The Nanny Game
Автор
Zuri Day
Прочтений
19,4K
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27
One
“Au revoir, Desmond. À bientôt.”
“Oui, mon amour, Penelope,” Desmond replied, with an extra notch of bass in his voice. “Yes, I’ll see all of you very soon.”
“Oui, oui.” Her soft, low seductive laugh oozed from the receiver and settled into his groin, signaling an end to business executive Desmond Eddington’s long day. The week had been grueling, yet productive. For the past three months he’d been so caught up in overseeing the company’s latest offering, Eddington Enterprise’s own unique brand of cryptocurrency, E-Squared, that his love life had taken a serious hit. Been virtually nonexistent. An unexpected weekend tryst with one of his favorite lovers from around the globe was the perfect way to celebrate. It was such an exciting prospect Desmond decided to not even go home and pack an overnight bag. After placing several reports and his tablet in a lightweight briefcase, and adding Penelope’s name to the guest list for his grandmother’s seventy-fifth birthday bash happening tomorrow, he left his office.
“Pack up, Janice. It’s time to go home.”
His secretary, an older woman with a pair of glasses perched on the tip of her nose, kept her attention on the computer screen as she typed. “It’s only four o’clock.”
“Start your weekend early. It’s been a long week.”
Her fingers stilled as she lowered her head slightly to look over the rim of her half-moon glasses. “Are you feeling okay?”
Desmond enjoyed a hearty laugh. Workaholic that he was, her question was a relevant one. He gave her shoulder a squeeze and continued toward the elevators down the hall from where she sat.
“I feel great! Never better!” He reached the hallway and turned around. “So much so that I don’t have to see you Monday until noon.”
“Whoa, what?”
Penelope had a healthy sexual appetite and for him it had been a while. Considering that her flight wasn’t scheduled until Monday evening, Desmond might need a little extra time off as well.
“You heard me.”
“Are you sure you’re okay? Come back here and let me check that forehead for a fever.”
He stepped into the elevator with a laugh. “Enjoy your weekend!”
Desmond walked through the office building’s main lobby and entered the underground garage looking like a cover model for a fashion magazine. The valet had timed the executive’s departure to perfection, pulling up before Desmond’s custom-made Carthay dress shoes left the building’s outer-carpeted landing and reached the concrete edge.
The young man, dressed simply in the employee black-and-gold uniform despite the increasingly frigid January-in-Illinois air, gave a slight bow as he exited the car and held the door. “Good evening, sir.”
“Where’s your coat?” Desmond asked, handing over the Italian leather trench he hadn’t bothered to don to be placed in the back seat.
“Doesn’t work with the uniform,” the kid replied.
Desmond’s unexpected yet welcomed date tonight was too hot for the cold to affect him. The nine-figure projected first quarter earnings boosted by the company’s successful foray into cryptocurrency had the industry smoking. That the black Bugatti trimmed in platinum silver was toasty warm didn’t hurt, either. Professionally and personally, the man was on fire!
“In weather like this, you need to be wearing an overcoat,” Desmond said while sliding a hand into his pants pocket, pulling out a money clip and handing two crisp one hundred dollar bills to the surprised employee. “Buy one before Monday. Wool. Black.”
He eased down onto the heated leather seat and briskly rubbed his hands together.
“Yes, sir. Thank you, Mr. Eddington! Have a great weekend!”
“That’s exactly the kind I have planned.” Desmond put his metallic monster into gear and rolled out of the parking lot. A light snow dusted the well-maintained streets of Point du Sable, an ultraexclusive neighborhood located at the edge of Lake Michigan and a stone’s throw from Chicago’s city limit. Desmond barely noticed. His mind was on Penelope, the Parisian vixen who’d enchanted him a year earlier during an impromptu Fashion Week trip to La Ville Lumière, France’s premier city of lights. She was a seductive model and a fluent conversationalist, stellar company during the designer’s private after-party where they’d danced away the night and part of the morning, both on the mansion’s heated terrace and later in the boudoir. Busy schedules and an ocean between them made dating a challenge but they’d stayed connected through social media, phone calls and the occasional meetup in one of several playgrounds for the wealthy that dotted the world. The last time Desmond had seen her was in South Africa for a prince’s wedding. Tonight she was in Chicago, making her acting debut in a project she promised to share more on over dinner. She promised to share herself for dessert. Desmond reached a traffic light. Instead of turning left toward Eddington Estate, he turned right toward Point du Sable’s Main Street and the highway heading into Chicago. He’d just reached the light across from that said highway’s on-ramp when his phone rang. It was Chauncey, the house manager, keeper of secrets, the Eddington family’s all-around protector.
“What’s up, Chauncey?”
“Good evening, sir. I tried to reach you at the office. Are you headed home?”
“As a matter of fact, no, I’m not.”
A short pause and then, “You need to come home, sir. Right away.”
Desmond frowned. “Why?”
“It’s a rather delicate matter, Desmond, one best discussed in person.”
“About what?”
“A delivery addressed to you, sir.”
Is that all? The light turned green. Desmond crossed the street, entered the on-ramp and pressed on the gas to merge ahead of the line of cars behind him.
“What can be so delicate about that? Look, I’m headed to Chicago and will probably be gone for the weekend. Have one of the runners place the box at my side door, or if the weather might affect it, put it inside the garage.”
“Sir, this package requires your most urgent and immediate care.”
