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

by JJ Knight

  “You’re not too old,” I argue.

  “I am very set in my ways,” he says. “I simply cannot go through the process of finding another position. Bachelors are very hard to train.”

  “Where is Dell now?” I ask.

  “His office, I assume,” Bernard says. “He won’t take any calls, though.”

  We could go there, I think, but maybe that isn’t productive. He probably has layers of security and assistants.

  “Let’s just go back to the penthouse,” I say. “I’ll stay with you until Dell returns.”

  He calms considerably at that. “I’ll be happy to warm the bottles. I do that well.”

  “You do,” I say. “You make the very best bottles.”

  Penelope walks in during that last line and turns right around and heads out again. We can’t hog the diaper room much longer. Someone will need it.

  “Let’s go, Bernard,” I say. “Take your tea.”

  He picks up the mug. I leave Grace’s dirty outfit on the counter. Someone else can handle it.

  Bernard seems to pull himself together on the ride up. “I’m dreadfully sorry for inconveniencing you, Madam Arianna.”

  “Just Arianna,” I say, still smarting that I’m a madam to Carrie’s miss.

  “Yes, of course. Arianna.”

  He buzzes us into the penthouse.

  Longing hits me like a brick wall when we step inside. The smells, the perfect room. The sofa where I agreed to go to his bedroom, before Grace interrupted.

  “I’ll take it from here,” I tell Bernard, and head down the hall to the nursery.

  It’s been transformed. The big bed is gone, as well as all the old furniture. The set I saw in the baby superstore is here. The crib. Changing table. And a real rocker.

  He chose the set I loved.

  I sit in the new chair. There are toys. Dozens of them. Stuffed animals and a baby gym and even the soft lamb I saw that day. I pick it up and hand it to Grace. Her arms wave excitedly.

  Everything is the same soft green. “I love it in here,” I tell Grace.

  Out of curiosity, I stand up and cross into the bathroom. There are more baby items here as well. A wipe warmer. A baby bathtub. A little net with baby water toys inside.

  Then I visit the adjoining room. It’s the same, the bed and books and dresser.

  But the clock. It’s gone.

  “Your father is very strange and secretive,” I say to Grace.

  I’m so happy to hold her, so overcome. I go back to the rocker and cradle her in my arms. “If I could stay here forever, I totally would,” I tell her. “If only you could be mine.”

  After Max howls for half an hour, Bernard relents and lets the dog come to the nursery to lie on the rug at our feet. The three of us spend hours playing with toys. I practice teaching Grace to say “dog” although she just babbles.

  Bernard brings me lunch in the nursery and a bottle for Grace. He seems to be able to predict when she’ll want one. Carrie must have established a routine.

  Carrie. She’s good. One of the best nanny candidates I know. What happened?

  When Grace goes down for a nap in her beautiful crib, I close the door and dial her number.

  She answers on the second ring.

  “Arianna, I know why you’re calling. I just couldn’t take it anymore. Not one more minute.”

  I glance over at Grace to make sure she’s good and out. “What happened?”

  “He was awful. Just awful. I didn’t know him well before you two left town, but the Dell I saw when he got back was unbearable. You’ll never get anyone to nanny for him if he’s like that.”

  “What did he do?”

  “Just charged around like an angry bull. I couldn’t do anything right. I didn’t hold her right. She was hungry. She was wet. She shouldn’t be crying. Why isn’t she sleeping? I simply could not take it.”

  I don’t know what to say. I know Carrie is a good caregiver. I’ve seen it myself.

  “Did you get an idea of what made him act that way? He wasn’t like that on the trip.”

  Of course, I was screwing him. Maybe that helped.

  “No clue, Arianna,” she says. “All I know is that nothing I did could measure up to some impossible standard in his head. So I quit.”

  “Okay, Carrie. This doesn’t impact the work you do for me. I think you’re great.”

  “Good. Thank you. Good luck.”

  I shove the phone in my pocket.

