Baby Be Mine (Spinsters & Casanovas Series Book One)

by Wanitta Praks

  “Calm down, Dad. You don’t want the whole department to know you’re fighting with the future heir,” Hunter said when his father stopped to rest on the armchair, out of breath. Hunter came to comfort his father, patting him on the back to help him with his breathing.

  “Future heir? Hunter! What am I going to do with you?” Clinton said once he recovered, swatting his son’s arm as a consequence for defying him yet again. “That one simple task and you couldn’t even do it for me.”

  “What do you want me to do, Dad? She was practically a mannequin. She didn’t even speak to me for fifteen minutes. The only time she said anything was when the waitress came to order our meals.”

  “She’s shy,” Clinton explained.

  “Shy my ass.” Hunter snarled.

  “Don’t you speak with that tone, young man!” His father rang his ear.

  “Ahh, Dad, I’m sorry,” he yelled until his father let his ear go. “But why are you so persistent in matching me up with some random girl anyway? You know I don’t like it.”

  “She’s not random. She’s the daughter of the CEO of one of our most important client’s here. And I am sick and tired of you behaving like a Casanova. Get real. This girl, she would be good for you.”

  “Why does it have to be her?” Hunter asked. Surely his dad could pick up someone better than the jukebox, aka Caroline. Caroline was more his cousin’s type. Quiet, mature, tall, skinny. Yep, it was everything Anton would desire in a woman.

  “Because she likes you.” His father gasped.

  “But she doesn’t even know anything about me. And for the record, I don’t like her,” he declared.

  “What don’t you like about her?” Clinton asked. He couldn’t understand why a girl as beautiful as Caroline would not catch his son’s eye. She was the epitome of beauty, the perfect wife for his wayward child.

  “Because she’s too quiet. Too boring. She doesn’t hold my interest. She’s not my type. And the list goes on. You get the gist, Dad.” He listed his dislikes of Caroline to his father.

  “You have a type?” Clinton asked, astonished that kids these days had types they went for.

  “I do, Dad,” he said to his father, whose cheeks were puffed up like a helium balloon. “Look, stop. You might have an aneurism, and then what’s Betty going to do?”

  “The question is what are you going to do if that happens?” Clinton asked. He wasn’t sure if he could rest in peace if his only son continued to behave like this, like a boat without a sail, floating on the sea, being carried by the wind in any direction it blew.

  Clinton didn’t like the thought of his son having no prospects ahead of him. But looking at the past twenty-three years, his son hadn’t improved at all; in fact, his behavior was getting worse. All day, his son played around, having no responsibility, only increasing his horrible attitude. He was sure Caroline would be his savior. He got so mad when Anton informed him of the outcome, that his son had just left the table without as so much as a proper explanation. How could he make his son be a gentleman? What could he do to make him learn? His son needed to take responsibility.

  “I’ll become the heir of the company, of course,” Hunter stated simply. Actually, he should have said Anton would be the heir, but he just wanted to piss off his father, since his ear was still throbbing.

  “Hunter, you’re going to make me die early here.” Clinton smacked his palm against his forehead in frustration.

  “Oh, Dad, calm down. Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to just up and leave her like that. I did tell her I had some business to attend to.”

  “That’s the same thing as ditching the girl.”

  “I said I’m sorry,” Hunter whined like a little kid.

  “Yes, you should be,” Clinton said. “I had to ring Caroline’s father and apologize on your behalf. Do you know it could cause a strain between our companies?”

  “It’s that serious?” Hunter asked.

  “Damn right, it’s serious, Hunter.”

  “Sorry you had to apologize on my behalf. I hope I didn’t cause a rift between you two.”

  Saying sorry doesn’t pay for what’s already been done, Clinton thought. His son would still be a playboy, ditched on the side of the road, where no one in high society would acknowledge him. Why couldn’t he be like Anton? Reserved, intelligent, and a good team leader. Clinton had to think of a way to reform his son. And that must include Caroline.

  Then an idea struck him.

