by JJ Knight
“Is there a children’s hospital in Manhattan?” I ask her.
Her jaw drops. “Is the baby sick?” Then she motions me inside. “Come in here.”
“You’re still open?” I ask. The interior is dim.
“The teachers just left,” she says. “I was about to lock up. What’s wrong?”
“The baby. I checked her diaper. It’s awful. I think she’s sick.”
Taylor bites her lip to hide a smile, and that’s the first indication I have that maybe I’m wrong about this. She sets her purse on her desk.
“What makes you think something is wrong with her diaper?” she asks.
“It’s — it’s not normal.”
“Is there blood?” she asks. She tries to be subtle, but I see her push a button on the edge of her desk.
“No,” I say. “It’s just…it’s just not normal stuff.”
The door to the back opens and Arianna comes out. “Is everything okay?”
She stops short when she sees me.
“Mr. Brant,” she says. She glances at Grace, who looks around at the colorful walls.
“He thinks Grace is sick,” Taylor says.
“Oh?” She’s not the least bit concerned. “What are her symptoms?”
Now I’m starting to realize I’m wrong. But I’ve got Arianna back now, and there’s no way I’m letting her go again.
“He says it’s her poop,” Taylor says.
Now Arianna takes a turn biting back a smile. “Her poop,” she repeats.
“There’s no blood in it,” Taylor says.
“It’s yellow,” I say, less frantic now.
“It was that way earlier,” Arianna says. “Probably the formula. It’s not uncommon.”
I fumble with my words. “But poop is,” I can’t believe I’m saying this, “brown.”
Now both the women are biting their lips.
Yeah, I get it. I’m stupid.
“Bring her back,” Arianna says. “Let’s change her.” She glances over at Taylor. “You can go on home.”
Taylor picks up her purse. “Bye, Mr. Brant,” she calls.
I follow Arianna to the quiet halls of her child spa. She flips on the light of the bright white diaper room.
“What happened to the nanny?” she asks.
“She left,” I say.
“She couldn’t stay right away?” Arianna pulls a diaper from a closet.
“No, she didn’t take the job. Apparently our argument gave her a ‘bad vibe.’”
Arianna turns around. “So you don’t have anyone?”
“The second one didn’t show.”
Her eyes flit downward at that. “Set Grace here,” she says.
I lay her down on a curved pad like the one upstairs.
Arianna lifts the dress out of the way, and peels down the frilly underpants.
“How is Grace?” she asks in a gentle voice, her face down low. Grace reaches up for her and touches her cheeks. “Have you been a good baby?”
She unsticks one tab on the diaper, then the other. When she peels it down, I take a step back.
“See?”
Arianna holds both of Grace’s ankles with one hand and reaches up with the other to tug a wipe from a dispenser on the wall. She makes this look effortless.
“This looks perfectly fine.” She cleans up most of it with one wipe, then pulls the diaper away. She sets the wipe on the diaper, cleans Grace more carefully with a second wipe, then brings the clean diaper beneath Grace.
I study this like it’s a law exam. Tab. Tab. Peel. Lift. Wipe. Move. Second wipe. New diaper.
Within seconds, the fresh diaper is on and the undergarment back in place. Arianna rolls the old diaper into a perfect ball around the soiled wipes and drops it into a sealed container. “There you go,” she says, moving to a sink to wash her hands.
Grace lies on her back, happily kicking her legs. Her face is all normal colored now. She smiles up at the ceiling.
Great. All that fuss for nothing.
Arianna dries her hands and watches me. “Seems like my kiddie spa has saved you twice today.”
“I’m sorry about what I said,” I tell her. “I was an ass. I’m lost here. Completely and utterly lost.”
I pick up Grace and prop her against my shoulder. “I’m stuck. I need you. I’m an idiot. You are the genius. Can you please have pity on a pathetic stupid man and help me tonight?”