  So weird. Why was Dell so mad? Because Grace was his? Did he not want her after all? I’ll speak to him. Maybe we can work out an arrangement where she lives with me. He can visit her when it suits him. Like he did with his dog Max. Morning breakfast and a few commands in the evening.

  I’ll do anything he wants to keep her.

  The afternoon passes slowly. My anxiety rises as the clock ticks and a confrontation with Dell seems imminent. I rehearse my speech. Honoring the Duchess’s wishes. Keep custody informal. I’ll just be downstairs.

  Five o’clock comes and goes. I wonder if I’ll need to stay the night. Great, I get to babysit for another one of his dates. He can initiate another member into the DOMs.

  Still, I grit my teeth and decide to stick it out. I have a higher purpose now. The baby is more important.

  Grace and I do tummy time on her new play mat. She’s already holding her head up better. Occasionally she tips to one side as though she’s ready to roll over. I can’t wait to see her first milestones.

  Seven o’clock.

  I decide I’ll have to take Grace with me downstairs to get my overnight bag. If Dell has skipped town rather than face his obligations, I’ll bring her with me to the spa tomorrow. I’ll use the wrap and wear her.

  Moms have carried babies in the fields for centuries. I can haul her to my stupidly easy job. With Maria as a floater and Taylor taking more responsibility during my absences, I’m needed a lot less than I was.

  I’ve just shoved a fresh diaper and a travel pack of wipes in my purse to take with me when I hear the front door open.

  “Good evening, sir,” I hear Bernard say. “I trust your day went well.”

  “Where’s the baby?” Dell asks. “Did she cry all day or did that nanny actually do something for once?”

  “Actually…” Bernard says, but trails off.

  Dell is coming down the hall. His stomping footsteps could be heard on Mars.

  He walks in talking, his voice gruff, as if he’s continuing a conversation. “And furthermore, I take great offense at you threatening to leave a vulnerable baby without a proper —” He sees me and cuts off.

  I’m shocked at him. He’s nothing like the Dell I knew. His hair is askew, as if he’s been unable to stop running his hands through it all day. He has no tie. A few buttons are undone.

  I don’t think he shaved today. Or possibly yesterday or the day before.

  I’m okay with that. It’s sexy.

  Just not Dell.

  “Are you okay?” I ask. “You look like you’ve been through the mill.”

  He backs away. “What are you doing here?”

  “You ran off your nanny and Bernard needed help.”

  Dell continues walking back until he hits the far wall. “Bernard, I did not authorize you to contact this — this woman!”

  Wow. I’ve been downgraded from babysitter even. I’m just a gender.

  My practiced speech goes out the window. I’m as angry as I’ve ever been.

  “What did I do to you?” I shout. “Other than help? Saved you when Grace arrived. Got you set up with what you needed. Got you a nanny. Which you then ran off. Went all over the godforsaken globe to find her mother!”

  I want to add “slept with you,” but I know the butler is near.

  “You are an ass!” I say. “Worse than an ass! You kick the people who try to help!”

  Grace begins crying from her crib. “And now we’ve upset the baby!”

  I head over to her. “Shush now, sweet girl,” I
say. “I’m here.”

  But she won’t stop, her face quickly blooming red. I pick her up. What am I supposed to do now? I can’t leave her with him.

  I hold Grace on my shoulder, patting her back. I have nothing else to say to Dell at the moment. I’ll talk to him when he is calm. Maybe after his brandy. Or a good night’s sleep, more than four measly hours.

  I refuse to face him, walking in bouncy steps to settle Grace. I can’t think about what will happen to her if I’m not here to help.

  “Arianna,” he says, and his voice is so different, so broken, that I whirl around.

  “Dell?”

  He drops into a chair by the door. He leans forward, his head in his hands.

  Something is definitely wrong.

  I relent and move closer to him.

  He still doesn’t look up.

  “Hey.” I kneel down, the baby close to my chest. “What’s happened? Did the Duchess contact you again? Does she want the baby back? Has that Camellia woman blackmailed you?”

  He shakes his head. “No. I just can’t have you here. It’s too hard.”

