The Complete Arrogant Series (63 page)

ODESSA

One last pair of flats goes into
my suitcase before I yank the zipper tight. It’s almost nine o’clock, and the
flight leaves in fourteen hours from LaGuardia. I texted Beckham earlier to let
him know I’d meet him there around nine, but I never heard back.

He stormed out of the office
after lunch today, and I never heard from him after that.

Washing up for bed and slipping
into pajama pants and a tank, I climb under my cool sheets and pull my tablet
from my nightstand for some late night reading. I read until my eyelids grow
heavy and the e-ink words jumble together on the dimly lit screen.

The buzzing on my nightstand
interrupts my gentle lull and pulls me back into the moment – into my
cold, dark room. Eyes squinting, I grab the phone and answer immediately when I
see who’s calling.

“Beckham,” I say, voice groggy.
“What’s up?”

“What are you doing?” His voice
is dialed down, low.
Almost seductive.

“Sleeping. Which is what you
should be doing too. We fly out tomorrow morning.”

“I need you to come over.”

My lips twist, peeling into a
wide smile I can only hope to conceal in my tone. “You’re shameless. And no.
The answer is no. I’m in bed. I’m staying here. I’ll see you tomorrow.
Goodnight.”

“Odessa.” My name in his mouth is
heavier this time, causing my heart to hammer. “I mean it. Come over. Now.”

“The desperation isn’t doing you
any favors. Goodnight, okay?”

A weird noise comes from his end.
It sounds like a squawking bird, high pitched and shrill at first until it
grows louder and closer. And then I realize it’s a baby.

***

The penthouse elevator doors
part, and there stands Beckham, a wailing newborn cradled in his arms. I’d
forgotten how small babies are when they’re brand new. I haven’t held a newborn
since my oldest sister had her last, and it’s been years.

“I can’t get her to take a
bottle.” Beckham’s hair is combed every which way, his eyes squinty and his
posture exhausted. A small bottle rests in the palm of his hand. Navy sweats
are cinched low around his hips, and a white t-shirt reveals a hint of the ‘v’
that leads to familiar territory. I’ve seen him dressed up. I’ve seen him
naked. But seeing him so casual with a baby in his arm almost feels like an
illusion.

“May I?” I scoop the crying baby
from his arms. He hands me the
bottle which
is tepid
at best. “This is cold, Beckham. Let’s get her a fresh one. Do you have any
frozen breast milk?

“She’s on formula.”

“Where’s Eva?” I ask.

“Obviously not here.”

I carry the unsettled baby into
the kitchen, Beckham following. An open canister of Similac rests next to a
diaper bag. Pulling out a fresh bottle, I heat some sterile water and mix two
ounces with a scoop of powder.

Testing it on my inner wrist, I
run the nipple across her mouth until she opens up. She latches on immediately,
as if she was starving.

“Why will she let you give her a
bottle and not me?” He watches like I’m performing some kind of magic.

“Babies are fickle,” I say.
“She’s still figuring out the world around her. Sometimes they like to be held
a certain way or they want their milk a certain temperature. You’ll get to know
her eventually. Crying is the only way they can communicate right now.”

I carry her into the living room,
lowering us into a cushy leather chair. I prop my legs on a nearby ottoman and
settle in with the dark haired beauty.

“She looks like you.” I gently
pull the bottle from her lips and hoist her over my shoulder, patting her back
until she gives me the tiniest burp.

Beckham takes the seat across
from me, not looking away for one second. Either he’s amazed by this
interaction or he’s overprotective of his daughter.

“You’re good with her,” he says.

She sucks down the final ounce,
and I place her over my shoulder once more. “I have six nieces and nephews.
Lots of practice.”

He looks down for a second, his
elbows resting on his knees. “You want kids, Odessa?”

“Someday,” I say. “Not in a rush
or anything. My family’s as close as we are big. I’m the only Russo out of five
not married with kids. The pressure is intense. I’m sure it’ll happen exactly
when it’s supposed to. I’m not worried.”

“Try being one of fifty-six.” His
hand hooks the back of his neck and he leans back.

I’m sure he’s exaggerating.

“So you have experience with babies
then? Being from a big family?”

His terse lips harden. “Men
didn’t do that in my family. She’s the first baby I’ve ever held.”

“What’s her name?” I watch her
eyelids flutter and feel her relax in my arms as she settles in the white
blanket that envelops her.

“Baby.” His eyes are still
closed. “That’s her name. Baby.”

“You need some sleep, Beckham.
You’re not making any sense tonight.” I stand up slow, not wanting to wake her.
“Where’s her crib?”

