“Darling, what are you doing with that stick in your hand?”
Holy Shit! Standing at the door to my bedroom was my mother!
“Mom?” I choked out before remembering she had a set of keys to my apartment.
Wearing one of her stylish velour tracksuits, she sauntered my way. “Darling, put that ridiculous stick down and get right back into bed. You look and sound terrible.”
Slowly, I did as she said. She was right about my current condition. Whatever it was had taken a toll on me. I hadn’t shaved, showered, or combed my hair since last Friday and when I glimpsed myself in the bathroom mirror this morning, I met the reflection of a scary-looking Neanderthal with sunken eyes and pasty lips.
My mother tucked me in, making me feel like I was a five-year-old again. She placed her palm on my forehead as I coughed.
“You’re running a fever. I’ve asked Dr. Brown to stop by to check you over.”
Dr. Brown was our concierge family doctor. He’d been with us forever. Through strep, broken bones, stitches, bee stings, and much more. Ten minutes later I was sitting up in bed with an old-fashioned glass thermometer under my tongue and a stethoscope to my back. Removing the thermometer from my mouth, he took a peek at it and then asked me to breathe deeply in and out. It was an effort to do as he asked, the inhale and exhale both excruciatingly painful.
“What is it, doc?” I wheezed while my mother was in the kitchen heating up soup she’d picked up at Whole Foods.
“You have acute bronchitis. I’m going to call in a prescription for ciprofloxacin along with a cough suppressant and have your pharmacy send them over. Take two doses of the cipro with water immediately and then another tonight. Tomorrow, one in the morning, one in the evening. You’ll likely start feeling better by tomorrow afternoon, but I want you to rest, drink plenty of fluids, and finish out the prescription.”
I nodded. “Are you sure I don’t have a heart condition?”
Packing up his medical bag, the good doctor smiled. “No, Drake, your heart sounds perfectly fine. And heart disease doesn’t run in your family.”
My mother returned with a tray holding a large bowl of soup and Dr. Brown filled her in about my condition before leaving. She set the tray down on my desk and brought me the bowl. Sitting on the edge of my bed, she forced me to have some. Despite my lack of appetite, it actually felt good to have something in me and she’d heated it just right to avoid burning my raw throat. After a few spoonfuls of the flavorful chicken noodle broth, my coughing subsided and my voice grew a little stronger.
“Mom, how’d you know to come over?”
“Your father told me you were sick and hadn’t been in the office for three days.”
At the mention of my father, my chest tightened painfully.
“He hasn’t disowned me yet?”
“Darling, why on earth would you say that? Your father loves you. He was worried.”
Her heartfelt words genuinely surprised me. I scooped up another spoonful of soup. “How’s Dad?”
“Truthfully, he’s suffering more than you.”
“Because the Saxton deal collapsed?”
“Hardly.”
My brows shot up.
“He feels terrible about that evening. Terrible for that lovely girl who had to endure so much humiliation.”
I was stunned into silence.
“Drake, darling, perhaps you don’t know this, but your father was hoping you might settle down with Dee. While you were away with her in New York, he grew extremely attached to her adorable little girl.”
“He did?”
“I wish you could have seen the two of them together. He doted on her. It was so incredibly sweet. They cuddled together and watched cartoons. He read her bedtime stories every night and acted out all the parts. They played hide-and-seek. He took her to the park after school and taught her how to play checkers. They even baked thumbprint cookies together…something your father used to do with your sister but hasn’t done since she left us. Your sister was the apple of your father’s eye…he adored her and took her loss way harder than I did. I think in many ways Tyson reminded him of Mia and filled the void in his heart that’s burdened him all these years. I haven’t seen him so happy in ages.”
As my mother shared this narrative, I could picture my father doing all these things. Suddenly, I saw him in a new light. A softer, kinder one that only the magic of a little girl like Tyson could turn on. I knew because she’d done the same to me. Dr. Brown was wrong. Broken hearts did run in our family.
