Chapter 3: Dell
This woman cannot be reasoned with. I extend my hand so that she will return my phone. I’d rather stab myself in the eye than work with her, but I’m out of options.
Bernard threatened to quit if I tried to leave the infant even for five minutes. And that I can’t handle. I need to frame this is a way she understands.
“I’m sorry, what is your name?” I ask. I’ll backtrack, bring on the trademark Dell Brant charm, the sort that got my real estate agent naked on my newly acquired kitchen island.
“Arianna,” she says. Her hand is a fist on a curvy jutted-out hip, a stretchy mauve skirt smoothed over it just so. She is a pain, but definitely an attractive one.
Her white silk shirt is sheer enough to show a hint of the line between the edge of her bra and her skin. I spot the rectangular outline of her phone lodged in that sweet, sweet space.
Her honey-brown hair is short and spun into curls that frame her face. She’s gorgeous and looks like a spitfire. Despite her maneuver with the phone, I feel my cock stir a little.
Then I remember the child, and it’s like a splash of cold water.
“Okay, Arianna,” I say. “I can see you run a great business here. I’m sure there is a dollar figure that will convince you that this baby can remain temporarily. Until the test proves she isn’t mine and CPS can be called.”
One arched eyebrow lifts. Damn, that’s sexy. The cold water evaporates.
I turn to the girl behind the counter. “What is the fee for an infant? I’m sure she won’t be here long, but I’ll compensate you for whatever is necessary.”
The young woman, her hair pulled back in a sloppy twist, fumbles for an answer. I get the distinct impression she’s been staring at my ass. “Twelve thousand per month,” she says.
I turn back to Arianna. “Can’t I get my own babysitter for that?”
The two of them gasp.
“What?” I ask. “You guys are seriously difficult.”
“Babysitters are teen girls,” Arianna says carefully, as if I’m some sort of idiot. “You are looking for a professional nanny. A good one is hard to find. It’s not as easy as placing a want ad and Mary Poppins showing up.”
Smart-ass.
I’m about to retort when the other woman returns with the baby.
“Here she is,” she says. “All clean. And her bottle is prepared.”
She approaches, holding the child out toward me.
An unfamiliar heat rises in me. Panic? I haven’t felt that emotion in a decade. I take a step back. “What are you doing?”
“You’ll want to feed her,” she says.
Despite my efforts to avoid it, the woman places the baby awkwardly in my arms. I’m not sure where my hand should go, or my elbows. The child isn’t screaming, at least, and looks up at me with solemn eyes.
The woman, Penelope, judging from the name stitched on her smock, adjusts the infant until she rests more securely in the crook of my arm.
“Here you go,” she says, holding up the bottle.
I’m not sure how to free up one of my hands to accept it. After a bit of shifting, I manage to take the plastic bottle, startled to feel that it is warm. Shouldn’t milk be refrigerated?
Still, these are the experts. I stick the nubby part of the bottle in the infant’s mouth and am surprised to see her suckle on it greedily. This isn’t so hard.
The women all look at me, their expressions softened. Suddenly I’m father of the year.
But my problem is far from solved.
“So that’s it, then?” I ask. “I pay a month in advance and she can stay?”
Arianna’s mouth opens in an “o” and I flash with an image of what those lips could wrap around. A quick glance at her ring finger assures me she is not married. Surely she can be charmed.
“Not possible,” she says. “I have several babies waiting already.”
But as hard as her words are, I sense a tenderness as she steps forward and presses down on the collar of the infant's dress. “You need a bib,” she says. “Taylor, is there one back there?”
The girl produces a small cotton garment with a neck hole and passes it to Arianna. It bears a logo of a cat with its tail shaped in a heart surrounding an infant, the same as the one on the smocks. This woman has her brand well established, certainly.
I haven’t gotten where I am in this world without being bold. I’m about to anger them, strategically this time. I will get a spot here. I will get to my meetings.
I pluck the bottle from the infant’s mouth and tuck it in the carriage. “That should be enough,” I say and set her down on the blanket inside. “Don’t want you getting fat already.”
The child howls. I figured this would be the case.
“Oh, hush now,” I tell her. “I’ll find a mouth plug that suits you. You can sit in my office. I’ll have the receptionist look after you.” I glance up at the horror on the three women’s faces. “She has a headset,” I tell them. “She can push the carriage with her foot while she takes calls.”
I demonstrate with a perfectly polished shoe pressed against the wheel. I didn’t plan this part, but the carriage rushes forward and winds up rolling across the tile floor.
“Oh my gosh!” Arianna cries, hurrying after it.
I actually feel a bit of chagrin as she flies across the room, her luscious breasts bouncing from the effort, to grasp the handle before the carriage bumps into the wall.
She plucks the wailing infant from inside and holds her high on her shoulder. “I should call CPS myself, Mr. — what is your name?” Her cheeks are scarlet and her eyes flash with anger.
This is when I know I have her. That trump card I’ve been holding.
I extend a hand. “Dell,” I say. “Dell Brant.”
Arianna pales. “The Dell Brant?”
From behind me, I hear the young woman at the counter breathe the word “Shit.”
Penelope, who has gone for the bottle, is the one who actually states the problem aloud. “You mean the Dell Brant who renamed this building Dell Brant?”
“That would be the one.” It was the publicist’s idea. For establishing my brand. Thirteen buildings in Manhattan were now Dell Brants.
Arianna takes the milk from her employee and expertly shifts the baby in her arms to finish the feeding. “Nice to meet you in person, Mr. Brant,” she says. “I’m sure you will understand that I must fulfill my obligations to my current clients.”
“What about this one?” I ask, pointing at Penelope. “Can you spare her for a few days?”
Arianna bites her lip. “I don’t know.”
“Oh no,” Penelope says. “I’m not going to work for no bossy rich man. I like you. I work for you.” And with that, she heads through a secure door.
Arianna looks down at the infant. “Taylor, call all the usual places and ask for a preferential spot. Also call our subs and see if anyone wants a temporary nanny position.” She looks up at me. “I assume you will pay well.”
I nod.
After a moment, she sets the bottle back in the carriage and shifts the baby to her shoulder. With a few pats, the child lets out a belch more likely to come from a drunk sailor.
Both the women laugh.
“Is that normal?” I ask them. “Is the child ill?”
“Perfectly normal,” Arianna says. “Come on. Let’s get you some supplies so you can handle her until we find you a place to keep her.”
“But I can’t handle her at all!” I protest.
“I’m not going to ditch you with her until you can handle it,” she assures me.
I let out a long sigh. I can call the office and reschedule today’s meetings. Probably both companies will assume I’m playing hardball. Who knows, it might even get me a better deal in the end.
Hopefully by the end of this wretched day, I will have someone to take this child off my hands until I can figure out if she’s mine. And make some inroads on who her mother might be. I haven’t even given that matter any thought. Which one of those vixens was heartless enough to abandon a child at my door?