Recharged

by Lulu Pratt

  Although I don’t care for how he treats me, he treats his on-and-off girlfriend Magdalene ten times worse. She’s the mother of his child, but she may as well call herself a glorified concubine. I’ve seen her cry on more occasions than I care to count, and to me I don’t think it’s worth it. Everything she could possibly want is at her fingertips, everything but Heath. When he feels like being bothered, he summons her to meet him at a moment’s notice. Whatever he wants, he gets, and it’s all on his time.

  “I’m stepping out with Mr. Vanguard,” says Magdalene. “I’ll be back after dinner so no need to wait for me. Marie should be here in about an hour for Jacobs’s lessons, so make sure he’s had his snack before then.”

  Marie, Jacob’s French tutor, is an absolute terror, and I do my best to avoid her as much as possible when she’s here. She comes in three times a week to tutor Jacob. Well, she comes in and points at things as she says them in French while Jacob blows spit bubbles. I’ve never heard of anyone tutoring a nine-month-old child, but for the right price anything is possible. Magdalene read about infants picking up languages before they can speak, and the rest is history.

  I try not to cringe watching Magdalene slip on her shoes, grab her purse, and sashay out the door. Peeking out the window just in time, I spot Magdalene exiting the building. Sure enough, the black Bentley Heath always sends is parked right out front, with the driver holding open the door to the backseat. Magdalene takes her time getting inside and I shake my head as the tail lights disappear into traffic.

  He calls, and you run to meet him.

  The shitty part is, he never bothers to call her himself. His secretary makes the calls for him, sometimes even going through me. He schedules meetings with her as if she’s a manicurist, or some other hired help.

  I don’t realize I’m clenching my hand tightly until I hear the Tiffany frame clink against my ring. Glancing down at the picture still in my hand with a frown, my thoughts go to the man looking back at me. Even at forty-two, Heath is still fit as a fiddle, and annoyingly attractive for someone so mean. His blond hair has little touches of gray throughout and I hate to admit, if I didn’t know him personally, I’d absolutely give him a second glance.

  After receiving my first paycheck, I Googled Heath as I noticed his company’s name signed my check instead of Magdalene. Despite already coming from a wealthy family, Heath acquired much of his money through hedge funds. I remember reading about his billionaire status for the first time and nearly choked on my latte. A millionaire in these parts is to be expected, but a billionaire, especially one with his figures, is a little shocking. I assume he’s the one funding this extravagant lifestyle, because I’ve never seen Magdalene go to any job that I know of since I’ve moved in.

  She constantly recalls stories from her modeling career, but I know now that she’s thirty-six, Magdalene’s days as a working model are history. The modeling industry is savage and she’s on the wrong side of twenty-five.

  I hope she realizes Heath has a type and unfortunately, it’s no longer her. His not-so-secret love life is all over the internet and a quick search returns story after story about his money and numerous sightings with different females of the city’s elite. One minute he’s lounging on the beach with a blonde bombshell, and the next minute he’s cuddling with a brunette in Paris. His status allows him into the inner circles of all the other elite in his international social circle.

  Magdalene is either too blind to notice or simply doesn’t care. I can’t imagine being that smitten by love to overlook my mate’s philandering ways. Not that I have a mate to speak of. Dating doesn’t rate highly on my radar right now.

  For obvious reasons, I keep my opinions to myself, and of course will never say anything to Magdalene about their little arrangement. If boss lady is happy being a secret mistress, then I certainly have no complaints either. I keep my mouth shut and focus on Jacob.

  Finally placing the silver frame back on the table, I check the time before glancing over at the baby monitor. Jacob is awake from his nap and rolling around in his crib quietly. I go up the stairs and walk down the hall to his bedroom, which is right next door to mine. I push open the door and reach down into his crib to pick him up. He smiles and spits at me as we head back to the living room.

  Sitting Jacob down on his elephant-print blanket, I rush over to the closet to grab a handful of his toys. He’s on my heels before I’m able to take two steps. He’s recently discovered how to move his legs enough to be considered crawling, and has been a little wiggle worm ever since. I have to be extra careful to keep things out of his way now.

  “Let’s go, mister,” I say, reaching down to grab him with one hand and balance his box of toys with the other.

  Gently placing him and the toys on the blanket, I sit down on the sofa and watch as he happily bangs on his miniature piano.

  “Now you stay put while I get your snack together.”

  Walking over to grab his organic cheese puffs and milk from the counter, I return to the blanket with a smile. My cell phone rings just as I’m about to plop down. Sliding it out of my pocket, I see the alert for a message inviting me out.

  Rachel knows I can’t go out during the week.

  I have my fingers ready to tap out my response when I pause to think of the last time I actually went somewhere and had a good time. Magdalene has strict rules about going out, especially if it involves drinking. While I completely understand her reasoning, I’m charged with caring for an infant and I’m no good to him if I’m drunk. It’s never lost on me that the same rule doesn’t apply to Magdalene. She certainly doesn’t seem to mind throwing a few back on a nightly basis. I’m positive she’s more familiar with red wine than she is with water.

