Crazy for Loving You: A Bluewater Billionaires Romantic Comedy(23)

Her brow furrows briefly, then her eyes fly wide. “Oh! No. Not at all. I mean, yes, my lawyers want you to sign a non-disclosure agreement about last night and everything I’m about to tell you—they get so pissed when I forget this stuff—but actually, I want you to move in with me.”

Twenty years of military training is the only thing keeping me from choking on my own spit. Also, I don’t believe for a second that she forgets non-disclosure agreements.

“I don’t know if you follow the tabloids, but I tend to show up in them. A lot. Most of the time depicted as…well, actually, fairly accurately. I work hard, so why shouldn’t I play hard too? But, as I’m sure you can imagine, it’s not exactly the best look for the guardian of a baby, whereas—”

I cut her off with a low, growling grunt as I realize where she’s going. “You need me to make you look good.”

“I—yes.” Her yellow outfit doesn’t seem quite as bright when her shoulders slump. “I can make it as painless as possible. We have a helicopter so you can avoid Miami traffic to get as close to job sites as possible. I’ll take overnight shifts with the baby. And my chef can make any food you need. I know you still have a month left for house-sitting on the beach, but I can have one of my staff take over and keep an eye on things. Also, I know a lot of people who—”

“How long?” Fuck. I just asked that. Also, she knows too damn much about me.

“Oh, not that long! I mean, what’s a few months in the grand scheme of things? And you were going to need a new place to live soon anyway, so this way, you can just chill in one of my guest suites until you find a new place. I have plenty of room, plus a private beach, plus there’s golf and watersports and the most amazing little village of shops in the Bluewater enclave. You’d have access to all of it.”

“A few months.” Nope. Not buying it.

She smiles, and I realize her eyes are blue today. A bright, sparkling, lively blue that makes me think of dancing Caribbean ocean waves. “Maybe a wee bit longer?”

“What kind of dirt do they have on you that you need a total and complete stranger’s help to make you look like the better option?”

“I don’t do anything I won’t own in public. And even if I’d ever planned on having kids, I still wouldn’t apologize for living the hell out of my life. But not instantly knowing how to do all this caretaking stuff doesn’t mean I can’t learn it. It just means I appear to have weaknesses and vulnerabilities in a court case until I look as competent as I feel. I know this is about as cluster-fucky as cluster-fucks can be, but I just need a little bit of temporary help. Remy needs a little bit of temporary help. And he’s such a sweet little orphan baby.”

That’s the only argument she could make that will make me bend, and I think she knows it. Except there’s that look again—that softness in her eyes that says she’s not calling him a sweet little orphan baby to manipulate me, but because she feels it too.

That urge to protect and defend a helpless infant who’s already lost both his parents.

I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose, because I know what I’m going to say.

I don’t want to say it. Saying it means getting attached.

But what’s the alternative?

“I need to talk to my lawyer,” I tell her gruffly.

She claps her hand. “I thought you might. I called him. He’s outside.”

I think I’ve just been outplayed.

And I’m afraid it won’t be the last time.





Eleven





Daisy



When I was growing up, no one ever accused me of being a genius. It was all Daisy’s so pretty and Daisy’s so nice and I hope Daisy develops some marketable skills, because pretty and nice won’t get her very far.

Nice guys finish last, right?

Depends on what you consider last.

I’ll never win awards for my charity work—not that I don’t do it, I simply don’t do it where everyone’s watching. And why waste money on an award for giving money?

Just give more money to the people and causes that need it. Duh.

My grandmother sold her soul to stay immortal and at the helm of Carter International Properties for all eternity, so being CEO is off the table. Not that it was ever on the table. Some days, I really don’t know why I’m still employed, but I keep doing my best, and encouraging the staff under me to do their best, and the pieces keep falling into place.

I’m no scientist, but I have a theory that when you treat people right and care, they’ll bend over backward to do just about anything you ask. Which isn’t why I give my staff extra days off, invite them to bring their kids to work, and throw not only a wicked awesome holiday party, but also untoppable Valentine’s Day, Independence Day, and Talk Like A Pirate Day parties.

I also ask how Hussein in accounting is feeling after his accident. If Katya in legal is still having trouble with her ex. And if Jorge in marketing needs some extra time off since his mama has been sick back home.

Deep down, most people just want to be loved and appreciated and seen. So I give them what they need, and in return, they give me what I need, and we’re all one big pile of happiness shining brighter than the Miami sun, with me standing between them and my grandmother.