The Billion Dollar Sitter (3 page)

"I will, Mr. Knight." He departed, and I stroked Ty Jr.'s hair one last time before doing as his father suggested.

***

Unpacking and taking care of Ty were a deadly combination of wearing anyone out. The kid was great, well behaved, happy, giggling, and pooping - always pooping - but he didn't seem to adhere to that napping habit most babies had. But I won - I wore the sucker out before he did me. I placed him in his crib, figuring if he's a normal five month old, he'd be out for the night. Hopefully.

With Ty literally taken care of, my attention turned to the wealth of luxury that surrounded me.

Beautiful. I pulled it off the hanger in the closet. A nightgown. An actual nightgown. All I ever had before were old, oversized shirts that my mother said had belonged to my father. Not something like this. I draped it across my body and looked into the mirror. It looked like it was going to fit, too.

I tossed off my old clothes and put it on. Almost perfect, like it was tailored to my body. The chest was a bit bigger than I was used to, but even then, it fit better than anything I'd worn before. I had to wonder though – why did Tyson have clothes so close to my size? I dismissed the thought, realizing shouldn't complain.

Falling back onto the bed, I reveled in the feeling of the material against my skin, my skin against the sheets of the bed. It was all so wonderful, tickling me so pleasantly. Silky, thread count somewhere in the millions. Maybe not that much, but I didn't know anything about linen outside that really high thread counts were good.

I cradled my full stomach too. I ate like a queen. I ordered a vegetarian burger and they brought me this wonderful black bean burger that was more delicious than any burger I had back when I still ate meat. I'd dare say it was the best thing I'd ever eaten, period.

On a lark, I ordered the most ridiculous ice cream I could think of. Peppermint chocolate rocky road cookies and cream caramel waffle cone with M&Ms, Reese’s Pieces, a mint, pistachio, vanilla, blueberry blend, coated in hot fudge and caramel with lots of sprinkles. And a cherry on top.

After my order, I laughed, realizing such a ludicrous combo of flavors would probably taste terrible. And they made it, homemade. It was as wonderful as the burger – Tyson had some wizards in his kitchen, who I realized would never fail to surprise me.

This was the good life. I had to wonder what I had done for such a reversal in karma for me. All this to just take care of a beautiful well behaved kid?

A cry. Said kid needed me. For this compensation, I was going to give it my all. Not like I wouldn't have anyway, but damn, I had to earn that ice cream.

I hopped over to Ty Jr.'s room. Tears flowed and I picked him up, petting him, doing my usual check. Nope, no poopies - much to my relief. He still cried even as I cradled him. Hungry. I knelt down to something that resembled a mini-fridge, but wasn't - in fact it was sort of the opposite. A monument to excess and convenience, it kept the formula at the perfect 90 degree warmness - warm, but not hot. All I had to do was screw on the nipple and it was good to go - night and day compared to the mess with microwaves, warm water, and waiting a few minutes with a crying, hungry child screaming into my breast. The appliance must have been stupidly expensive, not to mention the power bill must be insane.

But there's nothing a parent won't do for their child to ensure their health and happiness. There are plenty of can'ts, though.  A billionaire parent though? There's no such thing as a can't.

The formula wasn't  even store bought stuff. If I had any guess, it was made by the same culinary wizards who made my heavenly bean burger.

"Open up, Ty, I'm sure this stuff is ambrosia."

He turned his head away from the rubber nipple.

"Come on, I'm sure it's really good." Curiosity got the best of me, and I sipped a bit. Yeah, it was baby formula, but exquisite baby formula. "I would have killed for this stuff when I was five months old. Well all I could really do was cry loudly, but you get what I mean, right, Ty?"

More effort, more calming, more petting, and finally his mouth stayed open for the bottle. I sighed in relief. I had a good idea of what this kid was used to.

"He's been so restless since he's lost his mother." The voice of Tyson spoke up behind me, as he gently closed the door. "She was always right there to give him her breast, and he readily accepted it. It's a bond that's hard to match, instinctual."

"I kinda figured that out. Got him to open up, though. Taking it all down now."

"I can't say I blame him. Flesh is far preferred to rubber, if you ask me."

I cracked a smile as I looked back at him.

Then things took a turn for the unexpected.

He wrapped his arms around my stomach, pressing the silky fabric of the material against my skin. I swallowed. "Mr. Knight?"

"I have hopes that soon you will be able to give him such things, Marci. A milky breast instead of impersonal plastic."

"Uhm, I don't think I'm going to be lactating any time soon. I guess I could work at it, but it'd be really,
really
hard."

His hands shifted up my body, to the topic of discussion, taking each of them into the palms of his hands. "It will come sooner than you think. You're a born mother, Marci."

"Mother?" I repeated, trying to process his words as he played with my tits.

"Yes. Ty Jr. needs a strong woman in his life, someone for him to look up to."

"I can't replace your wife, Mr. Knight."

"No. You're not her clone, or her reborn. I've realized it would be silly for me to act as such."

More massaging of my breasts, his child still in my arms. I did enjoy Mr. Knight's touch, the pleasures so thick, my nipples hardening as he sought to please me.

"Um, Ty Jr. Has fallen back asleep." That was enough to get him to release me, as I laid his son back into his luxurious crib.

I turned toward him with concern. A flustered concern, but still, concern. "Mr. Knight, what are you doing?"

He let out a breath. "I'm sorry, am I going too fast? I assumed you wanted this when you signed the contract."

"The contract? I, um..."

"You didn't read it, did you?" His hands on his hips, he turned his back to me. "I knew I should have told them to simplify it. A lot to cover, custody rights, loopholes, constant what-ifs, so much nonsense on something that should be simple."