The only indication that a baby
lives in his penthouse is the stuffed diaper bag sitting on the counter next to
the can of formula.

“There’s a bassinette in my
room.” He points toward the hall.

I whisk her down the hallway,
check her diaper, and deposit her in her bassinette like she’s made of glass
and china. When I return to the living room, Beckham is passed out. Yanking a
faux-fur throw from behind the sofa, I cover him up.

I suppose he’s right. We’re sort
of friends now.

Attempting to be quiet in a
penthouse with wood floors and
eleven foot
ceilings is
almost impossible.

“You’re leaving?” He sits up,
rubbing his eyes.

“We’re flying out tomorrow,” I
say. “Wait. What’s your plan? Is Eva going to stay with the baby?”

He rises, tossing the throw off
and rubbing his temples. “The baby’s temporarily in my custody.
Eva’s going
through some things. She’s not able to care for
her. I have a nanny coming during the day, but I don’t think it’s a good idea
for me to go to Vermont this week. Can we reschedule?”

I ignore the sinking feeling my
heart makes.

“You know what?” I swat at the
air. “I’ll handle it. I’ll do the interview and the town hall meeting. I have
everything scripted out. I can tell them you’ve had a family emergency. If I
show a picture of the baby, they’ll understand. Everyone loves a baby.”

He’s quiet for a minute. “You’d
do that for me?”

“It’s kind of what I’m good at…”

His hand flies to his hip and our
eyes meet. “Yeah. Fine. I appreciate that.”

I check the time, mentally
calculating how much sleep I’ll get tonight if I leave now. Beckham studies me,
holding me in place with a single sharp stare.

“Do you need anything else before
I take off?” I point toward the elevator. The thought of him being alone with a
newborn tonight, with no one else, makes me feel sorry for him. A week ago he
was just a guy with a big ego making the best of his sexually decadent
lifestyle. Then shit got real. “You going to be okay tonight? Alone?”

His jaw sets. “I’ll figure it
out.”

“Just remember, you’re her
father. You know what’s best for her. Don’t get frustrated if she won’t take a
bottle or if she cries. It’s normal. She’ll eat if she’s hungry enough and the
crying won’t last forever.”

I get a quick nod out of him,
though I can’t help but feel he’s not ready for me to leave yet.

“Call me if you need anything.” I
head toward the elevator. “And Google is your friend.”

Beckham’s fingertips slip into
the waistband of his sweats, a hint of his taut stomach peeking out. He half-
smirks,
still locked in place.

“Thanks for coming out,” he says.

“We’re friends now, right? That’s
what friends do.”

BECKHAM

Elizabeth arrives right on time,
and I bolt out the door going on three cups of coffee and four total hours of
sleep. I don’t know how people do this single parent thing.

At work I text the nanny every hour,
asking for updates. Elizabeth responds by telling me how many ounces
Baby
took at her last feeding, if she’s
sleeping now or if she’s content being held.

I respond to emails. Make some
phone calls. Schedule some meetings.

Odessa should be landing in
Vermont any minute now. According to the itinerary she emailed me earlier,
she’ll spend the day with the Charity Falls Register journalist and meet with
the townsfolk around seven tonight. She’ll spend all of tomorrow networking and
meeting local businesses, and Friday she’ll fly home.

Just before lunch, I place a call
to Dr. Brentwood to check on Eva. The judge at the emergency hearing yesterday
had no qualms about placing the baby in my custody temporarily, though the
petition for paternity testing has yet to be delivered to Eva. They won’t serve
her if she’s sitting in the mental health unit of a hospital.

“Beckham,” Dr. Brentwood says.

“Any updates?”

“She’s experiencing a bout of
postpartum psychosis,” he says, confirming Elizabeth’s assumption. “It’s rare,
usually occurring after one or two percent of all pregnancies, but given her
history of anxiety and bipolar disorder, she was more susceptible to
experiencing this.”

“How long
will
it last?”

“We’re trying to get her meds
adjusted,” he says. “She’s been off of most of them because of the pregnancy.
It could take anywhere from six to twelve weeks for her most severe symptoms to
subside, and it could take six months to a year for the condition to resolve.”

“Six months to a year?” This
can’t be happening. “So what does that mean for…? What do I do with the…?”

Dr. Brentwood sighs. “I can’t
tell you what to do, Beckham.
Legally and otherwise.
I
can say, however, that being a single parent isn’t easy. To do so successfully,
you’re going to need to ask for help.”

I hate asking for help.

“You know that saying
it takes a village
?” he asks. “It’s
true. I hope you have some friends and family around to help, and not the kind
money can buy.”

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
.