Crazy for Loving You: A Bluewater Billionaires Romantic Comedy(51)

I dash to my office, double-check my game face, then I dial my grandmother’s number for a video chat.

She answers on the seventh ring. She’s in her private jet, and she has the pursed-lip look of annoyance that should warn me not to push my luck.

“Where’s Remington?”

“With West. You know. Your favorite grandson.”

“Were I to get to choose my grandchildren, Mr. Jaeger would not be my first choice.”

“No? Because you didn’t have a fit about him telling you we got married.”

“I don’t have fits.”

I study her closely.

She studies me right back.

Something wrong is going on here. My grandmother doesn’t get attached to people outside the family—not people she hasn’t hand-picked herself, anyway—but while she was frosty as Antarctica in that video Tiana showed me of West facing her down the day I had my allergic reaction, she also hasn’t ordered him out of my life.

My grandmother is freaking playing me.

And he probably is a spy. “Sure. Anyway, I’m calling to let you know I’m going back to work tomorrow.” I have to. I need to. I can’t work from home and do my job effectively, and more, I can’t work here alone all day with a non-verbal dictator who’s adorable and fascinating and perfect, but a dictator nonetheless.

“No.”

“Granerella. What kind of example are we setting if women can’t work with babies? I can take Remington with me. There’s a daycare center two floors beneath my office. And it’s not like I’m breastfeeding or recovering from childbirth. I’m perfectly capable of doing my job and raising a baby too.”

I’m actually not, but I’m not about to admit that to her.

I get things done because people think I know what I’m talking about.

I don’t.

I’m a total and complete fraud. I barely graduated high school. I only graduated college because my father made friends with half my professors and bribed them. And my grandmother only hired me into the family business because of a massive risk I took that could’ve fallen apart at any second, but didn’t, mostly because she put her stamp of approval on it, thus negating any reason for anyone to fear I was bullshitting them.

And now, she’s studying me like I’ve actually made a solid point.

So I do what I always do, and I forge ahead. “The sooner we can demonstrate that I’m balancing a career with being a good mother to Remington, the more likely it is all the Rodericks’ legal challenges will go up in flames. Plus, Carter International Properties will be seen as a leader in the changing world of working mothers. I mean, I can’t promise you the cover of Time again, but…”

She leans back like she wants to cross her arms and glower at me, but her pupils dilate, and I know I’ve got her.

She fucking loves being on magazine covers.

“You’re not traveling overseas for business anytime soon,” she informs me.

Dammit. That’s the other thing I miss. But I’ve been weirdly too busy to think about the mini-vacation in Bali that I can’t make anymore either, which is also a sign that my life is way out of whack. “Babies can travel.”

“I sincerely doubt any judge will approve Remington leaving the country when his guardianship is in question.”

Oh. Fuck.

Didn’t think about that.

“How many private detectives do you have working on digging up blackmail dirt to get the Rodericks to back off? They’ll be done within a week.”

“They will never back off.”

I bite my tongue, because Oh. Right. Because you wouldn’t either is probably not the best thing to say right now.

Also, I sort of might have missed mentioning that part to West, and thank fuck he’s not standing in my doorway overhearing this conversation right now.

“You have a home office,” she adds. “Use it.”

“I have a personal connection to my staff, and they’re more motivated when they see me.”

That, I know is true. I haven’t actually done the dealing in my grandmother’s real estate company in several years. Instead, I’ve empowered the people who work for me to do it in her name, and I just give them what they need to succeed.

Whether that’s a wall of frozen yogurt in the break room for morale, an ear to listen while they vent about a coworker or a project hitch, or a suggestion of which part of the real estate world we should conquer next—expanding from just office buildings to hotels, spas, and wineries was my idea, but implemented by my staff until they needed someone at the VP level to sign off—I’ve basically been the person making sure they all have what they need to get their jobs done.

She frowns deeper. “Two days a week in the office to start. Otherwise, you’re at your house. No parties. No more animal photo shoots, and no questionable activities of any kind. Nothing to give the Rodericks any firepower or any hint of a suggestion that you’re doing anything beyond balancing motherhood and a day job. And do not endanger Mr. Jaeger’s position in your household. He’s currently the only thing making you look legitimate.”

I. Am. So. Fucked.

No small part of me wants to flip her off and walk out the door.

But…working for Carter International Properties isn’t just a job.