Daddy Boss

by Claire Bishop

“Open it,” he said.

  There was a clasp keeping it closed. I moved it aside, and the box popped open. Inside was an old-fashioned key. I lifted it up to get a look at it, and it caught the orange light coming off the porch. “Did he say what it was for?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Hmm,” I groaned in mock frustration.

  “Go inside. He’s probably worried sick about you.”

  “Thank you.” I walked in. The house was empty and completely silent except for the soft sound of what seemed like a music box coming from upstairs. Curious, I walked up to find the source of the sound. It was coming from an open door on the second floor.

  When I got to the landing, a plump old lady popped her head out of the room and looked me up and down. “You’re Zoe, aren’t you?” she asked quietly as she walked out into the hallway.

  “Yes, I am. Who are you?”

  “My name’s Mona.” She darted forward and reached out her hand.

  I shook it. “Are you the nanny?”

  “Yes, and I’m so glad to finally meet you.” She looked around as if to see if anyone was listening and said, “I’ve been rooting for you this whole time.”

  “Really?”

  “Mm-hmm.” She nodded her head. “And if he does anything to hurt you, anything at all, you just let me know. I’ve got a bottle of mace in my purse. You just aim for the crotch.” She bared her teeth and backed up to show me her technique.

  “I get the first shot, but I guess you can have sloppy seconds.”

  “See, I knew I’d like you. I knew it. He told me that you’re sharp. You’ve been cautious about him, and you’re right to do so. A real woman knows to stay vigilant and drop a guy at the first sign of serious trouble.”

  “I don’t foresee any problems.”

  “Neither do I. That’s why I made him cut the crap. He’s been torturing himself, you know, trying to find a way to make things work without having to tell you about the boys. I straightened him right out. You know what I said?”

  “No.”

  “You get the benefits of having children without the pain.”

  “I never thought about it like that.”

  “Come on. I’ll bet you’re dying to see them. They’re sleeping, but I’ve got them on notice. They won’t give us any trouble.” I followed her into the nursery.

  It was painted blue with little clouds hovering just below the ceiling. The boys were lying in cribs on either side of the room, both with their eyes closed, and their fists clenched. I walked up to the one on the left to get a better look. “Is this Abel?” I whispered.

  Mona nodded her head emphatically. “He got sick a few days ago, and Archer lost it. He had the boy airlifted to the hospital over a fever. It was really fun to watch.”

  “That’s a new parent thing, isn’t it?”

  “It is.” She walked over to the other crib. “This is Andrew. Archer calls him the brute, but I like to think of him as a gentle giant.”

  “Kind of like his father. Which one’s older?”

  “Abel, but only by a few seconds.”

  “Are they identical?”

  “Yes, but there’s small differences. They say they’re the same, but it’s never really the case.”

  I looked back at the door where a white box was hanging on the outer edge of the frame. “What’s that?”

  “A motion sensor. He’s got cameras and microphones in here, too. So he can monitor them at all times.”

  “He really loves them, doesn’t he?”

  “Before he met you, they were the only thing he cared about. Besides work, that is.” Mona walked back out into the hallway.

  I followed her. “Is he good with them?”

  “Mmm.” She cocked her head to the side. “He tries, but I think they need a woman’s touch. It’s not that he’s mean to them or anything. He just doesn’t know how to be gentle with them.”

  “They hate me.” Archer walked up behind me and kissed me behind the ear. “They think I’m the boogeyman.”

  “That’s just because you’re so big and strong,” I said.

  “Mona, is she giving you trouble?”

  “She’s a terrible person,” Mona said. “Fire her and get a new one.”

  “I like her. Can we keep her?” I turned to ask Archer.

  “Yes, but only until we have to put her to sleep.”

  “No, I will not allow it. I want to die of alcohol poisoning. I decided that a long time ago.” She went back into the nursery to gather her things.

  “I really do like her,” I whispered.

  “She’s an evil saint,” he said.

