Crazy for Loving You: A Bluewater Billionaires Romantic Comedy(9)

“Everyone mourns in their own way.”

None of the adults move to comfort the baby.

The crying orphan.

Don’t do it, Marine! my nut sack barks. Retreat! Retreat!

For being ignorant, randy suckers, they know me damn well.

Stanley Chihuahua grimaces at the carrier, puts it down, and steps a few feet away.

“Why am I here?” I interrupt as Daisy and her grandmother bicker.

They ignore me.

The baby wails harder.

And something deep in my heart twists.

I take three strides to the carrier and squat. No one tries to stop me, which pisses me off even more. I’m a fucking stranger. Unbuckling a baby. If there were strangers in my sisters’ houses doing what I’m doing right now, I’d tackle the fuckers first and ask questions later.

There’s an issue with Julienne Carter-Roderick’s will. I need you to come with me. It’s personal.

I’m starting to get a very, very bad feeling.

The baby’s still so tiny I have to cradle his head as I put him to my shoulder—next to my bad ear—and stand and bounce.

Imogen spears me a glance. Her lips pinch, but she doesn’t tell me to unhand the kid.

Not that I would. Who would I hand him to? She’s clearly not a baby person, or she’d be comforting him herself. Her lawyer and her purse carrier dude too.

“What am I doing here?” I press again while the little guy snuggles in deeper and his sobs slow.

Imogen ignores me.

These people are total assholes when it comes to answering questions.

But this baby is not. He smells like spit-up and pee, and he’s so tiny my hand covers his entire back. His black hair is slick, like he’s been sweating, and his tears are dripping onto my neck.

I’m the oldest of six. I have twelve nieces and nephews. I signed up for the Marines to take care of people.

This baby?

This baby needs someone to take care of him, and having him curl into me is sparking every protective instinct in my entire being.

None of them brought so much as a diaper bag, though, so I clearly can’t take care of him any more than just holding him.

“Put that drink down,” Imogen orders Daisy, who lifts a lazy brow that’s also neon red.

“Gramsies, we all mourn in our own way. This is mine.”

“Your time for mourning is over. Congratulations, Daisy. You’re Remington Nathaniel Roderick’s new guardian.”

Daisy blinks at her grandmother, then turns her lavender eyes to the lawyer, then me, then back to her grandmother.

While my hands tighten around the baby—is she fucking kidding?—Daisy busts out laughing. “That’s a good one.”

“I am regrettably not joking.” Imogen Carter turns that glacial glare on me. “Mr. Jaeger, Julienne and Rafe named you as co-guardian.”

I tilt my good ear toward her as my grip tightens even harder around the baby while my stomach goes bungee jumping to my toes. “Come again?”

“I said, Mr. Jaeger, that you and Daisy were named as co-guardians for my great-grandson. Whom you’re currently holding.”

Holy fuck.

My nuts are too in shock to offer up any commentary. There’s a buzz in my ears—the good and the bad one—and I go momentarily lightheaded while I, too, sink into a dolphin chair with the baby.

I’m definitely not here for a party.





Four





Daisy



This is not happening.

Except it is, and I need to call my support staff immediately to get plans put in motion. Nannies. Trust funds. Roller coasters that need to be added to the neighborhood.

Fuck.

A baby?

We’re in my office while my security team slowly kills the party, since word reached us that Anthony Roderick tried to sneak into the Bluewater enclave—undoubtedly looking for the baby, which he probably sees as property, since he’s that kind of ass—and it’s safer in my office than in the pool house because I have a tighter alarm system in here.

I should ping Cameron, Emily, and Luna—my three vagillionaire besties who live down the street in their own mansions with their boyfriends and fiancés—and let them know we might have a slight security situation brewing, except Luna and Beck’s dog next door will bark if she feels the slightest bit of danger. Brutus, the community’s free-range St. Bernard, would also bark if he saw anything suspicious, though who knows where Brutus is right now?

Hell, Steve the Alligator would probably bark at the Rodericks too. Steve can sense evil. I’m sure of it.

But on an actually-likely-to-happen note, Cam’s fiancé, Jude, is basically always on high alert after the little security ordeal that brought him into her life. He notices even when the sea turtles change direction. And I suspect it bothers the shit out of him when I throw parties after everything Cam went through when they met, but generally, all I get is a text message.

You’re not being stupid, are you?

Huh. Why hasn’t he texted yet? Or Cam?

Oh.

Right.

Because they’re probably having wild monkey sex.

Emily and Derek are probably having monkey sex too.

Actually, add Luna and Big Dick Beck to the monkey sex list as well.

I sigh, because I will most likely not be having wild monkey sex again anytime soon.