Crazy for Loving You: A Bluewater Billionaires Romantic Comedy(71)

While I’m supposed to be playing the role of good parent figure.

Not horny asshole who wants to jump the heiress.

“Can I show you the house, Louise?” Daisy says brightly.

“That would be—”

“Daisy! Daisy! Oh, my poor baby, I’m here! Everything’s fine! Mama’s here now!”

I jerk my head up.

Remy screams.

Daisy mutters something I don’t catch with my bad ear, but it’s clearly a complex profanity.

Louise’s eyes flare wide as she turns toward Daisy’s unexpected guest—a tall, busty blonde in a shrink-wrapped neon green dress and heels up to a normal woman’s knees. Her eyes are familiar. So are her lips. And her nose.

“Why didn’t you radio the yacht? I would’ve been here in an instant.” She has at least eight inches on Daisy, which I assume means four or five when they’re both barefoot, and she grabs Daisy and smushes her face to her breasts. “I never prepared you for motherhood. I’m a failure, and now I’ve set you up for failure.”

“Mom. Stop. You’re not a failure.”

“Daisy’s not failing,” I add.

“I certainly hope that’s true,” Louise says.

Daisy’s mom looks up and frowns. “Daisy. Did you replace Tiana? And who’s this handsome drink of water?”

Louise frowns deeper. “I’m Louise Anacosta, Department of Children and Family Services, and I’ll thank you to not call me a handsome drink of water.”

I’d think Louise had a wicked sense of humor, but she doesn’t crack a smile while she delivers the line.

Daisy’s gaze flies to mine, and I have to look away, because I’m going to crack a smile if I don’t, but in the process, I make eye contact with her mom.

“Oh! The stranger. You’re the stranger Julienne named in her will. Oh, that poor baby. Are you pinching him? Is that why he’s crying?”

And no more smiles. “He’s hungry.” Or possibly stressed at all the changes in his life and at Daisy being stressed and me being stressed and two more strangers waltzing in the door. “Daisy—”

“Helene,” Louise interrupts. “Helene Carter-Kincaid, yes? You’re concerned about your daughter and this man being caretakers for this child?”

She finally seems to realize she needs to shut up.

At least for half a second.

“Well, they certainly can’t be worse than his biological parents were. Can you imagine having your childhood one-starred by your mother while your father sleeps with half the neighborhood? Don’t believe all those stories you see about Daisy in the news. She’s the most loyal, loving, amazing woman in the world, and I’ve never seen her fail when she’s given a task. All of my insecurities about her parenting skills are a reflection of my own insecurities and failures, but she’ll be fine. I don’t know anything about him, but I imagine that’s what your background checks are for. How did you get put in that will again?”

“That’s a question for another day.” If Daisy gets any perkier, she’s going to topple over and land on her face in a pile of reality. “Mom, I need to give Louise a tour of the house. Can you please go find Tiana and ask her if she’ll meet me in the situation room at two?”

Helene’s lips purse like she suspects this is code for go away. And then she pulls back and sneezes.

“Oh, and I got a cat…” Daisy adds.

Helene sneezes again.

“Or seven…” Daisy murmurs.

“No! Bad dog!” Alessandro yells.

I whip my head toward the shout, one hand on Remy, and then I’m shoving him at Daisy and leaping between her and our new guest.

A dog.

A St. Bernard, to be precise, who’s sprinting full-steam after Mr. Peabody.

“Brutus! No!” Daisy cries.

“Oh my god, the baby!” Helene yells.

Brutus—apparently—leaps over the couch, hot on Mr. Peabody’s heels. They make the furniture slide. They scramble over the fireplace with a bang. They dart down the hallway, Alessandro in hot pursuit, while cats from all over stream into the room, yowling and hissing, tails poofed, backs arched, and they, too, make a mad rush down the hallway toward the lounges.

“Ms. Carter-Kincaid, what is going on in here?” Louise demands.

“Neighbor’s dog—” she starts.

But she doesn’t finish.

Because Elvira—the demonic, unicorn floatie-hating, tripping-a-man-on-his-way-to-the-bathroom cat—has decided to make a grand re-entrance.

From the balcony at the top of the stairs.

Straight onto the penis chandelier.

“My art!” Helene shrieks.

“Elvira, no!” Daisy yells.

“WWWAAAAAAAHHHHHH,” Remy adds.

But it’s no use.

Elvira leaps.

And misses.

And lands within a centimeter of a panicked Louise.

That’s it.

We’re completely fucked.

And that’s before a dude wearing seventeen gold chains, low-slung pants, and a sideways ballcap strolls in.

“Yo. D. We still on for my kids to paint your tramp room?”

“Who is that?” Louise shrieks.

“Lil Nutt Sacc,” Daisy whispers as a flock of teenagers filter in behind the hip hop mogul. “Mother. What did you do?