Totlandia: The Onesies, Book 1 (Fall) (9 page)

Barry had been her best friend since high school. He was also Zoe’s sperm donor, and in Ally’s will, he shared the responsibility of Zoe’s legal guardianship with his lover, Christian Cordell.

Not that the Pacific Heights Moms & Tots Club would ever know that. On her application, Ally and Barry had presented themselves as a happily married couple.

Nor would the club find out that Ally Thornton hadn’t
 
completely
 
stepped out of the workforce to care for Zoe: she was still working part-time as the chief strategy officer of Foot Fetish. Her reconnaissance of PHM&T had warned her that the application committee frowned upon working moms. By putting down “board member in an advisory capacity,” she sidestepped the issue of how much time she was obligated to spend at the company.

Ally had mentioned that she had been accepted to the club only the day before, during Barry and Christian’s weekly Sunday dinner together with her and Zoe. Barry had laughed so hard he’d spewed his martini. “Ally, my sweet, tell me you’re kidding!”

Ally, who had been mixing the salad, put down the tongs with a thud. “And why is that funny? All anyone on the playground talks about is how PHM&T is
 
the
 
club to join.”

Barry winced as the last drops from the martini shaker trickled into his glass. “I don’t know about that. One of the biggest jokes around Christian’s hair salon is all the hoops that club makes its members jump through. If you think the Bracknell lackeys are giving you grief with their macho corporate games, just wait until you meet that woman—Christian, what’s her name again?”

“
Bettina
 
Connaught Cross.” Christian shook his head gravely. “All my customers gossip about her. They say her name is apropos: you ‘
cannot
cross’ her, or you’re out of the club. Their horror stories could curl your hair.”

“Which is why you do so many Kerastase treatments.”

Barry’s joke earned him a raised brow from Christian.

“We all know that’s the last thing I need.” Ally shook her head. Her long, dark curls, which spiraled down her back, bounced from side to side. “Seriously you guys, how bad can it be?”

“Oh, it would be okay,” Christian had chimed in, “if you were a brain-dead stay-at-home MomBot who angsts over whether you gave up breastfeeding too early because you pulled the poor kid off your tit before she started grade school. But that’s not you, Ally. And you know it.”

Barry’s brow shot up. “Well, well, well! Someone is being a bit too catty.”

Christian shrugged. “Nope, sorry. You can’t accuse me of that. Hell, if it had been up to Ramona, I’d still be suckling.”

Barry laughed. “You’re right. You’re such a mama’s boy.”

They were only kidding, but that didn’t stop the tears from welling in Ally’s eyes. She’d always felt guilty for never breastfeeding Zoe. But how could she? Bracknell International’s offer to buy Foot Fetish had been proffered in the fifth month of her pregnancy. The deal had closed the day Zoe was born. Her dream—to sell the company, so she’d have enough money to raise Zoe without ever having to work again—to put her through college, without the fear of her daughter incurring debt to get her degree, like she’d had—had finally come true.

With one caveat: Bracknell International insisted she stay on as the company’s chief strategy officer for at least three years.

The offer had been too tempting to refuse, especially after BI had accepted Simon’s counter: besides taking home a seven-figure salary and additional stock options, she’d only have to show up at the office two days a week in order to participate in design sessions, vendor relations strategies, and the monthly board meetings.

For those days, she had lined up a great nanny: Lucy Sweetin, a grandmother to three strapping grown boys, all San Francisco firefighters.

A corporate board hadn’t been easy to get used to. Before Ally had sold the company, she’d had only one person to answer to: herself. Her style was to make snap decisions. Now she had bean counters who questioned her every move.

The worst of them was the CEO, Ellis.

But she also had the financial freedom that any mother would envy.

And she’d done it without a man at her side.

Working all those long, late nights was easy when you were going home to an empty house.

Her twenties had been a decade of missed opportunities and heartbreak. The decision to have Zoe meant that at least she would enter her forties with someone at her side. Someone to grow with and with whom she’d share experiences.