  Really? Uggh.

  I stand up, my concern evaporating.

  “What is hard, Dell? Having an ex around? Does it cramp your bachelor style? Nobody’s stopping you from screwing every debutante in town. I’m not stopping you. I just want Grace.”

  He barks out a rueful laugh. “Grace. Right. That’s all you ever wanted. You were even willing to sacrifice your high and mighty Brown University cherry to get her.”

  I want to slap him, hurt him the way he’s hurting me. But I have the baby. All I can do is back away.

  “You are awful,” I say. “Horrible and disgusting. I should have called CPS on the first day.”

  “Would have saved me a lot of trouble,” he says, his voice bitter. “I wouldn’t have fallen in love with her, and I wouldn’t have fallen in love with you.”

  For a moment, I’m sure the ground has fallen from beneath my feet.

  “What did you say?”

  “You heard me,” he says. “But it’s pointless. You want the baby. So just go. Take her to the fourth floor. Raise her. Just do what you have to do. I just can’t see you. I can’t stand all the things we could have been.”

  He stands up. Heads for the door. “I’ll draw up some paperwork. Shared custody. Whatever is necessary.” He looks back at me. He’s in control now, his decision made. His face has returned to the boardroom mask. “I will provide for her.”

  “Dell! Wait!”

  My god. He’s just assuming everything! My mind is reeling. Dell Brant? In love? With me?

  “What else do you want?” he asks. “I’ve given you everything.”

  “No, you haven’t,” I say. I walk up to him, slowly, as if I’m wading through a dream.

  We’re close now. I can smell him, woodsy aftershave and expensive fabric. He might look a wreck, but he’s still Dell underneath.

  His gaze levels me. I could shrink back from his stiffness, his professional distance. But I don’t.

  His voice is gruff. “What, then?” he asks. “Is your trust fund insufficient?”

  “Cap’n Crunch,” I say.

  “What?”

  “Cap’n Crunch,” I repeat.

  “Bernard can fetch it for —”

  “Every day,” I cut in. “Every morning. And I want you to pour it for me. Not Bernard. And one day, we’ll introduce our favorite cereal to Grace.”

  I look down at Grace. “And I want you to promise never to poison her with the peanut butter flavor —”

  I can’t say more, because Dell is kissing me. He’s heard what I’ve said. And he’s understood.

  I’ve cut through his boardroom facade, his game face, his layers.

  He keeps kissing me, my face, my shoulder, then Grace’s head. She laughs at this, reaching up for him.

  “I love you, Dell Brant,” I say, then whisper, “Hasmund McDonald.”

  He groans, but keeps kissing us, me, then the baby, then me again. “I should never have told you that.”

  I press my palm against his cheek. “I am proud to be the keeper of your secrets,” I say, then look down at Grace. “And hers.”

  “And I want to be the man you trust.”

  “I will work on that,” I say. “Just don’t give me any reason to doubt you.”

  “I never will.”

  He kisses me then, and it’s a different sort of kiss.

  It’s a kiss that tells me that he’s accepted my gift. My innocence, long delayed, slain into submission by his seduction.

  And he’s accepted the gift of Grace. The baby he had no idea was his from the woman who had never truly known passion until he showed her.

  The kiss goes on and on. It’s not the first kiss, my wake from slumber. And it’s not the second kiss, thwarted by circumstance.

  And it’s not the kiss that said yes to giving in to passion, growing up, and trusting that he was not the man my father was, or his father was, or any of those sperm donors at my child spa.

  And it won’t be the last kiss. Definitely not that.

  It’s a kiss that says we’ll have a lifetime of them. And Cap’n Crunch. Panda Pop on phone calls. Dog walks. Late-night workouts with earbuds.

  Grace protests being squished between us. We laugh and look down at her. Max jumps up now that the angry voices are gone, his tail going nuts in a happy wag.

  This is what a family looks like. Maybe not the way anyone would have planned. Maybe not the most traditional. But forged in fire and burning brightly in love.

