Chapter 9: Dell
“That was pretty tough,” Arianna says as we walk down the sidewalk back to our building.
I don’t answer. I’m holding the baby now. I may never let another person touch this child.
“These are the hard parts,” Arianna says, her voice insistent. She won’t stop saying the same thing over and over. “Some things just have to be done.”
Finally I stop cold, right in the middle of the sidewalk. “I’m not taking her back to that horrible nurse.”
“Maybe you can ask Lilluth to do it next time,” Arianna says.
I can only grunt. Probably it wouldn’t have gone any differently with the doctor. It’s barbaric, sticking needles in their legs. I’m not thrilled about my role in her misery, holding her down, having a cotton swab stuck in her mouth. The woman practically gagged me with it herself.
We take off again. My stride is punishing, fast and long. Arianna is keeping up well enough, though. She must do cardio in some form. Grace is still howling. She hasn’t calmed down since she got stuck. I don’t blame her.
“Shhhh, little one,” I say to her. “Nobody is going to hurt you again.” Not if I can help it. I’ll buy the damn pharmaceutical company. Force them to come up with another method to vaccinate. This is outrageous.
We’re halfway back when my ears prick. Something familiar. Something I don’t want to hear.
Arianna nudges me. “That woman is calling out to you,” she says. She points into the street.
Traffic is nose to nose, barely inching along. A black Mercedes has its back window down. Leaning out, waving madly, is none other than a woman I went out with a couple weeks ago. Camellia Walsh.
This day just keeps getting better.
“Dell, oh Dell!” she calls. “I’ve been texting you!”
I keep walking, refusing to acknowledge her.
“You ignoring her on purpose?” Arianna whispers, practically a hiss.
I don’t see any reason to answer her either. It’s obvious what I’m doing.
But Camellia is damnably persistent, and the slam of a car door is quickly confirmed to be her. She catches up and pulls at my shirt sleeve. I realize for the first time since leaving my penthouse that I’m without my suit jacket. Or tie. Damn it all.
“Dell! Couldn’t you hear me?”
Her red hair is ridiculously bright in the sun, almost lurid. Her eyelashes are like spiders fighting with every blink. What did I see in her?
Then I spot the rack. The tiny waist. The tennis-honed thighs flirting beneath the hem of her crazy short dress.
And I remember.
Arianna has taken several steps away from me, walking as if we aren’t really together. She frantically tries to tame the flapping bits of the purple wrap. She has no idea how classy she looks compared to Camellia’s fake facade.
“Dell! I’m right here!” Camellia calls.
She seems to notice the child finally and crosses in front. “Stop! Stop right here! What is that you are holding?”
I’m forced to halt or run her over. There aren’t enough four-letter words for how pissed I am that she’s seen me with Grace. I have no way of explaining her. And I don’t want to speak to this woman anyway. Despite my reputation and my absolute clarity that we were not a couple, she has insisted on seeing me again.
Our sudden jolting stop causes Grace to stop crying for a moment, her wet eyes taking in Camellia’s vivid hair.
Arianna stops as well, her face etched with uncertainty. There’s a tree between us, circled with a small wire fence. I want her to come out, not hide.
But I don’t need saving. I’ll deal with Camellia.
“It’s nothing that concerns you,” I say coldly. “Now please get out of my way.”
Camellia looks around, as if certain there has to be some explanation for the presence of the baby. She spots Arianna standing by the tree.
“You there,” she says. “Are you the mother of this child?”
Good God. “Camellia, get back in your car,” I order her.
I take a step around her and carry on with the walk. I can’t tell if Arianna has followed or not.
I know Camellia in her kitten heels will never be able to keep up with me. I can see the building two blocks down. I will get there, and I will calm this baby.
Although she’s not taken up her cries again. She has her fist in her mouth.
I can feel the way I’m jostling her as I walk. Arianna was right. I should have a wrap or carrier. I see why people use strollers. If nothing else, you can force people out of your way.
I sense someone following me. I have no idea if Camellia is showing more spunk than she did on our dates, or if it’s Arianna or a random New Yorker. I’m not particularly interested in turning around to look either. My eye is on the building.
But I’m stopped at the crosswalk and I’m not about to dodge taxis with an infant in my arms. So I wait. After a few seconds, Arianna stands next to me. “You lost her,” she says. “Shoe disaster.”
I huff a sardonic laugh. “Broken kitten heel?”
“Worse,” Arianna says. “Strap blowout.”
I turn to look then. Camellia is a block back, hopping on one shoe, one bare foot, back to the Mercedes.
The light changes and I charge across the street. Arianna keeps up easily now.
“So who was that?” she asks. “She sure tried to boss you around.”
“Just someone I used to know,” I say.
“She saw the baby. Will that be a problem?”
“I don’t know yet.” Camellia’s warped brain is probably already trying to figure out a way to use the situation to her advantage. But she can’t know anything about Grace, and there isn’t anyone anywhere who could inform her. Even my office staff and the executives whose meetings I canceled were not told anything other than I couldn’t be there.
Still, of all people to run into. It was no coincidence. She’s probably had her driver circling my block all afternoon.
Damn.
“Can I help?”
I glance over at Arianna. The curly brown-gold hair is lit up in the early afternoon sun. She couldn’t be more different from Camellia Walsh. Or most all the women on that list of twenty-five potential mothers. Who is she? How did she end up running a day care?
“Just help me settle this child,” I say.
“Pass her over to me,” Arianna says. “Since you’ll have her until Monday, have your people buy some things. A stroller. Some sleepers. More diapers. Maybe a changing pad. Probably another blanket or two.”
We approach the front of our building. The doorman nods as we enter.
I hear what Arianna is saying, and I agree. But now I’m not so sure I want anyone in my employ to buy the baby things. I suppose I could pretend they were gifts. I won’t have the child be the subject of gossip.
We step into an elevator. “I’m not sure anyone on my staff is particularly well versed in baby gear,” I say.
“Oh, surely someone has had a baby,” Arianna says. “With as much staff as you have.”
“Perhaps I could get a personal shopper from one of the boutiques,” I say.
Arianna makes that adorable scrunchy face with her lips. “The boutiques who have personal shoppers will only have high-end fussy stuff. You need basics.”
“Where do you get that?”
“Honestly, with what we need, I’d just go straight for the superstore.” Her expression is pained, as if this is the worst suggestion ever.
“You don’t seem thrilled.”
She shifts Grace to her shoulder and pats her frilly bottom.
“Those places are a little impersonal and some of the inventory is just total crap. But we don’t want to have to drive all over Manhattan.”
There goes that “we” word again. It makes me smile for the first time since Nurse Evil jabbed this poor baby’s thigh.
“Are you suggesting we get the items ourselves?”
She grabs my arm and twists it to look at my watch. “We have a couple hours before the first nanny interview. Why not?”
I can think of a million reasons. Camellia Walsh. The public at large. Being spotted by literally anyone.
But she’s grinning now, like shopping for the baby is her idea of a winning afternoon. She lifts Grace with both hands, up in the air. “We’re going to get you some sleepers! And some blankets! And some toys!” She pumps her up and down.
Grace’s face lights up like nothing I’ve seen since she arrived this morning. Her eyes are like little stars and her mouth curls into a magic smile. Then she giggles.
“You like that idea, don’t you!” Arianna says. “Or getting to fly!” She lifts her up and down again.
More giggles.
Something unfurls in me. Something that was so tight for so long, I had no idea it had gotten lodged into the lock position. I can’t put my finger on it, chest muscles, abdominals. Shoulders.
But I’m relaxed. Like really relaxed.
And the joy of this little baby is like a drug.