"I didn't, no. I could barely understand it. I assumed it was elementary, I take care of Ty for a year, I get a million dollars."

"I requested other things within the language. I want you to be a mother, Marci. With everything that entails."

"A,  a mother?" I repeated, flabbergasted.

"Yes. But I did not seek to trick you into such things. My apologies." He stepped through the door as quickly as he came, leaving me alone to silence.

I turned and checked on Ty Jr. He was going to be fine for at least a few hours. I stroked his hair before following after Mr. Knight.

With the house being as huge as it was, it wasn't exactly a simple task. I walked down the hall, looking for him, keeping quiet. Perhaps the servants slept here as well, and it'd be cruel to awaken them.

At the top of the foyer in the grand hall, I stopped, a painting catching my eye. It looked like I walked past a mirror. A large frame holding an oil painting, a portrait likely commissioned by Tyson.

A reflection – it was me in the portrait. Maybe not exactly me. She had a different hair color, a different eye color. But her face? It was close enough to easily be my cousin. Maybe even a sister. She even had my figure.

It was Margaret. It hit me moments afterward – I was wearing one of her nightgowns.

Slowly my mouth dropped open, all my body's energy in my rushing mind, putting everything together. Did he just choose me because I looked like his wife? Am I suppose to replace her? Was he a man gone crazy with the grief of losing his wife?

Money can't save you from that agony. I've lost dear, close relatives, people who meant the world to me. My mother would offer me ice cream, some new clothes she couldn't really afford. It didn't alleviate the pain. And grandparents, favorite aunts weren't people I'd call soul mates.

It didn't take long for the next realization to hit me, but it took far longer than it should have. He wanted me.

My fantasy was coming dangerously close to reality. I'd been thinking about him that way ever since I laid eyes on him. Apparently I had signed a contract agreeing to let him have me, and to give Ty Jr. a brother or sister. The birth control prohibition suddenly made a lot more sense.

I shuddered. I was still a virgin, never even kissed. It felt like I'd be skipping so many steps, agreeing to be with him for a year. Maybe even longer.

He was two decades older than me, even. But if love happens, love happens, right?

All I knew was that I couldn't make this decision in this hallway, admiring the artistry that went into his wife's portrait. I looked down the hall and saw twin doors, one hanging open to reveal a dim light. My heart told me that was the master bedroom, and inside there, he waited, thinking as deeply about this as I was.

After a deep breath, I started toward it, my feet heavier with each step. This may be the most important conversation of my young life.

The door was light, giving way to my strength with ease, and I found him sitting on the oversized windowsill, staring out into the night. A huge moon beyond the window added light to the room, aside from the quiet glow of a lamp in the corner. He sat so quietly, lost in his own thoughts. He was still dressed in his business wear, black pants, black socks, a collared shirt and a vest.

I took few more steps across a fancy throw rug. "Mr. Knight?"

"I didn't just pick you because you look like Margaret, you know," he began, not turning to face me.

I swallowed. "Were you watching me?"

"Yes. I knew you'd make the connection eventually. But I hired you as a babysitter, as a nanny, because I believed you could do the job well. You had vouches, credentials. Sure, you weren't working at some high class firm, but kids are the same, whether they have a trust fund or their parents struggle to put food on the table for them."

"They are. I've sat for my rich neighbors and my poor ones. The only difference was the rich ones paid better."

"Hah. But the fact still remains, I could have had any nanny, sitter, or whatever in the city, and I chose you. Because you're qualified, and because you remind me so much of her."

At last, he stood from the windowsill and approached me. His overwhelming presence froze me again, him taking advantage by running his hand through my hair, twirling it in his finger.

"Everything. I realize it makes me a crazy man to be doing this, relying on pieces of paper to ask a teenage girl if she thinks I'm hot enough to sleep with – if she's willing to have my children."

"Your contract was a fifty page 'Do you like me?' note?" I murmured, captivated by him.

"In so many words, yes." He laughed, and I realized I liked his laugh. It was warm, not a posh cackle like you’d expect from a man with his wealth. "It's even sillier that I'd have an entire line of girls waiting to be my wife, as soon as I make it clear my grieving is done. But truly? I'll never be done grieving. I'll never forget."

I nodded. "Why are you rushing to this, then? This is a bit crazy, Mr. Knight."

"Perhaps it is. But what can I say? I was smitten with you, Marci." He grabbed me and pressed me into his chest. "I'd be foolish not to notice you feel the same."

"I've been thinking about you in impure ways, if you want to put it like that."

"You mentioned you thought I was religious earlier today. Not that much, really. I haven't been in a church for something that wasn't a wedding or funeral since I was nine years old. But I do believe in fate, that everything works out. That maybe I was meant to run into you when I was looking for someone to take care of Ty. Your similarities to Margaret were just the world telling me to pay attention to you."

I sighed. "I did sign a contract agreeing to let you have me."

"Bullshit. You signed an overly long document you didn't understand. That's not how I do business." He pushed me away, keeping me at arm’s length from him, his hands on my shoulder. "Marci, I'll talk straight with you. I want Ty to be cared for. I want the family that was stolen from me by tragedy. I want my son to have brothers and sisters. I mean, you know how spoiled he'd be as a trust fund baby and an only child?"

"I can see that being a nightmare waiting to happen."

"Exactly. But I'm aware I'm a middle aged man with more money than sense at the moment. The door is open, Marci. You may walk out right now. I'll have a limousine take you back home. You'll get your million dollars, and this all never happened. Free of any obligation."

He released my shoulders and paced in front of me.

"But if you feel it in your heart to give me what I want, you agree to become mine, I'll give you a love worth more than that million, and I'll get more than what any amount of money could be worth in return. Those are my terms, Marci. No contract, no bullshit."