She tosses the paper towel in a trash can. “You assume I’m free tonight to do that.”
“I don’t. I’m sure you are canceling epic plans with amazing people. But it’s for a good cause.” I turn Grace around so she faces out and hold up her hand for a floppy wave.
Arianna makes that scrunchy expression I’m already getting used to. “All right. But I have to get a few things. I can’t wear this one more hour.” She gestures at her silk blouse and mauve skirt.
“Are you far from here?” I ask. “We could grab the car seat and go for a drive.” I hastily add, “I have a limo.”
She laughs. “Limos don’t impress me. And actually, I live in the building.”
This is news.
“Really? So I’m like your landlord?”
She laughs again and pushes a combination on a keypad to pop open a cabinet. She extracts her purse. “You going to beat on my door demanding rent? Because I have it automatically drafted from my bank account.”
“Ah, so I have no excuse to try and arrange some other form of payment?” Only after I’ve said it do I realize what has just slipped out.
She looks away and closes the cabinet with deliberate slowness. Then, quietly, “Do you do that?”
“No!” I say. “No. Sorry. That just. Came.”
She lifts an eyebrow.
“Out! It came out!” God, I’m like a high school freshman today. Gone is the Dell Brant who got up this morning. I’m a sniveling, spit-up-covered, frantic mess.
She relents. “Let me stop by my place and I’ll be up. Is there any way I can go straight to your penthouse without having to come all the way to the ground for Harry’s approval?”
“Sure,” I say, shifting Grace so I can reach for my pockets. I’m not used to jeans. Normally I keep everything tucked inside a suit jacket. It’s a much more elegant way to extract necessities.
I pull a card key out. “There’s an invisible sensor above the button panel. Wave this and the 40th floor will light up. Only the far-right one goes to the top.”
“Wow,” she says. “I feel privileged.”
I’ve got my bearings back now. “No, I do,” I tell her.
There is no way I’m going to screw this up again. Whatever I thought was important at 7:15 this morning has been completely upended.
She is what matters. She’s getting me through this day from hell.
Chapter 16: Arianna
I get off at my floor, still holding the key card Dell gave me. He was right. You wave it and the 40 button lights up like Christmas.
He heads on up with Grace while I rush to my apartment to prepare for a night away.
I can’t believe I’m doing this. I was really mad at him.
But he’s trying. Really trying. And I had no idea Helen would ditch him.
I don’t feel bad about sending Red Dress away, though, even if they did have a spot for him at that other child-care place. It wouldn’t have solved his problem tonight.
Although maybe she would have stayed over.
Ick.
It was the right thing for Grace, I tell myself as I kick off my shoes and unzip my skirt.
And so is going there tonight.
I try not to giggle as I picture his panic at seeing the yellow in the diaper. At least she did the spit-up while we were together. No doubt seeing that would have sent him into a tailspin too.
It makes sense that he knows nothing. He’s a professed bachelor with a wicked streak when it comes to women.
I ponder what to wear. Something I can sleep in? Or something casual now, the
n change?
I admit to feeling a little wicked myself as I slide a pair of boy shorts and a stretchy spaghetti-strap tank into an overnight bag. To cover my bases in case that seems too sketchy in the end, I toss in some pajama pants and a normal T-shirt.
As for now? I go with jeans and a pretty off-the-shoulder top. It’s cotton, beige with small red flowers. Practical enough. Easy to wash. It seems motherly but still youthful and sweet.
I pause in the bathroom. Motherly. I’ve never really thought of myself as that. I didn’t really intend to be twenty-seven and not dating. It just happened. Running your own business can do that. I have no peers, only employees. No men work for me, not that I would date them anyway. My college friends paired off and married years ago. We’ve been relegated to Facebook acquaintances.
“You’re still young,” I say to the mirror. And it’s true. I have plenty of time.
Just not plenty of fish in my current sea. The couple of times I tried using an app to find men, it was horrible. I can’t even think about it without wanting to flush my phone down the toilet.
