Chapter One – Sleepless Nights
Carly
Present Day
My alarm goes off at six o’clock like clockwork every morning. That stupid little piece of annoying electronics has the worst timing ever! It wasn’t that long ago that I was actually able to fall sleep. Whoever said that babies sleep better after a year old, clearly didn’t know anything.
I’d been delusional about the fact that babies monopolize so much of your time, so much of your sanity. So much of your soul. I haven’t taken a full, relaxing shower in forever. Days where I’m able to both brush my hair and put on make-up are few and far between. Sometimes I don’t eat a single bite until midmorning when I finally sneak down to the vending machine and buy a two dollar Hostess Ho Ho from the lower level employee break room at work. I’ve eaten more cereal dinners than I care to admit.
But I wouldn’t trade any of this for the world.
My sole priority is my fourteen-month-old daughter, Natalia. She is the most beautiful baby girl in the entire world. Sure, I might be a tad bias, but I honestly believe that with her black, curly hair, her beautiful green eyes the color of dewed morning grass, and her chubby little cheeks, she rivals most Gerber babies in those baby food commercials.
She’s also a daily reminder of that night. That one amazing night.
I’m just stepping inside the shower stall when I hear that familiar high-pitched war cry. My daughter has the best set of lungs I’ve ever heard. She can wake a hibernating bear at two hundred yards.
I know that my time is very limited now so I rush through the remains of my shower, remembering that I didn’t have time to wash my hair yesterday. The wail is getting increasingly louder by the second, so I forego shaving my legs. Again.
I always knew that babies were a lot of work. Add in the fact that I’m a single parent of a baby girl who developed reflux and colic at a very young age, and you have the recipe for sleepless nights and high anxiety. Thank God for Mom.
My mother is a saint. A Godsend. She’s the only person who kept me going when my body was ready to give out and my mind completely gone. Mom lives a few miles away from my two-bedroom apartment and spends her days here, watching her only granddaughter. Mom is a novelist. Romance? Nope. Mom writes crime novels, and makes a pretty good living at it. She writes in the evenings and a bit at night, only able to get in a few hours of work in between tending to a high maintenance baby. But, she doesn’t charge me to babysit, and for a single mom, that’s a huge plus.
My mom is one of the most beautiful women in the entire world; both inside and out. Again, I might be slightly prejudice, but I speak the truth. She raised me entirely on her own from the time I was five years old. Getting me out of a sticky home life was top priority. My father wasn’t around as often as most fathers. His job in sales wasn’t nine to five and pulled him away from the house more often than not. But I do remember that when he was there, he doted upon me like any proud father. I was the apple of his eye. His pride and joy.
Until it all fell apart.
Making sure the shampoo is completely out of my hair, I grab the soap and make sure to clean all the necessary areas. God, what I wouldn’t give to shave my legs uninterrupted–both legs complete at the same time. Just once.
With a towel wrapped firmly around my midsection, I step out of the en suite bathroom and head across the hall. Natalia’s wails are urgent now, my cue that my chance at peace and quiet has come and gone. I step inside the pink room with morning sunlight filtering through the ivory curtains and head straight for the crib. My daughter is standing against the railing, tears streaming down her face, as she waits for me to pick her up. This little sweet pea is definitely not a morning person.
“Good morning, sunshine,” I coo as I pick the half-pint up and cuddle her into my chest.
Natalia grabs for the towel, her big toothy grin firmly in place. A rare morning smile. I’ll take it!
After a quick diaper change, we head back into my bedroom where I find the playpen ready in the corner. It’s part of our morning routine that Natalia plays with a few toys while I get ready for work. The singing bunny and the farm animals that moo, neigh, cluck, and oink will hold her attention for about five point six seconds. As I do every morning, I have to make this quick.
Grabbing the first black pencil skirt I find in my closet and a cream colored button-up satin shirt, I head towards my dresser to find a pair of nylons. It takes me three pairs before I find a pair without a run from the ankle clear up to the knee. I dress in record time, almost missing one of the tiny pearl buttons under my breasts. I complete the outfit by grabbing my favorite pair of black Stuart Weitzman pumps with the black satin bow on the toe, a gift from my uncle.
