by Sam Mariano
His response is muffled from under my hand, but I can still make it out. “I’m just saying.”
I shake my head, moving my hand and going back to my food. “Anyway, no. Alex is my dad.”
“Why do you call him Alex if he’s your dad?” she inquires.
I’m not entirely sure how to explain that to a child, or if I even should, given it really has no bearing on Cassidy’s life. I consider changing the subject, but then I decide to just keep my explanation simple. “My dad wasn’t really in my life a lot when I was growing up. I didn’t spend much time with him until I was older, and by then it just felt weird to start calling someone I didn’t really know dad. Plus, you’d have to meet him to understand, but my dad is just not the type of man you picture as someone’s father. It’s more comfortable to call him Alex.”
She nods, considering. “‘Cause he wasn’t your dad all the time?”
“Yeah, kinda.”
“Like my mom,” she adds.
I freeze, unsure how to proceed. I wait for Derek to jump in, but he must be just as thrown off, because he doesn’t say anything either.
Finally, I muster a half-assed response. “Um, sorta, yeah. Sorta like that.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t call her mom anymore either. I don’t know her name though.”
This is the last conversation I want to be part of. My skin doesn’t seem to fit my body anymore, that’s how uncomfortable I am. This isn’t my place at all, but I can’t shut down a motherless kid who wants to talk about her situation.
Reaching deep and summoning as much objectivity as I can find, I stumble along, waiting for Derek to stop me. “I think that’s up to you,” I tell her. “You can call her whatever you like.”
“She’s not really my mom anymore,” Cassidy says, spearing a piece of chicken with her fork and looking up at me with Derek’s big blue eyes. “If she wanted to be my mom, she’d be here.”
I want to sink into the floor. I feel so badly for her—while also being so glad Kayla isn’t here on a different, selfish level—and a little guilty for my own feelings of relief. I have no wisdom on this matter to offer any child, but least of all Derek’s. I wish I did, but I don’t.
Derek finally chimes in. “You know what, though? We get to make our own family. You know how your friend Tara from school got a new dad when her mom got married? If we want to do that, we can.”
“I can get a new mom?” she asks cheerfully.
“Yep,” he tells her. “If people leave our lives, that doesn’t mean no one else can ever fill their spot. Kayla wasn’t ready to be a mom, but that didn’t have anything to do with you. It was me she wanted to get away from, she just didn’t think she would do a good job raising you without me. Plus, think how sad I’d be if you weren’t around all the time to keep me company.”
Cassidy smiles, clearly not as worried about this conversation as we are. “I’ll always keep you company, Daddy.”
“Your mom knew I could take better care of you than she could, and when you have a baby, you have to think about what they need most, not what you want. Everything changes,” he further explains.
I try not to let that rub me the wrong way. I know he’s talking about Kayla, not us, but that philosophy of his is exactly the reason he let me go all those years ago. That he maintains it even now causes a little twinge of nerves. Just a pinch of insecurity before I remind myself this is why I’m only a booty call. I’m not going to live my life wondering what would happen if Kayla came back, wondering if he would toss me again so he could “do the right thing.”
It’s frustrating, because he cares so little about doing the “right” thing in so many other ways. It’s only when it comes to parenthood that he becomes immovable.
Fucking Mike.
I guess I can’t be mad that Derek resolves to be a great dad even if he doesn’t care about being a great man, but damn, it makes him impossible to have a relationship with.
Cassidy draws me right out of my thoughts when she suggests not just a relationship, but a commitment and a half. “You and Nikki should be married, then she can be my mom and I can have a baby sister. I already picked out her name.”
I tilt my head back and shoot Derek a dry look. “How much did this one cost you?”
“I didn’t do anything,” he states. “All her idea.”
“If your daddy gets married, I’m sure you will get a new mother figure,” I tell Cassidy.
“You wanna do it?” she asks.
Jesus Christ, seriously? Mom guilt weighs down on me, and I’m not even a mother. How am I supposed to tell this motherless child of the man I’ve carried a torch for these past six years that I can’t be her stand-in mom because I’m terrified of committing to her profoundly unreliable father?
In an unexpected move, Derek saves me. “Hey, Cassie, can you run in and grab me a napkin? I’m making a mess over here.”
Without objection, she hops up and darts into the kitchen for a napkin.
I immediately turn to Derek. “This is your fault.”
Already braced for my accusation, he shakes his head. “It is not my fault. But we’ve both proposed to you now, so you should really just say yes and settle into your new life.”
“You did not propose, you tried to trick me into thinking I married you six years ago.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “Want me to? I can’t get down on one knee right now, but I’ll improvise.”
“Only if you want to be murdered. Cassidy already has ideas. This is why I should not be hanging out with you around her, Derek. It’s not a joke. She’s going to get attached.”
I’m going to get attached. I know that’s fear talking, but it’s also the truth.
“I think we’re going to be long-term booty calls,” he tells me. “It’s okay if she gets attached.”
“Derek…”
Before I can further explain why it isn’t, Cassidy comes back with his napkin. Thankfully, when she sits back down, she starts telling us about how she hypnotized Princess Purple into thinking he was a regular horse instead of a unicorn, and the mommy proposal seems to be all but forgotten—at least by one of us.
