Chapter 19: Dell
Damn distractions. I should have looked at the footage hours ago. But no, I was playing house with Arianna instead of attending to business. Speaking of which, I guess I don’t get to go to work tomorrow either. No nanny, no work.
Bloody hell.
I storm down the hall to my master bedroom. Arianna follows. Probably she shouldn’t know the location of the safe, but maybe it doesn’t matter. She couldn’t do anything worse to me than this other woman. Walked right in my building and came straight up to my penthouse.
The safe is a cliché, inside the wall behind a painting. I squeeze the latch beneath the frame and swing the picture aside. Arianna stays discreetly near the doorway as I key in the code. The latch pops and I open it.
There isn’t that much here. I keep important things in a vault at another location. My birth certificate and name change documents. A few jewels, all gifts I never got around to giving. And the codes to the security panel of this penthouse as well as spare elevator key cards.
All are accounted for. I shut the safe. “Nothing missing,” I tell her.
“She could know someone who works here,” she says. “Someone who maybe waters the plants or cleans the hall outside your penthouse.”
“Those are my people,” I say.
She stands in the doorway, looking more delectable than she knows in her little flat shoes, fitted jeans, and off-the-shoulder top. More hair has escaped, making the look all the sexier. But her expression shows concern. Her lips are all twisty again.
“It seems like you don’t know your staff very well,” she says. “So it might be pretty easy for someone to help a friend in trouble sneak a baby up.”
I sit on the edge of the bed. I’m tired of thinking about this. And I’m concerned about tomorrow. And every time I look at those bare shoulders, I want to release this frustration between this woman’s legs.
“Did you finish your drink?” I ask her.
She steps back. “What?”
“The brandy,” I say, my tone harder than I intend.
“You’re asking about my alcohol consumption while the fate of that baby is still in the air?” Her voice is all high pitched and angry, like after I called her business a kiddie spa.
“You’re touchy,” I say. “I’m just checking on your comfort.” I pat the bed. “Come here.”
Normally I don’t bring women to my penthouse. It’s too easy for them to try and drop by after their stint is done.
But if they’re already here, it’s fair game. Like the real estate agent. And the decorator.
I’m determined to turn this situation around with Arianna. She’ll be here all night. The baby is sleeping. Maybe a solid orgasm, or two or three, will soften her up enough that she’ll stay with the child tomorrow.
But Arianna hasn’t moved from the doorway. “I’m not your dog,” she says. “Don’t pat the damn bed.” She steps into the hall. “I’m going to set up near the baby. The reason I’m here. Saving your stupid ass.” Then she's gone.
Well, damn. She doesn’t operate like most of the women I encounter. They seem intrigued by the idea of a short-term tryst. But I can’t even get that far with this one.
There has to be some way to make her crack, see the benefit of making the best of our situation. I’m not a hedonist. I’m all about her pleasure as well as mine.
The unmistakable cry of the baby is faint and distant. I wonder if Arianna woke her on purpose to avoid me.
I stare at the floor, picturing the footage. The trench coat. The scarf. It’s like Arianna said. Purposefully Hollywood. Would she know I have this video? That I would see her? If the woman doesn’t want the baby, why should I find her?
But she practically dared me to do the DNA, knowing I could. Did she think I would take the baby out of altruism if it wasn’t mine? Or did she think the dare was strong enough that I wouldn’t bother?
The doctor mentioned some one-day clinic. Maybe it is time to do that. Even if I don’t act until I get the official results for court, at least I would know.
Down the hall, the baby’s cry persists.
I sit up, wondering if Arianna is struggling. I move out to the hall. The cries are louder here. Despite my reluctance to see her after her attitude, my feet just go.
Inside the baby’s room, Arianna is rocking Grace in the dining chair. She has her pulled up close against her chest, both arms holding her in. She watches the baby intently, and only when I’m there a second or two do I catch that she is ever so softly singing to her.
This gets to me, my throat thick. If I thought she was beautiful before, that’s nothing compared to how she looks now, maternal and gentle in the soft glow of a table lamp. I can’t tell if Grace is asleep again or not. But Arianna seems perfectly happy to rock her regardless.
My shoulder braces up against the door frame as I relax, arms across my chest. I’m content to watch. After a moment, I sense her movements slowing. Then she ever so carefully stands, turning back to the baby bed.
She successfully lays her down without a fresh bout of crying. When she moves toward the door, she finally notices me.
Her soft expression moves to a frown. “Good night,” she mouths. Then she scoops up her bag and crosses to the connecting bathroom, leaving the door open.
A light pops on in the room on the other side.
I know she’s keeping the door open so she can hear if the baby wakes. But it also enables me to follow her.
She spots me as she sets the bag on the bed. “Mr. Brant, give me a break. It’s late and she’ll probably be up every few hours. I will need to sleep while I can.”
“I just wanted to make sure she was all right. I should know what sets her off.”
“Why?” she fires at me at a rough whisper. “It’s not like you’ll be handling it.”
She’s right. I can see I should just punt tonight. Let her sleep. “Thank you for being here,” I say. “It’s deeply appreciated.”
This mollifies her and she turns back to her bag. She pulls out a tiny pair of sleeping shorts and a spaghetti-strap top as thin as thread. My cock stirs so fast I get a head rush. I must see her in this. I simply must.
I let her be, but I’m not giving up yet. She’s under my skin now, and I’m determined to get a lot more intimate knowledge before she’s gone.