Billionaire Baby Maker

by Lia Lee

  “That doesn’t surprise me. But how did she find the house? You didn’t give her this address did you?” I asked, my voice rising in concern. Lila’s mouth was easily loosened with a few glasses of wine, but surely she wouldn’t be drinking when she had Rose in her care? She knows I’d revoke the grandma card in a heartbeat if she did.

  “No.” Lila shakes her head emphatically. “But there was a pile of mail by the door that I’d collected from your old place. I’d readdressed it all and… she grabbed it and ran off. I’m so sorry… I had no idea she’d turn up.”

  “Of course you didn’t.” How could she? I’d never even told her Jolene was out of rehab. I take Rose from her, a sleepy whine issuing from inside the blankets.

  “I got Rose up and drove over here. I was afraid Jolene would set the house on fire or something,” Lila continued.

  I wouldn’t have put it past her. In spite of the messy outcome, Lila had made a good call. “Looks like everything’s okay. Don’t worry about it. You go on home, I’ll put Rose to bed.” I turn to the officer. “Thanks for your help. I’ll be sure to call if anything is missing.”

  “Goodnight, sir,” the cop says and returns to his cruiser.

  Lila wrings her hands, clearly distressed by the whole ordeal. “Screwed up on my first try as a grandma. I’m so sorry, son.”

  Son. She’s never called me that, and I’m not sure I want her to start. Choosing booze and her lowlife lovers over me for nearly three decades hasn’t earned her that privilege. I’ve been calling her by her first name for as long as I can remember. But she’s trying, and I’d rather have her in my daughter’s life than whacked-out Jolene.

  “You’ll give me another chance, won’t you?” she asks anxiously.

  You never know how much time you have. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” I say. “Goodnight, Lila.”

  Lila gives me a relieved smile. “Goodnight, Logan.”

  I turn away and start toward the house, the first seeds of forgiveness beginning to sprout. I have to start somewhere. But as I see Quinn and her dad still arguing, my guilt meter spikes off the chart, bringing me back to reality. I’m involved whether I like it or not, so I walk toward the pair of them to set the story straight, and at least thank the man for calling the police.

  “Frederick,” I say with a nod. “Thanks for calling the cops. What did you see?”

  Frederick VanderKemp turns his slightly hollowed, reddened eyes on me. For a second I think he’s going to punch my lights out. He’s got every right to, but I don’t think he’ll do it with a small child in my arms.

  “I was reading, and happened to look out the window just in time to see some woman trying to break into your house—kicking at the door and shouting,” he snaps. “I thought Quinn was in there—since she’d told me she was babysitting tonight. When the lady put a rock through your window, I feared for their safety and called the police. You can imagine I was upset to find no one home.”

  “Rose was at her grandmother’s. I’m sorry for the disturbance,” I apologize, then look directly at Quinn. Is she going to tell him or am I?

  “I’m sorry I worried you Dad, how many times can I say it?” Quinn pleads to Frederick. “I should have called you when I got to the library.” She turns to me and meets my gaze. “Thank you for stopping to give me a lift, Mr. Brenner. It was silly of me to get my babysitting dates mixed up. But I certainly needed the extra study time. I’m so glad you saw me walking home.”

  She’s lied to him. I do a mental re-run of what she’s just said. She came to my house, found out she wasn’t needed, went to the library, I saw her walking home, I gave her a lift. Completely untrue, but plausible. I hate deceiving the man but have to give Quinn credit for thinking on her feet. Under the circumstances, I’ll let it ride. This night’s had enough truth-or-consequences.

  Rose stirs inside her blanket and starts to whimper. I need to get her inside.

  “Anytime, Quinn,” I say, validating her lie for the time being. I notice her visibly relax and shoot me a silent thank you.

  “I met your mother,” Frederick says. “She said it was your ex-wife that tried to break in. Perhaps you should consider getting a restraining order.”

