by JJ Knight
I peer into the carriage bed. It takes a moment before my eyes focus in on her in the low light.
She’s asleep on her back, arms thrown wide. She looks absolutely peaceful. Like she belongs here. I don’t know if I even hope for that. Seeing the blocky image of the woman who left her fills me with rage. Who could do that?
I have no doubt Dell’s voracious appetite for women means he has no idea what any of them are capable of. He probably barely remembers their names.
But the baby is fine. I should sleep. My footsteps are silent as I head back through the bathroom. This is a terrific setup for a baby and nanny.
My room is lovely in turquoise and gold. It’s full of handsome details, including an oak inset in the wall with rounded shelves, currently filled with pretty jade statuettes.
The large window has a seat with gold cushions and a set of shelves built in either side, all stocked with books.
I sit there, perusing the reading options, hoping to get a glimpse of Dell’s taste.
They are complete sets of famous series. Lord of the Rings. Hardy Boys. All the Stephanie Plum mysteries. Everything by J. K. Rowling. Even Twilight.
I pick up one of the vampire books to see if Dell has some unexpected reading habits, but the spine is unbroken. In fact, none of the books have ever been opened.
Bought by a decorator to fill space.
I stick the book back on the shelf and look out onto Central Park at night. The street lamps make the trees and paths look eerie. I pull my feet up and hug my knees. What am I doing here?
I glance at my bag and spot the pink tank and shorts. Maybe all my sex-for-love nonsense is just that — nonsense. I’m going to be thirty in a few short years. I can’t wait forever.
I think back on that bulge. He wants me. That’s for sure. He claims he doesn’t have a type. So I guess I fit the bill.
I lean my head against the cool glass. There’s a whole big world out there. I should figure out who I’m supposed to share mine with. I’m settled. My career is set.
My clock is ticking.
Actually, a clock is ticking.
I look around and spot the sound. It’s an old-fashioned tabletop grandfather clock. Its pendulum swings back and forth and back and forth. For a moment, I’m mesmerized.
It’s out of place here, light wood when the rest is dark. The decorator didn’t choose it.
It must actually be Dell’s.
He probably picked it up on one of his travels.
I shift it around so I can see the back. I open a little door and can see all the gears moving. There’s a little gold plate engraved with a name, address, and phone number.
Barclay McDonald’s Clockmaking
5B Adelaide Rd.
Birmingham, Alabama
Wait. Birmingham? Isn’t that where that sports team was, the one on the hat that Dell had stashed?
And isn’t that where Maximillion raced?
That’s too many things to be a coincidence. Dell must be from there. Interesting. He’s a southern boy after all.
I turn the clock back around.
Time for bed. I turn out the light and lie on the bed.
A southern boy without a drawl who has a penthouse in Manhattan.
And imagining him curled over me is the last thing on my mind when I fall asleep.
Chapter 21: Dell
I’m not much of a sleeper. I prefer to exist on four hours a night. If I do more, I get sloppy and sluggish. Four hours keeps me knife-sharp and maximizes what I can accomplish.
After leaving Arianna, I fire up the laptop in my room. I review any messages my assistant flagged as important. My VP of Operations took the Tokyo CEO out in my stead. I have to get back to that meeting tomorrow. Missing a second day is not an option.
But I don’t have a nanny. Supposedly one is coming for an interview. I’ll have to put someone else in charge.
But who? For any task at Brant Financial I would have a whole team.
This is personal. And anyone I hire has to be vetted for confidentiality. I don’t like the idea of headlines announcing that Dell Brant dumped some orphan baby into the system. It’s total clickbait, and I’m not interested in trying to clean it up.
I ping my social media director to do a sweep of today’s publicity references to make sure nothing has gotten out based on Camellia Walsh seeing us. Or any random person who might have recognized me and posted a shot.
I shouldn’t be out in public. I can’t believe I let that woman convince me to dress down and go out with the baby.