As the personal assistant to Reid Hunter, I am compensated healthy to dress to impress. I am the final face before potential customers and clients meet with the man recently named one of Forbes Top Ten Business Men in the US Under the Age of Thirty-Five. I have a copy of the magazine safely stashed in my desk drawer that I like to pull out and tease Reid with on occasion.
Most of the money I’m paid goes first to pay my bills and second to make sure Natalia has everything she needs. The medication she’s on for her reflux isn’t the cheapest out there and can get rather pricey when I head to the pharmacy every month. What’s left of my paycheck is used to purchase end of season designer clothes at a discount. Well, except the “gifts” I receive regularly from my uncle. They’re some sort of peace offering from his older brother’s death when I was five years old. Plus, there’s the trust fund that I haven’t touched. Like clockwork every July first, a large sum of money is deposited in an offshore account in my name. I’ve been able to touch it since I turned twenty-five two years ago, but I have no desire to touch money that I deem tainted.
Knocking at my front door pulls me from my preparations. I grab the toddler from her restraint and head towards the front door.
“Hey, baby girl,” my mom says with a chipper smile.
“Morning, Mom,” I mumble through my yawn.
“Late night?” she asks, placing her purse on the small entry table by the doorway.
“She didn’t go down until midnight and then was up again around three for a bit,” I confirm. Nat is a night owl, sleeping soundly for long periods of time throughout the day. No matter how hard we try to switch her sleeping schedule, it seems to make her colic worse, to the point of unbearable. Her pediatrician believes it’s something that she’ll start to grow out of soon, so we just deal with it until that point finally comes along.
“Come here, pretty girl. Let Nana get you some breakfast while Mommy finishes getting ready,” Mom says as she takes the squirming toddler from my arms.
I run back to my bedroom and finish getting ready. With Mom here a little early, I’m able to style my hair in an up-do, and add a little mascara and blush to my pale complexion. After slipping on my favorite pumps, I hustle into the kitchen to kiss my daughter before heading out the door.
“I don’t think Reid has any late afternoon meetings, so I should be home at my usual time,” I say to my mom as I grab a NutriGrain bar from the cabinet.
“You’ll get home whenever you get here. Don’t you worry about us. We’ll be just fine,” she says as she feeds the suddenly happy baby a spoonful of rice cereal with cut up bananas.
After kissing my daughter on the top of the head, careful to avoid her messy fingers, I slip out the front door. I take the elevator down to the lobby, walk out to the parking lot, and head towards my car tucked securely in its parking spot.
I slide into the leather driver’s seat of my newer Jaguar XJ Supercharged. This wasn’t exactly the car I was looking to drive at the ripe old age of twenty-seven, but my uncle insisted that I have something stylish and comfortable to travel between home and work. This beauty replaced the coupe convertible version I was driving before I found out I was pregnant. Now, it’s a four-door sedan.
But don’t let the four doors fool you! This one is completely custom, with the sport and speed package consisting of every ounce of luxury technology Jaguar could add to a car. This baby has a front seat massager, the illumination package, and the biggest engine Jaguar can safely install in a luxury sedan. All for the everyday low price of $125,000. Yeah, not too bad for a personal assistant.
I use the drive to work to collect my thoughts, but it never takes very long for them to quickly turn to Blake. You know, the man I met two years ago, spent one night with, and ended up pregnant with his child? Of course, he has no idea he even has a daughter. When I woke that morning so long ago, I found my bed empty. Knowing that it was only one night, I still felt a loss by his absence. He was off to work his new job, wherever and whatever that is, not even giving me his last name. When our night was all said and done, I knew only a first name and that I would remember our meeting for the rest of my life.
When I reach the headquarters for Hunter Enterprises, I pull my car into my reserved parking space in the underground parking garage and head towards the private elevator in the rear of the glass-front building. Reid has successfully taken the small business he started from a three-room office in a crumbling building in a questionable neighborhood and transformed it into an empire. Buying and selling businesses–especially casinos–for a handsome profit. He’s done well over the past seven years, that’s for sure.