  “Good advice. I’ll look into that,” I say, nodding. It’s late, and I’m done explaining my complicated life any further, to her or her father. Ex-wife. I look into Quinn’s eyes and see the unspoken accusation there. I’d told her the truth about Jolene and me. It was just Lila’s way of legitimizing things by using that term. If she didn’t believe me, it didn’t matter. She’ll have enough reasons to hate me as it is. “If you’ll both excuse me, I have to put this young lady to bed. We’ve all had enough excitement for one day. Goodnight.”

  Chapter Nine

  Quinn

  The Truth Hurts

  My fingers are cold from hours of working my mouse over the pad next to my laptop. Dad told me months ago to go ahead and buy an ergonomic computer desk and chair, but I never got around to it. The awkward angle of my wrist on a flat tabletop makes my hand go numb. I give it a shake and slide it under my knee for a few seconds to warm and bring some blood back into it.

  I feel like I’ve been chained to the damn computer all week, burying myself in my studies to avoid thinking about anything else. Because that anything else tends to always be Logan Brenner.

  I haven’t spoken to him since the night of the break-in, and I’m feeling sick over what happened. I squirm with guilt at the phony story I told my dad, but thank goodness Logan went along with it to keep our secret safe. But I worry about this Jolene who is crazy enough to break into his house. Are Logan and Rose okay? Did Jolene do something worse than breaking a window? Did she steal Rose’s things and they’ve just been too busy dealing with it to call me? She sounds like a horrible person, and I can’t understand how Logan could have hooked up with a woman like that. He’d said they never married and I believe him.

  But I have no answers to my questions because he won’t talk to me. When he didn’t call me the next day, I panicked and went to his house. I knocked, but no one came to the door. I’ve tried calling him, but only get his voicemail. I can’t seem to catch him at home; each time his truck pulls up out front, it seems to disappear just moments later. I haven’t seen Rose either since I haven’t been asked to babysit—that hurts most of all.

  Everything’s a mess, including my head. All my studies of the human psyche, of behavioral baselines, brain chemicals, and mental states, wants and needs as defined by Maslow’s Pyramid, can’t help me make sense of my own situation. Why is he doing this? Have I done something wrong? I did everything exactly the way he told me—how could it be wrong? Each passing day without contact makes me feel like I’m dying inside. I told him I loved him; didn’t that mean anything to him?

  I think back to what I said to Rochelle—how I’d worried about being just an object, a one-night-stand. I thought Logan was different than those horny college guys. Could a man make a one-nighter extend to almost two months of nearly constant sex? And then just turn his feelings off like a light switch? No, I can’t make myself believe it. I won’t believe it. Human emotions just don’t work that way.

  Unless… oh, no. I try not to let the idea take shape, but it forms in my head anyway, like a squirt of ink dropped in the pool of my thoughts and spreading darkly outward. What if Jolene has come back? Not to harass him, but to beg Logan to give her another chance, reconcile for the sake of their daughter? Told him she still loved him? Maybe he still loves her deep down—his harsh words against her merely a defensive mask to conceal his own pain. A classic maneuver that was definitely written in my psychology textbooks.

  I picture the woman, though I’ve never seen her, on her knees pleading tearfully with him to forgive her, and my guts twist violently. Because I know Logan is a kind enough man to do it. He’ll do anything for Rose.

  I push away from the table, knocking my chair over as I run to the bathroom. I barely make it to the toilet before I throw up
, bitter bile scorching my throat as it spews out of my mouth and splashes into the bowl. The hideous sound of it hitting the water makes me retch a second time, though nothing comes out.

  God, I feel awful. I must be coming down with something; there are certainly enough colds and flu going around on a campus as large as ASU. But I know my misery is really of my own making—my feelings for Logan that I’ve let consume my every waking moment. I’ve never had a relationship like this before, so I don’t know what to say or how to act. I feel used and lost and empty. Is this what love is supposed to feel like? If so, it’s horrible. It’s definitely not roses and rainbows and unicorns. Maybe I don’t know what love is, after all.

