An Unexpected Christmas Baby (The Daycare Chronicles 2)

Her look felt...personal.

Of course, he was a bit sleep deprived.

“It was rough.” He told her the truth, but he grinned, too. “Still, we made it through.” He told her about the number of times the baby had cried, shortly after being fed and changed. About going back and forth between his room and hers, and his eventual desperate fix—the Pack ’n Play on the floor right next to his bed.

He was honest with her because he was done living a double life: the convict’s kid and the successful businessman. Done lying to himself about who he was.

If he was going to be worthy of that completely innocent little girl taking that bottle on his screen, if he was going to teach her how to come from what they’d come from and still be a success, then he’d have to quit denying to himself that he was different from most of the people in the world he inhabited.

Not that any of this had to do with his first night with a newborn, or was in any way related to the question he’d just been asked. It was simply a reminder of the mode of thinking he was bringing into the meeting ahead. The life ahead.

Emotionally, Stella’s leaving hadn’t hit him as hard yet as it was bound to, but he knew he wasn’t going through that again—a rejection after he was fully committed. A rejection based on something over which he had no control and couldn’t change. He was the son of a convict. He’d grown up with her as the constant in his life. Loved her. And the child she’d borne on her prison deathbed. If someone was going to have a problem with the baggage he carried, at least he’d know up front. No more hiding.

He’d had enough disappointment for one lifetime.

“Obviously she didn’t like being in a room alone,” Tamara was saying while thoughts flew through Flint’s brain at Mach speed. “She needed to be close to you, but probably not right up to the bed. I’ll bet if you keep her playpen in your room, but along the wall, and put her to bed there, where she can be aware of your presence, you’ll both sleep better.”

He nodded, finding the concept of a baby in his room with him every night a bit...alarming, but was not completely unfond of the idea. “You seem to know a lot about children.”

Her lips tensed again. But then he wasn’t sure as she almost immediately smirked and said, “Mallory’s my closest friend,” as though that explained everything.

And he supposed it did. If Mallory shared the details of her work life on a regular basis.

“How did you two meet?” High school? Grade school, maybe? He knew plenty of people whose friendships went that far back. Whereas he didn’t have any from a year ago. Or the year before that.

Other than Stella and Alana Gold, Flint had avoided personal relationships outside one-night stands.

He had clients who went almost as far back as high school, though.

“We were in a women’s group together,” Tamara said, glancing at his phone and then quickly away. She turned, facing the room, as though looking for their lunch.

“Businesswomen?” He wasn’t going to try to explain his curiosity, but Tamara had arrived in his life at a critical time and, as a result, he felt drawn to her.

That was what he believed, anyway. “We were all women who worked, yes,” she said. Then added, “Mal’s one of the brightest, most successful women I know, on all levels. She’s savvy and makes good money. Her day care is always close to maximum capacity, and yet she hasn’t become hardened by the shadow sides of business ownership. Like the people who don’t pay on time, or at all. The ones who find fault with everything. The hours. Nothing gets to her. She’s a nurturer to her core.”

He nodded again, not sure why she was selling her friend so hard when he’d already signed a contract with her. The deal was closed. But he liked listening to her talk. Liked how the gold rim around the green of her eyes glistened as she spoke about her friend.

Hell, he liked just sitting across the table from her.

She was there on business.

“You said you had some things to discuss with me?” He’d answer whatever questions she had and was fully confident she’d find nothing wasteful in the way he worked. Then he’d see if maybe she’d have dinner with him sometime. Just dinner. Nothing to do with business.

“Only some clarifications,” she explained, taking a sip of her iced tea. Over the next twenty minutes, through the delivery of lunch and eating of same, she talked about several of his dealings during the years. Her questions were strictly from memory, no notes. She asked for justification of certain expenses, mostly making sure that she understood things as the way she thought she did.

He enjoyed talking to her about work even more than talking about her friend. He was good at what he did. One of the best around. And she was a quick and avid learner.

She also seemed genuinely interested. More than Stella had ever been.

He talked about the money saved in throwing one lavish, weekend-long yacht party for a number of investors, rather than many expensive dinners with individuals, mentioning not only the obvious savings on the event costs, but other advantages—like the adrenaline that kicked up when investors talked together about investments.

“Everyone wants to get in on the best deal,” he reiterated as the waitress cleared away their plates.

“You drive the market, affect stock prices, by persuading everyone to invest in one thing,” she said.

He shook his head. “We discuss the market, in small groups and as a whole, and where we think the trends are headed. Not everyone invests in the same way. They all get excited about investing in whatever they think is the best bet after all conversations are through.”

She smiled as she studied him. “In other words, you drive their desire to invest,” she summed up.