Single Dad on Top: A Baby and Clueless Billionaire Romantic Comedy

by JJ Knight

  He points to a number. “This is for the daytime only through Monday.”

  Carrie nods.

  “And this is if you stay here around the clock until Monday.”

  Her eyebrows lift. “Seriously? That’s…” She seems overcome. “Okay. I have an obligation Friday night, but the others I could be here.”

  “We can accommodate that,” Bernard says. He was obviously given very explicit instructions.

  “I will need some things,” Carrie says. “I wasn’t expecting to start so quickly, and certainly not for overnight.”

  Bernard glances at me and hesitates. “We can discuss the details shortly,” he says. “But there will be an opportunity this afternoon for Mr. Brant to help you settle in.”

  I want to huff out a loud breath at “settle in.” I have no doubt what that means to Dell. I imagine him and Carrie all cozy with Grace late tonight and jealousy blasts through me, hot and unexpected.

  Carrie drops her purse on the dresser next to the grandfather clock. She turns to me. “I’ll take her,” she says. “I can manage from here.”

  “Her room is through the bathroom,” I say, waving my hand lamely. “All her things are there.”

  Carrie nods. “Thank you, Arianna,” she says. She heads into the nursery room.

  Bernard stays behind. He pulls another envelope from his pocket. “Dell asked me to give this to you should the new nanny work out.” Then he leaves the room.

  I sit on the bed, then stand up again, feeling awkward since it belongs to Carrie now.

  Maybe I should look at this in my own apartment downstairs. I walk to my bag, but my curiosity is too strong. I lean against the wall and rip it open.

  It’s handwritten on heavy textured paper with a monogrammed B at the top.

  Arianna,

  Thank you for your incredible sacrifice of a day and night of your life for baby Grace. I have made a contribution of $12,000 to the March of Dimes in the name of Del Gato Child Spa.

  Dell Brant

  Well. That’s nice. I can’t exactly be mad at him for that, even if he didn’t say good-bye.

  I fold up the note and tuck it in my bag. I glance at the bathroom, wondering if I should at least change. I’ve never walked through my building in a T-shirt and pajama bottoms. The Dell Brant Building isn’t exactly a freshman dorm.

  But everything feels strange now. None of the spaces belong to me, and Dell is no longer here to shepherd me.

  So I slip on my shoes, pick up my bag, and head into the hall.

  Bernard is already by the door.

  “Your assistance has been most appreciated, madam,” he says.

  “It’s Arianna,” I say. “I really prefer Arianna.”

  “Arianna, then,” Bernard says. His formal expressionless face cracks just a bit beneath his gray hair.

  I pass through the door and head to the elevator. It’s so quiet out here. I press the down button and wait. The elevator is on the ground floor. It will be a minute.

  The door to the penthouse has already closed. It’s just me and a couple potted plants, plus two chairs along the wall. I walk over to the window to look at the park. It’s another sunshiny day. Thursday. At this time yesterday, I had only just met Dell Brant.

  And now I don’t know him anymore.

  My chest aches a little, like I lost something important. I shake it off. That’s ridiculous. This was nothing. Just twenty-four hours of an insane panic-driven life. Diapers. Shopping. Midnight dream kisses.

  It is over now.

  Back to ordinary Arianna.

  Chapter 25: Dell

  It feels good to be home.

  Not at the penthouse, of course. In my office.

  My chef-prepared lunch has just been delivered. The Tokyo meeting went well. I’ve caught up on most of the critical events of yesterday.

  I feel in control again.

  The baby and Arianna seem like a far-off dream, like a movie I watched once when I was young and impressionable.

  It’s nothing that affects me now.

  The twelve grand for the child spa is worth having a nanny in place. Bernard informed me that the new woman was kind and organized and the place felt as harmonious as could be expected.

  All is well.

  The first indication that my life has been impacted more than I might be admitting is the unwelcome buzz from my office manager that Camellia Walsh has arrived and is asking to see me.

