The Redo (Winslow Brothers #4) (67)

Me: REMY. No. We’ll be fine.

Remy: It’s happening. I’ll be there in about 10 minutes.

I sigh and even try to call him, but all I get back is his voice mail and another text.

Remy: 8 minutes.

I look at Izzy, who has just finished up her bottle, and blow out a breath.

“Well, honey, forget everything I told you about real estate and start thinking about things like the Dow and the S&P 500 and any stock-focused things your little mind can handle. Looks like you’ll be specializing in investments today because Remy just can’t help himself.”

The thoughtful bastard.





Remy

As I step onto the elevator and hit the button for the twentieth floor, my phone pings in the back pocket of my jeans. I check the screen to find a rambling text message from the woman I just saw about thirty minutes ago.

Maria: Are you doing okay? Is Izzy behaving? God, I hope she sleeps through your meeting. I mean, even people who love babies don’t necessarily want to deal with a screaming baby in the middle of talking about their investments.

I start to text her back, but when Izzy fusses a little from inside the baby carrier against my chest, I stop and glance down to find her little face scrunched up into a grimace as she attempts to suck on the material of the ridiculous suit jacket Maria dressed her in today.

A baby. In a suit. Add that to things I never thought I’d see.

With one hand gently stabilizing the back of the carrier, I use my free hand to reach into the front pocket of the backpack diaper bag that Maria packed up for me and locate Izzy’s pacifier. Once I pop it into her mouth, she sucks on it like a real-life Maggie Simpson and begins to settle down.

I don’t hesitate to snap a quick picture of the victorious moment and send it to Maria.

Me: After a hearty debate on whether you should invest on a monthly basis no matter what the market is doing or wait to buy the dip, Izzy has decided she needs to ponder her investment strategy before revealing her final answer.

Maria: I take it this is your way of telling me all is well in the land of baby watching?

Me: You are correct.

The elevator dings our arrival and I step off the cart, but I pause halfway down the hall toward Thatcher Kelly’s office when another message from Maria chimes in.

Maria: Have I already told you that I’m forever thankful you’re doing this? Because I am.

Me: About one hundred times before I left your apartment. And like I’ve said one hundred times myself, no thanks needed.

Maria: Don’t be crazy. I owe you. Big-time. You saved my ass today.

Me: You can make it up to me in compliments about how amazing and studly I am and a promise of dinner tonight.

Maria: You got a deal on the dinner.

Me: And the compliments?

Maria: REMY WINSLOW IS AMAZING AND STUDLY. OH MY GOSH, HE’S, LIKE, GOD’S GIFT TO ALL WOMEN.

I grin and type out a quick response.

Me: Hmmm… Why do I sense sarcasm?

Maria: What? No way. I totally meant every word.

Me: Go sell an apartment. I’ll take a rain check on the compliments.

Maria: rolls eyes

Me: smiles like the studly, awesome man that I am

Phone back into my pocket, I smile down at a now-sleeping Izzy and finish the walk toward the office that will hold today’s meeting with Thatcher Kelly. About a year into knowing each other, he conned me into collaborating on some of his investments because that’s how shit goes with Thatch. He is something of a financial genius in his own right, so he doesn’t need me, but he’s the type of guy who can convince you to do just about anything without you even realizing it’s happening.

And his wife Cassie, one of my sister Winnie’s best friends, is the same damn way.

I offer a friendly smile to Thatch’s assistant, and her eyes go wide for a beat when she spots Izzy, but she silently gestures for me to go inside while she finishes up a phone call.

I find Thatch sitting behind his massive desk, his legs kicked up on the wooden surface and his arms stretched out behind his head.

“What the fluff, Kline?” he retorts with a furrow of his brow. “I thought you said—” He pauses midsentence when he spots my arrival, and then his gaze moves downward to my chest, where Izzy sleeps in her carrier. “Uh…I gotta jet, Special K.”

“You’re such a di—” Kline Brooks’s voice starts to chime from the speaker, but it’s cut off with a click before he can finish.

“Uh…I’m not sure if you know this, but…” Thatch drops his voice to a whisper. “You have a baby strapped to your chest.”

“I’m aware.”

“Okay…” He squints and stands up from his desk. “And how exactly did you get this baby?” he asks, but then he holds up his hand toward my face. “Wait. Don’t answer that. First, let me add that if you stole this baby, keep that shit to yourself.”

I laugh. Outright. “I didn’t steal this baby.”

“If you bought that baby off some kind of black market, again, keep it to yourself. I’m fluffing good at keeping secrets, but not when the FBI is involved.”

I start to open my mouth to set his crazy ass straight, but he’s already diving headfirst into one of his insane rambles as he steps closer to me and Izzy, his eyes taking in her suit jacket.