I imbibed a few more tablespoons of the soup, each one more fortifying than the one before. Impulsively, I shared my nightmare with my intuitive mother, tweaking it slightly so that it was only Tyson on the boat. With all the drama that had gone down in the past week and my weakened state, this was not the time to tell her about my sperm-donor past.
“What do you think it means, Mom?”
“You can’t let the boat sail away and sink. That little girl was crying out for you. It’s not too late. Go after her. She is meant to be yours.”
Yours. Mine. A new reality was sinking in.
By Friday, I was feeling a lot stronger. At least, physically. While I still had a nagging cough, it was nothing like it had been. My throat and head no longer hurt and my appetite was back. A sharp pain, however, lingered in my chest. Heartache. I’d tried to both call and text Dee, but to my dismay, she’d blocked my number. After taking a shower and shaving for the first time in a week, I decided I would drive over to her house with the hope of seeing her. Scratch that. With the hope of winning her back.
Though Westwood, where I lived on the prestigious Wilshire Corridor, was quite a distance from funky Silverlake, basically the other side of town, I made it to her place in no time because I’d beat rush hour traffic. It was only 7 a.m. I was sure she’d be home with Tyson.
After parking my car in front of her house, I headed to the front door. I was a little surprised her truck wasn’t parked in the driveway. Only her sister’s Mini occupied the space. Maybe it was in the shop for repairs or she had to take Tyson to a doctor’s appointment or something. A mix of nerves and hopefulness coursed through my veins.
I rang the doorbell. I waited. No response. I rang it again, this time twice in succession. No response. One more time and then I banged loudly.
“Dee…are you there? It’s me, Drake.” BANG, BANG, BANG. Desperation set in. “Please, Dee, open up!”
The door finally swung open. But it wasn’t Dee who stood before me. It was her sister, Lulu.
“Drake, what the hell are you doing here?”
With a heavy breath, I met her gaze. Daggers were shooting out of her eyes. Dressed in skimpy boxer shorts and a Mighty Dicks T-shirt, her hair a wild mess, she had that just-fucked look going on. But that enviable look didn’t mask her rage.
“Is Dee home? I need to talk to her.”
She narrowed her eyes at me. Her look became more intimidating. Daggers became poison darts.
“She’s away with Tyson.” She paused for a second. “She needed to get away. Away from you.”
“Where is she?”
She scoffed at me. “Jesus, Drake, what part of she never wants to see you again don’t you get?”
Her words sliced through me. Before I could respond, a familiar voice sounded in my ears.
“Hey, babe, what’s going on?”
Brock. Freshly showered. Wearing just a towel around his waist.
“Hey, man.” Awkwardness colored his voice as he adjusted the towel.
“Hey.”
“You missed the hockey game last night. Where were you?”
“Sorry. I was sick.” I coughed. “Bronchitis.”
“We lost without you.” He wrapped an arm around Lulu, igniting an emotion I’d never felt before. Envy. “Call me later. I may have big news.”
“Sure,” I mumbled as Lulu slammed the door shut in my face.
CHAPTER 42
Drake
; “Who are you?” I asked the skinny, tattooed girl, sitting at the desk outside my office.
“Onyx. Your new temp.”
Jesus. With her purple spiked hair and piercings, she looked more like an alien…one of our Danger Rangers villains.
“Dude, I’ve put all your mail on your desk. If it’s okay by you, I’m going out for a smoke.”
“Sure,” I muttered, trudging into my office. No need to tell her I hated cigarettes and smokers.
My first day back in almost two weeks—after the week in New York and then another home sick. After my encounter with Lulu this morning, I had a setback. My heart felt like it’d been weighted down by a two-ton elephant, and my chest felt hollow. I thought about going home and crawling back into bed, but the thought of hanging at my condo with my housekeeper there wasn’t appealing. Besides, I needed to have my sheets changed and truthfully, the only thing I had to look forward to all day was going home to clean fresh sheets and a made-up bed.