  “Under no circumstances allow her in here,” I say into the intercom. “Put her off.”

  Camellia. I can still see her hobbling back to her car after breaking her shoe. It was completely unacceptable for her to chase me down like that.

  I should face facts. That woman was a tactical error. Most of my weekend women understand me. Short-term trysts. Nice. Neat. Pleasurable.

  Then done.

  But not her. She has proven too clingy by a long shot. I’m not in the market for a girlfriend or a wife. And even if I was, she wouldn’t have made the cut.

  That line of thought makes me flash to a vision of Arianna curled up on my weight bench. Other than the kiss, nothing about our time together fit my normal interactions with women. It had all been so — ordinary. Baby shopping. Doctor visit. Assembling a swing and a stroller. Dinner.

  But there had been that kiss. The dreamy, half-awake passionate meeting of our mouths. I could still feel her in my arms.

  My reverie is disrupted by the abrupt opening of my door.

  “Dell Brant, how dare you try to use your secretary to get rid of me!”

  Camellia Walsh storms into the office. I stand up, prepared to unleash my displeasure at the interruption, when I see her.

  I clamp down my rage. She’s a disaster. Mascara down her cheeks. Her hair spilling from an updo. Only her fuchsia knit dress is in perfect order.

  “Good grief, Camellia, what’s happened to you?”

  My assistant pauses to make sure I’m okay with the disruption. I nod as Camellia comes around my desk to lay her tear-streaked face on my shoulder.

  I do not want her there. But I act appropriately, patting her back.

  “What has happened?” I ask.

  Her next words rather confound me.

  “The DOMs have rejected me. And I just wanted you! Who cares about those other dirty old men!” Her voice is plaintive, pathetic.

  So no one has died. She hasn’t been harmed or threatened. I disentangle myself and take a step back.

  “Please explain yourself,” I say, already impatient. I have no time for games.

  “The DOMs said no, but that’s not what I want anyway.”

  I hold up a hand. “What are you talking about?”

  She purses her lips. “I thought you knew.”

  “Is this an S&M thing? I’m not into that.” I can be, actually, but it’s not something to share with Camellia.

  “No, not that sort of dom,” she says, unsure now. Her face is crumpled. She decides to change tactics. “Dell, darling, please say you’ll take me out this weekend. Once wasn’t enough.”

  Oh, this is the worst.

  “Camellia, I have plans. Perhaps some other time.” I return to my chair and pick up my phone. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  She tries to slip into my lap. I’m not sure how to politely retreat. I’ve met prostitutes who were more subtle than this.

  I place my hands on her rather minuscule waist to forcibly remove her from my leg. She had her lowest ribs removed to make her figure more dramatic, and it startles me the same now as it did when she was naked in my limo.

  Not that it stopped me then.

  When she stands on her own two feet, her eyes flash. “I saw you with that baby,” she says, all pretense gone. “You better explain that to me before I use that information against you.”

  Now we’re in a place I’m used to. Cutthroat negotiation. Threats. I’ve had meetings go this way before. So much more civilized than the head games she was playing before.

  “What
could possibly be scandalous about a man carrying a child down a New York boulevard?” I ask.

  “Whose child?” she asks. She clears away the mascara streaks in two quick swipes with her hand.

  “It isn’t my place to disclose the private information of a minor,” I say.

  She swiftly re-pins her hair. She looks nothing like the distraught bombshell who stumbled in.

  “I aim to leverage our relationship to get into the DOMs,” she says coldly. “So agree to another weekend with me, at least publicly, or I’ll go to the worst online gossip sites about your secret love child.”

  “I don’t do second weekends,” I say.

  “I know,” she shoots back. “That’s why it’s sure to get me in.”

  Despite playing ignorant earlier about this DOM group, I have a rough idea of what she’s talking about. A certain subset of my former lovers gather to drink and no doubt speak of me with sarcasm and disdain. It’s fine. Amusing, really.

  “Why do you want to associate with the other women I’ve slept with?” I ask.