  “I can hear you.” She walked out.

  “We weren’t saying anything mean,” Zoe said. “We were just talking about how wonderful you are.”

  “Thank you. Now let me through.” She barged past us. “I need a bath and a glass of whiskey.”

  My eyes went wide, and I looked at Archer. He chuckled. “Mona, check your account when you get home.”

  “You didn’t.” She stopped halfway down.

  “I did, and you earned it.”

  “Thank you!” She walked out.

  “Did you give her a bonus?”

  “I like to surprise my best employees every once in a while. Did he give it to you?”

  “The key? What’s it for?”

  “I’m not telling you.” He walked back down the stairs, shaking his hips.

  I ran after him. “You have to. You know that I don’t like surprises.”

  “You’re going to have to wait until after dinner for this one, and don’t say another word about it because I’m not going to tell you.”

  I stamped my feet playfully. “I’m going to throw a temper tantrum.”

  “Or you could come watch me cook.”

  “Nope.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “I’m fine right here.”

  “Suit yourself.” He disappeared into the living room.

  I ran after him. “What are you making?” I asked when I got to the kitchen. He pulled out a bottle of olive oil from the cupboard above the stove.

  “It’s a surprise.”

  “More surprises? No, you can’t do this to me.”

  “Do you have any food allergies?”

  “Wheat, citrus, shellfish, water…”

  “Water, hmm?” He raised one eyebrow. “How do you survive?” He took out a can of diced tomatoes from the cupboard and grabbed a bunch of basil, along with a clove of garlic from the fridge.

  “Vodka.” I hopped onto a stool. “Lots and lots of vodka, but none of that grain liquor crap. It has to be good—straight from Russia.”

  “This okay?” He took a bottle out from a cupboard next to the stove.

  “Vodka sauce?”

  “Nope.” He shook his head and pulled out a suspicious package wrapped in butcher paper from the fridge. “Try again.”

  “I don’t know.” He unwrapped it and pulled out three thick Italian sausages. Then he drizzled some olive oil in a pan and turned the heat on.

  “Gravy.” He washed his hands and started chopping garlic.

  “Gravy? What’s that?”

  “You’ve never heard of tomato gravy?”

  “No.”

  “Good.” He added some garlic to the pan and started chopping up the basil. He held the knife just like a chef, by the blade, and his chopping movements were quick and refined. He knew what he was doing.

  “What’s gravy?”

  “Every Sunday before we went to mass, my dad would wake up and put on a pot of gravy. It’s Italian sausage, sometimes bracciole and meatballs, all cooked in a pot of vodka sauce. They call it gravy because the flavor from the meat mixes with the sauce.”

  “Ooh, that sounds amazing. Are you Italian?”

  “On my father’s side. I never really knew my mother, but he told me that she was Irish.”

  “If you don’t mind my asking, what happened?”

  “She died giving birth to me.” He turned his
back to me and added the tomatoes into the pan, along with a can of San Marzano tomato sauce. Then he sprinkled the basil on top and added the vodka.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said.

  “It doesn’t really bother me.” He turned around to grab the pepper grinder sitting on the counter, keeping his eyes averted.

  I knew that he was lying, but Archer didn’t seem to be comfortable with showing weakness, so I gave him the dignity of not saying anything. I wondered, though, what happened to the boys’ mother. Did she die, too? He never mentioned her. Maybe she wasn’t around. She must not have been if she wasn’t taking care of the boys, but I couldn’t imagine a mother abandoning her children, or Archer for that matter.

  I watched, taking mental notes as he seasoned the sauce, carefully tasting it to make sure that it was perfect. Then he pulled a clean spoon out of the drawer and lifted a steaming spoonful for me to try. “It’s hot,” he said as he held it out for me.

  I lunged forward and snapped it up. It tasted dark, savory, and it had a way of making my mouth tingle, making me want to beg for more. “It’s addictive.”