  I crawl to the sink and clean myself up by brushing my teeth to scrub the foul taste from my mouth. I feel exhausted and decide I should flop onto my bed and take a nap, for just a few minutes of blissful unconsciousness where I don’t have to think about anything. But then I hear the sound of an engine outside. I look out the window, and my heart does a backflip when I see Logan’s truck pull up to the curb. I have to talk to him, and this might be my only chance.

  I race down the stairs and out the front door. I’m barefoot, but I don’t care that the lawn is prickly or the sidewalk gritty. I only care about seeing him.

  “Logan!” I cry breathlessly, running toward him. I practically slam into him like Rose does when he comes home from being out, and throw my arms around his neck. My eyes sting as I hold back the tears that have been gathering all week, waiting to finally feel the warmth of his body against mine again.

  “Logan,” I say again, my voice choked. “Where have you been?” I want to melt into him, become part of him.

  But instead of the firm, secure circle of his embrace, I feel his hands on my wrists, prying my arms loose.

  “Quinn, calm down,” he says, bringing my hands down in front of his chest. “What’s wrong?”

  His voice sounds flat, emotionless, and I search his eyes for some explanation. His cool hazel stare sends a chill down my spine.

  “What’s wrong?” I cry. “Why haven’t you called me? Or returned my calls? Or answered your door? I was so worried about you and Rose after the break-in.”

  “Shh… don’t shout. Someone will hear you.”

  He drops my hands and steps away, and I don’t understand what’s going on. “I don’t care!” I say. “Don’t shut me out like this. Please, Logan… I love you.”

  “Lower your voice,” he nearly growls, glancing in all directions. “Come inside before you say anything else.” He walks to his front door and opens it without looking back. The strangeness of his voice frightens me, and I start to tremble; it’s not like him at all. My insides writhe like a nest of snakes as I follow him numbly up the porch steps and into the house.

  He closes the door behind me and leans against it with one outstretched arm. He looks as stern as one of my professors, but none of my professors are this handsome or make me want to kiss him all over in spite of his surly expression.

  “Where’s Rose?” I ask, hoping to break the tension. Something is very wrong here, and I’m afraid to find out what it is.

  “She’s at day care. I found a good one awhile back but had to wait a few weeks to get her in. She loves it,” he says matter-of-factly, intimating that Rose no longer has need of my services.

  I shake my head slowly. “Why are you doing this, Logan? Being so distant and…” I can’t find the words I want to say. I’m confused and hurt.

  “Quinn, listen to me. I’m not saying it hasn’t been fun. You’re an incredible girl, you really are. You make me want you like I’ve never wanted anyone before. But this…” He gestures between us with his free hand. “This is wrong, you and me. On so many levels, not the least of which is Rose. She’s very impressionable at her age.”

  “She’s four,” I say, the psychologist in me pushing through my tears. “All she wants is a mother figure in her life. Hasn’t she been asking for me?”

  Logan sighs in exasperation. “That’s just it. She’s getting too attached to you, and you’re not much older than she is. You’re more like a big sister. I’m sorry to be blunt, but I can’t be banging the big sister, or the babysitter, in front of her.”

  I’m taken aback by his hurtful and indelicate words; I can’t believe I’m hearing them. “Is that all I am to you, a… a bang?” I know my mouth is hanging open, and tears are spilling down my cheeks, but I want him to see it. See what he’s doing to me; a part of me hopes he’s just saying these awful words out of defense so that I’ll get angry and go away. But I’m way past angry. I’m devastated.

  “Quinn, I’ve enjoyed our time together. I thought you did too. But it has to stop. I’m twice your age, and I feel like a dirty old man every time Frederick speaks to me. Think about it… where can this relationship go with you and your goddamn father living next door? Plus, I work all the time, I have to protect and raise my own daughter, and with Jolene sneaking around and trying to infiltrate our lives again I just don’t need any more complications. I’ve got enough on my plate.”

  I try to focus on his beautiful hazel eyes; the ones that always held a sexy twinkle for me but have now gone dark. As dark as my world feels right now.

  “Now I’m a complication as well as a bang?” I squeak, nearly choking on the words. I think I might throw up again. “How can you kiss me and hold me and make love to me and then stand there and say it was all a… complication! A lie!” I scream, backing away from him.