Chapter Twenty Two
“That cover is not good.”
“Wow, thanks boss,” Nadia sends back.
“Sorry, that’s not what I meant. The cover is good, but the font needs to be a different color. White on white? It’s like a snowstorm for my eyeballs. We need to up our game here, I’m expecting good things from this book. Give me something colorful for the title.”
“We did white on white intentionally, remember? Juliana had a vision.”
“Ok, but I have a vision too, and it’s her selling lots of books. This is too forgettable. Let’s do something more eye-catching. Let’s try textured gold. That will still fit her vision, but it’ll be easier to read,” I type back.
I’m pulled out of the conversation with my cover designer by the sound of my name being called in the other room. I type a quick “brb” into the window and push up out of the wooden chair. It was comfortable enough when I first sat down, but after four hours without movement, my tailbone loathes me.
Last time I got out of this chair, it was to put Cassidy to bed. It took 45 minutes. Did not expect that, but apparently she has a whole routine—I brush her hair while she sings at the mirror, then she brushes her teeth. That’s followed up with 15 minutes of stalling while she picks out a bedtime story, then we read the bedtime story, interrupted with bursts of unrelated questions, and for the grand finale, five minutes of “why do I have to go to sleep?” before I was finally able to turn off the light, kiss her forehead, and come back to my makeshift office in the kitchen.
Now the big Noble is calling my name, so I head into the living room and stop in front of the couch. “Yes?”
“Are you almost done?” he asks.
Not even close. “I’m almost done with the most urgent things on my list. I’m having a minor panic about the blurb and cover for one of my upcoming releases.”
<
br /> “The Dreamcatcher one?”
“No, not my book, one of my authors. She’s very hands-on, which I get, but I know more about this than she does and she’s not trusting me.” I don’t have time to explain all this. Nadia is waiting. “What do you need?”
“It’s frustrating when people don’t trust you, isn’t it?” he says dryly.
I narrow my eyes at him. “Don’t get cute, Noble.”
“Can’t help it, I was born this way.”
Lifting my eyebrows, I point back to the kitchen. “I’m leaving in two seconds if you don’t tell me what you need.”
“I’m tired. I want to go to bed.”
“Then go to bed. You want me to help you up?” I offer.
“I want to go to bed when you go to bed. You’re here. I can’t fuck you, but I can at least sleep with you.”
“I don’t think we have the same bedtime,” I tell him. “I’ll probably be up for at least two more hours.”
His blue eyes go wide. “What? It’s 1am.”
“Uh huh,” I say with a nod, the “and?” more or less implied.
“So, how in the hell do you still have 2 hours of work at 1am? I thought you said you delegated some stuff to Louisa.”
“Louise. I did. But I lost three hours driving here, I had to go grocery shopping, cook dinner, put Cassidy to bed. I won’t even be done in two hours, that’s just when I’m cutting myself off. I’ll pick up the rest of the slack tomorrow.”
“I can’t wait until 3am to go to sleep. Do you know what time I got up this morning?”
“Hey, this is a work day, not a Derek day. I didn’t plan on some guy you worked with trying to kill you. I mean, I understand the impulse, but I didn’t schedule for it today.”
“You work too much,” he states.
“Do you know what a swear jar is? I’m going to start one of those for you, except instead of putting a dollar in it every time you swear, you have to put a dollar in it every time you complain about my job. I’ll be able to retire in no time.”
“Your hours are ridiculous. I’m not being an asshole here, I’m repeating myself because it’s still true. You put in, what, 12 hours already today?”
“No, I’ve only put in 10 hours today because of all the stuff I had to do for you.”
“Okay, that is objectively ridiculous,” he states. “A ten hour day is not a light day, Nikki. How many hours did you put in yesterday?”
“I’m not going to tell you,” I inform him, planting a hand on my hip. “Look, if you want me to be able to take a day off to spend with you each week, I have to log enough hours every other day to make up for it.”
“You do. You don’t need to work 80 hours a week. That’s ridiculous. Is it a money thing? I can help you out if it is. I make good money doing what I do.”
“No, it is not a money thing. I don’t need your money. I’ve come a long way from the girl who lived in a trailer park and couldn’t afford to buy the sweater she liked at the mall even though it was on sale. And you know what? I didn’t get here by taking time off, Derek. I got here by working my ass off. I’m building something, and that takes a lot of time and a lot of effort. You know that. You build things for a living.”
“Yes, I do—me and a whole crew of other people. If you have to log 80 hours a week to keep up with your workload, you need to hire another employee or reduce that workload. Period. You’re doing the work of at least two people. Cut it in half and you would have time for a life.”
“In half?” I can’t help laughing a little in disbelief. “I can’t cut my workload in half. And it would take more than one other person to handle half of my workload. I work tirelessly; normal people expect to have days off and work days that end before their head hits a pillow.”
His eyes widen, like I just proved his point for him. “Exactly. I love that you take pride in your work, I love that you’re building something you care about, but this is overboard, Nikki. Is it really worth it if you miss out on everything else to do it? Not to mention, you’ve gotta be so stressed out you’re ready to snap at the drop of a pin. You can’t even afford an emergency—one day off sets you back so far, you can’t catch up. This isn’t healthy. This is no way to live.”