  She arranges her face into the classic expression of a beatific upper-class wife, pleasant and neutral. “It’s social security for aging divorcées,” she says. “Now what will it be?”

  “No deal,” I say, waving her off. “Do your worst about the child. You’ll only embarrass yourself.”

  “We’ll see about that.” She huffs out an unhappy breath and turns on her heel.

  I picture Arianna rolling her eyes at the woman and have to smile at my computer monitor. The door closes behind her.

  But she has reminded me of a task I should do today. The DNA test. The one-day non-court-admissible one. At least I would know. If it turns out Grace is not mine, I can let her go right now. The official one is pointless.

  I type in the Google search to find a clinic nearby. I’ll need the child of course for another swab. Perhaps I’ll have the nanny bring her separately so we aren’t seen together again.

  But as I scan the list, I think about how Grace reacted in the doctor’s office. Her screams. The upset. She was inconsolable for an hour. I can’t do that to her again, even if it won’t involve a needle jab.

  I close the window. I have a nanny in place until Monday. The child will no longer be a bother to me.

  I will just let her be.

  Chapter 26: Arianna

  If I admit it to myself, I know that I spent more time in the front foyer of the child spa than usual as five o’clock rolled around.

  Normally I greet the mothers back in the secure area as they pick up their children.

  But today I want by the windows. To spot Dell.

  There, I’ve said it. In my head. But I said it.

  Of course, I see nothing. I don’t even know when he normally comes home. Maybe he stays at work until late.

  I tug at the cool blue-green scarf around my neck. I’ve worn my favorite outfit, a smooth floral dress in shades of aqua and teal. It accentuates my boobs, which I know he liked. Covers my flaws, mainly the exceedingly curvy hips.

  As if he’d see the dress anyway. As if he’d notice.

  I’m a mess.

  Taylor looks at me sympathetically more than once when I turn from the windows. “Maybe you should have just let her stay here,” she says.

  I’m annoyed that she’s figured me out. “She’s a cute baby,” I say sharply. “I just miss her, is all.”

  “But not him,” she says. “Not him at all.”

  “Why don’t you take off a little early?” I suggest.

  “There’s still some kids,” she says.

  “That’s okay.”

  She opens the drawer where she stores her purse. “I didn’t mean anything by what I said.”

  “It’s quite all right. See you tomorrow.”

  “Okay.” She tucks a long strand of blond hair behind her ear nervously as she pushes through the door. She probably thinks she’s upset me enough to fire her. I wouldn’t. I’m just annoyed I’m so obvious.

  I lean against the desk. At least now I can stare out the windows without feeling self-conscious.

  A familiar stroller appears. I stand up straight. It’s Carrie. With Grace!

  I race to the door and push it open.

  “Hey!” I say. “How is it going with her?”

  Carrie smiles and stops in front of our window. “Super great. She’s such an easy baby!”

  “Have you burped her? It’s like a drunk man belching.”

  Carrie laughs. “It is! In fact, I was just running down to the pharmacy to pick up some drops. Dell didn’t have any.”

  My face freezes. Dell. First name already.

  “Yes, we forgot. Me and Dell. When we were shopping. Yesterday. Together.” I fumble with my words.

  Carrie tilts her head. She looks adorable with her pixie haircut and cute little jeans and soft clingy tank. Dell is totally going to fall for her. She probably won’t put him off.

  “Well, I thought it might be helpful to have some on hand,” she says. “Thank you so much for thinking of me for this opportunity.” She leans in close. “Do you know the situation? All Bernard said was that this was full-time until Monday. Then they would make a decision about keeping me on.”

  I twist the scarf uncomfortably. “Did you talk to Dell about it?”

  She shakes her head. “I haven’t met him yet. How is he? The rumors aren't very kind.”

  My relief and my ire rise up simultaneously. He isn’t terrible! Okay, maybe he is. Should I scare her off from him? Or be honest?

  “He’s all right,” I finally say.

