Babysitting the Billionaire (6 page)

“I have bad gaydar.”

She had to laugh, and because she’d been drinking, once
she started she couldn’t stop. He looked at her, startled; and then his lips
wobbled, and then he guffawed right along with her.

She got up and refilled her water glass. He’d loaded the
coffee table with his mixer and Sauza tequila, very efficient.

He was still chuckling when she returned, and it seemed
only natural to come closer and perch on the futon with him. He reached his
glass over and clinked on her tumbler of water. “Hölkyn kölkyn.”

“Really?”

“It’s what we say to make the tourists laugh.”

“It works.” She tried to repeat it, making him laugh.
The sound had a creak like a rusty Tin Man.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, but he waved her off.

“Dull and gone. Tell me about yourself, Miss May. This
pink penguin I’m wearing—is it yours?”

“It is. This was a prize during our team-building
exercise last year.”

“Is there anyone at Penguin Foundation who wears XXL?”
He wiggled his shoulders, and the shirt danced on without him.

“No.”

“Great way to build a team, to suggest you’re all skinny
weaklings.”

This was getting too close to the restaurant scene. May
fought her fatigue to find a topic to change.

“Wait. What does Joki do for team-building?”

“What do you think? We play videogames. And go
snowshoeing in the woods.”

“That sounds fun.”

“If you’re a reindeer. I think the best way to build a
team is to build the best product together that we can. Seems to work for us.”

“And stay off the phone when you’re drunk.”

“Just so.” He looked toward what used to be the sunroom.
When May had bought the place, she had had the wall torn down so now the
sunroom was part of the living area. The tile floor remained, though. She used
the space for her computer setup and her painting.

“That’s why this place smells of solvent.” He gestured
to her big easel.

“Yes. I’m using oils this year. I’m sorry about the
smell.”

“I grew up over a gas station. Smells like home.” He
drained his glass. “You did the walls, too? The sunshine kitchen, dissolving to
day and then blue night over there?”

She nodded. No one had ever seen the colors for what
they were.

He lurched forward to pour another drink out. “Will hurt
your resale value.”

“It’s acrylic.”

He sat quiet a moment, and then leaned sideways toward
her. “Where do your parents live?”

Talk about a non
sequitur.
May sipped her drink, composing her
story. “Here, in DC. My birth mother came here pregnant, but didn’t survive the
trip. I was a preemie. The Reeds had lost their boy, and I believe they loved
me twice as much to make up for it.”

“There is no twice as much in love. It’s all or
nothing.”

“Then it was all. Is all. They’re both hale and hearty.
In the summer they like to travel. They’re exploring the West coast this month.
They still camp in tents.”

He chuckled. Not bitter at all. She relaxed into the
sound; it was almost mesmerizing. “How do you camp?

“I camp with room service.”

He set his glass down and suddenly looked serious. “Camp
with me. No pressure, I mean I have an extra room. You might actually get seven
hours of sleep.”

May’s heart skipped thrillingly up, and then crashingly
down. “But aren’t you going home now, what with the, um, wrong resolution to
the meeting with the senator?”

“You want me to give up on the penguin expedition?”

“No! I mean, lord, please, no. But I thought.” She
frowned. What did she think?

“You thought it was quid pro quo, and rightly, since
that was what I’d said. But truly, May in June, I am excited about this
expedition. There’s a reason I picked penguins for my game. I think they’re
really—what is the word?—exciting.”

“Cool?”

“Better, cool.”

May smiled. “Well, that’s great to hear. Sadie will be
so pleased.” She stopped, seeing his look harden. “Sorry, I mean Markus will be
pleased. And me, too.”

“And you, too, little May?” His eyes were a bit blurry,
but still too sharp for her liking. The blush was rising again, and even her
crotch was blushing. Was that possible?

She tried to harden her heart against him. What had she
called him yesterday?
Mr. Big-pants
bossy-head.
But tonight he didn’t seem so bad. In fact, he looked downright
delicious.

She frowned hard enough to hurt her cheeks. She
shouldn’t be thinking this way.
Traitorous
body, with its unhelpful thoughts. Time to flee the danger.

“I’ll get the bedding.”

“You do that.” He leaned back, hands behind his gorgeous
head, and closed his eyes.

****

May woke to the delicious smell of coffee, and for a
moment she wasn’t sure where she was. This couldn’t be her house, could it?

But the bed was right, and her little pile of clothes
from last night beside it on the floor. Then she remembered. She had a guest.

She rummaged in her overstuffed closet and finally found
the terry bathrobe her parents had given her years ago. Barefoot, hair surely
aircraft-carrier-ish, she opened the bedroom door and peeked out.

“Sleepy heads only get the dregs.” Beau Kurck,
impossibly perky, lorded over her little breakfast counter. He held up one of
her mugs.

She came closer. “Where did you get the coffee?”

“Ordered in.”

“From where?”

He waved a hand, and she saw the big box of coffee on
the counter. “You ordered a box of coffee?”

“Two. I had to reach the minimum for delivery. That, and
a French press, since you so kindly loaned me yours.”

“And a selection of croissants.”

“Not a one of them fattening.” He waved her mug at her.
“Do artists really do it with flair?”

“Not without coffee first,” she said. “Out of my way.”

He wandered into the front room. She poured herself a
big joe and grabbed half a croissant and followed. The sun was already
streaming through the top tier of windows, another blue-sky day. “It’s nice to
share a beautiful morning,” she said.

“Indeed.” He turned from looking at the tree taking up
her postage-stamp back yard, and took her in. “You know, Miss May, I believe
you need a vacation.”