I pluck at the running shirt. Only now do I notice the outline where Grace spit up on me. Great. That’s been there all night.
The chair rolls back as I push away from the desk and jerk the shirt over my head. This whole thing is ridiculous. Tomorrow I’m just going to walk away and leave the situation for someone else to handle.
Except, there’s the problem again. Who?
I curse not knowing my penthouse staff better. Shannon, having the sick husband. I could help with that. The shopper never even came back. What are her hours? I have no idea.
They also know about the baby.
Sigh. Maybe nobody cares. Maybe I should just have Bernard call around and have someone take her during the day. Maybe I should just call CPS and get it over with. The only qualification I have for being her father is money to support her, even if the DNA is there. I don’t have time for an infant.
I kick off the athletic shoes and strip away the jeans. I haven’t worn a combination like this in years. My formal dress has been an armor of sorts. If I’m in a full suit worth more than most people make in a month, then no one will guess where I came from. No one will ask ridiculous questions.
Shit.
I’m feeling anxious and out of control. This is not the life I’ve built. Every company I run, every start-up I fund or buy out, every VP, director, or person of significance in my company is there because they keep everything in my possession running smoothly.
Then this fourteen-pound child mucks all of it up in one day.
I rummage through the closet for athletic wear and pull on a pair of gray shorts with a string tie. No point in a shirt. No one is going to see me.
The athletic shoes go back on. Time to burn some of this angst away. Feel some control.
I head down the hall to the living room. Bernard has taken Maximillion back to the atrium, but I open the door again. “Come, boy,” I say. I could use the company. Company that doesn’t cry every few hours.
We cross the breakfast nook, pass through the formal dining room, and reach a narrow back hall. At the end is the workout room. Maximillion’s nails click on the brushed concrete floor as we cross over to the stereo. I put on some pounding heavy metal and crank the volume until it obliterates all thoughts.
It’s a little after midnight. I’ve just gotten through three sets of push-ups when Maximillion gives out one short warning bark.
I look up.
Arianna is in the doorway, Grace in her arms, wearing long pajama pants and a gray T-shirt that reads “Goddess.”
It’s not wrong.
But her expression is pure fury.
I jump up. “Is Grace okay?”
“She was perfect,” Arianna says, moving forward. “She was just fine. Snoozing away. And so was I.” She’s close now, and her finger comes out to jab at my chest. “Until. You. Cranked. That. Music.”
I glance at the stereo. “Usually no one can hear.”
She walks over to one of the walls and smacks it. “This right here is Grace’s room.”
I hadn’t given any thought to what was on the other side. No one ever sleeps here. Bernard is close to the kitchen. My room is way on the end. But she’s right. This room would border Grace’s.
I head over to the stereo and turn it off. “Sorry. I’m not used to company.”
“Well, get used to it,” she says. “You’re a dad now.”
I want to correct her, but in a sense she is right. I
am a dad for now. For a few more days. And she’s here to help, and I just made things harder.
Grace kicks her legs and looks around. She’s wide awake.
“Here, let me take her,” I say.
“Damn right you will.” She passes the baby to me.
Maximillion lumbers up.
We both look at him, unsure what he will do. He sniffs at my arms, then the baby’s feet. Grace spots him and starts to babble happily, reaching out her hand.
“What do you think?” I ask him, kneeling down.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Arianna asks.
But Maximillion behaves more unexpectedly than either of us thought. He lays his head in the baby’s lap.
“Huh,” I say.
Grace instantly grabs his ears and gives a sharp tug.
Arianna lunges forward as if she expects the dog to react. But Maximillion just turns his head and licks the baby’s nose.
More happy babbling from the baby.
“Well, okay,” Arianna says.
“I don’t go to bed for another couple hours,” I say. “And I have the magic swing. Go get some more sleep.”
But Arianna doesn’t leave the room. She plops down on a padded bench by the weights. “This is kinda cute,” she says.