  “I know. I have to get my fix every once in a while.” He opened a cupboard to show me a stack of tomato sauce cans.

  “I want this every single night.”

  “See, it’s like heroin.” He put a pot of water on to boil and drizzled some olive oil and salt over the top.

  I waited anxiously for the water to boil and watched as steam started rising from the pot. When the food was finally finished, I let him fret over me. He poured me out a glass of wine and made a show of pulling out my chair. At that point, I just wanted to eat.

  I didn’t hesitate. I wolfed the whole thing down and got up to get more as soon as I was done. Once we’d eaten the whole pan, and I’d gotten over my withdrawals, he got up out of his chair, gave me his hand, and led me into the living room.

  “I’ll bet you’d forgotten all about the surprise, didn’t you?”

  “I was distracted by that ambrosia you cooked up.”

  “I like that—ambrosia.” He motioned for me to sit down on one of his stiff, antique couches.

  There was a wooden table sitting under the window to my right. It looked tiny when compared to the sky blue ruffled curtains towering above it. Archer reached under the top of the table and pressed a button. Something unclasped, and the top opened, revealing a secret compartment inside.

  He pulled out a heavy looking black box. When he handed it to me, the light moved over the surface. There were thin, decorative lines etched into the surface, forming a paisley pattern. I turned it over. The black paint was fading, and the metal was warped in places, as if it had been thrown around. “How old is this?”

  “I think it dates back to the eighteenth century—late colonial era.”

  “Really?” I pulled out my key to get a better look at it.

  “I had the lock replaced. It was worn away. But the real gift is inside.”

  I pushed the key into the keyhole and turned it. The top opened up. Inside was a yellow manuscript with a hand-stitched binding. On the front cover were the words, ‘L’art de la Cuisine de La Nouvelle-Orleans.’

  “The Art of New Orleans Cooking,” he said.

  “Oh, I know what this is.” I placed it back in the box. “I just can’t believe I’m holding it. Is this a first edition?”

  “Yes, and I’m sorry. I know it’s in French, but it’s not hard to translate the ingredients and measurements.”

  “It could be in Martian for all I care. I can’t believe you got this for me. I don’t even know how you found it.”

  “I have an old military buddy who collects things like this. I hope it’s not too much.”

  “Dear Jesus, no. This thing is so rare. It’s legendary. It has one of the oldest marinara recipes in the world. It’s absolute crap, most of the recipes are, but who cares? It’s an artifact.”

  “I thought you might like it.”

  “I love it.” I hopped up to peck him on the lips and found myself lost in his smell and the warmth of his breath flowing down my face. There was only one thing to do. I grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him upstairs into the bedroom.

  I pushed him down onto the bed and climbed on top of him, ready to worship every inch of his body. I started slowly, letting my lips roll over his, then pushed my tongue through. He wrapped one arm around my back and reached up with the other one to unhook my bra. He threw it onto the floor.

  I reached in between us and slipped my hands down into his pants. His low, grumbling sigh sent shivers down my back. “Yeah, just like that,” he said.

  I pulled my fingers up his shaft. “You like that?”

  The sound of a shrieking infant blasted through the room. I turned over so I could let him up.

  “I’m so sorry about this, Zoe.”

  “Hey, don’t ever apologize.”

  He gave me a confused look before he ran across the hall. I decided that it was going to take time to convince him that I didn’t mind. It wasn’t registering. It made me realize just how hard things had been for him. If he couldn’t be convinced that I’d stay, he must’ve gone through hell. Maybe the mom did abandon her kids. Maybe that was why he was so worried about me running away.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Archer

  I shoved my paperwork aside and stared down at my phone. I had a guard at Zoe’s Bakery, but it wasn’t enough. I had to be certain. I was like a new father, never completely sure that she was safe.

  I dialed Zoe’s number.

  “Hello?” she answered, sounding exhausted.

  “I’m sorry. I know you’re working.”