“You’ll prioritize this eventually,” I say, then frown at my hair. The wild curls are out of control after the long day. I pin as many of them back as I can tame and twist the length into a knot. Curls still spill around my face, but it goes well with the shirt, like I’m about to go on a picnic.
Good enough. It’s not like I’m trying to get Dell interested. His type is clear. Leggy, big-boobed, and tottering on crazy shoes. Just to prove I’m not even considering it, I slip on a pair of ballet flats. So there.
I drop a toothbrush and my face cream in the bag. Then, just because morning is going to come, some lip gloss and mascara.
And because I don’t want to look like I’m taking a walk of shame, a different shirt for tomorrow.
Now I’m ready.
If anyone can be ready for this.
In the elevator, I’m grateful for the card key. I’d really rather not have to speak to Harry at the desk and tip him off that I’m going up after insisting he not let Red Dress access the penthouse.
It would really seem like I was just trying to take out the competition.
I wasn’t. Was I?
When I arrive at the penthouse, Bernard is waiting to let me inside. “Good to see you again,” he says, but it’s just a formality, given in monotone. He probably blames me for losing Helen.
I move past him down the hall to the baby’s room. Dell is there. Grace is back in the space pod swing, eyes on the lighted toys up top.
“She probably needs more visual stimulation,” I say, dropping my bag on the floor. “High-contrast toys, things that light up and make noise.”
“We’ll get more,” Dell says. He’s still watching her. “It’s interesting, seeing what catches her attention. I turned on the ceiling fan in the living room, and she couldn’t take her eyes off it.”
“Makes sense,” I say, kneeling beside them. “When did she last eat?”
“Bernard is making a bottle,” he says. “I figure when she smells our dinner, it might make her hungry too.”
“There is no telling when she last had a bath,” I say, tugging at the frilly sock. “You up for tackling that now or after dinner?”
“Let’s eat first,” he says. “I think we skipped lunch.”
My stomach suddenly growls and we both laugh. “I think we did!”
“Totally my fault,” Dell says. “We were at the doctor, and then the store.”
“I think it happens a lot to new parents,” I say, then catch myself. We’re not new parents. We’re watching an abandoned baby until we figure out where she belongs.
I stop the swing and slide Grace out of the seat. “Let’s see where you are developmentally, baby girl.”
The rug is soft and clean, so I lay her on her tummy, arms and legs sprawled.
She immediately holds up her head for a second, then it thunks on the rug.
“What does that mean?” Dell asks.
“Just wait.”
She lifts it again, bobbing up and down for a few seconds before thunking again. When she starts to fuss, I pick her up.
“Definitely closer to three than four months unless she’s delayed,” I say.
“Delayed?”
“Not hitting her developmental milestones on time. It could help us figure out how well she was cared for before coming here. She might have just been lying in a crib all day for all we know.”
Dell’s face is etched with worry. “When we find out the mother, she is going to hear from me.”
I hold Grace upright and lower her until her feet touch the floor. She immediately pushes back, standing and squatting. She loves this, her laugh filling the quiet of the room.
“Is that good?” Dell asks.
“Really good,” I say. “It’s possible she was held a lot, but not given tummy time.” I set her in my lap, facing out. “Or maybe she has trouble on her belly because she has a really big head. Like her father.”
“Hilarious,” Dell deadpans, but he is smiling. “I haven’t eliminated the possibility that someone who works in the building left her. A Moses baby to be picked up by somebody rich.”
I lift Grace and let her test her legs again. More giggles.
“That carriage is at least five hundred dollars,” I say. “That fancy blanket, another hundred. I can’t imagine someone who would leave a baby also being able to buy those.”
“Good point,” Dell says. He sits casually, his legs kicked out in front of him. His hair is nothing like it was this morning, curled up and wild instead of perfectly in place. I like it.
