Daddy's Girl (Bachelor Fathers)

by Barbara Bretton

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Daddy’s Girl

  Barbara Bretton

  Free Spirit Press

  Copyright © 1992, 2017 by Barbara Bretton

  All rights reserved. No part of this book, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews, may be reproduced in any form by any means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without prior written permission from the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, business establishments, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  The scanning, uploading, and distributing of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the copyright owner is illegal and punishable by law.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  About the Author

  Also by Barbara Bretton

  Chapter 1

  "Where's the kid?" bellowed the director, a neurotic Yale graduate with quadruple ulcers. "You can't expect the model to work without the kid."

  Hunter Phillips had a pretty good idea how Custer must have felt at the Little Big Horn.

  "Where's the kid?" he asked the production assistant standing next to him. "This is a diaper commercial. You can't do a diaper commercial without a kid."

  The assistant's eyes widened as she looked at Hunter. "I thought that was the kid."

  "This is my kid," he said, switching eight-month-old Daisy from his left shoulder to his right. "Where's the pro?"

  The assistant clutched her clipboard close to her chest and took a deep breath. "I don't know."

  "What's going on, Phillips?" The producer looked like he was on the verge of ulcer number five. "Time's money."

  You learn that in Harvard? Hunter wondered. "Denise went to check it out. They're probably stuck in the Midtown Tunnel."

  The producer cast an appraising eye on Daisy. "How about her?"

  Daisy chose that moment to spit up apple juice on the jacket of Hunter's last surviving Armani jacket. It was the end of an era.

  "Forget I said anything," muttered the producer. "We need a pro."

  "Damn right," muttered Hunter right back. No way was Daisy going to be dragged into this circus just because somebody somewhere screwed up. Casting had hired Amanda Bennett, the country's top toddler model, for the spot. Only thing was, Amanda was nowhere to be seen and you damn well couldn't shoot a high profile thirty-second spot for biodegradable disposable diapers without someone who wore the things.

  The young production assistant hung up the wall phone and turned to face the assembled employees of Crosse, Nenner and Saldana, advertising agency to the stars. "The mother's changed her mind," she said, her eyes brimming with tears. "She signed the kid up exclusive with Pampers. We're out of luck."

  All eyes turned toward Hunter and Daisy. "Forget it," he said. "She's camera-shy." Advertising people were born opportunists. He should know. He was one.

  "It's fate," said the casting director. "Karma. You have to let us test her. If we don't give the old man something by five o'clock our collective ass is grass."

  Talk about being between a rock and a hard place. Daisy had awakened six times last night and Hunter was running on an hour's sleep. That might have been enough at twenty-two, but at thirty-four, it wasn't even close. It was only ten a.m. and already his brains were fried.

  The big boss at CN&S wasn't very enthusiastic about providing day care while Hunter struggled to find someone to help out with Daisy. Through the years he'd heard a lot of talk about day care and nannies, but he'd never paid much attention to any of it.

  You had a kid, you took care of the kid, or you found someone else to do the job while you went about your business. He'd quickly learned otherwise. Looking at Daisy, he felt that rush of emotions that still took him by surprise. How did you leave someone so small and helpless alone with a stranger?

  Unfortunately he hadn't been able to convince the powers-that-be to look into the needs of the other parents on board at CN&S. They'd made it painfully clear that they were bending the rules for him on a temporary basis and anything less than total fealty on his part would be grounds for a pink slip.

  Hunter was ambitious. He considered it one of his finer traits. These days, however, he was finding it tough to balance ambition with responsibility.

  If he refused to be a team player in this mini-crisis, there was a better-than-even chance he'd find himself out on the street with his laptop and his little girl.

  "Give me a couple minutes," he said, heading for the door. "I'll call in some favors and see what I can do." He wasn't about to hand over his daughter without a fight.

  Pushing open the swinging door, he stepped out into the hallway and found himself face to face with the gorgeous model. She was leaning against a wooden ladder and smoking a cigarette with her gaze trained on him like a laser beam. She was one of those tall and curvy blondes who made a living by selling people things they didn't want. Back in the old days when he had a libido, she was the kind of woman who had a major effect on him.

  Hunter grinned. The goddess smiled back. It had been awhile since he'd flirted with anybody. New fathers didn't have a lot of time for flirting.

  "Hi," she said.

  "Hi," he said, pitching his own voice somewhere between Rambo and a caveman.

  "You're all wet."

  "What?" He'd heard some weird opening gambits in his day but this was in a class by itself.

  She glanced down and then away. "Your trousers. You're all wet."

  He groaned, visions of a romantic interlude vanishing as Daisy gurgled happily and tugged at his ear with chubby fingers. The model drifted back into the studio, leaving him standing there with egg on his face, apple juice on his shoulder, and the usual all over his pants. There was nothing like reality in the form of a soggy diaper to bring a man back down to earth.