  A loud bang on the piano draws my attention back to the floor. Clapping my hands as if he’s finished a masterpiece, he waves his little arms proudly as I settle down, placing his snack in front of him.

  “You’re all the fun I need,” I say. Jacob smiles as if he understands and reaches for a puff to throw in his mouth.

  There’s a knock at the door and I jump up to answer it. I open the door and Marie is standing there holding bags filled with the different props she must plan to use during the lesson.

  “Hi,” I say.

  She pulls her thin eyebrows together into a frown and shakes her head at me.

  I sigh loudly, knowing exactly what she wants. Marie has a thing about speaking English when she’s around, so I guess it’s fair to say I’m being taught French too… against my will.

  “Bonjour,” I say, stepping aside to let her in.

  Her frown disappears as she nods her approval at me. She walks over to Jacob, talking a mile a minute.

  While she’s giving Jacob his lesson, I use the time to fix a snack for myself and figure out what to cook for dinner. I check the fridge for cheese options and decide to whip up a gourmet grilled cheese sandwich. While I’m at it, I take out a few items for dinner.

  I’m glad Jacob isn’t a picky eater. Most of the time he happily devours all my homemade baby food blends. Magdalene doesn’t trust store-bought baby food and that’s something we can both agree on. Most of the brands I’ve come across have more preservatives in them than actual food, and that simply won’t do for my Jacob.

  Yes, I’d like to have a more active social life, but brainstorming different baby food options, and spending alone time with Jacob is fun to me. Even though his parents seem to prefer going out with their high-society friends, I can’t imagine being away from him. I love watching him grow and learn new things, even if that includes blowing spit bubbles at Marie.

  Chapter 2

  ASHER

  I walk around the apartment, pausing to look up at the vaulted ceilings and exposed rustic beams. Under normal circumstances it doesn’t get better than a penthouse apartment, but nothing about this situation is normal, and this place is a dump. To be fair, I’m sure this is considered upscale to someone with average taste and a few millions in
the bank, but it’s nothing compared to my mansion.

  This place pales in comparison to my house with its eight bedrooms, six bathrooms, tennis court and pool. I love open space with lots of fresh air and manicured lawns. This condo is none of those things, but I know for a fact it will be well worth the investment in the long run, even though I’m positive my master bedroom is larger than this entire apartment.

  Thankfully I’m only here for a month. I don’t think I can slum it any longer than that. My partners all think I’m crazy, but there’s a method to my madness. I like to dig in and get a firsthand feel for every business and piece of real estate I purchase. I didn’t land on the Forbes list by making stupid investments, and I won’t start now. Despite my short stay in a place below my typical standards, I wanted to make the place as homey as possible by bringing a few of my favorite items over. I only wish that included my fully equipped gym. There’s no way I’m using a shared facility like the one offered here. Besides, there is barely enough equipment and space for two people to work out in that tiny room they have the nerve to label a ‘Fitness Center.’

  I make a mental note to look into the added costs associated with improving the modest gym so future residents can have a more inclusive living experience. I imagine everyone must pay for a gym membership, but if we could add that amenity, it may be reason to increase the asking price. Loosening my tie, I pull out my phone to check my jam-packed calendar for the hundredth time today. Amelia, my secretary, has my schedule laid out to perfection with several alarms set to go off at various times throughout the day, but with ever-changing markets comes a schedule that changes by the hour.

  I wonder if I have time to run to a real gym for a quick cardio session. I’ve never been overweight or unfit, and I want to keep it that way by maintaining my muscular build. No matter how many meetings I have on my schedule, I always make time for fitness. I glance back down at my phone and consider shifting around a few meetings, scrolling to my contacts to call Amelia.

  “Hello, Mr. Jordan. I was just about to call to let you know the movers will be bringing a few more of your items over later today.”

  Amelia’s voice is raspy from years of smoking and it used to get on my nerves when I first hired her. I’m used to her now, and look forward to hearing it when she picks up the phone.

  Typically, when I’m in the office, Amelia is at her desk, her ashy blonde hair slicked back into a bun at the nape of her neck with a pencil stuck between her teeth as she balances the ringing phones on her desk. She does all that and keeps up with the hundreds of emails I receive daily. I don’t know how she does it all, but she’s damn good at doing it.

  “Perfect,” I say. “I was hoping everything else would be delivered today. You know I hate being without certain things, especially in this place.”

  “Yes, sir. You know I’m on top of it,” she says. “Speaking of being on top of things, I have a few items to go over with you since you’re already on the phone.”

  I listen as she rattles off a few changes to my schedule not yet entered onto my calendar, which reminds me of the reason I called in the first place.

  “Listen, cancel my meeting with the Nova Corporation executives and reschedule them for tomorrow,” I say.

  “That’s going to make tomorrow a long day, but I’m sure we’ll manage. Heading to the gym?”

  She knows me so well.

  “Am I that predictable?” I ask.

  She laughs a bit before answering. “You sure are. The only time you start shifting things around on your schedule is so you can go work out.”

  I smile and start walking around the apartment taking inventory of the growing to-do list as Amelia continues to go over the recent documents that came in during my absence. As I wander down the hall, I notice the floors need a good waxing and the crown molding needs replacing. I walk into a spare room in the back that I’ve dubbed my telescope room. The walls are covered with posters of different constellations and I have several high-powered telescopes positioned around the room.