“Good morning, Mr. Hunter,” I holler as I lock my purse inside the bottom drawer of my desk. The room around me is empty, the phone silent until I give the signal to reception to send the calls through.
I walk over to the open door to my left. Windows line the entire, immaculate room. It’s like walking into space with a roof. With a dark cherry desk and brown leather seating, this room is by far my favorite room in the entire building. Of course, the man sitting behind the desk isn’t so bad to look at either.
“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Reid,” he asks with a friendly smile. Not his “Thank you for your business” smile, but the real deal. The smile that not everyone gets to see.
His smile is brilliant. I can clearly see why every woman between the ages of eighteen and eighty tries to grab his attention. Reid Hunter is gorgeous in that tall, dark, and devastatingly handsome way. The fact that he’s richer than God doesn’t hurt either. Yet for every ounce of hotness he possesses, I still only picture him as Reid. My best friend’s older brother. The boy who used to tease me mercilessly by putting bugs in my hair when I was growing up.
“And how many times do I have to tell you that I can’t do that. I don’t want to mess up and call you Reid in front of a client,” I tell him. “I’m running down to get coffee. Do you want the usual?”
“Yes, please,” he says with a nod as he returns his focus to the proposal in his hands. I already know that this will be at least his third cup of the day.
After running down to the gourmet coffee shop on the bottom floor, I return to our office with two piping hot cups of coffee and a fresh blueberry muffin. Setting one cup and the muffin down on the corner of his desk, I silently head back out to my area to get the day started; my day, that is. Reid’s started hours ago.
I reply to dozens of emails and return a half dozen phone calls even before reception starts to send calls my way. My day is always busy in the best sort of way. I don’t have time to think about being lonely or focus on my lack of sleep. There’s just no time for it.
At lunchtime, I run down to the deli and return with Ham and Gouda Paninis and fresh tropical fruit. On the rare occasion that Reid doesn’t have a luncheon scheduled with prospective clients, lawyers, or city dignitary, we take the opportunity to go over his schedule and any preparations for upcoming meetings and events.
“Tara’s worried about you,” Reid finally says at the end of our lunch.
“Excuse me?” I ask, slightly offended that my best friend is discussing me with my boss. Ignore the fact that my boss is her oldest brother, please.
“She says you haven’t been dating much,” he says, turning those crystal blue eyes at me. Eyes that are so intense and exotic, you can’t help but squirm a little under their gaze. No wonder grown men end up giving in to whatever demands and stipulations he’s seeking.
“I don’t have time to date, Reid. I have a toddler to raise,” I say, throwing my wrappers from lunch in the garbage can. “Besides, who wants to date a single mom with spit up on her shirt?”
Reid makes a face that lets me know exactly his stance on young mothers. Reid Hunter will die single and childless if he has his way about it. “You should take time, Carly. You’re a young, beautiful woman who has a lot to offer any man,” Reid says.
“How about you, Reid. When was the last time you went out on a date? And not the ones I pre-arrange for you for some charity function or fundraiser,” I retort, knowing that by turning the tables, the conversation will abruptly come to a close.
“We’re not talking about me,” he says with a pointed look. “You are capable of love, unlike me.”
Reid Hunter is so full of shit. He’d be more than capable of love if he would actually give it a try. I’ve told him this on more than one occasion, and the resulting conversation always ends the same way: with his denial, avoidance, and subject matter change.
“So, Mr. Cruz will be here in ten minutes to discuss the Bravado Resorts acquisition. Do you need anything before then?” I ask, gathering up the remnants of his lunch and tossing it in the trash.
“You don’t have to pick up after me, Carly. I’m more than capable. I’m going to humor you right now and allow you to change the subject, but only because I want to still review the latest stipulations with you before Cruz gets here,” he says, pulling the Bravado file out of his top desk drawer.
“Those stipulations are absurd,” I say, allowing my irritation to be evident and my tone to reflect my displeasure.
“Bravado is the biggest resort chain on the west coast. It would be a brilliant merger,” Reid says without giving me so much as a glance over his paperwork.