  “Look, all is forgiven, but you must pay me back,” Clinton said to his son.

  “Pay you back?” Hunter asked, his face a mask of confusion. “Dad, I live off your money. You’re basically saying you’re using your own money to pay yourself.”

  “No, I don’t mean payment in monetary terms. I mean in the form of action and consequences,” Clinton said, smiling, as the plan formed inside his head. He couldn’t wait to see his son all grown up and responsible.

  Hunter didn’t like where this conversation was heading. He recognized the smirk on his father’s face, the one he’d inherited and often pasted on his own face when an evil idea popped in his head. He even dreaded asking, “How?”

  “Go to Queenstown next week.”

  “Choice!” Hunter slammed his palm on the table in happiness. And here he thought his father was going to come up with some ridiculous idea, like another matchmaking scheme.

  Queenstown meant skiing, and he loved skiing. Plus, there was also an abundance of other dangerous sports the South Island had to offer—jet skiing, sky diving, abseiling. How crazy! He just couldn’t wait any longer.

  “With Caroline,” his father finally added.

  Hunter’s excitement died down like a flat battery. He knew it. And here he thought he could have another fun holiday. What a way to take the candy from a child.

  “What? Why?” Hunter whined in disappointment.

  “You are going to escort Caroline to Queenstown. She’s never been to that part of the country before, so I think you could be the perfect candidate for it.”

  “I’m not perfect, Dad. Why don’t you ask Anton? I’m sure he would be happy to escort such a lovely lady like Caroline,” he suggested.

  “No, Anton has to work. He’s too busy organizing the Dental Hygiene Conference over there. So you’re the only one left. Unless you want to help organize the conference and leave Anton free to entertain Caroline.” Clinton pretended to ask his son, offering the choice of whether to have another holiday or work. In the end, the choice was his son’s alone. And whichever he chose, his son would fall into his trap.

  “No, I’ll entertain her,” Hunter interjected before his dad could come to a decision for him. Escorting Caroline around Queenstown would definitely be boring, but not to the extent of death, which was sure to be the result of organizing the conference. That was definitely not his cup of tea.

  “Just as I thought,” Clinton said. Right into the trap. “So we’re settled, then?”

  “Yes,” Hunter grumpily agreed.

  “Now, get out of my sight before I have a heart attack for real,” his father shouted.

  “Yes, Dad,” Hunter grumbled under his breath as he closed the door of his father’s office.

  Hunter hated being told what to do. And right now, he hated being forced to go to Queenstown with Caroline. And his mood just got worse when he saw Winton, his father’s secretary, out near the elevator.

  “Master Hunter. How are you today?” Winton spoke, rubbing his hands together.

  “Foul!” Hunter said in gloomy monosyllable, putting on his D&B shades, even inside the hotel lobby because it just made him look cool, while he continued heading to his car. Winton’s little feet trailed after him like a little servant’s.

  Hunter didn’t like Winton. The man always had this sneaky look about him, as if he were hiding some secret or something. But because Hunter hardly came into the company, he didn’t know what the man was up to. Maybe he should be more careful. Come into the company more oft
en—if not to work, at least to get the free chocolate bar that was out for the guests’ indulgence.

  “Foul mood? Can I do anything to help alleviate it?” Winton asked, hoping to please Hunter, but it only had the opposite effect.

  “Yes,” Hunter said, turning to face Winton. And with a loud voice, he ordered, “Get out of my sight.”

  “Oh, Master Hunter, I would very much like to get out of your sight, but Master Anton would like a word with you,” Winton pointed out as the reason he had been following him.

  “Don’t speak like you’re my teacher, Winton,” he said, then stalked off, leaving Winton to stare at his retreating back.

  “I wonder what’s wrong with Master Hunter,” Winton said, scratching his head in confusion, then made his way back to his desk.

  “What do you want?” Hunter chimed in the middle of the meeting being held between Anton and his associates, regarding the upcoming Dental Hygiene Conference in Queenstown.