“This isn’t helpful,” I tell him. “Can I go back to work now?”
“It is helpful. Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you can’t afford to hire another employee.”
“It’s not that simple. Sure, I could technically afford to hire another person, but not another me. You have to find someone who knows what they’re doing already. My authors expect a certain level of know-how, that’s why they come to me in the first place. I may not be good at love or life, but I am good at this. I have an instinct for it. So many of these talented people write great books, but they don’t know how to get them in front of people. I know how to do that part. If I hire someone who doesn’t, my whole company suffers. It’s just easier to do it all myself, then I know it will get done right.”
“So, Louise doesn’t know what she’s doing?” he demands.
“No, Louise knows what she’s doing.”
“Does she work for you full-time?”
I sigh, already knowing this is the wrong answer. “She’s part-time.”
“So make her full-time. That’s a good first step. I get what you’re saying, some of the work needs to be handled by you—but not all of it. Surely some of the work you do could be handled by someone with less experience.”
“Sure, some of it could. I could technically hire another proofreader and lighten my load a bit. Delegate some of the promo work to Louise. I mean, book it myself because I know who to work with and what to ask for, but… the act of compiling information could be handled by someone else.”
“Okay, so let’s start there. These are good first steps. Make Louise full-time and give her the mid-level work, hire a part-timer to do the easy stuff. Keep your schedule full of strictly high-level work. You’ve gotta use your team, Nikki. I can’t build a house all by myself, and the guy drawing up the blueprints isn’t also painting the walls. Different workers do different tasks. I know you’re driven and you get tunnel vision sometimes, but there’s a better way to get the job done. You’ve gotta let people help you.”
All of his words make sense, but everything within me rejects them. He wants me to give up my control, and that’s only fun in the bedroom.
The man needs to learn to stay in his damn box.
Since this conversation isn’t going to end with him telling me I’m right and he sees the error of his ways, and it’s not going to end with me magically not having any more work to do tonight, I withdraw my participation. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”
Shaking his head, Derek says, “Slick subject change.”
“I’m not trying to change the subject, I’m trying to get back to work so I can finish and go to sleep. I don’t have time to stand here and argue with you when neither of us will budge. What’s the point?”
“I’m not going to bed,” he states, so damn obstinate, I want to scream. “I’ll go to bed when you do. Get back to working yourself to the bone. I’ll be waiting.”
“Seriously?”
Pointedly grabbing the remote control, he flips the channel and turns his attention to the screen.
“You’re so stubborn,” I mutter as I head back toward the kitchen.
“That’s rich, coming from you,” he calls back.
---
Derek passes out on the couch, so I don’t feel so bad when I don’t turn my laptop off until 3:51am. I’m groggy as hell, but I got a jumpstart on tomorrow’s work since they’re both asleep. Something tells me tomorrow will be another frustrating work day with too many distractions and a million other things to do. That’s okay. I prepared myself the best I could for it tonight, that way tomorrow I won’t feel like the evil stepmother in every Disney movie when Cassidy inevitably needs things. That’s why I’m here, to help Derek out while he’s hurt. It’s only for a few days. I�
��ll make it work.
Bending down in front of the couch, I pat him on the arm. I don’t want to startle him awake and cause him to hurt himself, but I need to get him in to the bed.
His eyes open and he looks at me, confused.
“Hey,” I say softly. “Time for bed.”
He’s the cutest half-asleep person ever. I try to help him sit up, but he grimaces so much I’m not sure if I’m helping or hurting. He makes it to his feet stiffly, then walks to the bedroom at a snail’s pace. I meant to help him into comfier clothes earlier, but I got busy and forgot, so he’s still wearing jeans.
“Here, let me take these off,” I tell him, unbuttoning and unzipping for him.
“This is mildly embarrassing,” he mutters as I drop down to strip his pants off.
I smile up at him. “It is not. Your vulnerability is adorable. I’d blow you while I’m down here, but I don’t want to cause you pain.”
“See? This is the worst.”
I grin mischievously and pop back up. “Want me to help you get sleep shorts on?”
“No, I want to sleep.” He eases into the bed and I hit the light, stripping down to my bra and panties and climbing under the covers. He keeps his air conditioning at the perfect temperature; even though it’s a muggy night outside, his soft bedding is cool to the touch when I climb in.
“Cold bedding is heaven,” I inform him.
“It really is,” he agrees, sliding his arm under my body and pulling me against him.
“Can I snuggle you without hurting you?” I inquire.
“Of course. Just don’t make me laugh or sit up. Both of those things hurt like hell.”
“I was going to tell bedtime jokes, but I guess I won’t now.”
Smiling faintly, he tugs me close and kisses the top of my head. “Thanks again for coming to take care of me.”
“It didn’t occur to me there was anyone else around to do it,” I admit. “I threw my back out last winter loading groceries into my car, and I just had to suffer through it on my own. It wasn’t fun, but at least I didn’t have a kid. I figured you would need help with Cassidy.”