  Epilogue: The DOMs

  The La Feria bar is far seedier than I expected. When I open the door, it’s so dark inside that I can only make out the colors on the jukebox and a blinking red exit sign in the back.

  When my eyes adjust, I look over the tables. I expect to see Camellia Walsh. Actresses. Society women. I don’t expect to see Winnie.

  Now I know how the DOMs figured me out.

  She holds out her hands as she comes forward. “Arianna,” she says. “You made it.”

  She wears a loose floral outfit that flutters as she walks. Her hair is not as blond as before, as if she’s transitioning it back to her natural color. She grasps my hands and leads me to a tall table with a half dozen other women.

  Camellia isn’t there. I recognize a few faces from press photos back when I was stalking Dell.

  “We’ve sent you six invitations over the past four months,” Winnie asks. “What made you accept it this time?”

  I slide onto a stool. “Morbid curiosity,” I say. “I’m surprised you’re still meeting.”

  A slender brunette speaks up. “We assumed he’d come back around eventually. We never thought your single motherhood would be such a draw. But Dell gets bored quickly.”

  I’m amused that the world has fallen for that ruse. My obscurity made it easy to pretend Grace was mine first and Dell’s second. This ensured no one ever connected the dots back to the Duchess. Nobody cared who my baby daddy was. I wasn’t interesting enough for speculation.

  And as for Dell getting bored, not happening anytime soon. We just discovered the dark thrill of spreader bars. On him.

  “You might want to find another bachelor,” I say. “Or membership is going to die off.”

  “Oh, really?” the brunette says. “You think you’ve landed him?”

  I pull my left hand out from beneath the table and casually tap my nails against the surface. The diamond solitaire from Paris catches the neon from a beer sign on the wall.

  “Shit,” whispers a fortysomething woman with boobs that rival mine. “A wedding will keep him off the market for at least six months.”

  The brunette holds up a palm. “This group is not about Dell Brant per se,” she says. “Our mission continues.”

  Now she has my interest. “What is the mission of the DOMs? What does it even stand for?”

  “Dirty Old Mistresses,” Winnie says. “Isn’t that a hoot? We’re all disca
rded lovers of powerful men. We help each other get invitations to events where we can stay in contact with the right sort of prospects.”

  My jaw falls open. “And Dell was your quality control?”

  “Exactly,” Boob Woman says. “Not all of his exes made the cut. His track record isn’t perfect.”

  “But he met women in the right places,” the brunette says. “Between all of us, we could get into most any charity event or fund-raiser. Where the big fish swim.” She glances down at my ring. “Sadly, you are currently not eligible for membership.”

  Fine by me. “Isn’t this whole thing sort of manipulative?” I ask.

  Winnie picks up her drink. “It’s tough out there, Arianna. We’ve been discarded.” She holds up her glass to the others. “But we will stick together.”

  “‘Till marriage we do part,” a blonde says.

  “And divorce gets us back together,” Boob Woman adds.

  They clink their glasses.

  “Don’t forget about us,” the brunette says. “We’ll find another method of recruiting members while you have your hold on Dell.”

  “But remember, we’ll be here if you need us,” Winnie says.

  “When you need us,” the brunette amends.

  I smile at them and slide off the chair, then turn for one last question.

  “Camellia Walsh,” I say. “Is she in your group?”

  There’s a collective groan.

  “Girls like Camellia make the rest of us look bad,” Winnie says. “We’re not gold diggers. We just want to make sure we can survive and flourish, no matter the whims of the men.”

  “Well, good luck,” I tell them. I guess it’s good they have each other. I know most of what they say is true. I see it at the child spa all the time. Last month, for the first time, we had two couples marry each other’s exes. The kids didn’t even have to switch rooms. Only the billing information changed.

  So the DOMs are right about that. It can be tough out there. Happiness is rare. True love even rarer.

  I exit the bar, blinking in the bright light of a brilliant fall day. Two blocks down, I turn and head to a small park. There’s a figure there in a ball cap, Mets jacket, and jeans.

  Dell. My lover. My future husband.