  Anton looked at his cousin, poised in mid-speech, when Hunter burst into the meeting room. Shaking his head in resignation at his cousin’s usual behavior, entering the meeting room like a five-year-old in the middle of a tantrum, he gestured for Hunter to seat himself near the corner, where there were a handful of toys and books.

  What does he think I am, a kid? Hunter thought, fuming as he slouched himself down on the plush black couch. Now he really felt like a little kid who’d been grounded. Why was everyone treating him like a child these days? First his dad ordering him around and now Anton gesturing for him to sit in the corner like a disobedient little boy.

  Blast this! He stood from the couch and slammed the door so loud it almost vibrated off the hinges, then stalked off to his car, leaving Anton apologizing to his associates for the racket he had created on his way out.

  After driving for a full ten minutes, Hunter’s mood still did not improve. In fact, it only deepened his already foul temperament because there were traffic jams every three seconds. The one time he got stuck in traffic for only fifteen minutes, he ended up cursing the lights and nearly went insane until the cars began to move again at their snail’s pace.

  What the hell is wrong with Auckland today? he cursed. It’s only goddamn two o’clock in the afternoon. Rush hour wasn’t until five, when most everyone headed home from work.

  After successfully moving away from the main highway, Hunter found himself in a part of town that wasn’t quite the area he would normally populate. There, many houses were too small for his liking. How could people live in such cramped spaces?

  Because Hunter was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, he didn’t understand. Even his apartment in Central Auckland boasted more than the usual three bedrooms, and the square footage was beyond ample.

  In this area, the houses were too small, the footpaths too small, and the road was also goddamned small. It only fit one car. As for the scenery, there was hardly anything to look at, just some random bushes here and there. It wasn’t worth a second glance.

  Where was he, anyway? In a dump?

  And then he miraculously saw her, the avocado woman, aimlessly walking down that narrow road, ambling towards town like she had amnesia.

  What was she doing? Did she want to kill herself? What if a car came zooming past? She would surely die. If not, then she would at least suffer some internal injury that would require weeks in the hospital.

  Wait! Why was he even concerned about the welfare of this avocado anyway? Shouldn’t he be teasing—

  Ahhh. Hunter gave an evil smirk when a brilliant idea emerged in his head. Just the perfect person on which to vent his anger and frustration. Then with a blast of his horn to its full capacity that was sure to awake even the dead, he alerted her attention to his presence, announcing to her that the Greek god had finally arrived.

  CHAPTER 10

  Clarice, who was the targeted person at hand, almost had a heart attack when she heard the horn blast. It shrilled in her ears, awakening her from her zombie-like state.

  She stared in the direction where the blast had came from, when the driver suddenly made his appearance, striding towards her like he was modeling for Calvin Klein clothing on a catwalk, wearing D&B shaded glasses. His long legs swallowed up the distance between them, and in an instant he stood facing her, his shades still covering his roguish eyes.

  Who is this man? Clarice thought, slightly alarmed, as her heart began to race. He sure looked familiar. Then the man took off his shades, and she almost bit her own tongue.

  “My, my, my, if it isn’t Madam Avocado.” Hunter smirked. “Are you so desperate to die that you choose to end your life on the road?”

  “You Casanova!” Clarice seethed under her breath. She couldn’t believe that at the time when her life was at its lowest point, she had to keep running into this man. And it wasn’t just once or twice; it had to be three times. Way too many times for her liking.

  “Yes, Hunter’s the name, remember?” Hunter said slyly. “But if you prefer to call me Casanova, I don’t mind either way. Right, Madam Avocado?”

  “Stop calling me Avocado! My name is Clarice.”

  “I think it suits you. Madam because you’re old, and Avocado…” Hunter pretended to rub his nose like he was in the process of thinking. “Because you’re old,” he finally said, teasing at her.

  “Arrrgghhh…” Clarice gritted her teeth. “I should just bite my tongue right now.”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea. There’s no hospital near here,” Hunter said, then started following her when she walked away from him.