  Even as a child I loved anything dealing with space, and my constant cash flow has allowed me to invest in my little hobby quite handsomely. I had dreams of becoming an astronaut, but once I discovered my knack for mergers and acquisitions, I had enough work to keep me grounded right here on Earth.

  I gently run my finger over my latest toy, a replica of a telescope used by NASA. I stoop down to adjust the focus of the lens on the scope. I like getting familiar with my equipment before I put them into use. I enjoy pushing all the buttons and turning the knobs, learning which thing does what. I chalk it up to my need to be hands on and in control.

  Standing up, I glance at my Franck Muller to check the time. If I didn’t rein her in, Amelia would keep me on the phone for hours, updating me on every detail of my life. I rush out of the room and close the door behind me as I start to search for my gym bag.

  “I’ve got to go, I don’t want too much time to get away from me,” I say.

  “I’ve updated your schedule, and the confirmations should come through on your end soon,” says Amelia.

  “Thanks. If I don’t talk to you later, I will see you bright and early tomorrow,” I say before hanging up.

  I walk to the front door and look back at the half empty apartment again. I added several more tasks to my never-ending list. At some point, I need to have maintenance come in and change out the air filters and fix the leak in the guest bathroom.

  So damn much to do.

  Chapter 3

  JADE

  I inhale deeply and savor the delicious scent of the herb-encrusted salmon I cooked for Magdalene. She said she would miss dinner, but I always liked being prepared just in case. On a few occasions, Heath has sent her home without dinner after their quick roll in the sheets, and ever since the first time, I make it my business to have something tasty on hand.

  “Would you like some more spinach, Jacob?” I ask.

  He wrinkles his nose and spits out the green goo I just spooned into his mouth.

  “Will you be a big boy and at least eat a few more carrots?”

  I spoon some of the puree into his mouth and he eats a little before blowing bubbles. I thoroughly regret the day I taught him how to do that, because blowing bubbles and spitting are his favorite things to do now.

  He laughs as I shield my face from the veggie assault he’s launching against me. Grabbing a towel, I clean him before attempting to wipe away the blended vegetables splattered across my apron. So much for him not being a picky eater.

  Vegetables don’t seem to be his favorite things so far, although he ate more of the carrots than the spinach. It must be the sweetness.

  I leave him in his highchair as I wrap up the leftovers and place them in the fridge. After giving Jacob his bottle, I also give him a few toys to play with so I can wipe down the kitchen and sweep the floor.

  I always clean as I go whenever I’m cooking, but I like to make sure everything is back in its proper place once I’m done. If I didn’t love cooking and cleaning so much there’s no way I would be able to continue being a nanny. Mixing ingredients together and watching others enjoy my creations makes me infinitely happy. Plus, I feel I would be doing a disservice to myself and Magdalene if I didn’t keep everything sparkling clean.

  Magdalene expects things a certain way, but I think my standards are ten times higher than hers. There’s nothing worse than cooking a meal and having to stop and search for something you need because you failed to return it to the right spot the last time you used it. Everything has a place and I like it that way. Just as I’m wiping down the stove, the front door opens.

  In walks Magdalene, her eyes a little red and puffy, a sure sign she’s been crying. She kicks off her heels at the door and runs her fingers through her now slightly unkempt hair. Unfortunately, this is one of those occasions when Heath has sent her on her way after he’s finished with her.

  He is such a jerk.

  “Ma-ma-ma-ma,” says Jacob e
xcitedly, banging his little fists on the tray in front of him.

  She pulls her lips into some semblance of a smile before walking over to hug her son and kiss him on the top of his head.

  “Hello honey, did you just finish eating?” she asks.

  “Yes,” I say. “I blended some carrots and spinach up for him. He actually ate quite a bit of it.”

  She looks over at me and gives me that sad half smile.

  “I also made a batch of cookies.”

  Magdalene raises an eyebrow. She’s not a major fan of sweets being in the house, but the occasional cookie every won’t hurt anyone.

  “Have a cookie,” I say. “I made them with all organic ingredients, and I used dark chocolate chips.”

  She nods and leans against the kitchen counter as I continue to clean.

  “I think I will have a cookie or two, but I should probably eat something first. Did you cook anything else?” she asks.

  “Sure thing,” I say, dropping the dish towel on the counter. “Have a seat and I’ll fix a plate for you.”

  Magdalene plops down at the table and drops her head into the palms of her hands. I fight to keep my expression neutral as I put the hot plate in front of her. Sitting down in the chair across from her, I anxiously wait for Magdalene to take her first bite. While my instinct is to ask what’s wrong, I decide against it. It doesn’t really matter anyway, nothing I say will cheer her up, but hopefully a plate of good food will make her feel a lot better.

  I like watching people react to tasting my food, especially Magdalene, because her face always reveals her thoughts. In my opinion, it’s the highlight of the whole experience. I firmly believe the expression on their face as they take the first bite sets the tone for the rest of the meal. The mark of a good chef depends on the reaction of whoever is eating the food.