I sit on the floor mat, Grace in my lap. Maximillion curls up beside us, his head on my knee, staring at the baby.
Grace thinks he’s the best toy ever. She grabs his ears, his nose. She accidentally sticks her finger in his eye, but Maximillion just blinks.
Arianna yawns. “They seem to get along.”
“They do,” I say, pleased more than I can say.
She lies back on the bench press seat and closes her eyes. I take her in, the belly, the hips, her bare feet on the floor.
I guess very few people see her like this. She’s probably a polished, professional owner of an upscale child spa to most of the people in her life. I wonder if she has a best friend, someone she confides in.
Somehow, I don’t think so.
There’s a loneliness in her. She’s driven by work. Surrounded by good people. But all people who work for her.
I make the connection to myself. We’re alike.
“That’s three things in common,” I say softly. Cereal. Time-wasting games. And how we conduct our lives.
I look down at Grace. She’s conked out again, her head on Maximillion’s long nose, her hands still curled around his ears. His eye shifts to look at me, but he’s careful not to disturb her.
“We’re their slaves, aren’t we?” I ask him.
Ever so gently, I slip a hand beneath the baby and pull her up into my arms. Max follows my lead, slowly pulling back until he is free.
Grace sighs and shifts, then settles closer.
I wonder if Arianna has fallen asleep on the bench. I stand up and walk over.
“Arianna?” I whisper.
She doesn’t stir.
I’ll come back for her. I carry the baby out of the weight room and through the house. Maximillion trots beside me. I open the door to the atrium, but when I quietly say, “To bed,” he simply sits on his haunches and looks pointedly at me, then the baby.
“Fine.” I’ll get the baby down, deal with the dog, then Arianna.
We head down the hall. Grace’s room is still softly lit by the lamp. I set her carefully in the bed and wait a minute to make sure she settles.
Okay.
I head for the door. “Come,” I say.
But Maximillion plops down in front of the carriage and refuses to budge.
“Maximillion! Come!” I whisper hoarsely.
He rests his head on his paws and ignores me.
I can’t raise my voice, or I’ll wake Grace.
“Maximillion,” I say again.
Nothing.
Now I’m stuck. I’m not about to lug a full-sized greyhound out of the room. Nor can I use a “command” voice with Grace so close.
“I’m coming back for you,” I say to him, although I have no idea what I’ll do.
I head back through the house for Arianna. I’m not sure what I’ll do with her either. Wake her up? Carry her? Work out around her until she wakes up on her own?
When I return to the weight room, she’s curled on her side, knees drawn to her chest. I had no idea the bench press cushion was that comfortable.
I stand over her, unsure. The whole mess is my fault for cranking music at midnight.
The rolled edge of the cushion has formed a little indentation in the side of her head. This can’t be a good way to sleep.
I consider shaking her awake. Or I could just carry her to bed.
Which is appealing.
But as I lean down to pick her up, her mouth is just too enticing. I’ve read the storybooks. There’s more than one way to wake up a beautiful slumbering woman.
So I do.
Chapter 22: Arianna
The dream is luscious.
I’m curled up on a soft green lawn. A breeze bends the stalks of a row of tulips. They look like they are leaning in to tell me a secret.
Then I see two shoes. Bright polished men’s dress shoes. A perfectly creased cuff lands at precisely the right position. There is no break in the crisply pressed fold. My eyes travel up it, past his knees, to the fly.
There’s a bulge there. He’s gotten aroused looking at me. Heat courses through my body and I skip ahead to his face.
But he’s already bending down, coming for me.
And his lips land on mine.
I fall into the kiss. It’s warm and soft and exactly what I’ve wanted. It tastes faintly of brandy. Smells engulf me. Expensive cologne. A hint of shampoo, something woodsy. Just the faintest whiff of sweat and rubberized plastic, like your hands after holding the handlebars of a bicycle.