“Do you have pictures of any of these women to compare to her?” I doubt we’ll find anything of use in looking at them, but my curiosity is high.
“I don’t take photos,” he says. “I suppose we could find press images.”
It pleases me that he doesn’t have private shots. “We’ll have the DNA test,” I say.
“It won’t tell us anything about the mother,” Dell says. “There is no real registry for that.”
“How do you aim to find her?” I say.
“As soon as we know she’s mine, I’ll hire a private investigation firm. They’ll figure it out. It shouldn’t be too hard to determine which one of the twenty-five was pregnant or in hiding.”
“Actually, can’t we rule some out with press photos?” I ask. “If you see a photo from, say, five months ago and she’s not hugely pregnant, then she’s out.”
“I’ll put someone on it,” he says.
I look down at Grace. She has no idea what is happening on her behalf. Only that she’s in a new world, full of different people, smells, and sounds. At least we knew what formula to feed her. Which diapers to buy. They are small comforts.
“You think this will scar her?” Dell asks. “Is she going to need a therapist all her life?”
“That depends on how things go from here,” I say. “I see a lot of kids who get moved from home to home as divorces are filed and mothers remarry. Children are pretty resilient.”
Dell frowns. “I won’t have her abused or neglected, even if she isn’t mine.”
My heart squeezes. “That’s good of you. If she goes into foster care, though, you won’t have any say.”
His frown deepens. “Maybe we should manage the adoption privately, with our own lawyers.”
I’m amused again at his “we” and “our.” As if I’m a part of this.
I pick up Grace and turn her onto my shoulder. “Got any trademark burps in there, baby?” I ask. I pat her back.
“Let me see her,” Dell says, his strong arms out.
Interesting. Voluntarily taking her. I pass her to him.
He shifts her to his shoulder. “So I was doing this earlier, and I wasn’t sure how hard to go.” He pats her lightly on the back. “Is this enough?”
“To start,” I say. “Some babies actually like to be burped very firmly. It can feel like you’re pounding them. But if you’re try
ing to work out some gas, it’s important.”
I take Grace back from him and stretch out my legs. I lay her little body across my thighs, facedown.
“Let’s see if there’s anything in there,” I say. I flatten my hand and bring it down lightly, then increase in intensity.
“Whoa,” Dell says. “That’s a lot.”
But Grace’s eyes close, as if she’s blissed out. Then a big sailor belch comes out.
“Huh,” Dell says. “It works.”
“Like I said, she’s a gassy baby.”
“We forgot those drops you talked about,” he says. “I searched all over for them earlier.”
“Shoot,” I say. “We did. Well, one of us can make a run out if we decide she needs them.” I rub her back. She’s falling asleep. “But she’s burping pretty well. I think we can do it.”
We watch her, one hand curled up to her mouth, the other arm dangling off the side of my leg. We’re doing it again, having these conversations like we’re a couple. It’s nice. Right now, Dell is nice too.
I glance up at him and catch him staring at me. A zip goes through my body and I find it hard to swallow.
He takes me in, my pinned-up hair, the collarbones and shoulders that are bared above the shirt. He lingers on my breasts.
He doesn’t care that I know what he’s doing. And I’m seeing why women swoon for him. Even with a baby lying across my lap and a pompous butler down the hall, he’s making me feel like we’re the only two people in the world.
Chapter 17: Dell
I’ve seen a lot of sights in my life. Debutantes. Society women. Models.
But right now Arianna tops them all.
That blouse cuts straight across her chest, revealing creamy shoulders and an elegant collarbone.
Her hair falls in little circlets around her face, the rest pinned up, leaving so much skin that it takes a fair amount of willpower not to lean over and press my lips against her neck.
The exposed shoulders leave me wondering about a bra. Did she skip it? Is there something strapless under there? The possibilities are killing me. If her breasts hold that perfect shape despite their blessedly incredible size, it’s going to be a Christmas miracle. In July.