  "Thanks, Daisy," he muttered to the rosy, fair-haired baby with the cornflower blue eyes. "You have something against leggy blondes?"

  "She wasn't your type."

  He blinked. Up until now Daisy hadn't uttered a word. This would be one hell of a beginning.

  "Up here," said the breezy female voice. "On the ladder."

  He looked up and saw a small figure clad in black leggings and a bright red sweater. A white t-shirt peeked through the low v-neckline and a huge pair of shiny gold hoops dangled from her ears. She was perched on the top rung of the ladder.

  "Forget the Vogue model types," she said blithely with a toss of her short cap of black curls. "They never know what to do in an emergency."

  "And I suppose you do?"

  "Club soda. It can work wonders."

  "I'll keep that in mind."

  "I wouldn't wait too long if I were you. Once that stain sets, you're done for."

  "Look," he said, growing exasperated, "I appreciate the advice, but I have more important things on my mind than washing out stains."

  "I know," she said in a wry tone of voice. "She was great-looking but she went back inside."

  "Forg
et Marcy," he said. "I'm looking for someone younger."

  "Better be careful," she said over her shoulder as she climbed down the ladder. "You can get in trouble that way."

  "A baby," he said, shifting Daisy back to the original shoulder. "You don't happen to know where I can find one, do you?"

  "So it's true," she said, looking up at him with light blue eyes the same color as Daisy's. "I'd heard a rumor that Amanda's gone over to the competition."

  "Took her training pants and ran." He gave her a second look. "Are you with Fancy Pants Diapers?"

  "I'm the baby wrangler."

  His eyes widened. "The what?"

  "The baby wrangler," she repeated, laughing.

  He entertained a bizarre image of the woman tussling with an infant. "What's a baby wrangler?"

  "I'm the one who coaxes all those adorable smiles out of them for the camera."

  "So you're the miracle worker," he said, grinning. "Why didn't you say so the first time?"

  "Not much point," she said in her breezy way. "Without the baby, I'm nothing."

  "Same here. If I don't dig up a replacement pronto, I'll be pounding the pavement."

  She stepped closer and he caught the scent of fresh flowers as she took Daisy's little hand in hers. "She's beautiful." Her eyes met his. "I think she'd be a natural."

  "No way," he said. "Find yourself another baby to wrangle."

  "Look, Mr.--" She paused.

  "Hunter."

  "Look, Mr. Hunter, I--"

  "Hunter's my first name."

  Daisy blew bubbles from her perfect little mouth and both Hunter and the woman laughed out loud.

  "Jeannie Ross." She extended her hand. Her grip was firm. Her hand was soft.

  "Hunter Phillips."

  "There's nothing in it for me, Hunter. I get paid whether or not we shoot."

  Daisy stretched her chubby arms toward Jeannie.

  "What is this?" Hunter asked. "A conspiracy?"

  "May I?" Jeannie reached for Daisy and the baby went to her eagerly. "She's beautiful."

  Hunter noted the easy way Jeannie held Daisy--and the look of bliss on his daughter's face as her chubby hands tugged at the shiny earring.

  "I don't want my kid in show business."

  "One photo shoot does not a career make," Jeannie Ross pointed out. "Besides, what choice do you have? If you don't find someone soon, you're history. You said so yourself."

  He winced. "Are you always this blunt?"

  Her smile softened her words. "I find it saves time."

  "One hour," he said. "If they can't get a decent shot in sixty minutes, she's out of here."

  "Agreed." She looked at Hunter and shook her head. "Now relax, will you? You have my word she'll have a wonderful time. I'll see to it."

  As a rule Jeannie made a point of spending time with her young charge before shooting began, but the director quickly nixed that idea.

  "No time," he said, with another glance at his fancy watch. "We've wrapped the prelim shots and another account is coming in at two." He eyed Daisy, whose chubby arms were wrapped around Jeannie's neck. "I hope the talent's up to it."

  Jeannie smiled brightly through her annoyance. "She's a natural," she said in her most optimistic tone of voice. "I guarantee you'll be pleased with her."

  He muttered something ominous and glared over at Hunter, then walked away.

  "That does it," said Hunter. "If that son of a--"

  "I agree," said Jeannie, "but he won't get anywhere near Daisy." She nuzzled her face against the baby's neck. "She's all mine."

  She explained to Hunter that the rules and regulations involved in using babies on the set were clearly laid out and Jeannie made certain they were rigorously adhered to.

  "Technically I'm here to keep things moving along, but there's more to shooting a good commercial than making a baby laugh on cue."

  "It's crying I'm worried about," Hunter said. "I know these people and they'd work Mother Theresa into the ground if it meant making an extra dollar."

  "Look," said Jeannie, drawing him aside. "You need this account badly, don't you?"

  He nodded, a forbidding scowl on his face.

  "Then let me handle this. If it isn't right for Daisy, I'll stop things immediately."

  "I believe you," he said, the scowl lessening. "Damned if I know why, but I do."

