Crazy for Loving You: A Bluewater Billionaires Romantic Comedy(29)

“Suit yourself if you want to stay,” she says. “Remy and I are going to lunch. And we’re going to have a fabulous time introducing him to all the neighbors.”

Fuck, she’s hot, my left nut whispers.

My right nut bumps his fist.

And my brain engages on the words introducing him to all the neighbors. I don’t know much about going out with celebrities and public figures—except my brother, who’s large enough to take care of himself and not need a bodyguard—but I have a feeling the baby’s going to get mobbed.

And Alessandro’s sigh reiterates the suspicion.

“Just you backing her up?” I ask him.

He shakes his head like I’m a moron.

Of course she’d have an entourage.

She doesn’t need me.

But fuck it.

Why not go out to lunch?

See what this Bluewater community has to offer while I’m here. Who knows? Maybe I’ll meet a rich single woman who just needs a little stress relief.

Probably not, but seriously—it’s just lunch.

What’s the worst that could happen?





Thirteen





Daisy



I had no idea that getting a mahi-mahi sandwich from Fish Tails, the Caribbean-themed seafood restaurant in Bluewater’s private shopping village, could be such an epic ordeal.

Or that so much gear could fit in the back of my tricked-out VW Bug.

But here we are, not even at Fish Tails yet, with a diaper bag, a stroller, a baby carrier, a baby sling, and one very tight-lipped temporary co-guardian competing with Alessandro for Most Acutely Observant Dude With Muscles, all strolling down the plank sidewalks past Mrs. Chu’s jewelry shop with the display of my mom’s penis artwork in the picture window, dodging locals on golf carts and stopping to answer questions from other residents who saw the news in People or heard it from their neighbors and want to either offer their condolences, tell me they bought everything Julienne ever one-starred, or ask to see the baby.

Sometimes all three in one sentence.

My neighbors are awesome. Especially the Wealthy Widows. Nothing like gossipy, happy old ladies who have all the life experience I want to have one day, making suggestions on how best to care for a baby.

I am soaking it up.

“Are we eating today, or should we just go throw ourselves in Steve’s lagoon to spare ourselves the pain of starving to death?” Alessandro mutters.

“I don’t know who Steve is, but I’m betting we should go with him,” West mutters back.

“You two are adorable,” I tell them.

Also, I’m intentionally stalling, because Tiana texted back that my last-minute lunch plans required a wee bit more time to execute.

West is welcome. Even if he doesn’t know it yet.

I smile at Mrs. Esteban, who’s jogging in place beside us with ten-karat diamonds in her ears and glittering hand-weights gripped in each hand. “We’ll catch up later,” I tell her.

She nods. “Bring the little one by the gym sometime soon. We’ll show him how to lift weights.”

“Get him started right,” I agree, even though I’m hardly known for working out right.

Emily always tells me I should take better care of my feet when I show up to do the elliptical in my stilettos.

But could I rock carrying a baby in stilettos if I didn’t work out with them on?

I don’t think so.

West suddenly freezes beside me as a strawberry blonde I don’t recognize waves from the front of Fish Tails.

“Oh! Is that Becca?” I wave back at her while West turns a what the hell have you done? look at me.

I smile, because what I’ve done is a huge favor.

Not every temporary co-parent of mine is lucky enough to get the Daisy Carter-Kincaid matchmaking treatment. And today, we’ll find out if she’s worthy and smart enough to snag a man who’d take on a baby that supposedly isn’t his, or if she doesn’t deserve him.

My eye starts to twitch at the idea that she’d take him, but really, that would be for the best.

I’m not taking him. For one, he knows my real name and where I live. Plus, he’s been very clear that he’s only here as a short-term favor. And god knows getting laid is good for the soul. And the grumpies.

So maybe this favor isn’t entirely for him. I’ll make that up to him later too. If I need to.

“Don’t be mad,” I tell the glaring retired Marine. “My grandmother’s background check on you was a little bit thorough. We went through and added all of your friends and family to the guest list, and when my assistant called Becca, she mentioned having diapers and formula as a baby gift, so we invited her to join us. Your family should feel free to drop by Miami anytime too. Cam really wants to meet your mom.”

He doesn’t answer me, but instead walks stiffly toward the woman and bends to give her an awkward peck on the cheek.

“Thanks. For the help,” he grunts out like a caveman.

“Of course! That’s what friends are for!” Her smile is awkwardly strained, and she keeps glancing toward me, then away, like staring at me straight-on might make her blind.

I make a quick wardrobe check.

Yep, I’m definitely wearing pants today. A skirt, actually—my favorite blue tropical print wrap skirt. I got it in a tourist shop in Antigua after my luggage fell overboard on the cruise down to the island—don’t ask—and when my grandmother told me it made me look like a tourist whose better fashion sense got baked out by sunstroke, I decided it was a keeper.