“And the last one is Ethan. I think it’s a good, strong name.”
“Four perfect names for four perfect little angels,” said Mom. “Oh, I can’t believe that I’m actually a grandmother!”
The three of them set to mooning over the babies, getting in close and caressing their cheeks and covering them with kisses.
After a time, the nurse arrived and let them know that there were a few tests to be done. Mom, Dad and Amy left, and the nurse stepped out to get everything ready.
It was just the babies and me once more, and despite everything, all I could think about was Jordan.
Part of me wished he was here by my side, the two of us ready to go on this adventure together. A pang of sadness ran through me as I remembered that I was still the “help” to him. I’d be lucky for a timely child support check.
No, I was going to be doing this on my own. Holding the babies close and tight, I knew that it was time to be strong.
It was all on me. And I was ready.
Chapter 23
Jordan
Eighteen Months Later
The chime of my spoon against the champagne flute rang through the expanse of my penthouse apartment. The chattering among my hundred or so guests ceased, and the eyes of all the well-dressed men and women in attendance turned to me. With my free hand, I gestured to the jazz band, the music coming to a slow halt as I did.
Once I was certain I had everyone’s attention, I began.
“Evening, everyone,” I said. “I hate to interrupt a party, but I couldn’t let the night pass without saying a few words.”
My gaze drifted over the crowd, the dozens of people in attendance framed by the glittering Manhattan skyline visible through the windows behind them. And above it all was a large banner, the words “Happy Birthday, FanFriends!” written in a celebratory font.
“First of all, I’d like to thank you all for coming out tonight. I see some familiar faces in the crowd, along with some new ones. Needless to say, you’re all welcome here at my home, and I’m pleased to see you.”
I paused, letting the silence hang in the air like a good orator should.
“It’s been a hell of a year, to say the least.”
I looked away, shaking my head.
“It’s hard to believe it’s been a year since Paul Walsh, Sarah Brenner and I came up with the idea for FanFriends. It was a simple idea—an easy, convenient way to connect sports fans with tickets, merchandise, and all the news about their favorite teams. We quickly learned, however, that having a great idea is one thing. Making it come to fruition is something else.”
I took a sip of champagne to wet my mouth.
“We started small, putting together our first ideas in my cramped little apartment in Greenpoint. And let me tell you, sitting in that tiny little room made us envious as hell of the San Bravado tech giants who got their starts in their parents’ garages. At least the weather was nicer.”
Mild laughter sounded from the crowd.
“But I couldn’t have hoped for a better team. Soon, once the initial plans had been drawn up, the three of us were ready to launch. After hiring engineers, scrambling for investors, and working with some very talented, but very fussy graphics designers, we were ready. And on the very first day our app was released…we crashed.”
More good-natured laughter.
“Now, I’ve never been much of a superstitious person, but damned if I didn’t think that this was a bad omen. Part of me—a very small part of me, mind you—wondered if this was a sign that the app game wasn’t for me. But Paul and Sarah knocked that nonsense right out me. We circled the wagons, called the staff, and before the end of a very long twenty-four hours, we were back up and running.
“And now, a year later, here you all are, celebrating our success with us. Just looking over the crowd, I can see the faces of people without whom we simply wouldn’t be here today. Don’t worry—I’ll be by before the end of the evening to profusely thank you in person.”
More laughter.
“But before I raise my glass to you all, I’d like to propose a toast for someone very special—my father, Alfred King.”
The mood in the room turned serious.
“It’s been almost two years since his passing, and almost as much time before he sent me out here to New York to make a name for myself. I could stand up here all night talking about what an amazing man he was, and how much of an impact he left on so many of our lives. But those of you who knew him don’t need to be reminded of that.”
I raised my glass.
“So, let’s have a toast to Alfred King.”
A sweep of the crowd revealed more than a few teary eyes.
“To Alfred King!” I said.
The words were echoed by everyone in attendance.
I sipped from my glass before continuing. “Now, enough from me. We’re here to have fun and celebrate. So, without further ado…”
I gestured to the band, the music picking back up right away. As I stood among the partygoers, I realized that speaking about my father had taken more out of me than I’d anticipated. I needed some air.
After weaving my way through the guests, more than a few offering their congratulations, I stepped out onto the sweeping balcony of my apartment, Midtown Manhattan and Central Park spread out before me.
I sipped my drink slowly, my father on my mind. Despite my success over the last year, all I could think about at times was how much I wished he could be here to see what I’d been able to accomplish.
“Hell of a view.”
I turned and was greeted with the sight of Sarah Brenner.
Sarah was a petite woman with charming features and dark brown hair typically worn in a simple ponytail. Our CFO, she typically dressed simply, the type of person to focus on the work and stick to jeans and a T-shirt. Tonight, however, she was dressed to the nines.
She looked gorgeous, but for some reason, there hadn’t ever been a spark between us. This was unlike me, or at least, the man I was before my father died. Women had been not at all on my radar over the course of the last year, and this was just as well. I’d needed all the attention I had focused on the company.