She stopped mid-chew. “I believe I need to sit down. So,
you’ve solved all your own troubles and now you’re moving on to improving the
lots of the rest of us?” She licked the last of the delicious butter taste off
her fingers.

He watched her a moment and then answered. “Couldn’t
hurt.”

“I’m fine.” Except she nearly shouted it.

He handed her his half-empty coffee cup. Turning toward
her big easel, he flicked the canvas cover off the painting there.

Both cups threatened to slosh. May put them on the paint
table. “I suddenly remember why I hate having visitors.”

“Looks to me like you should have more of them. A black
painting, on a field of black. And here, where you’ve scraped the paint off,
what are you going to put there? No, let me guess. More black.”

She covered the painting back up, as if it were a bird
that would fall silent when you covered up her cage. “It’s a work in progress,
a process painting. I don’t need to explain it to you.”

“How long have you been working on this?”

“Not long. Six months, a year, I don’t know.” She saw
the corner of his mouth turn down, the patent disbelief in his eyes. Already,
her damn tears were coming.

“Leave me alone. I didn’t invite you here.” She wasn’t
going to cry. She wasn’t. She picked up his coffee, her stupid artist mug, and
threw the stuff at him. The liquid hit the face of her penguin on the T-shirt,
as if she’d intended to feed it to him.

He looked down, pulling the shirt away from his skin,
and then back to her. “You do remember this is your shirt, right?”

May’s breathing rippled into laughter, crazy laughter,
cackle to guffaw to hard sobbing. She swayed on her feet. Her feelings had her
balance confused.

He pulled the soaked shirt off and scooped her up. As he
carried her to the already-made-up futon, she tried to tell him that the terry
robe would have soaked up the liquid, but her vocal cords weren’t making
word-sounds at the moment.

He sat in the middle, sliding her butt to the side but
keeping hold of her under the shoulders. He hugged her so close her tears fell
on his skin, too.

It wasn’t as if May hadn’t cried about all the things
that had happened, but this cry was of a different hue. He stroked her hair,
from temple to under her ear, again and again. At last, the tears ran out, and
her sobs quieted enough she could hear his heart’s steady, steady rhythm. She
closed her eyes.

Already the shame was rising, and soon she’d need to
back up and set some boundaries with this man, this stranger, really. But
another thirty seconds wouldn’t hurt anyone. She let his warmth soak into her,
ease some of the weary pain blocking her heart.

“You lost someone,” he said, voice warm across the top
of her head. No tears left, she only shivered as if her body was trying to
shake off the memory.
As if.

He had stopped stroking her hair, and now his hand
stroked her chin, her shoulder, her arm, and up and around again. She
concentrated on the sensations, quieting the chaos of memories in her mind.

“My baby. She wasn’t born yet, but she was still my
baby.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. The rhythm of his touches did not
break.

“She was 20 weeks, something. We’re not sure. The
father, he wasn’t interested, you know. So I, I was going to give her up.”

“Give her up?”

“Adopt her out. To a good family. Like I was. A better
life.”

“You didn’t think you could give her a good life?” His
voice was soft, but hearing the words out loud for the first time she felt how
deep they cut.

“I wanted to give her everything I would never be able
to afford. Especially two parents.”

“You weren’t good enough for her?”

“Not even good enough to hold onto her for nine months.”
Her throat stopped working, and the words choked off.

He stilled, and then squeezed her tight. He pulled her
up and against his chest, her head resting on his shoulder so she could see the
sunshine.

“What if she knew? What if she thought I didn’t want
her?” What if the paints had poisoned her? May had switched to acrylics, but
who knew how long baby-toxins remained in the air. She closed her eyes as he
cradled the back of her head.

Babies miscarried every day, she knew. And babies were
born who were unwanted—the healthy fetuses came willy-nilly. Her baby had been
sick, or wrong, or something.

It felt like every heartbeat for the past half a year
had been a fight between her need to breathe and the weight of a great boulder
pressing on her chest. His gentle pressure somehow added to her strength. She
imagined herself pushing, pushing, the great rock to the side. It moved,
grudgingly, a little bit. She could breathe. She sucked the air in.

She burped.

Reddening with embarrassment, she scrambled off his lap,
pulling her knees into her. He only chuckled. “Getting the last of it out, are
you?” His eyes were wet. “Any better?”

She took mental stock. “Actually, yes.” She cupped his
knee. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He waggled his eyebrows at her in a
wave she hardly thought physically possible. A small smile bloomed, and her
sense of humor awakened.

“But I’m still not going to sleep with you.”

“Story of my life, it looks like.” He palmed her knee.
“But have I made my point?”

She blinked, bewildered.

“Somebody needs a vacation. And I know just the place.”

****

Though his arms were full of groceries, Beau held the
elevator door open for her with his foot. “I’ll take care of this stuff, and
then change. You call work and tell them you’re out today.”

“Lie? Sadie always knows.” At the name, his smile faded.

“Tell—that one—that I’m a complete wreck, and you are
very worried about me. I’m going to need round-the-clock babysitting if I’m
going to make it to their damned dinner party.”

May watched him unload the boxes of coffee, yogurt, and
potato chips. He certainly didn’t look like she should be worrying about him.
He looked over his shoulder and caught her staring, and then wiggled his too-buff
ass.

Heat spilled across her face and rushed down to pool in
her belly. No, she shouldn’t be worried about him at all.

He mimed the sign for “phone” and then headed down the
hall to his room. May made the call. Too bad she couldn’t text.