by Alexx Andria
“No worries. I can replace whatever you left behind,” I assured him, already planning in my head an epic shopping spree at whatever toy store the kid wanted.
“That’s not necessary,” Lauren said, shooting down my offer. “He doesn’t need any new toys. He brought plenty. Trust me, you’ll thank me the first time you see his toys strewn about like a hurricane has come through your apartment. Or the first time you step on a Lego with bare feet.”
“I have a maid. I doubt it’ll bother me.”
“You have a maid?” Grady said, impressed. “That’s so cool! Does she clean whatever you tell her to?”
“Grady,” Lauren admonished, but I enjoyed the boy’s enthusiasm. Still, Lauren was quick to say, “I’m sure Mr. Donato cleans up after himself. Just because he has a housekeeper doesn’t mean he’s a slob.”
Her pointed look punctuated her statement, and I actually felt a twinge of embarrassment. I couldn’t say that I gave the housekeeper much thought beyond that she came each day to clean up after me.
“Stop calling me Mr. Donato,” I said. “I told you it makes me feel like an old man. Besides, now that we’re going to live together—”
“This is temporary,” she cut in with a firm reminder above Grady’s head for emphasis. “Temporary. Like a working vacation for us.”
“Of course,” I conceded but added, “but until you guys go home, I would appreciate it if you’d stop calling me Mr. Donato. Gives me diarrhea.” I faked a shudder. “And makes me feel old.”
“Fair enough,” Lauren said, surprising me with her agreement. “While we’re staying with you...we’ll call you Nico.”
Grady was watching us go back and forth, his eyes bright. I wondered what was going through his head, though. It also made me wonder why his father wasn’t around. Lauren had deemed that information off-limits, but I wanted to solve the mystery. Why wasn’t the father part of Grady’s life? Was he a deadbeat dad? A criminal? I wasn’t exactly of the opinion that boys needed their fathers, if those fathers were assholes. Lauren had done a pretty good job with the boy to this point, so I wasn’t about to spout off something ridiculous.
Not to mention, I doubted saying something like that would make points.
And seeing as all this elaborate scheming had one goal—getting Lauren into bed—I wasn’t going to waste time on things that created obstacles.
“I’d like to draw up a contract to detail my responsibilities and your expectations as well as the monetary compensation,” Lauren said.
I nodded. “Of course. I can have the appropriate contract drawn up by tomorrow.”
“Once we’ve both signed, we can start,” she said with the sharp air of a proper professional. “I would also like to use this project on my résumé.”
I shrugged. “Fine.” But I didn’t want to talk business so quickly. I wanted to get back to the part where Lauren’s tongue danced with mine. I was impatient to put circumstances into play, but I had to tread carefully or everything would fall apart, leaving me with an awful case of blue balls—again. I turned to Grady. “Are you in school?”
“Yes, kindergarten,” he answered proudly. “I know all my numbers and letters already and I can write my name.”
“Excellent. Very important set of skills,” I said, earning a small smile from Lauren. “And which school do you attend?”
“Langston Primary.”
“Public school,” I surmised, looking to Lauren. She answered with a nod. “Is it a good school?”
“It is,” Lauren answered, casting me a warning look. I supposed I should back off. I couldn’t very well agree to finance Grady’s future education when I might lose interest in both of them within a month. Still, I didn’t know anything about this Langston Primary, and a child as bright as Grady should have the best. But I had to shelve that thought for now because the car had arrived at my apartment.
I grabbed both suitcases from the trunk while Grady skipped ahead to the doorman. I’d already informed Jepperson that I would be having guests for the next month, so the man was appropriately friendly to the little boy.
“He’s nice,” Grady said. “He gave me a sucker.”
Lauren gasped and relieved Grady of his candy. “You know better than to accept candy from a stranger, Grady!” she said, tossing the candy in the trash can by the elevator. “Honestly, the rules haven’t changed just because we’re staying somewhere fancier than our place.” To me, she said, “Please let your doorman know that he’s not to give my son candy.”
