It was all very, very LA.
“That how you Californians greet people?” I asked with a grin.
He shot me a huge, toothy smile, his eyes hidden behind a pair of designer sunglasses.
“Sure as shit is,” he said, slipping off the sunglasses and revealing a pair of bright green eyes. He hung the sunglasses from his shirt and flagged down the nearest waitress. “Can I get something with vodka, darling?” he asked.
The waitress, a pretty young blonde, blushed a bit.
“We have lots of drinks with vodka,” she said with a smile. “You’re going to have to narrow it down.”
“Something…sweet,” he said. “I’ll trust your taste.”
He gave her a wink.
“You got it,” she said.
As she left, Andrew’s eyes locked onto her backside.
“Damn,” he said. “You know, I can’t ever figure out which city has the more beautiful women. I mean, LA’s got the beautiful blondes who all think they’re the next leading lady. But the girls in New York…”
Normally, this would’ve been my cue to jump in with my own thoughts on the matter. From there, Andrew and I would swap stories about our recent conquests, each of us trying to one-up the other.
Today, however, I wasn’t in the mood. Something about it even seemed…distasteful. I couldn’t figure out why.
Was it because of Heather?
I shook my head, bringing myself back to the moment. No, it was because I had more important things to talk about than women. I had my business on my mind.
“Uh-oh,” said Andrew. “I’m with Serious Justin today, aren’t I?”
I took a sip of my drink as I tried to figure out where to begin.
“It’s the babies.”
Andrew raised his eyebrows.
“‘The babies’?” he asked. “Buddy, please don’t tell me you’ve gone and settled down without telling me.”
Despite how focused my thoughts were, a dry chuckle escaped my lips at the ridiculousness of what he’d suggested. It was one of the reasons I liked Andrew so much—he could be a little immature, but he always knew how to pull me out of it whenever I started to take myself too seriously.
“No, jackass,” I said with a smirk. “The line of baby stuff.”
“Ahh,” he said, tilting his head back in understanding. “That bad?”
“That bad,” I said. “And I don’t get it. I put so much money into getting this all designed. I hired the top up-and-comers from the fashion institute and put the best designers on the models for the accessories. But they’re not selling.”
“So, what’s the plan?” he asked, then stopped himself as if realizing something. “Let me guess—the plan is you keep beating your head against the wall until you win.”
I nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.
“You know, J,” Andrew said. “One of the first things you learn in my business is that they can’t all be winners. Who the hell knows why TV shows fail and why some don’t even make it past the pilot.”
The waitress returned with Andrew’s drink, placing it on a napkin in front of him. And on the napkin was a note that read “Off now, but call me?” along with a number. Andrew chuckled and tucked the napkin into the front pocket of his shirt.
“You know American House Movers?” he asked. “That show where we take condemned houses and turn them into primo places and then physically ship them to the best neighborhoods in the country?”
“You kidding?” I asked. “It’s all the women at my office talk about.”
“Well, that was one hit, but before we got to that, we had two dozen shows that didn’t even make it out of focus testing. And one of those shows was about pretty much the same damn thing, believe it or not.”
“And that has to do with baby clothes…how?” I asked.
“Because baby clothes and TV shows and all that, they’re products. And sometimes bad products succeed, and sometimes good products fail. The house-movers show was one of the ones I hated in that batch, but it’s the one that worked. And who the hell knows why?”
He sipped his drink.
“Come on, J,” he said. “You should know as well as anyone that sometimes you’ve just got to cut your losses and move on. So you’re not cut out for the cutthroat world of baby gear—so what? Not like you don’t have a dozen other departments that are bringing in the billions.”
Andrew knew what he was talking about, but it wasn’t good enough for me. Not today.
“No,” I said. “There’s something I’m missing. It’s like there’s a piece to this machine that I need to find that’ll make all this work.”
“Or…a piece that needs to be fixed.”
I raised my eyebrows at him. “What do you mean?”
Andrew sighed and shook his head. “Hey, if you want to go in on your sunk cost fallacy, I won’t stop you. But you want my advice, here it is.”
He reached into the leather messenger bag strapped over his shoulder and took out a tablet—the latest, most expensive model, of course. A few swipes later, he turned the face to me. It was the website for our baby clothes line, “Le Petit Bébé.” And there I was, dressed in casual jeans and a button-up, my arms crossed and a smile on my face.
“Who is that charming man standing next to all that stylish gear?” Andrew asked with a smirk.
“Go on,” I said.
“Now, don’t take this the wrong way, J. You’re a handsome guy—everyone knows that. Not many CEOs can do double-time as models for their own stuff.”
“Uh-huh,” I said.
“And normally, putting a melt-in-your-mouth gorgeous face like yours front and center would be a no-brainer.”
“If this is leading to you asking me out, let me just say now that I don’t think I like you that way.” I flashed him a smirk, and he gave me a playful jab on the arm.
“But for this baby stuff,” he went on, “it just doesn’t work.”
“Really?” I asked. “And why’s that?”
