’t want to call the authorities or child protection services until I had his advice. At this point, I might even be kidnaping an innocent child.

  Either way, I couldn’t take care of this kid alone. Command the financial markets? Easy. Change a diaper? Never. Pull off a multi-million dollar merger? Routine. Burp a baby? Insanity. I needed someone to help me until I figured out who she belonged to.

  Also, I wanted personal advice from someone who knew me well, warts and all. Page Six was already onto the fact that I had an infant in my possession. I could only imagine how they found out. Damn Coco, or whatever her real name was. I couldn’t even give the police a real name or identity to find her or keep her from boarding a plane. All the photos of our time together had been deleted from my phone. The kid, who was watching my every move, was the only evidence I had that Coco even existed, along with the staff at Knave.

  I had only one true friend in my life, Barclay Hammond. We grew up in the same Connecticut neighborhood, a land of estates and limousines. All the other guys I partied with in New York were as shallow as a baby pool, avoiding reality just like me. The kid in my kitchen was beyond their comfort level, so I couldn’t turn to them. It appeared Barclay was the unlucky winner.

  “Hey, Lucas. Long—”

  I interrupted him before he finished his hello. “I need your help.” I took a breath, needing more air to keep speaking.

  “Are you in trouble?” Barclay asked, his tone laced with concern. I had gathered his full attention.

  “Yes and no.” I paused, summoning up the courage to tell him what was sitting on my kitchen island. “See, I have a baby in my apartment.”

  “A what?”

  “A baby girl named Esmé.”

  “Okay, Lucas.” He whistled a long breath. “Start from the beginning.”

  12

  Lucas

  I gave Barclay the entire story, from Coco leaving the baby with me and claiming I was the father, to a reporter confronting me in front of my own building. I left out the photographer part, but he would see the photos in The Post soon enough.

  “Lucas,” he drew out my name. “Here’s the truth. I’ve worried about your lifestyle for years. The escorts. Young women you pay to be with you. How many have there been over the last ten years?”

  “Well—”

  Barclay interrupted me before I counted all the names and faces. “It doesn’t matter now. But it looks like you had one too many. A troublemaker, unless you are the father of this child. Is there even a remote possibility?”

  “Remote? Yes.” I neglected to share the child and I had the same unique eye color.

  “Then you have to do the right thing.”

  “Which is?”

  “Find out if you’re her father.” It all sounded so simple to him, but thinking it was a possibility made me grab the edge of the counter.

  “It’s Saturday night, Barclay. I don’t think there are any walk-in DNA clinics—even in New York.” I scoffed at the nightmare I was living.

  “True. True.” We both were quiet for a moment. “How are you going to take care of her until Monday? I’m assuming you’ll find a lab then.”

  “I have no fucking idea. The last baby I held was your niece at her christening, and it was only for five seconds.” I cringed at the memory.

  Barclay’s sister, who had teased the hell out of me when I was a kid, made me hold Beatrice, her newborn baby. She’d told me to cradle my arms, and thankfully, Barclay had been standing behind her, secretly showing me how. When the baby was resting in the crook of my elbow, she’d emitted an explosive sound, along with a pressure I could feel against my arm. A horrendous odor had filled the room as people laughed all around me. The baby had blown out her diaper and some of what was in it had escaped onto me.

  “Yeah, babies and I aren’t compatible. And to answer your question, I need help. My sister is in Toronto on business, and…well, I have nowhere else to turn. Maybe Tessa could come over for a couple days?”

  “I have someone in mind. It’s Tessa’s best friend, Maggie. She’s a natural with kids. But there is one caveat: you have to promise not to touch a hair on her head. I mean it, Lucas, or our friendship is over for good. Maggie is a sweet and beautiful girl, rather impulsive, though, and someone looking for love. God knows she’d only find heartache with you.”

  I couldn’t debate him on anything he’d said to me. I wasn’t good for anyone, including the kid hanging out in front of me.

&nbs
p; “You have my word.” I meant it too.

  “Okay, let me call Tessa. I’ll get back to you ASAP.”

  “If it’s any help, I’m willing to pay her a thousand dollars a day until I can get things sorted out.”

  “Well, Maggie could sure use the money. She hasn’t found her dream job here yet.”

  The second I got off the phone with Barclay, the kid started fussing, her arms swinging about in the air. Thinking she might be hungry, I dug around in the bag for the bottle the woman had fixed for her. She’d said it would be fresh for thirty minutes.

  Had it been that long since we’d left the bar?

  I wasn’t sure and didn’t want the kid getting sick. When I’d had the nuclear diaper experience, Barclay’s sister told me it could’ve been vomit all over me instead. She mentioned how easily babies barfed, so I decided to play it safe and fixed a new bottle.

  The kid screamed as I moved away from her toward the sink, then quieted as I came back into her sight. Coco was God only knew where, and she had no idea who I was, so I understood her feeling scared. To keep her from freaking out, I turned her so she could follow me to the sink. This baby thing was fucking exhausting.

  I used the small sink in the island and dug in the bag to find a can of what I hoped was milk. It didn’t feel like there was liquid in it. I popped off the top and saw a white powdery substance. I read the directions on the label. Mix two unpacked scoops with every four ounces of water.

  I examined the sides of the bottle to see how many ounces the lady had made earlier. The milk line went to eight. The kid started to shriek as I moved the bottle out of her vision to clean out the old milk.

  “It’s going to be all right,” I said to her, and myself, in the most calming voice I could muster, hoping it was true.