“He was just being friendly,” I said, defending Jepperson. “He’s been my doorman for years. I doubt he’d do anything so stupid as to dose my guests.”
“When you have kids, you’ll understand.”
I doubted I’d ever have children so her point was lost on me, but I agreed nonetheless. “I’ll let Jepperson know.”
“Thank you.”
To Grady, I winked privately, earning a grin. My heart gladdened to see the scowl lift from Grady’s mug. I was already getting attached to the kid, which probably wasn’t a good thing, but I’d worry about the consequences later.
We entered my apartment and I was irritated to see my brother lounging on the sofa, flipping through channels as if he owned the place.
Okay, technically, the apartment was owned by the family trust, but it was still my apartment and I regretted letting him have a key.
“What are you doing here, Dante?” I asked.
But Dante was more interested in my guests, tossing the remote to stare at Lauren and Grady as they stood nearly frozen at the sight of my glowering older brother. “I didn’t realize you were having a sleepover,” he drawled.
“Well, you didn’t ask.” To Lauren, I said, “Go ahead and get settled while I talk with my brother.”
Lauren hustled Grady into the spare bedroom and closed the door.
Turning to Dante, I didn’t hide my irritation. “What the actual fuck are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“I live here.”
He gestured toward the spare bedroom, where Lauren and Grady had disappeared. “I’m talking about your guests. Something smells off, even for you, little brother. Whatever you’re doing, it better not look bad for the family.”
“It has nothing to do with the family and it’s none of your business. I’m just helping out a friend.”
“A friend? Who is she?” Dante asked.
“What does it matter?”
“Because I don’t trust that you’re not up to something, and whenever you mess around, it always seems to find its way back home. I won’t have you upsetting Mamma with your bullshit. She hasn’t been feeling very well.”
“What’s wrong with Mamma?”
“Nothing serious but Luca’s wedding took a lot out of her, and she can’t seem to find her energy again.”
I was closest to our mother. It bothered me that I hadn’t noticed, but then Mamma had a tendency to pretend all was well, even when it wasn’t. I think it was a survival method having been married to my father since she was a teen. To say my father was a difficult man was an understatement.
“I’ll go see her tomorrow,” I said. “Is that what you came to tell me or did you come to lounge on my sofa and eat all my food?”
“No, I was in the neighborhood and I came to confirm that you’ll be representing Donato Inc. at the Griffin dinner. You haven’t RSVP’d yet and the event is around the corner.”
“I’m going,” I said, but I didn’t want Lauren hearing about the dinner before I could convince her to be my date. “Stop being such a micromanaging asshole. I said I’d go, so I’m going. You don’t need to babysit me.”
“Stop acting like a child and I’ll stop feeling the need to babysit.”
Dante always treated me like a kid. It didn’t matter that I was a man. All D
ante saw was the little brother.
It was annoying as fuck.
“Now, what’s the story with your friend?” Dante probed, and I wanted to kick his ass out. “I’ve never known you to befriend women with kids.”
“There’s a first time for everything,” I quipped, moving to the kitchen, hoping he’d get the hint and leave. “If that’s all you needed...I have pasta to make.”
“Pasta? What are you making?”
The door opened and Grady burst from the room with Lauren chasing after him. Clearly, he’d had enough of being cloistered, not that I blamed him. “Who are you?” Grady asked without a hint of bashfulness.
Dante drew himself up to tower over the kid, but Grady didn’t budge. Lauren nervously thrust her hand toward Dante, introducing herself. “I’m Lauren Hughes. This is my son, Grady. We’re guests of your brother’s while I write his autobiography.”
At that Dante shot me an incredulous look. “Autobiography? What fucking bullshit is this?”
“You said bad words. You’re going to need to put two dollars in the swear jar,” Grady said with the seriousness of an IRS agent come to perform an audit.