Someone who would always love her.

Now that she and Zoe had been accepted to PHM&T, the good times were about to get even better.

Ally had smiled up at Christian. “You know better than to listen to gossip. I’ll finally have an opportunity to bond with other moms while Zoe socializes and plays. It’s a dream come true.”

Barry frowned even as he kissed her forehead. “Be careful what you wish for, Al.”

Now, even as she patted down the wet stains on her blouse and stared out at plastic shards and crushed circuit board that used to be her cellphone, Ally Thornton knew that her sweet Barry had nothing to worry about.

She grabbed her bag, scooped up Zoe, and ran through the mansion’s front gates, right behind some tall man with a baby boy on his shoulders.

10:14 a.m.

The man may have been over six feet tall, but this didn’t seem to bother his toddler son, who sat high on his shoulders and chortled as he yanked at his father’s thick, blond hair.

Mallory, who along with Joanna had been handing the guests their nametags, saw him first. She nudged Kimberley, who had been handing rose corsages to the new Onesies moms: red for legacies, and white for those six moms who would be competing for the four other slots. She grimaced at his audacity and signaled Bettina with a wave.

If anyone was going to tell this guy that this was a private party, it had to be Bettina. Kimberley was much too shy to the point of blushing as deep red as her hair, Mallory would be rude about it, and Joanna was too big a flirt to tell him to get lost.

Bettina sighed as she straightened her shoulders. By the time she’d reached the intruder, her lips were pursed into a benign smile.

10:25 a.m.

“Wow, Oliver, look at all the cute babes that are here.” Brady Pierce’s murmur was low enough that he may have truly been addressing his son, but certainly loud enough for the stately blonde with the SnoCone simper to hear it, too.

It was for her benefit, anyway.

As Brady had expected, it didn’t exactly stop her in her tracks, but the pale pink flush rising from her neck to those high cheekbones was proof it had the desired effect.

For a second, at least. Then the icy smile was back. “I’m sorry, but this is a private party.”

“The Pacific Heights Moms & Tots Club, right?” Steadying his son with one hand, Brady reached inside his jacket pocket with the other and pulled out the official PHM&T invitation. “I’m Brady Pierce. My son, Oliver, made the cut.”

By now he was used to the effect his name had on others. The cloud of wariness that had darkened her cornflower blue eyes now brightened in anticipation of how she could use this new relationship to her advantage.

Brady was not above letting her take advantage of him—if it got him what he wanted, too.

Bettina honored him with a dimpled smile. “Oh! But…well, we assumed he would be here with his
 
mother
. It’s Jade, isn’t it?”

“This is Jade’s charity morning. She sits on Save the Children’s Celebrity Council.” He shrugged modestly, as if on his wife’s behalf. “But this is so important to her—to
us
—that I promised I’d stand in for her.”

He was lying. Wherever Jade was—and his security team had yet to figure that out—more than likely she was sleeping off a hard night of clubbing.

Not to mention that Jade hadn’t seen Oliver in months.

No matter. Had Jade shown up, this ice queen, and all these other buttoned-up mommies, would have been appalled at the way she’d try to navigate the mansion’s stone steps in her too short, too tight skirt and thigh high boots. He could just imagine them rolling their eyes whenever her oversized breasts jiggled under whatever clingy, low-cut top she’d chosen to wear that day.

Not to mention the gasps they’d give when one nipple just happened to pop out.

If that happened, she couldn’t even use the excuse that she was still nursing Oliver.

Brady wondered if he was nuts to presume these sorority types would arrange play dates with a platinum blond bombshell who thought the Kardashians were high society. He might have been stupid enough to fall for a big-titted pole dancer with a face like an angel, but none of them would.

Unless he was successful in winning them over first. Otherwise he couldn’t accomplish his end game: to get Oliver into the group.

At least he had Madame Ovary on his side. She had winked slyly at him when he entered and then pretended to be surprised to see him there.

SnoCone was there for him, too. That was obvious by the way she patted his arm gently and purred, “I’m the club’s founder, Bettina Connaught Cross.”