  “I don’t care. Chloe’s driving me up the wall. I needed a moment.”

  “What’s she on about?”

  “She wants me to get a restraining order against Mr. Beetle. I told her there’s no way I could possibly do that. We don’t even know his real name, and I doubt he has an address.”

  “It won’t work anyway. Those things are a joke. A piece of paper isn’t going to stop that crazy fuck from going after you.”

  “I know, right?”

  “I want to see you. Can you come over tonight?”

  “I should just bring all my things over,” she said. “I’ve spent the night at your place every night this week.”

  “Is it too much?”

  “No, God, no. I love it.”

  “Even with the shrieking?” I needed that validation.

  “Especially with the shrieking. I love walking in and seeing those little guys. It’s so cute the way they punch the air.”

  “They’re little fighters, aren’t they?”

  “Yeah, they are. By the way, I’m getting you back for that surprise.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “Yes, I am. I’m commandeering your kitchen, and there is nothing you can do about it.”

  “I’m allergic to water.”

  She hung up. I shook my head and grabbed my things. Rick was waiting in the office for me when I walked out. “What’s up?”

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “I want to show you something.”

  “What?”

  “It’s back at the warehouse. Come on.”

  I followed him outside and down the narrow path toward the warehouse. Bessie was sitting in the center of the space. “What do you think?”

  He’d painted the body black and drew on a pair of baby blue girl eyes with felt eye lashes above them. “Is this it?” I asked.

  “Nah, man. It’s what’s inside that counts.” He lifted the back hood. Sitting in the center of the compartment was a black sphere with a fiery orange eye painted on the center. “What is that?”

  “The Palantir,” he said proudly.

  “You mean like one of those orbs from that old fantasy book, the kind that can see everything?”

  “Exactly. It’s perfect, isn’t it?”

  “I think you should get another bonus.”

  �
��Keep ‘em coming. I don’t mind.” He closed the hood.

  “Are they all going to be painted like that?”

  “No, it messes up the optics, but it’s good for marketing.”

  “I love it.”

  “So, how’s it going with the little lady?” He pulled out a cigarette and we went outside. “Is she freaking out about the twins yet?”

  “She doesn’t care. The twins could scream all night, and she doesn’t mind, at all. She loves it. I’ve had her staying at my place all week. The twins blew up three times last night, and she didn’t say a thing.”

  “Are you sure she’s not an alien or a robot?”

  “I don’t care if she is.”

  “I’ll bet you don’t.” He nudged me.

  “I won’t lie.”

  “Be careful, though. Women can be sneaky. She’s probably latching on because she knows you got money.”

  “No, you’re wrong. I won’t even hear that. This woman is completely genuine.”

  “Be careful.” He lit his cigarette and took a puff. “That’s all I’m saying.”

  I didn’t like his insinuation. It felt wrong to let him talk that way about Zoe, but I wasn’t about to start trouble with Rick over one little comment. I let it go.

  I said my goodbyes to Rick and called my driver to take me home. When I got back to my place, Mona was in the living room, watching a soap opera.

  She jumped up to meet me. “How are you?”

  “Fantastic. I’ve got a wonderful woman falling asleep next to me every night. It’s all your fault, you know.”

  She turned the TV off. “The boys are sleeping. I hope you don’t mind me watching my stories.”

  “So long as you’re here, I feel safe.”

  “Is she coming again tonight?”

  “She should be here any minute. I guess she’s making dinner for me.”

  “Ooh, you lucky dog you. You’ll be eating well tonight.”

  We were interrupted by a knock on the door. When I answered it, Zoe was standing outside, carrying two paper bags filled with groceries.

  I reached out for one of the bags. “Here, let me help you with that.”

  She slapped my hand away. “It’s a surprise.”

  “I’ll help.” Mona walked past me to grab a bag and glared at me playfully.

  “Mona.” I followed them into the kitchen. “If you tell me what’s inside the bags, you can stay for dinner tonight.”