I barked a laugh at Dante’s startled expression as I shrugged. “The kid is right. You better watch your mouth or you’re going to fund Grady’s college tuition.”
“Sorry, kid, I’m not accustomed to my brother having anyone under eighteen in his apartment,” he said. “But my question stands. Why the hell are you doing an autobiography? You haven’t done anything of interest or value in your whole life, unless partying and wasting money are a skill set worth talking about.”
“It works for anyone currently in reality television,” I answered, my hackles rising. Just because I hadn’t been groomed for the family business didn’t mean that I was without any skill or talent. It was the same fucking argument with Dante, and it drove me nuts. I purposefully stuffed a preemptive five-dollar bill in a glass and said, “If you’re through being an asshole, would you mind getting the hell out? I have plans, and they don’t include sparring with you over bullshit family crap.”
The tension in the room was uncomfortable. Lauren looked ready to pack Grady up and bail, but she didn’t. Dante shot me a look that promised a conversation at a later date but grabbed his keys and headed for the door until Grady stopped him.
“You still owe the swear jar, Mister.”
Dante shook his head and looked to me, saying, “Nico can cover my bill. It’s about time he paid for someone else’s problems instead of the other way around.”
And then he slammed out of the apartment.
I met Lauren’s questioning gaze, and I was embarrassed that she’d seen Dante tear me down. Lauren had inadvertently poked at a tender nerve the other night when she’d told Grady that I didn’t do anything. Dante seemed to go out of his way to make sure I always knew that I was extraneous—useless.
And it never failed to hurt no matter how many times I told myself I loved not having to shoulder any responsibility for the Donato legacy.
Yep. I loved my freedom.
Dante could go fuck himself.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Lauren
I WANTED TO ask Nico about his brother, but I could tell from his expression he wasn’t in the mood to share—and frankly, it wasn’t my business. Whatever struggles created friction in Nico’s family were beyond my pay grade, and I didn’t want to get involved.
Even though Dante Donato was intimidating, I bristled for Nico.
But what good would come of admitting that I thought Nico’s brother was a total ass? Family was still family. At times I thought my sister, Claire, was the spawn of Satan, but I’d fight anyone to the death if they said anything crappy about her. I imagined the same rules applied for Nico. So, it was best to keep quiet.
Dinner, just as before, was fantastic—eating pasta every night was going to destroy my waistline, but it was so hard to turn down good food made by someone else. And Grady, as picky as he was, gobbled up whatever Nico put in front of him. I didn’t know if Grady was trying to impress Nico or if he truly just loved the man’s cooking, but either way, I was discomfited. I was trying to get out of this situation without permanently damaging my kid, but so far, I wasn’t sure if I was succeeding.
Except Grady seemed fine. I’d never seen him clean a plate so quickly—and ask for seconds.
But soon enough it was time to put Grady to bed. After a quick bath and story time, I tucked Grady into the bed and kissed his sweet forehead. Although he was yawning and ready to sleep, I took the opportunity to reiterate how temporary this arrangement was, just to be on the safe side. “Sweetie, I know you love Nico’s cooking and Nico has a very nice apartment, but we can’t stay forever. He has a life and we have our own life that we will get back to after my job is finished.”
“I know, Mama,” he said, cracking a yawn. “But I like Nico. He’s funny and I like the way he looks at you when you’re not looking. It’s all warm and fuzzy-like. Kinda how Auntie Claire looks at pumpkin pie with whipped cream at Thanksgiving.”
I smothered a laugh. “Auntie Claire does love her pumpkin pie, doesn’t she?” Grady nodded, tucking his hand under his chin. I smoothed the hair from his eyes. “But as pumpkin-pie awesome as Nico may seem...I don’t want you to get your hopes up for nothing.”
“Okay, Mama,” Grady said, his eyes fluttering shut. “Night. Nico says tomorrow we’re going sailing and I need my rest.”