“Nice to meet you.” He drilled her with his best “I’m all yours” gaze for a full ten seconds before scanning the room. “And which of these little angels is yours?”

Bettina sighed mightily. "Unfortunately, Lily—she’s in the Foursies group—had to miss this year’s Onesies inauguration. She still has four more weeks of ballet camp, in St. Petersburg."

"Isn't Florida a long way for a four-year-old to go by herself?" Brady asked.

“Florida? Heavens, no! The
 
real
 
St. Petersburg, in Russia. She's practicing with the grand masters at the Kirov."

Brady’s eyes grew big. "But…isn’t she a little young for that?”

Bettina nodded nonchalantly. "My daughter's talents are unparalleled. But nature thrives on nurture. Besides, it's never too late to train for the Youth America Grand Prix.” She pointed to the buffet. “Enough about my little prodigy. Feel free to stop by the refreshment table, and introduce yourself and your little genius to the other members. If you’ll excuse me, now that everyone seems to be here I’m going to introduce you, and the other new Onesies group, to the rest of the club. Mallory at the front desk has Jade’s corsage. I’m sure she’d be delighted to pin it on you instead. Please tell Jade that we look forward to meeting her at the next meet-up on Wednesday. Her devotion to our little group—and yours—is truly appreciated.”

Booyah! Brady thought. We’re in.

Unless Jade screws it up somehow.

10:31 a.m.

“You know you’re leaking, right?” Chakra Crutch’s tone said it all:
 
Loser.

Ally had pinned her corsage over the largest of the milk stains on her sundress, the one over her right nipple, which was the size and shape of a volleyball.

Unfortunately, the corsage wasn’t large enough to cover the other stains, too.

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell the woman that it wasn’t a leak at all, but a spill. She bit her tongue. That would surely earn her a lecture about the harm she’d done Zoe in choosing not to breastfeed.

Nope, she didn’t need that now, especially from a woman whose name was a New Age catchphrase. (Chakra? Oh, come on!
 
Really?)
 
Ally was already self-conscious about how she was dressed for the occasion. Her sundress was a casual cotton print, and she had put Zoe in a romper since this was supposed to be a simple meet-and-greet for the new one-year-olds and their parents. So why all the Armani, Gucci, and Ralph Lauren?

And that was just the toddlers. Their moms were decked out in Pucci, Cavalli, and Michael Kors.

Not to mention all those boys in their miniature tuxedoes, like Chakra’s little Quest.

Granted, the mansion’s opulence encouraged such formality. Forget paper plates and plastic spoons. Real silverware and china adorned the buffet table, which was a regular groaning board of delectable finger foods and decadent sweets.

Like the piece of red velvet cupcake she handed Zoe before popping the rest of it in her mouth.

Noting how the little girl squealed, Chakra glared at her, appalled. “Those things are obesity time bombs! With so much fat and sugar in their diets, half the children in this room will have diabetes before they reach their sixteenth birthdays! Not to mention all that red dye is toxic! And you’re nursing, too!” She shook her head in horror.

It also leaves a permanent stain, Ally thought. I guess she’ll hit the roof when she finds out Zoe had wiped the back of Quest’s hemp tux with red icing.

The woman needed to chillax, big time.

Ally took little solace in the realization that she wasn’t the woman’s only target for criticism. Chakra had started off by complaining about the reception room (“It’s certainly not child-proof! All it takes is one two-year-old to slip on these marble floors, and you’ve got a kid who’s a vegetable for the rest of his life…”) before turning a sharp eye on the other mothers. “I find it appalling that those women over there,” she pointed toward the quintet of Twosies mothers who stood by the French Doors leading out to the mansion’s gardens, “won’t allow their children to sleep in the same bed with them. Why wouldn’t they? It was good enough for our ancestors, it should be fine for us, too! Modern Western society sells its soul for the privilege of sleeping on a feather top Serta. No wonder our children grow up hating us.”