“You look great tonight,” I said as she stepped to my side against the glass wall of the balcony.
“Figured I’d do something a little out of the ordinary,” she said. “After all, as of this week, we’re officially billionaires.”
“Shh,” I said, raising my finger to my lips. “Didn’t I tell you and Paul that I didn’t want to hear the ‘b’ word tonight?”
“What,” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “You afraid that people are going to think you’re rich as hell or something?” She gestured at the interior of my apartment through the glass doors of the balcony. “Because I hate to break it to you, but if that was your goal, you sure as hell bought the wrong apartment.”
“Hey,” I said with a grin. “You try living in a four-hundred-square-foot apartment for a year and see what kind of place you buy when you finally come into some money.”
“I can show you,” she said with a smile. “I have a very nice little brownstone in Carroll Gardens that stands as a testament to my restraint.”
I chuckled. “Okay,” I said. “Maybe I wanted something like my place in San Bravado.”
“You mean the place that used to be your home?” she asked. “The place you haven’t called home in almost two years?”
“Not since the funeral,” I said.
A serious expression formed on Sarah’s face as she placed her hand on my shoulder.
“Those were wonderful words that you spoke up there,” she said. “I never met your father, but if he was half the man I’ve heard about, he’d be beyond proud to know what you’ve done with yourself.”
My chest felt tight. I wanted to say something, anything, but I couldn’t.
Sarah gave my shoulder another squeeze before dropping her hand back to her side.
“I owe everything to him,” I said,
looking back toward the city. “If he didn’t do what he did, I’d still be back in San Bravado, wasting my life on partying and women and God-knows-what-else.”
“Well, now you’re here,” said Sarah. “You’ve been the son that any father would be happy to have.”
“Thanks,” I said.
I took a sip of my drink, the memory of my father fresh in my mind.
Before either of us could say another word, Paul Walsh, our CTO, strolled out onto the balcony, a shapely brunette at his side.
“There they are!” he said, a big smile on his face, his arm wrapped around the waist of his date. “You guys missed the show!”
Sarah and I shared a confused expression.
“The show?” I asked.
Paul turned to his date.
“Go on, let ’em see it.”
The brunette shot out her hand, a massive diamond ring on her finger.
“We’re getting married!”
Now, this was a surprise. As much as I’d been putting my playboy ways aside, Paul had been more than picking up the slack. He’d gone through more than a few of the beautiful women the city had to offer, and the revelation that he’d proposed came as a hell of a shock.
“Shit!” I said. “Congratulations!”
Sarah and I each gave Paul a big hug before turning to his fiancée, a woman I’d never seen before in my life.
“I suppose introductions are in order,” I said.
“They absolutely are,” he said. “This is Evelyn Meyer, soon to be Evelyn Walsh.”
“If I take his last name,” she said with a sly smile.
“We said we’d talk about that later, didn’t we?” Paul said in a hushed tone.
“Pleasure to meet you, Evelyn,” I said, taking her hand and giving it a gentle shake.
“Likewise,” she said. “You all have been such a fixture in the tabloids that it’s almost surreal to see you in person.”
“Not that Jordan has been giving them much to write about,” said Paul, giving me a friendly little jab with his elbow.
“Anyway,” I said, playfully shoving his elbow away. “Tell me about yourself, Evelyn. You’re going to be marrying Paul, after all. I suppose we should know about you.”
“Well,” she said. “I’m the executive chef down at Cellar Door.”
Sarah and I both raised our eyebrows at the same time. I was expecting this woman to be a model or wannabe actress, not the head chef at one of the hottest restaurants in the city.
“You work at Cellar Door?” asked Sarah. “I love that place! You guys do the best gnocchi I’ve ever had in my life. And I’m something of a gnocchi connoisseur.”
“Glad you like it,” Evelyn said, smiling broadly. “Old family recipe.”
“Beautiful and talented,” said Paul, beaming.
“I know we’re packed most of the time,” she went on, “but if you guys ever want to get in there let me know. I can make it happen.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said.
The four of us chatted for a while, and before too long Paul was ready to get back into the party and show off his new fiancée.
Once Sarah and were alone, I found myself staring back off into the skyline again.
“You look like you have something on your mind,” she said. “I hope you’re not envious.”
“No,” I said. “Just thinking of an old friend of mine back in San Bravado. Best chef I ever knew.”
“Oh yeah?” asked Sarah. “You keep in touch?”
“No,” I said. “We…had a bit of a falling out. I left on bad terms.”
“That’s too bad,” she said. “Sucks to leave bridges burned. I should know—I’ve burned more than a few in my time.”
A thought occurred to me at that moment.
Maybe I didn’t have to leave it burning?
I’d be lying if I said this was the first time I’d been reminded of Chloe over the last year. Hell, it seemed like everything reminded me of her in some way, especially when I happened to eat a dish that she’d prepared for me before. I’d had some gourmet macaroni a few months ago that took me right back to the night she made it for me.