My desk looked like it had been hit by a scud missile. The mail strewn everywhere, so unlike the way Dee laid it out with periodicals neatly stacked and envelopes arranged by size. It was overwhelming, and I decided I’d go through the mess later in the day. As soon as I sat down, my cell phone pinged. It was a text from Brock.
Call me. You’re not going to believe what I have to tell you.
Though he was my best bud, the last person I wanted to hear from at this minute was Brock the Rock. I was still reeling from seeing him with Lulu this morning, and while I knew I should be happy for him, I wasn’t quite sure how his relationship with Dee’s sister was going to affect our friendship. For all I knew, he was texting me to tell me they were moving in together or getting engaged. Brock was a lucky man.
As soon as I set my cell phone down, my desk phone rang. With my new temp on a break, I debated whether to let it go to my voicemail or pick it up. On the third persistent ring, I opted for the latter.
“Drake?”
I recognized the voice immediately. My father’s. Every muscle in my body tensed.
“I saw your car in the parking lot. You’re here?”
After a small coughing fit, I told him I was.
“Please come down to my office. I want to talk to you.”
My pulse quickened. Hanging up the phone, I braced myself for an uncomfortable encounter. I hadn’t spoken to my father since the Gunther Saxton fiasco last Friday night, and though my mother said he wasn’t furious with me, I didn’t totally believe her. My father was not one to get over things easily. Following the tragic death of my sister, he was in a deep depression for over a year that required him to seek counseling.
My father was seated at his desk when I got to his massive corner office. Another small coughing fit captured his attention, and he lifted his head from the periodical he was reading. He took off his reading glasses and his eyes met mine.
“Are you all right?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said after coughing again into my forearm. The doctor told me that the cough could linger for a couple weeks, but after several days of my medication, I was no longer contagious.
“Good.” No smile. “Take a seat.” No please. He motioned to one of the armchairs facing him. Anxiously, I sat down. His next words rattled me.
“I want you to draft a press release explaining why the deal between Hanson Entertainment and Saxton Enterprises didn’t go through.”
A bolt of anger ripped through me. So, this is how he was going to punish me. For screwing up the deal of a lifetime. By pouring salt in an open wound.
“Why can’t Krizia do it?” It pained me to say her name.
“Because I fired her.”
Despite my wide-eyed surprise, the tone in his voice didn’t leave room for questioning. I was adept at writing press releases, having written them before while I worked in PR briefly after I graduated college. Grooming me to head up the company, my father had made me work in every department.
“This will help you.” He slid the Hollywood Reporter he’d been reading across his desk. “Read this.”
Hesitantly, I picked up the glossy trade magazine. My eyes scanned down the front page until it came to this headline:
Baby Daddy Drama: Escort Claims Media Mogul Gunther Saxton is the Father of Her Child
Holy shit! My eyes as wide as saucers, I perused the exclusive article, which talked about how the two of them had met and had sex in a hotel room while Gunther was in Los Angeles last year pursuing the acquisition of our company among others. Then this: According to Ms. Amaretto, she was introduced to Saxton by his public relations consultant, Krizia Vanderberg, at a Hollywood party. Holy shit again! I quickly flipped to page 20 where the story continued.
High-profile divorce and family law attorney, Brock Andrews, will be representing Ms. Amaretto. In a brief press conference, he issued this statement: “Both Carmen and I are confident that the DNA testing will prove that Mr. Saxton is the putative father. Once paternity is confirmed, we will be seeking extensive damages and child support from the defendant.” Mr. Saxton was unavailable for comment.
Holy fucking shit. This is what Brock wanted to tell me. I’d always suspected there was more than met the eye with Mr. Family Man, but I was still stunned and speechless.
“Drake, thank you,” said my dad, catapulting me out of my shock.
“For what?”
“For saving me from potentially making a deal that would have destroyed our company. Everything I …” he took a beat…“we have worked for. If this scandal had erupted after we’d been acquired by Saxton Enterprises, I’m sure every one of our shows would have been yanked off the air.”