  “What are you doing blasting your horn like that? You almost gave me a heart attack.”

  “I did? Wow, I would love to see it in action. The hot and handsome Hunter causing you to have a heart attack because I’m just so damn good-looking.”

  “Good-looking?” Clarice scoffed. “More like a showoff. What do you want anyway? Why are you here? Go away. Stop following me.”

  “Even if you pay me, Avocado, I wouldn’t be seen following you, but since I ran across you here, I might as well just get it off my chest,” Hunter said.

  “What is it?” Clarice asked, stopping in mid-stride to face him, annoyed at his presence.

  “I came to ask for compensation,” Hunter stated, thinking on the spot as to the reason he was following the avocado like a loyal puppy.

  “For what?” Clarice asked. “What compensation?”

  “For ruining my shirt when you spit on it at the night club.”

  “That baby-blue shirt?”

  “Yes, the one that cost me $500.”

  “$500? You’re kidding, right?” Clarice’s eyes almost bulged out of their sockets. How could a shirt cost $500? Was he playing a joke on her?

  “Not kidding. It’s branded,” Hunter said. “Now, how are you going to pay for it? I don’t take cheques or bank deposit. I prefer money on hand.”

  “I don’t have that much cash on me right now,” Clarice said, clutching her wallet.

  “It’s fine, then. Give me your business card,” Hunter said with his palm held out.

  “Why?” Clarice eyed him suspiciously.

  “So I can phone to remind you to pay me back,” he said. “Surely you don’t want me to add in the interest as well, do you?”

  “For business purposes only, right?” Clarice said, rummaging through her bag to find her business card. “Not to annoy me, okay?”

  “Fine, fine,” Hunter said, brushing her question aside, palm still extended for Clarice to deposit her business card once she found it.

  “Clarice Chantee Mason,” he said. Then with a quirk of an eyebrow, he asked, “Are you half Asian?”

  “Yes,” Clarice said proudly. “I’m half Cambodian.”

  “I’ve been to Cambodia. It’s a lovely country,” Hunter said.

  The truth was Hunter had much involvement with the Khmer people. Every year his father would hand out large amounts of funding for different charities. One particular year, when he turned
twenty, he had a very strong desire to go to Cambodia. He didn’t know why, but he had to go. His dad and Anton went with him. When they set foot on the land, they immediately loved it.

  Cambodia was breathtakingly beautiful, with rice fields covering hectares and hectares of countryside that looked like blades of grass from the distance, grass that reached up to touch the sky like the ocean here in New Zealand, spanning from one horizon to the next, as far as the eyes can see.

  Wherever there was beauty, there was also destruction. And that was what happened to the people of Cambodia. Due to the lack of resources and outside support, the Khmer people suffered much loss after the destruction of the Khmer Rogue War from 1975 to 1979. There were many orphans as a result of this, and the healthcare system was in shambles.

  At the conclusion of their visit, his dad had said he would build a foundation there in Cambodia for the underprivileged. Upon setting up a charity, further support was also provided by way of education for small children, building schools, orphanages, and housing for the families who needed extra care.

  Silverton Enterprises’ motto was this: “Help the people to help themselves.” His father valued firmness and honesty in any kind of business. Their foundation was not meant to simply give the residents money. They provided the basic necessities such as education and healthcare so they could in turn earn or provide a living for themselves. His father liked to think of their foundation as a stepping-stone, giving the citizens the tools needed to help themselves and future generations. His father had even begun trading goods with the Cambodians.

  Truth be told, Hunter knew his wayward ways were really just a façade. He had seen so much in Cambodia that it affected him, a scar engraved in his heart, refusing to be healed. So why did he continue to act like a Casanova and pretend to have a carefree life? The truth rested in the fact that he wanted Anton to inherit his dad’s empire. He had already planned this from the start.

  Anton had been orphaned at a young age. He had worked so hard to help his dad build up his empire so there was no way in hell he, Hunter Silverton, would be named the heir when he didn’t really do anything to contribute to its wealth.