Desmond released a short quiet sigh. Chauncey’s dedication and attention to detail are what helped the family’s estate run with such ease. But sometimes the concern and overly protective nature of the staffer who’d known the family since Desmond’s dad, Derrick, was a young boy could be stifling.
“Chauncey, I’m sure you can handle it.”
“I cannot, sir. This delivery is totally and completely out of my league.”
“How do you know that? Did you open the package?”
“It is a box and yes, I opened it.”
That wasn’t unusual, either. Whenever a letter, package or box looked suspicious, security checked the contents before the goods were released.
“So, what are the contents and why do I need to see them right now?” Desmond steered around a car doing about seventy and resumed the eighty-five miles an hour his sports car seemed to prefer.
“Chauncey? Did you hear me? What’s in the box?”
Chauncey cleared his throat. “A baby, sir.”
Had this been a movie, this moment would have called for a loud screech sound effect. As it were, Desmond eased off the gas and gently pumped the brake. Obviously, driving fast affected his hearing. And while the luxury sports car steered so smoothly it practically drove itself, Desmond’s fingers gripped the wheel.
“A what?”
“A female infant that Bernice figures is around a month old.”
Bernice was Chauncey’s much-beloved wife and head of housekeeping. The two had joined the family as a package deal more than twenty-five years ago.
“Addressed to me?”
“And a sealed envelope inside bearing your name as well.”
“From whom?”
“There is only a company name on the return address—Acting Up, LLC.”
Shelly. Desmond’s heart almost seized in his chest.
“The package was dropped off about thirty minutes ago by a young uniformed driver in a white nondescript van. However, it wasn’t checked until approximately ten minutes ago when the child who’d likely been asleep when delivered woke up and began making a fuss.”
As Chauncey spoke, Desmond crossed three lanes of traffic to take the next exit and raced back to Point du Sable. He was less than ten minutes from the Eddington compound when a thought hit him smack upside the head. The only one that made sense in the plethora of those that had jumbled his brain since getting Chauncey’s phone call. This baby delivery was a joke. An elaborate, effective one no doubt spawned from the mind of Jake, his younger brother. Wasn’t it just last week while visiting with Jake’s best friend Cayden and Cayden’s expecting wife, Avery, that Jake had teased Desmond about being next in line for the husband/father role? Desmond’s shoulders relaxed as a smirk graced his face. He was tempted to turn around yet again and head back to Chicago. But being so close to home, he decided to personally relieve Chauncey and the staff of their anxiety and pack a few toiletries and other personal items for the fun-filled weekend ahead.
Of course, Jake was behind this madness. The irascible asshole had been a prank-playing pain in his side almost since he could walk. It was either him or his sidekick best friend Cayden, the family’s brother from another mother. Desmond tapped the phone icon on his steering wheel and placed a call to the office.
“Jake Eddington.”
“Dammit, Jake. Good try but not funny.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Desmond’s phone pinged. Penelope. Good thing he’d waited to call her to cancel the weekend. Their rendezvous could continue as planned.
“Hold on, Jake.” He tapped the icon. “Un moment, chéri.”
Then back to Jake. “Where’d you get the baby?”
“Baby? What baby?”
Crap! Desmond checked the screen. The call hadn’t switched over. Penelope was still on the line. He smacked his forehead and inwardly cursed. His hot date had almost received a cold dash of baby news that neither needed.
“Je suis ton bébé. Ne suis-je pas?”
In imagining those soft, cushy pillow lips prettily pouting, Desmond shook his head as the thought of a wild ride on the Penelope side seemed intent on fading faster than invisible ink. “Of course, you’re my baby,” he responded, continuing their conversation in flawless French.
“Are you on your way?”
“Soon. There’s a slight emergency I need to handle.”
“But you are coming, no?”
“Absolutely. I plan to come more than once.”
“You’re such a bad boy.” A smile replaced the pout in her voice. “Our dinner reservation is for seven o’clock.”
“I’ll be there.”
Desmond ended the call, double-checked the screen to make sure Jake and not Penelope was still on the line. He even managed to produce a grin at his brother’s crazy antics.
“Look, bro, the scheme was elaborate. Finding a child, having it sent to my address. Wild and crazy even for you and I appreciate the effort. Still, my wager from last week stands. You’ll likely become a father before I do and when that time does come, my child will definitely not be delivered via a mailing service. You need to have that kid picked up and returned to its mother.”
A second passed.
Then five more.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Desmond’s smile faded. “Come on, dude. We’re getting too old for these kinds of games.”
“I’m not playing with you, Desmond. I know nothing about any type of delivery, and I damn sure haven’t been anywhere near a baby, unless you count the one Avery is carrying right now.”
“Man, you’re good. I almost believe you.”
“Swear to God, Des. I’ve been at the office since seven this morning and will likely still be here for a while.”
“Where’s Cayden?”
“He and Avery left for an impromptu trip to California this morning. You can’t blame this one on Jake and Bake.”
That meant Shelly, his longtime friend with benefits, was the culprit? It wasn’t like her to joke around. Not like this. What would be the point? They hadn’t spoken that much lately or seen each other since she’d suddenly packed up and shipped off to Hollywood determined, she’d said, to become an A-list movie star. That was about...nine or ten months ago. Memories of their last few times together began to play like a movie reel inside his head. As Desmond neared the guardhouse by the family compound’s imposing wrought iron gates, a feeling of dread pooled in the pit of his stomach. If what seemed impossible just seconds ago became possible now, Desmond Eddington was about to lose more than a bet.
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