“Is this why you fired Krizia?”
“No. Actually, I fired her three days ago.”
Before the scandal. “For what reason?”
“For humiliating that lovely young woman. And for humiliating you.”
I was speechless as a mixture of respect and love for my father surged inside me. My mother was right. Despite all my fuck ups, he cared about me…had my back. And he saw in Dee what I saw in her. A short but awkward stretch of silence followed. My father broke it before another coughing fit set in.
“Drake…”
“Yeah, Dad?”
“I had lunch with Blake Burns yesterday. He couldn’t stop talking about his wife’s enthusiasm for our new series—the one inspired by Dee’s daughter. She has high hopes for it. How’s the development going? Is there a deal in place?”
I latched onto my father’s words, anxiousness filling my chest. I needed to be honest with him.
“Dad, Dee quit. She’s no longer my temp. There is no deal.”
“What??” His brows knitted. “Where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve tried calling her…texting her…emailing her…but no response. And now she’s blocked my number.”
“Then go to her house. You know where she lives.”
“I did that this morning. Neither she nor Tyson was there. Her sister told me they went out of town—”
My father interrupted. “Well, they’ve gotta come back some time.”
My chest tightened. “Her sister said that Dee never wants to see me again.”
“Baloney. I saw the way she looked at you. She’s totally in love with you.”
“Dad, I hurt her. I acted recklessly.”
“Love is reckless, son.”
My eyebrows shot up. He continued.
“Do you think I pursued the rights to the Ice Capades solely to develop an animated series? No, I followed the show around the world so I could woo your mother. She was quite the ice queen in more ways than one.”
I let out a soft chuckle. I never knew that.
“It took me almost two years, but I finally melted her. Do you know how?”
I shook my head.
“I never gave up. You have to live your personal life the way you live your professional life: With passion
, patience, and persistence. The right one comes along only once. You gotta make things work.”
Digesting his words, my eyes wandered. Behind him on his credenza, assorted photos were lined up—a photo of my stunning mother at the peak of her skating career…a photo of my parents dancing at their wedding…an early photo of our family at the beach, my sister Mia age five and me still a baby in my mother’s arms…one of six-year-old me posing like a superhero, clad in my red cape…Mia’s kindergarten portrait taken shortly before she died…and next to it, one I’d never seen before…a recent photo of my father with Tyson, wearing matching aprons and hands deep in cookie dough. The expression on my father’s face was one of pure joy as was Tyson’s, their blue eyes twinkling and their grins ear-to-ear wide. I’d not seen my father look that happy in ages. He caught me staring at the photo.
“Mom told me about the thumbprint cookies…”
Then my eyes traveled across two more photos…Mia posing on the ice in a purple skating outfit and next to it, a recent one of Tyson in her purple skating costume (and red cape), striking the same pose. In a New York minute, it all clicked. My heart began to race. I had to confront Dee. Tell her what she meant to me…and what Tyson meant to me. My heart beat faster. Was it possible?
My mind kicking into overdrive, I watched as my father swiveled in his chair and picked up the photo of me in my red cape. He turned around and faced me, his eyes on the photo.
“I remember when I gave that cape to you, Drake.”
“Me too.”
“I said you could be anything you want.” He paused, setting the photo down. “Be a man, Drake. Use your balls and go after her.”
My father stood up and I did something I hadn’t done in a very long time. I rounded his desk and hugged him.
“Dad, thanks for everything.”
“Go, Drake. I want that little Mighty Girl on the air…and I more than want her in my life.”
CHAPTER 43
Dee
The impulsive trip to Las Vegas was supposed to be a fun, healing escape. Lulu had suggested it—I needed to get my mind off Drake and reboot before our big move. Bask in the desert sun, swim, drink Mai Tais, take Ty to the Vegas attractions, and maybe see a show or two. But none of that happened. Fun? It was anything but.
Baby Daddy: A Sexy STANDALONE Romantic Comedy Page 23