“Well,” he said, turning off his tablet and slipping it back into his bag. “You’ve got…let’s just say, a little bit of a reputation.”
My eyes flicked over to the redhead, who was still giving me very obvious signals. I turned my attention back to Andrew.
“It’s women who are buying this stuff, right?” he said. “Women with kids, women who are ready to put their party days behind them and focus on their kiddos.”
“Sure, sure.”
“And the last thing they want to be thinking about when they’re in this frame of mind is a guy like you.”
“And why is that?”
“Because you’re not the father of their kid—you’re the guy who banged them back in college and didn’t call them again. As oh-so-charming as you look with that big smile on your face, you’re not exactly putting them in the mothering mood. Or the buying one.”
It made a certain kind of sense. I’d just assumed me being in the ad and giving my guarantee of quality would be enough. I wasn’t even thinking that the same women who would be buying my clothes would be the same ones who’d read about my exploits in the tabloids.
“So, what, I have to go have a kid or something?”
“You could always let some girl make an honest man out of you, sure,” he said. “Or you could rehabilitate your image. But that would take time, and you want this stuff to move now.” He looked down, an expression of deep thought on his face. Then his features lit up. “Holy shit,” he said. “I’ve got it.”
“Tell me.”
“How would you, Justin Donovan, like to be the star of your very own reality show?”
I didn’t say anything at first, half-convinced that he was screwing with me. “You’re…kidding, right?” I asked.
“Not even a little,” he said. “I want to you to be on TVs across the nation, the talk around every water cooler in every office.”
I let out a dry laugh. “You’re screwing with me. I knew it. Look, I k
now I have kind of an ego, but you’re going to have to be more subtle than that if you want to give me crap about it.”
Andrew leaned in, a serious expression on his face. “J, I like to bust your balls, but I never screw around when it comes to TV.”
He was right about that. I still wasn’t convinced this wasn’t a long-con prank, but I decided to indulge him.
“Okay, go ahead.”
“Picture this,” he said, making a frame shape with his thumbs and forefingers in an “L” shape—the man was LA to the core, no doubt about that. “Justin Donovan, playboy billionaire. When he’s not playing master of the universe from the top floor of his company’s skyscraper, he’s living a life of carefree fun—chasing beautiful women, eating at the finest restaurants, and getting buzzed off the best booze.
“You’re the kind of guy that guys want to be, and that girls act like they don’t like but are secretly crazy about. And what we do is…ready? Pair you up with a baby.”
I scoffed. “Like what, get some sexy girl to hang out with me?”
“No, not a ‘babe’—a ‘baby.’”
“What?”
“Think about it—the viewers get to watch a guy like you learn how to take care of a kid. It’ll be you and the baby, you know, getting into wacky hijinks, and then you learn how to take care of the kid. You bond. You hit it off, all that.”
It was insane. Insane, but intriguing.
“And in the process, everyone in the country gets to see me play nice with a baby, be a good dad. Kind of,” I said.
Andrew snapped his fingers.
“That’s right. Then when moms are looking at the ads for your baby stuff, seeing that oh-so-handsome face smiling back at them, they’re not thinking about Justin Donovan the playboy heartbreaker. They’re thinking of Justin Donovan, doting daddy.”
I sat back in my chair and took a slow sip of my drink.
“It’s totally insane,” I said. “But…it could work.”
“I get a hit show—you get some killer publicity, and we all come out smiling in the end.”
Before either of us could say another word, Andrew’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He took it out and looked at the screen, his eyebrows shooting up.
“And as if on cue, here’s the boss himself. I’m going to pitch this to him, see what he thinks. But you ask me, we got a winner.”
With that, he answered and hurried off.
Me on a TV show. It sounded completely crazy. But damn, it could be just the thing to get women buying my baby line. But…could I actually do it?
I thought about Heather. She had a kid and was still living a carefree, party-girl lifestyle.
It couldn’t be that hard.
Right?
Chapter 9
Heather
The heat blasted down on me as I stood in the parking lot of the dealership in Queens, my stomach roiling with anxiety as I waited for the mechanic to come out and tell me exactly what the damage would be. It didn’t really matter how much I was going to have to pay to get my car fixed—any cost would be too much. My administrative job paid barely anything as it was, and I’d been clinging for dear life to what little savings I had.
I took a glance inside the garage where a pair of mechanics stood in front of the open hood of my car, their hands on their hips. Owning a car in New York was impractical at the best of times, but it was the only way I could easily get to work, which was all the way in Great Neck, east down Long Island. Going without a car wasn’t an option. Whatever the guys said I had to pay, that was that.
I was pacing back and forth, thinking about how I was already going to have to pay extra to the daycare for being late to pick up Faye.
Faye had been another problem—she’d been fussier than usual over these last few days, and I had no idea what could be the cause of it.
But I couldn’t think about that now. All I could do was get my car situation sorted out, go get her, and take it from there.
The thud of a car hood shutting cut through the air. I turned to see one of the mechanics, a big, barrel-chested guy with a gleaming bald head, coming over to talk to me. More tension tightened in my stomach.