Sailing? What the hell? I pressed another kiss to my son’s head and closed the door behind me.
I found Nico on the sofa, a glass of wine in hand and a glass waiting for me on the coffee table. “What’s this about sailing?” I asked with a frown. “Grady said you told him we were going sailing tomorrow.”
“I did.”
“He has school.”
“What’s one day of missed kindergarten?” he said, waving away my objections. “Come, sit. Try the wine. It’s from a boutique winery my family owns, and it’s quite good.”
I bristled a little that Nico hadn’t asked me first, but there was no way Grady was skipping school. I’d make that clear in the morning, but for now, I accepted the wine. “You have to be careful around Grady. I don’t want him hurt.”
“I understand.”
He was being truthful, even if he didn’t realize how easily a kid’s heart could get trampled. I sipped my wine, nodding with approval. “It’s good,” I murmured.
Nico surprised me by asking, “You haven’t dated since Grady was born?”
I bit my lip, embarrassed to admit, “No.”
“And by that I assume, that means...”
My cheeks heated. “You assume correctly. I haven’t had sex in six years.”
“Good God, woman, that can’t be healthy,” Nico said, only half joking.
“According to an article I read in Women’s Health, it’s not. Apparently, vaginal atrophy is a thing I need to start worrying about, on top of everything else that sits on my shoulders.”
“To be honest, if I were a woman, that would scare the hell out of me. I mean, vaginal atrophy, that sounds awful.”
“Yes,” I agreed, still embarrassed but somehow finding the humor, “it is awful and sad.”
“Let me get this straight...you don’t get laid because...you think it will affect Grady somehow?”
“It sounds weird when you put it that way. What I mean is, personally, I don’t like one-night stands, so in order to have sex, I have to have feelings for the guy, and you can’t develop feelings unless you spend time together. Babysitters cost money and I’m a single mom on a budget, so that means, by way of simple process of elimination, I don’t get sex.”
“That’s the saddest story I’ve ever heard.”
I barked a short laugh. “Yeah? You should see my checkbook. That story will make you weep.” I amended
my statement with, “I mean, before I accepted your offer.”
“Let me make you an entirely separate proposal, no money involved,” he said, surprising me. When I frowned in confusion, he said, “Look, I truly like you. Your kid is fantastic, and I don’t say that about most kids. I understand your reasons for staying away from random hookups—in this day and age, it’s probably not a good idea for a single mom anyway—but at this rate you’re going to be a spinster by the time you get some action, and that just kills me.”
“Oh, does it?” I said wryly, sipping my wine. “Please continue.”
“You’re a vibrant and fucking sexy-as-hell woman. No need to mince words. I’m just throwing it out there. It’s a tragedy to let the prime years of your life slip away because you’re too afraid to grab on to some pleasure for yourself. You’re a great mom—I can see that plain as day—but you were a woman before you became a mom, right?”
“Well, yeah,” I said, shaking my head. “But I was a lot of things before I became a mom. Not everything can be reclaimed from your youth.”
“Your sex life can be,” he returned simply. “Hear me out...we’re not trying to catch feelings, that’s when things go sidewise and kids get hurt. Whether we’re fucking or not...I still want to be your friend. I mean, like I said, you’re a pretty cool person and I want to get to know you better. And not just in the bedroom.”
I tried not to smile above the rim of my glass. And it starts... “Don’t you think that might compromise our working relationship?” I asked. “What if we aren’t compatible in the bedroom? We’d have to still work together long enough to finish the job I was hired to do.”
He waved away my concern with annoyance. “Forget about the money. I’ll have it wired to your account tomorrow, and whether things go sour or the job falls apart, you’ll still get paid. You can rest easy on that part.”
I gulped the final swallow of wine, silently amazed at how flippantly he threw hundred-dollar bills around like confetti on New Year’s Eve. “You’re saying you’d pay me before the work was done?”
He shrugged. “I trust you.”