Arrogant Playboy(48)

I hang up with him and stare at my phone. Dane hasn’t been updated yet, and I’m not sure what he’s going to make of all this. Not exactly in the mood for one of his lectures either.

Pulling in a deep breath, I dial my brother’s office phone and brace myself.

Ten minutes later, I’ve filled him in on everything having to do with Eva, the court appointed guardianship, the paternity test in limbo, and the fact that I have absolutely no clue what the fuck I’m doing.

His end is quiet.

“You’re doing the right thing,” he says.

I release the breath I’d been holding. “Really?”

“Fuck, Beckham, I don’t know.” Dane sighs into the phone. “Does it feel like the right thing to do?”

Picturing the baby’s face, I fight the warm fuzziness that threaten to dissolve every edge I have.

“Taking it one day at a time,” I tell my brother. “I couldn’t send her off to live with strangers. She didn’t ask to be born. It’s not her fault Eva did what she did. Even if she’s not mine, someone has to care about her.”

“Never thought I’d see a day when you put someone else’s needs before your own,” Dane chuckles.

My eyes roll.

“Odessa came over last night,” I say, squeezing my eyes. “I mean Sam. She’s really good with the baby.”

“She’s a good person,” Dane says. “I don’t say that about many people.”

“And a week from Friday, she’ll be gone.”

“Why don’t you offer her a full-time spot? Obviously not at her going rate, but I’m sure we can offer her a reasonable compensation package.”

“Do we need a full-time PR person?”

“She doesn’t have to be strictly PR,” Dane says. “I can think of a whole laundry list of things she’d excel at if we tasked her with them. Plus we’d been tossing around the idea of adding a VP of Public Affairs and Marketing.”

“She’s not going to leave Manhattan for Salt Lake City,” I scoff.

“There’s no reason the position can’t be based out of New York. In fact, that would make more sense, don’t you think?”

I glance at the clock. It’s been an hour since I last checked on the baby.

“Yeah,” I say. “All right. When she gets back, I’ll mention it to her.”

Dane lets me go, and I send a quick text to Elizabeth who promptly responds with a picture of the baby sleeping in her bassinet.

She’s going to need a name. A real name. If she’s going to be with me for the next several months to a year, I’m going to have to slice open my heart a little bit and let her in.

The soft, yet painful sensation that chokes me when I see her picture is a foreign sensation. Or maybe it’s an allergic reaction. All these years I’d joked that I was allergic to love and commitment and anything that caused a man to feel too many things at the same time.

And now here I am, feeling it all and not having a choice in the matter.

***

For the first time in my adult life, I’m dashing out the door at five o’clock, rushing home. Right now, there’s no place I’d rather be.

I stride across my foyer and head past the kitchen and living room in search of Elizabeth and the baby. Pausing in the doorway of my room, I arrive in time to see the nanny lay her down in her bed.

She sweeps around, her hand flying to her chest. “You startled me. She just finished a bottle. Three ounces. She’ll sleep at least a couple of hours for you.”

“Thank you, Elizabeth.”

I pad lightly across the carpet, peering over the side of the white-lace bassinet at my Sadie.

That’s her name.

Sadie Grace King.

Because the daughter of a King should have a name that means princess.





Chapter Twenty-Six




ODESSA



Charity Falls is a sweet town. The residents? Not so much. Beckham owes me. The locals threw pointed questions and chucked false accusations at me like pitchers hurling curveballs. It wasn’t just a PR quick-fix, it was a strategic game of chess.

I’m happy to report that I won the match. An exit poll after the meeting showed a sixty-forty split on the issue, whereas when I went in, we were at eighty-twenty.

We made progress. That’s all that matters. And the baby picture helped. And all the flattering things I said about Beckham, painting him as a hardworking family man. I guess he sort of is now, even if it wasn’t his choice.

I smirk to myself, wheeling my suitcase down my hall Friday afternoon. The faint scent of my favorite boutique candles wafts from under my door. It smells good to be home.

“Hello?” I call out the second my door swings open. A pair of Jeremiah’s shoes rest by the door. We’d talked about spending time together when I got back. After six years together, I’d think he’d remember how much I loathe surprises. Once in a while is fine. I can’t handle every single week. “Jer?”