Laurel's Bright Idea (Billionaire Baby Club Book 3)

by Jasinda Wilder

  “You want a chance to do it right.”

  “Redemption, I guess. My own folks were shit, just absolute shit at being parents. I want to do better. Do it right.”

  I lifted up and kissed him. “Baby steps, Titus. First, let’s meet this little girl.” I opened the door. “How old is she, anyway?”

  A pause, as he thought about it. “Six. She’s six.”

  I held his hand and pulled him toward the living room. “You ready?”

  “Nope,” he murmured, “but I don’t think I ever could be, so…let’s do this.”

  13

  The police officers were outside, in their cruiser.

  On the couch sat the social worker, a younger woman wearing a colorful hijab with jeans, a blouse, and a blazer. Beside her, a small girl with wide, dark, frightened eyes. Black hair, short and straight, cut at her jaw. She was wearing pink shorts, a white shirt, and clean white sneakers. She held a well-loved and well-worn stuffed elephant on her lap.

  The social worker stood up as we entered the living room, strode over to Titus and met his eyes, hand extended. “Hi, I’m Mena.”

  “Titus Bright.” His voice was low and tight.

  To me, then, and I shook her hand as well. “Laurel McGillis.”

  Mena’s attention returned to Titus. “We have much to discuss. But first, Titus, this is Isabela.”

  Isabela held utterly still, wide eyes fixed on Titus. She seemed to be barely breathing.

  Titus knelt in front of her, a soft smile on his face. “Hi, Isabela. I’m Titus. I’m your dad.” A pause. “You can just call me Titus for now, though, okay?”

  A nod, nothing else.

  Titus glanced at the social worker, who remained impassive and watchful, seemingly content to see how first introductions played out.

  “Um, do you go by Isabela? Or do you have a nickname?” Titus remained kneeling, and seemed to be trying to make his shoulders narrower, as if that was possible.

  The little girl just stared at him. “Bel,” she whispered. “Mommy called me Bel.”

  “Do you want me to call you Bel? Or would you rather I call you Isabela?”

  A shrug. Eyes dropping. “Isabela.”

  “Okay, then, Isabela it is.” Titus seemed at a loss. “Um. Is there anything you want to ask me?”

  A long, long silence. Isabela’s eyes roved over him, assessing. She reached out and didn’t quite touch one of his tattoos on his bicep, a stylized depiction of a 1940s pinup model. “Is that Mommy?”

  The girl depicted in the tattoo had black hair and brown skin, curvy, wearing a red-and-white polka-dot bikini and a bright, flirty smile.

  Titus huffed a laugh. “No, it’s…it’s no one in particular. Or, I guess maybe it was a real person.” A laugh. “How do you explain pinup calendars? Um. It’s a drawing of someone from a long time ago. Sort of like a cartoon.”

  She frowned. “Is it painted on?”

  Titus laughed. “No, well, kind of. It’s on there forever.” He rubbed at it with a thumb. “You try.”

  Isabela looked at him, then at the tattoo. Rubbed it gingerly with a fingertip, and then looked at her fingertip. “Weird. It looks like Mommy.”

  Titus looked at the tattoo more carefully. “I guess you’re right. Never thought about it—I got that one a long time ago.”

  “How did they put it on you?” Isabela asked.

  Titus considered. “Um? You ever draw on yourself with a pen or a marker?” She nodded. “Sort of like that. But it’s this special kind of needle, like a handheld sewing machine, and they dip the needle in special ink, and the needle goes down into my skin, real fast, and it draws on my skin, and then it doesn’t come off.”

  Isabela gave a disgusted look. “Like getting a bunch of shots?”

  “Kinda, I guess, yeah.”

  “Did it hurt?”

  “Yeah, a little.”

  She frowned. “Why?”

  “Why?” Titus echoed. “Why did it hurt, or why did I get them?”

  “Why did you get them?”

  A laugh. “You know, that’s a good question. They seemed like the cool, rock star thing to do, I guess.”

  A blink. “I don’t know what that means.”

  Another laugh. “That’s okay.” A sigh. “What else do you want to ask me?”