  “You’re hysterical,” he says, reaching out to take hold of my shoulders. “I never said it was a lie. But I also never promised it would go anywhere—become something more than it was. Didn’t you enjoy it, too? It was great, really great honey, but it’s over. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you, Quinn. Trust me, you’ll thank me for this someday.”

  “Trust you,” I hissed. “I did trust you… I thought I loved you!” I sweep his hands off me with both arms and reach for the doorknob. I turn to face him one last time, my hair swirling about my shoulders. “But now I know better. I hate you. I wish I’d never met you, Logan Brenner.”

  I twist the knob and run out, my sobs carrying out onto the street, and I don’t care who hears them.

  Chapter Ten

  Logan

  For Good

  Fuck. That could have gone better.

  I watch, helpless, as Quinn storms across the lawn and out of my life. I grip the edge of the door that nearly nailed me in the head as she flung it wide. Even if it had connected, it couldn’t have hurt me more than I already ache inside. A knife to the gut would have been kinder. But some things have to be done for the greater good. For Quinn’s own good.

  I should have told her it was over that night at the drive-in, and I would have if not for Jolene’s crazy stunt. In the past week, I’ve been busy arranging day care, filling out insurance claims and looking into getting a restraining order; all things that were necessary and had the bonus effect of taking my mind off the little blonde goddess next door. The one who haunts my dreams every night and leaves me with a raging hard-on when I wake. I know the vision of her luscious curves and the taste of her sweet lips will be branded onto my soul forever.

  Damn. Letting her go is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, and I’ve lived a hard life. Seen cruel, unspeakable things in dark alleys and drug houses that would scar most people for life. But Quinn VanderKemp has already left a scar on my heart that I know will never heal.

  In my forty years on this Earth, I’ve had plenty of practice in toughening up and moving on. What did Quinn have? What defense against the careless, unthinking assault on her emotions and her innocence by a man who let his dick lead him around like a witless puppy? A man who should know better. God, I’m such a shit. The soul-crushing thought of my own little girl being seduced one day, in the same manner, makes me want to die inside. But if the man who did it truly loved her, and she him, would that make it alright? Does a father really have any say or control in the mat
ter? I feel bad for Frederick as much as myself.

  I never intended to hurt Quinn. I never wanted anything except to give us both a little pleasure. I couldn’t resist the freshness of her face, the beauty of her young body, and the sharpness of her mind. She’d offered it all to me without hesitation, and I took it. All of it. She was the bread of life to a starving man who didn’t even realize he was starving. And I still hunger for her no matter how much I deny it; no matter how much I say it’s wrong.

  She said she loves me. I know Rose loves her. I can’t say I know what being in love feels like. Everyone I thought I loved abandoned me. Maybe I’m incapable of loving anyone except my daughter. But deep down I think I’ve sent Quinn away because what I’m feeling right now seems damn close to love—and if that’s true, she might leave me too, like all the rest. This way, I’m the one doing the leaving. No one can leave me if I leave them first.

  The memory of that horrible, hollow sensation comes back to me in full force; the one I never want to experience again. The feeling that the whole world has tilted sideways like a torpedoed ship and is spilling me off the deck into the freezing waters of the unknown. Rudderless and blind, with no sense of direction.

  I felt it in the days right after my dad was killed. I did nothing but hide in my room, afraid that whoever got him would come for me next. I was just a dumb-ass kid, with no life skills or coping mechanisms, and the only person I could turn to couldn’t even look at me without crying and drowning herself in a bottle. One day she cried herself right out of the house and never came back.

  I felt it again as I held a newborn Rose in my arms; a tiny, screaming, squirming bundle of humanity that I had no idea what to do with or how to care for. Her cries pierced my ears and ripped my heart. The rest of me went numb as Jolene railed and cursed, in one of her typical withdrawal rages, scattering everything within her reach across the room or on the floor, telling me it’s my fault, that I did this to her, and she couldn’t stand it another minute.