The grass is gone. I’m in a black void, spinning. I bring my arms up around the neck of this man in his suit, but I’m surprised to touch skin instead. He’s naked now, the suit peeled away just for me.
I hold on to his strong shoulders. The kiss gets deeper, richer, and the sensation of falling is more intense. His tongue enters my mouth and I open for him greedily. It makes sense, the slide into the emptiness and how he fills me.
Then I really am flying, moving through the air, and a bit of scruffy facial hair scrapes against my cheek.
I’m not in a void. I’m in a weight room. And I’m not flying. I’m being carried.
But one part of the dream was right.
I am definitely being kissed.
I pull back. Oh my God. It’s Dell.
He looks down at me with a sly smile. “It works on babysitters as well as poisoned princesses,” he says.
What!
I kick my legs hard and he lets them go.
His arm shifts me to standing. As soon as I’m on my feet, I push away from him. “Do you always maul girls in their sleep?”
“Only when they are as beautiful as you.” His grin tells me he gives zero fucks that I’m upset about this.
I touch my mouth, then check my shirt, my pants.
“You are otherwise unharmed,” he assures me. “Unless you’d like me to maul you a bit more.”
“No! No, thank you!” God! My hand is still across my mouth. I have to shake my head to get loose of the dream and the blissful feeling. Had Dell done that? Made me feel that way?
Nonsense. Dreams are like that. Distorting reality.
I look around. “Where is Grace?”
“Back in her bed, sound asleep.”
“And the dog?”
“Guarding her. I can’t get him to leave.”
“Really?” I push my hair out of my face, trying to shake the cobwebs of sleep. I’m coming down from the anger now. Dell isn’t trying anything else. I guess he thought it was amusing to kiss me awake.
I walk ahead of him back to Grace’s room.
Maximillion is on the floor in front of the carriage. He lifts his head when we walk in.
I peek at Grac
e. She’s asleep and content.
“You didn’t give her a bottle or anything?” I ask.
Dell’s face is stricken. “Should I have?”
“No, she seems fine. Did you check her diaper?”
Still stricken. “I didn’t think to.”
She isn’t fussy, so I suppose she’s all right. “I’m going back to bed,” I say. But then I turn. “Do you always work out in the middle of the night?” I ask.
“I only sleep from two to six,” he says.
“That’s odd.”
He shrugs. “I make up for it on weekends, six hours instead.”
“Still odd.” I shake my head at him and walk toward the bathroom. I can still feel the plumpness in my lips from his kiss. I touch my mouth.
“Hey, Arianna,” he whispers.
I turn. “What?”
“Shall I wake you like that again in the morning?” His grin is pure mischief.
I don’t answer, just wave my hand at him and head through the bathroom to my room.
But once I’m settled on the mattress, I can’t sleep. I spin around on the bed, my head at the foot, so I can see through the bathroom and into the other room.
Dell is still there, tugging at Max’s collar. He pulls and pulls, but Max won’t leave. I cover a laugh with my hand.
His arms bulge with the effort, his chest muscles tight. His belly is flat. The little gray shorts fit tightly over his butt. I lie there, taking him in. No wonder women want a night with him. He’s something to behold.
I touch my mouth again. Now that the moment has passed, I’m a little embarrassed at my overreaction to him kissing me to wake me up.
Dell isn’t the type to take something by force. He’s a charmer. A snake charmer, maybe, but he wants to lure his woman in.
A tendril of desire threads through me as I watch him trying to coerce his dog to move. His back, his shoulders. I feel bold, like I could slip out of this T-shirt and pants and stride over to him in nothing but my panties.
He’d look up, his eyes warm with desire. His hands would trace my body, starting at my ankles, up my calves, and over my knees. His breath would quicken as his fingers slid along my thighs, slipping beneath the edge of my lace panties.
He couldn’t stop himself, but would slide a finger inside them. His mouth would take mine, another long, hot, lingering kiss.