“Merger, yes. But this is your life, Reid. You can’t do this,” I tell him, appalled that he’s even considering it. I’ve been on the verge of telling Tara all about his latest deal, but the strict confidentiality that I share with Reid keeps me from opening my mouth. I would never willingly break his confidence and trust.
“When Cruz shows up, will you send him in?” Reid asks with a dismissive tone.
“Fine. But I’d like to go on record and say–again–that I do not like this deal. I do not agree with it in any way, shape, or form. You are better than this, Reid,” I tell him with softer, compassionate eyes.
“Noted,” he says firmly. Then his features suddenly soften around the edges of his hard eyes. “Thank you for your concern. I will take all sides into consideration.”
But the thing is, I really don’t think he will. Not on this one. He sees the bottom line, and that’s not like the Reid Hunter I know and love like a brother. He has always been able to see all angles of every deal he works, but there’s something about this one. He seems more focused on the end result.
The afternoon passes in a blur of phone calls, emails, handshakes, and pleasantries. When the clock finally hits six o’clock, I wave goodnight to Reid, who is making notes in a file, and head out to my car, ready to unwind for the night. My mind wanders towards the incredibly tall and devastatingly handsome stranger I met two years ago. Like an out of control freight train, I can’t stop it. Reid wonders why I don’t date? The truth is that I feel absolutely no desire. How can I date someone when the only person I think about and want is consuming my thoughts and dreams? As many times as I’ve tried to forget him, I just can’t seem to let go. That’s my hang up. When I figure out a way to eradicate the man out of my head, I’ll hopefully be ready to try dating again. Until then, I’ll fall asleep with him tucked safely away in my subconscious where I can pull him out whenever I need. No, probably not the healthiest form of companionship, but it’s all I’ve got. And for now, I’m still hanging on to it.
I slip inside my apartment, listening for the sound of Nat. When I finally hear her giggles of joy, I release the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. If she’s awake now, I have a better chance of getting her to sleep at a normal hour.
“Hey, Mom. Hi, princess,” I say, walking into the living room. Mom is sitting on the floor in front of Natalia as she nibbles on a teething ring. “Good day?” I ask, praying that Natalia behaved herself for my mom.
“She was great. A little fussy around lunchtime, but she ate well and took a good nap. She’s been up for awhile now, so maybe you can get her down around eight without too much trouble,” Mom says with a smile.
I run back to my bedroom to change into a comfy pair of sweats before returning to the living room. “Wanna stay for dinner?” I ask as I take a seat on the floor next to my baby girl.
“Can’t tonight. I’m meeting Keisha at the coffee house to plot out a big kidnapping scene,” she says as she stands up to gather her things. Before she slips on her jacket, she bends down and kisses Natalia on the top of her dark head.
“Nana will see you tomorrow morning, baby girl. You be good for your mommy tonight. Try to let her get a little more sleep. Maybe then she won’t carry so much baggage under her eyes.” As if Nat knows what Mom said, she giggles and throws her hands up and down.
I pick up my daughter and hoist her high on my hip as we walk Mom to the front door. “Have a great meeting tonight,” I tell her knowing that her meetings with Keisha always end with a visit to a local bar for a drink or two. Some of their best plots are developed over a few margaritas.
“I will. I’ll see you both in the morning,” she says, kissing me on the cheek before slipping out the door.
As soon as the lock is engaged, Natalia releases an ear-piercing squeal, clearly displeased with her grandmother’s departure. I bounce her several times on my hip, trying to sooth her annoyance. Why does it always seem like when my mom leaves, my daughter turns into an entirely different baby?
Later that night after a warm bath, several trips around the apartment as I walk and bounce the cranky baby in my arms, and tons of rocking in the easy chair, Nat is finally out. I gingerly place her in her crib, praying that the sudden movement doesn’t wake her up. When she’s softly breathing deeply again, I tiptoe out of her room and cross the hall. The kitchen is a mess and toys are strewn all over the living room, but exhaustion overtakes my need to clean house. Without even changing from my lounge clothes, I fall onto the top of my unmade bed. Sleep finds me almost immediately, but not before my mind flutters to the tall stranger who once shared this very bed with me.
He’s also the last person that I shared this bed with.