  “I looked him up on my phone. He’s gorgeous as hell.” She gives me a conspiratorial smile. “I bet it was tempting.”

  “Not really,” I say. “He sleeps with a different woman every few days.”

  She straightens up. “Really? That’s pretty awful.”

  I shrug. “It’s how he operates.”

  Grace starts to kick up a fuss, so I bend down to look at her. She’s strapped in, her stocking feet rising and falling, her face scrunched up.

  “I should get walking. She likes it best when we’re on the move.” Carrie rolls the stroller forward. “So nice running into you. Thanks again!”

  I watch her push through the crowd. I want to call out, “I chose that stroller, dammit!” But I don’t. I just turn back to the child spa and head into the foyer.

  I won’t think about Carrie and Dell together tonight. About her thinking he is gorgeous. About what he might think of her.

  I made my bed. And I stayed in it rather than going to his.

  Now I have to live with it.

  That evening drags. It’s me, Netflix, and a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey.

  Sometimes I swear I can hear Grace’s small cry, even though thirty-six floors separate my apartment from the penthouse. Just wishful thinking.

  The next morning, Taylor isn’t in more than five minutes when she calls me up front. “I had a late-night message for you on the voice mail,” she says. “You might want to listen to it yourself.”

  I take the portable headset from her.

  The voice is rich and low. I’d know it anywhere. Dell.

  “Arianna,” he says. “I’ve just been informed that the new babysitter, I’m sorry, the new nanny cannot be here tonight. I would very much like to discuss your availability to help us. I would be most grateful.” He rattles off a number to contact him.

  I type the digits into my phone contacts and hand the headset back.

  “You going to do it?” Taylor asks.

  I raise my eyebrows and give her a stern I’m-your-boss look. But then I relent. “Of course I am.”

  I buzz my way back into the security of the back of the child spa. The universe has given me a second chance with Dell Brant, and I’m not going to blow it this time.

  During lunch, I go back to my own apartment to make the call. I’m pleased when it’s Dell himself who answers, not an assistant.

  “Arianna,” he
says. “Thank you so much for sending Carrie. She’s amazing.”

  And cute. And confident. And hopefully not in your bed last night. “She is,” I say. “I’m glad she’s working out.”

  “Except for tonight. She had plans and I really could use you. I’m not used to this father thing.”

  His voice is like melted velvet. There is seriously nobody who could say no to that.

  “Not a problem,” I say. “What time do you want me to come up?”

  “Carrie is leaving around five. I’d give me no more than an hour alone with Grace before I botch something.”

  I smile inside. Like that diaper. I wonder if Carrie showed him how to fasten them properly. She may have already convinced him to pick up cloth ones. I was just waiting for Monday to suggest things like that.

  “I’ll be up there,” I say.

  “You want Bernard to bring down an elevator card?” Dell asks. I can actually feel his voice sliding down my body. Yes, yes, I’m definitely ready for more.

  “I’ll just tell Harry,” I say, singing a little inside that he’d offer.

  “Very well. See you tonight.”

  The call ends. I hold on to the phone for a moment, letting my anticipation wash over me. I’m doing this. The fling thing. With Dell, master of weekend one-offs.

  And I’m totally fine with it. Screw the love part. Screw complications.

  I’m ready to see what I’ve been missing. With a master.

  Now, what to wear?

  Chapter 27: Dell

  I clip on a set of silver cuff links. The tux is new, another original by a local designer. I’ll be expected to pose for pictures in it. She’ll want the suit to be seen. It’s fine. It’s always fine. Part of the lifestyle.

  I heard the door buzz a half hour ago. Should be Arianna. I’m sure she’s down in Grace’s room so that she and Carrie can have a changing of the guard.

  This isn’t so hard. Nannies. Babysitters. There are many good ones to be found.

  I check the mirror. Everything is classic. Black tux. White shirt with pleats, bow tie in a burnt-red color. Perfect pants crease. Something about the vest is signature to this designer, but the detail is too subtle for me to recognize.