  A shrug. Isabela’s eyes dropped to her hands as she toyed with the trunk of her stuffed elephant. “Where is Mommy? When can I go home?”

  Titus blinked hard, and looked at the social worker for help.

  Mena scooted next to Isabela. “Honey, remember what we talked about?”

  Isabela nodded. “You said Mommy…you said she—she was hurt, and that the hurt was so bad she…she’s not alive anymore. It was a accident.” Her voice cracked, became tearful. “She’s gone?”

  Titus nodded. “I’m so sorry, Isabela. I wish I could change it.”

  “What about….” She blinked. “My bed, and my clothes? And what about all of Mommy’s stuff? Who…who will take care of me?”

  Mena wrapped her arm around Isabela. “We’ll figure all that out, about your stuff and your mom’s. And…you’re going to stay here, now. Titus and Laurel are going to take care of you.”

  Isabela was quiet, absorbing. She looked at me, and then at Titus. “You’re my dad?”

  A nod. “Yes. I am.”

  “Mommy told me…she said my father was too busy to be with me. That he…that you had a job that made you go travel everywhere, and you couldn’t see me. That you didn’t want to.”

  Titus’s shoulders shook. His head dropped. When he lifted his eyes to her, they were wet. “I…I can’t say I understand why she told you that, Isabela, but it’s not true. I do want to see you. I always did. It’s true I have a job that means I travel a lot, but…I wanted to see you.”

  Isabela looked away, thinking. “When I asked Mommy about my dad, she got angry. Were you mean to her?”

  Titus sighed, sat down heavily on the floor and folded his legs in a crisscross. “I…I don’t think I was, but your mommy may have felt different. I don’t really know how to…how to explain it, honey.”

  Mena touched Isabela’s arm. “Sometimes, adults just don’t get along, and it’s nobody’s fault. Sometimes, when adults don’t get along, things get complicated, and they can be hard to understand until we’re a little older.”

  Titus’s eyes went to Mena’s. “I know what the court paperwork says, but I—”

  Mena cut in. “Perhaps we could talk about this in private.” She looked to me, to Isabela. “Isabela, I need to talk to Titus for a little bit, about some adult stuff. Do you think you could go with Laurel for a few minutes?”

  Isabela nodded, looked at me. “Are you nice?”

  I laughed. “I mean, I try to be. How about I promise I’ll be on my best behavior?”

  Isabela nodded seriously. “Mommy has a friend who looks like you, only she’s not as pretty, and she’s not very nice to me. I don’t like her.”

  I stifled a laugh. “Well, I like to think I’m pretty cool.” I held out my hand to her. “Do you like clothes and purses?”

  Isabela’s eyes brightened, just a little. “Yeah. Mommy lets me wear her shoes sometimes, and if I’m careful I can play with her purses.”

  I wiggled my fingers and smiled. “Well come on, then. I have lots of shoes and lots of and purses. You can tell me which ones are your favorites.”

  I led her into the extra bedroom—I had no clue where it was going to go, honestly, but I’d have to figure that out later. Her eyes went wide at the racks of clothing that filled the room, the shelves of purses along two walls, and the shelves of shoes on the others, and in the closet.

  “This is all yours?” she asked, awed.

  I nodded. “Yeah, it is.”

  “You have a lot of stuff.”

  “Yeah, I guess I do.”

  She eyed me. “If I’m staying here, where will I sleep? On the couch?”

  I shook my head. “No, honey. We’l
l clear all this stuff out of here and put it…somewhere else. This will be your room. We’ll bring all your stuff over, and it’ll feel just like your own place. Okay?”

  I could tell she still hadn’t quite processed the reality, yet. Her six-year-old mind still half believed it wasn’t real, that her mom would come get her. And I couldn’t fathom how she must feel. How this would work. How any of it would work.

  I’d just started wrapping my head around Titus living with me, loving him, letting him into my life. And now…this.

  I looked at Isabela, who had wandered over to my purses and was examining them carefully, one at a time, not touching them. A little girl.

  Here.

  In my house.

  In my life.