  They stood there for a moment--man, woman, and child--and Jeannie experienced the oddest sense of destiny.

  Ridiculous, she thought, excusing herself and Daisy and heading into the fray. It was only business. Nothing more.

  But there was something different about the situation, something she couldn't explain, that made her feel as if this was only the beginning....

  "Oh, thank God! Thank God!" The young production assistant, clutching her ever-present stopwatch, raced up to Jeannie and her young charge. "Time's money! If we don't get some baby footage soon, my head is going to roll."

  It occurred to Jeannie that at least ten people had already claimed that their futures rested on Daisy's tiny shoulders. She suspected that only Hunter Phillips was telling the absolute truth.

  She smiled at the production assistant. "Now let me see if we've got the set up straight. The model picks Daisy up, walks with her to the window, then--?"

  "Tight shot on the kid. She gives us a big toothless grin--you know the kind, the one without spit bubbles--and it's a wrap."

  "Got it," said Jeannie. "Come on, sweetie," she whispered in Daisy's ear. "Let's show him how it’s done."

  The usual crowd was there.

  The anxious director gulping Maalox between takes. The young production assistant timing each scene with Swiss watch precision--and all-American enthusiasm. A mustachioed makeup artist who seemed more interested in the blond model's boobs than her blusher. Camera people, sound operators, gaffers, grips, and a bored-looking set nurse playing solitaire in the corner.

  Hunter had never paid much attention to the mix before, but today it occurred to him that he'd never seen a more obnoxious group in his life.

  The thought of his little girl being placed in their grubby hands made his guts twist. If it weren't for Jeannie Ross, he would've grabbed Daisy and headed straight to the unemployment office.

  Daisy wailed once when the assistant put the slate in front of her and dropped the clap-stick to mark the start of take one. Jeannie was there in an instant, soothing the little girl and making sure nobody put the slate in front of her face ever again.

  He watched the proceedings with a mixture of dismay and pride as the baby girl breezed through the taping with a minimum of fuss. Even the director, as hard-bitten as they came, couldn't keep from grinning at Daisy's charm. Hunter was surprised at the pang he felt as he watched his little girl getting along fine without him, but once he did, Hunter found himself noticing that Jeannie was not only good to look at, she was a natural herself when it came to dealing with the inarticulate demands of a baby. Crouching on the sidelines, she made funny faces, blew soap bubbles, and did anything it took to keep Daisy smiling and happy.

  Maybe there really was something to the notion of maternal instincts after all, because even after eight months, he still had trouble translating some of Daisy's cues.

  Poor kid. Even a stranger understood the baby better than he did. Jeannie didn't ask for anything Daisy couldn't easily and naturally deliver and she even ran interference between the little girl and the director.

  "She's the best in the business," whispered the young production assistant as Jeannie coaxed Daisy to laugh for the camera.

  "Daisy?"

  The assistant shook her head. "Jeannie. I'll bet she could work every day of the week if she wanted to."

  Hunter didn't disagree. Babies were big business these days. Everyone from Madison Avenue execs to Hollywood hotshots was clamoring for toddlers to sell their wares. Jeannie was one of the select few who knew how to turn screaming toddlers into seasoned pros.

  According to the assistant next to h
im, the commercials Jeannie had worked on had won numerous CLIO awards--and generated income for the ad company involved. The two movies she'd been involved with were box office smashes, with special kudos for Jeannie's work with the babies who were integral to the stories

  "She's so good with kids," murmured the assistant. "What a shame she doesn't have any of her own."

  He glanced toward her ring finger and noted that it was bare. Not that it was any of his business whether or not she was married. Still it surprised him that she was unattached.

  There was a sense of warmth about her, tenderness combined with a subtle sexuality that struck him as more potent than the blatant appeal of some of the models he'd dated in the past. The fact that her petite frame was perfectly proportioned didn't hurt either.

  Just as Jeannie had promised, Daisy's work was over before the hour was up. Hunter found he was almost disappointed.

  "The kid's great, Phillips," said the director after he called it a wrap. "Could get herself a lot of work if you're willing."

  "Forget it," said Hunter, scowling. "This was her first and last appearance."

  "Your loss," said the director. "Not many kids that age with so much personality."

  Jeannie Ross approached Hunter with Daisy straddling the curve of her hip. "Your daughter is a dream," she said, with a smile that made her blue eyes twinkle. "I almost wish the shoot had taken longer."

  Hunter reached for his daughter who started to cry when Jeannie handed her over. "At least her timing is good," he said over Daisy's wails. "She waited until she was offstage."

  Jeannie patted the baby's bottom. "I think you have a little problem here."

  He grimaced. There were some aspects of fatherhood that he hadn't quite come to terms with yet. "Maybe I should ask for payment in Fancy Pants Diapers."

  "They don't stay babies forever," she said. Her voice was bright but the twinkle in her eyes seemed subdued. "Enjoy her while you can."