“You have that look on your face,” said Sarah. “The look of plotting. I’ve seen it before.”
“What do we have planned for the next month?” I asked.
“Hmm, nothing really. All the insane hours have been leading up to tonight, and we’re kind of on autopilot for the next few weeks. Why?”
“I’m thinking of taking a long-overdue trip back to San Bravado,” I said. “I have some business to attend to.”
Chapter 24
Chloe
My fingers hung over the keyboard of my laptop as I struggled to come up with the right word.
Fruity? Nutty? Fragrant?
No, none of those were any good.
I glanced over at the half-eaten French pastry that my mom had brought over from one of the hottest new bakeries in the city. After licking my lips, I tore off another piece of the treat and popped it into my mouth.
It was delectable. The pear blended perfectly with the brie, the pastry flaky and delicious. The bite had inspired me, and I went right back to typing.
“The Maison Humbert is the newest addition to the bustling Mission Valley district here in San Bravado, and already head baker Claude Humbert has managed to establish himself and his humble shop as one of the premier establishments—”
That was as far as I got before the wailing of a kid cut through the air like a knife.
Then another kid.
Then another.
Then all of them were wailing.
So much for writing.
“Don’t worry, Chloe. I’ve got ’em,” said my mother as she zipped through the living room toward the stairs leading up to the nurseries where the children had been playing.
“No, no, I’ll come with,” I said, getting up. “I think they need some mommy attention.”
The noise had knocked me out of the zone anyway. I closed the lid of my laptop and set it high up and out of reach of the forty little fingers that could’ve gotten to it.
I followed Mom up the stairs, the two of us hurrying toward the nursery.
“Sorry, honey,” she said. “I know I was supposed to be keeping an eye on them, but I had to step out for a second and take a quick phone call.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “It’s already nice enough of you to come here and help me with them.”
“Please,” said Mom over her shoulder as we headed down the hallway. “You say that like I don’t love every minute of being around these guys.”
“Guys and girls,” I corrected.
Mom laughed.
“Your own little army.”
I laughed as we approached the nursery, the crying still cutting through the air.
Once we arrived at the threshold of the room, I got an immediate sense of what was going on. The four kids were in the middle of the space, a pile of toys on the floor between them. It didn’t take a genius to realize that some kind of kerfuffle had broken out over which toy belonged to who.
“Alfred,” I said, hurrying toward the oldest of the four and scooping him up. “What happened?”
“Da!” he cried, as if that ought to clear the matter up. The toddlers were right on the precipice of being able to talk, and while they had a few words between them, none of them were quite there yet.
Mom attended to Madeline and Ethan and Sophia, plopping down on the floor with them and trying to distract them with toys. Alfred was the bossiest of the four, and so I had quickly separated him from the others and calmed him down with a little singing. The rest of the kids followed suit, and before too long the crises, whatever it might’ve been, were over.
“Phew!” said Mom, shaking her head.
“They’re all dramatic,” I said, waggling my finger in front of Alfred’s face. “What can I say?”
“How’s the pastry?” asked Mom. “I hope it was good. I couldn’t b
elieve how long the line was at that place.”
“Awesome,” I said. “Thanks again for getting it. That place is totally hot, and I was half-expecting them to be out when you got there.”
“Don’t people in this town have better things to do than eat food?” she asked, the girls bouncing on her lap.
“I guess that’s the type of stuff you fill your time with when you don’t have four kids.”
Mom let out a bark of a laugh.
“What do you say we get these kids downstairs? I bet they’re ready for lunch.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I said.
Doing anything with the quads was a process—even getting them downstairs for a meal. I hated to think what I’d be doing if I didn’t have my parents, Amy, and Isabella to help me.
After some doing, we wrangled the squad and got them downstairs and into the kitchen. I set up the highchairs, and Mom plopped them in, one by one.
“Okay, chef,” she said. “What’s on the menu for today?”
My gut clenched at the nickname Jordan had given me.
“That’s a good question,” I said, putting my hands on my hips. “I’m thinking some of my famous macaroni. Though maybe a version that’s simpler and less time-consuming. I have a feeling it’s only a matter of time before the hunger hits these cuties.”
“Sounds like a plan,” she said. “I’ll keep ’em occupied, and you get some food in front of them. Hopefully, most of it gets in their mouths this time and not on the floor.”
“Let’s do it.”
Things like mealtime could be a problem, but if there was one thing I’d learned since I’d had my children, it was this: I loved being a mother.
It was a joy like nothing else, and at times it almost seemed like the life I’d had before the quadruplets arrived was a strange dream that was a hazy memory. There were ups and downs, for sure, but I loved every day that I spent with my children, even when they were being a handful.
And they were very, very often a handful. Sometimes so much so that I’d consider getting in touch with Jordan and letting him know that there were four kids here that were half his.
Four Secret Babies - A Second Chance Billionaire Romance (San Bravado Billionaires' Club Book 7) Page 15