  There wasn’t room or time to panic, but I had to work hard to push it back, to fight it.

  “I like this one,” I heard her say.

  My brain went sideways—she was holding my alligator Birkin. Don’t freak, don’t freak, don’t freak. “That’s my favorite too, actually.” I swallowed the instinct to take it and put it back on the shelf. Instead, I settled the strap over her little shoulder. “Looks good on you.”

  She touched the outside with a very careful fingertip. “What is it made of?”

  “Um, alligator.”

  “Real alligator?”

  I nodded. “As far as I know.”

  “Did it hurt the poor alligator when they took its skin off?”

  I gulped, tried to not cackle in raw panic. “Um. I don’t know. I hope not.” I felt compelled to explain, even to a six-year-old I’d just met. “I didn’t actually buy the purse myself. It was a gift.”

  “Was it expensive?” She touched the material again. “Mommy has a purse made by someone named Louis, and she said I could have it when I’m older but not yet because it’s very expensive and I’m not old enough to have a expensive purse like that yet.”

  I laughed, and carefully took the Birkin and replaced it, breathing a little easier when it was back in place; I lifted one of my old standby favorites from its place, a vintage Louis Vuitton that my mother had bought new before I was born and passed down to me a few years ago.

  “This is a purse made by that same designer as your mother’s.”

  She touched the tan strap, the monogrammed leather. “Yeah, it looks like this. But it’s bigger and shaped different.”

  “Probably a Never Full MM.” I laughed at her blank expression. “I’ll teach you all about luxury purses, don’t worry.” We put the LV back. “Which other ones do you like?”

  She perused, and we talked about different purses, and then she wandered to my shoes. After a few more minutes of trying to keep her distracted, Mena entered, with a knock on the door.

  Her eyes went wide. “Oh, oh my. Quite a collection you have here.”

  I laughed. “Yeah. I wasn’t, um, expecting to need this room, obviously.”

  Her eyes sharpened. “Will that be an issue?”

  I shrugged. “No, we’ll figure it out.”

  She glanced down at Isabela. “Would you be comfortable spending some time with Titus?”

  Isabela nodded, and took Mena’s hand. A few moments later, Mena returned to my spare room, leaned against the doorway.

  “Your relationship with Mr. Bright is new, I take it.”

  I nodded. “It is.”

  “This is an awful big stressor to put on a brand-new relationship.”

  I sighed. “Yeah, it sure is. Unexpected for both of us. But the most innocent one here in all this is Isabela.” I held her gaze. “I don’t know what you talked about with Titus, but I can assure you, no matter what you think you may know about him, whether from court documents or from public media, it’s not anywhere near a full picture of the man he is.”

  “The picture I have of him is one of a very complicated and complex man.” She chose her words with care. “I know the stories in tabloids are often exaggerated if not wholly untrue, but he’s still a public figure, and a rock star. I take it until recently he didn’t even have a permanent address.”

  “Did your sources of information on him tell you he wanted to be a part of Isabela’s life, and that her mother prevented it?”

  She nodded. “That’s a matter of court record. I read the transcripts and went through all the files. It didn’t appear to me that Ms. Hernandez had much by way of good reason to prevent Mr. Bright from seeing his daughter, and in my opinion, it’s a miscarriage of justice that he was prevented from doing so. Simply being famous and a man doesn’t mean he’s unfit to be a father. He wasn’t given a fair chance.”

  “I’m glad you see that.” I regarded her. “Yes, our relationship is new. Yes, he’s a rock star. Yes, he’s lived the rock star life, and why shouldn’t he? If anything, he’s a victim in this whole thing. But I can tell you unequivocally, Titus Bright will be here for that little girl. He’ll do his best to love her, and in my personal experience, that’s pretty damn good.”

  “What about you, Ms. McGillis?”

  “Me?” I looked away, then back. “I’m with Titus, ride or die. And…” I swallowed. “I was once a little girl in need of love and attention myself. So, yeah, I’ll do my best for her, too.”

  She nodded. “Good. Because she’s going to have a hard time adjusting. Death of a loved one is traumatic for anyone, but when it’s the only parent and the only family you’ve ever known…well, she’ll need a lot of patience.”