“What’s wrong with it?” I asked, shifting my weight from one foot to another.
“Catalytic converter,” he said.
I didn’t know what that was, but it sounded expensive.
“How much?”
He wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand and looked off into the distance, his eyes squinting from the sun.
“Good news is an older car like yours is easier and cheaper to repair. Bad news is that a part like that’s going to be pricey no matter what. You’re looking at a little under a thousand after labor.”
My stomach sank. A thousand dollars would very nearly wipe out my savings.
“A thousand?” I repeated.
He nodded. “If that’s too much, I can look into selling it to one of local parts places. Might get you a couple G’s for it.”
A couple thousand sounded like the best thing ever, but I needed that car.
“No,” I said. “I want to have it fixed. How soon can you have it done?”
“The work itself is only a couple of hours, but we’re backed up as hell around here.” Then he took another look over me, apparently seeing how stressed out I was. “But…I think I can move some stuff around, get it back to you the day after tomorrow.”
Two days without a car. That meant taking the G up through Brooklyn, then taking the seven to Grand Central, then taking the Long Island Rail out to Great Neck. I’d had to do it before, and the process was almost two hours, one way.
But there wasn’t anything I could do other than that. Not to mention it sounded like the mechanic was trying to do me a favor by rushing things.
“Thank you,” I said. “That’d be great.”
“And lucky for you, we’re right near the Main Street station for the seven. Just a couple of blocks over. But why don’t you come on inside and I’ll take your information?”
I followed him in, and ten minutes later I was back out in the heat. I was in my work clothes, which meant I was dressed extra warm for the intense air conditioning of the office.
I stood in front of the auto shop for several long minutes, coming to terms with what had happened. Nearly all my savings wiped out just like that, and that was assuming they didn’t find any other problems with the car.
I felt hopeless.
Right before I was about to begin my trek to the station, my phone rang in my purse. I took it out and saw that it was the daycare center.
“Hello?” I asked.
“Ms. Moore? This is Allison down at Angel’s Day Care.”
“Oh, hi,” I said. “I was actually about to call you. See, I’m having some car problems and—”
“Is there any way you could come down here sooner than later?” she asked.
“Why?” I asked, panic gripping me. “Is something wrong?”
“It’s Faye. She’s being extremely difficult. Normally, we’re okay dealing with baby issues, but she’s not cooperating with any of the girls down here.”
“Shoot,” I said. “Do you think there’s something wrong?”
“More likely than not it’s her wanting her mom. That ends up being the case almost every time when babies are fussy like this.”
“Okay, I see,” I said. “I’ll get down there as soon as I can. But I’m in Flushing now and have to take the train. Might be a minute.”
“The sooner, the better.”
We said our goodbyes and hung up.
I sighed as I slipped my phone back into my purse. I hated—hated, hated, hated—having to leave Faye in daycare. If it were up to me, I would’ve been home with her every day until she was at least able to walk. But two months was all the maternity leave my company was willing to give me, and even that was more generous than I was expecting. I was reasonably sure they were cutting me some slack on account of being a single mom.
Now it was gone. Just like that.
I arrived at the station, ready to head down the stairs and grab a train for my long trip back into the city. Right before I turned toward the stairs, however, a car pulled up in front of where I stood on the sidewalk. It was a cherry-red sports car, the top down. In the driver’s seat was a good-looking man with bright blond hair, his eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses and a big smile on his face.
Next to him was a gorgeous redhead, her skin impossibly fair. She wore a light sundress, her red curls dangling down from underneath a wide summer hat. They laughed and smile as they waited at the red light, stealing kisses from one another.
I watched them as they waited for the light to turn, a feeling of longing taking hold of my heart. For me, this was a miserable, rotten day. For these two, it was all fun and games, nothing to worry about but driving with the top down and taking in the mild summer wind.
They reminded me of my time with Justin. Made sense—after all, that was the last time I’d felt anything that even resembled “carefree.” As much as I loved Faye, it seemed like my life was nothing but stress. I had to raise my little girl all on my own, work a full-time job, and constantly, worry about money. And here these two were, living the kind of life I’d only be able to dream of.
The light turned green, and they were off, the engine of the sports car fading into the distance.
Chapter 10
Justin
I hit the button to drop the top of my rented convertible as I drove down the wide streets of West Hollywood. The breeze hit me like a gust of heaven, the air warm and mild rather than the oppressive heat I’d left behind in New York.
Not to say that New York wasn’t my city. But a change of pace was nice.
I was in LA to talk with Andrew about the reality show, and as I pulled onto Santa Monica Boulevard, I considered how crazy it was that I’d let myself even get talked into this. Reality TV wasn’t my thing to watch, let alone star in. But Andrew was right—the potential for killer publicity was there, and I’d be an idiot to even think about not doing it. A few months on the air and my baby line would be flying off the shelves. I could even donate the money I’d make from the show to some charity for little kids—not like I needed the cash.
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