Page 21 of The Billionaire's Promise

Coffee. I needed coffee, stat. I needed to clear my fucking head.

"Drink your coffee," I said when Magnolia had poured us both a mug full. "We're going for a run."

Magnolia shook her head. "Vance, seriously. I really don't feel like running today."

"Yeah, neither do I, but what else are we going to do? We've got hours before we know anything. Even if we go to work, are you going to be able to pay attention to emails and contracts?"

Magnolia didn't answer. She just stared at me over the rim of her coffee cup. Finally, she took a gulp, set the cup down on the counter, and said, "I'll go change."

I had a gym bag in my car, just in case. Yes, I have an obsessive and addictive personality. Sometimes, it just hits me out of nowhere, the fierce longing for a drink. For something, anything, that will ease the hard edges, that will shut off the fucking nightmares I can't shake at almost thirty years old. I'm done with drinking. I'm done with that shit. Even if I hadn't been done with it before knowing that Amy was dead, alcohol was never going to be the answer for me again.

But giving it up didn't kill the need. Working out and sculpting helped channel it. Every once in a while, the craving for a drink took me off guard. For that, I kept my running gear in the car. No matter where I was, I could throw on my gear and run until I'd burned it out of me and the only thing I wanted to drink was ice cold water.

I drank half my coffee, grabbed my gear, and got dressed in time to meet Magnolia at the front door. We started walking, warming our muscles up, falling into the familiar rhythm. Sometimes, we talked when we warmed up. Now that Magnolia was used to it, we even occasionally talked while we jogged.

Not today. Neither of us felt much like talking with the specter of Amy's death and her child's unknown fate hanging over our heads. An hour later, we were back, splitting up at the top of the stairs. Magnolia headed for her shower, and I headed for the shower in the guest room.

Stephanie was waiting for us, Rosalie in her carrier, when we got to the loft. The infant was sleeping again, this time in a pink cotton one-piece thing with a matching hat on her head, a pink blanket with brown teddy bears wrapped around her. If all she did was sleep, the baby thing wouldn't be too bad. Unfortunately, I'd heard enough about exhausted parents to know I knew absolutely nothing about what I was getting into.

Magnolia made more coffee when we got upstairs, and she pulled out a box of muffins I hadn't known were in the pantry. She hadn't baked them, but they were probably okay. I ate two, my eyes flicking between the sleeping Rosalie and my silent phone. Magnolia picked the cranberries out of her muffin but didn't eat it. Stephanie paced in front of the plate glass windows overlooking midtown, stopping once to ask, "Is it okay if I smoke?"

"No," Magnolia and I snapped back in unison. I knew jack-shit about taking care of kids, but I was pretty sure you weren't supposed to smoke in front of them. Shit. I just wanted to know what we were dealing with. At ten twenty-seven, my phone rang. A short conversation, impossibly short, considering the magnitude of the information communicated, and my entire life shifted on its axis.

I was a father. Rosalie was mine. I had a little girl.

How the fuck was I going to manage this?

I didn't say anything. Magnolia and Stephanie watched me with anxious eyes as I set my phone beside my empty coffee cup and left the room. I returned a moment later with a check in one hand and a sheaf of papers in the other. As I'd expected, Stephanie reached for the check first.

I raised it above her head and said, “Wait."

"She's yours, right? That's what they said, right?" Stephanie bounced on her toes and tried to grab the check from my hand.

"Calm the fuck down. Yes, that's what they said. You'll get your money, but you're going to have to sign some papers first."

"Fine, whatever," she said, her eyes glued to the check. "What do you want me to sign?"

I spread the papers across the island, showing them to her as I spoke. "We don't really need these considering the blood test proved I'm her father and Amy put me on the birth certificate, but assuming Amy didn't have a will—" I paused, and Stephanie shook her head. "Then this just verifies that as her next of kin, you agree with my having sole custody of Rosalie. If you decide you want to see her, I have no problem with that. You're her family. But by signing this, you relinquish the right to sue for custody in the future."

"Fine, that's fine." Stephanie picked up the pen and began to sign everywhere I indicated. I looked at Rosalie, still sleeping in her baby carrier, a little pink pacifier between her lips, and wondered how Stephanie could be so willing to ditch her niece and run. Oh, yeah, the check. The shit people would do for money.

Five minutes later, Stephanie was gone, a check in her pocket, without Rosalie.

So far, my daughter showed no signs of waking up anytime soon. I had the odd feeling that I'd been left with a grenade, and Stephanie had walked out the door with the pin. As long as Rosalie was sleeping, I had this under control. I could be quiet and not wake her up. But eventually, she was going to need something from me. Food, a clean diaper, something. Stephanie had left a diaper bag beside the carrier.

As quietly as I could, suddenly terrified to set off the ticking bomb that was my new daughter, I picked up the diaper bag and headed for the office, grabbing Magnolia on my way.

"What?" Magnolia asked, looking over her shoulder as if worried to leave the baby.

"She's fine as long as she sleeping, but we have to figure out what the hell we’re going to do with her,” I said in a hushed voice. “I’m assuming there's stuff we need in this bag, like what the hell she eats and what kind of diapers we're supposed to buy."

"Oh, good thinking." Magnolia sat at her desk and helped me unpack the bag. Then, as if my words were still sinking in, she sat up straight and dropped a plastic bottle next to a pile of papers. “What do you mean,we?" she demanded.

"Do you think I'm going to do this by myself?" I asked. Was she crazy?

"Vance," Magnolia protested, "I'm not a nanny. I don't know anything about kids. How am I supposed to help you?"

"I'm not asking you to be her nanny," I said, all of a sudden terrified Magnolia might walk out and leave me alone with Rosalie. "I know that's not your job. I'm asking as your friend, please fucking help me. Please. At least until I get on my feet with this. I can’t do this by myself."