  “Trust me, if anyone can understand that, it’s Titus and I.”

  Another nod. “I think, all things considered, Isabela is fortunate to have you and Titus. I’ve worked on plenty of other cases far more complicated and unpleasant for everyone.”

  “I’m sure you have.” I looked around the room. “So, what now?”

  “Well, there’s paperwork to file, and you’re going to need time to get this room arranged. Isabela’s going to need the rest of her things. Something is going to have to be done with Maria’s things, but since she and Titus didn’t have a relationship, that’s not necessarily something you, or rather he, has to deal with.”

  “I guess we’d better get started, then.”

  Mena had taken Isabela to pack her things—which, understandably, was predicated to be a very difficult event. It was all so sudden, for everyone.

  I was panicking, but on the inside. For Titus, and for Isabela, I was keeping it down, pretending it was all hunky-dory.

  Titus saw through it, though.

  We were standing in our bedroom, looking at the closet, now stuffed to overflowing since I’d moved some of my stuff to make room for his—and trying to figure out how I was going to fit everything from the extra bedroom into the tiny amount of space available. And by tiny, I mean none at all.

  Titus was watching me, and I could feel him thinking.

  “What, Titus?” I turned on him, crossing my arms. “I can feel you thinking.”

  He rolled a shoulder. “I dunno.”

  I huffed. “Out with it.”

  “Well, when it was just you, this house was pretty much perfect, right?”

  I groaned, picking up the direction he was going. “Titus, come on.”

  “I’m just saying.” A soft kind smile. “And it was enough room for just you and me.” A gentle teasing glint in his eyes. “But you have a lot of stuff. And…” a hesitation. “I’m already attracting attention, around here. Paparazzi are beginning to pick up on my movements, that I’m here. Neighbors are coming out to watch whenever my truck is on the street.”

  “But I love this house.” I sounded like I was whining—because I was.

  “I know, me too.” He held me by the arms. “Just something to think about.”

  “No, you’re right.” I met his eyes. “Especially if, someday, you and I want to think about…” I trailed off, weirded out that I was even having the thought.

  He just smirked at me. “Think about what?”

  I shrugged, a tiny lift of one shoulder. “The future. After things wit
h Isabela are more settled.”

  “The future in what sense, Laur? Say it. Just…try it on for size. Doesn’t mean it’s happening any time soon, just because you say the words.”

  I laughed, self-conscious. “Having kids. There, I fucking said it—happy? If we want to think about having kids, or rather a kid, someday, in the future, maybe—we’d need a bigger house. And yeah, I’ve noticed the guys with cameras camped out down the street, so privacy would be a concern.”

  He nodded. “I know this thing with us just jumped from a new relationship to something else entirely, in the space of, like, an hour.”

  “It went from a new relationship to starting a family at warp speed. We had one night alone in bed together.” I rested my forehead against his chest. “It’s all happening too fast. I don’t know how to do this.”

  “I know.”

  “What if I’m not going to be any good at this?”

  “At what?”

  I laughed bitterly. “You and me—being in a relationship. Being a…shit—a stepmother to Isabela.”

  “I think we can’t think about it as being parents, right off the bat. We just have to all learn how to…be, together. The three of us. It’s a lot for all of us. Let’s not put any extra pressure on the situation by trying to force some preconceived notions of family on the whole thing. She barely understood that she even had a father, from what I gather. Now, suddenly, her mom is dead and she has a dad and a you, and everything is upside down. It’s gonna take her time just to process that Maria is really gone.”

  I nodded against his shirt. “I wonder if Dr. Hines can recommend a friend. I think Isabela’s going to need to talk to someone, and I think the two of us are, as well, to learn how to cope with suddenly being thrust into this position.”

  “I’m sure she can.”

  I twisted my head to look up at him. “I’m not ready for this, Titus. But I’ll do my best.”

  A laugh, a soft huff. “Yeah, neither am I. But what choice do we have.” Another laugh. “Well, you do have a choice.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Laurel.”

  “Titus.”

  “You have a choice.”

  “So do you.”