Chapter 3 #2
Again, I’m jealous of Arik, not the woman who was between those thighs last night.
Given what I’ve seen of Arik so far, he probably has a six-pack to go along with them, all perfect washboard definition with no tan lines.
I bet he hits nude beaches on his vacations and just lays it all out in the open.
Living here with everything provided for me—just add it to the grocery list and it’ll be delivered—I’m going to have a Buddha belly by Christmas.
A wail from Bastian reminds me that I am working, not daydreaming, and I hurry over with the bottle.
“Sorry, bud.” I pick him up from the bouncer and let him go to town on his breakfast the way his dad just downed that coffee.
“I need to focus on you, right? And finish my masters. Although it’s difficult to want to think about future jobs when this is such a nice setup.
” But I can’t do this forever. I want to teach.
I love teaching. I’ll love it even more once I finally have a class in my specialty all to myself and I’m not living paycheck to paycheck.
I realize I forgot to grab a spit rag and move back into the nursery.
With the way the layout of the penthouse is, Arik’s office is above it, the master bath is above my bathroom but extends a little farther, and the master bedroom is above my room and the entirety of the foyer.
Only the living room doesn’t have anything above it, which is why it has two-story windows.
Exploring yesterday was humbling. I’d have thought it odd that Arik gave me free reign, but he must trust me if he’s trusting me with his son.
Plus, there is no way this place isn’t decked out with cameras.
Best to not walk around naked other than in my room, the bathroom, and…
yeah, not while walking from one to the other.
Spit rag acquired, I wander into my room while continuing to feed Bastian. Once he’s asleep again, I need to finish unpacking, then it’s back to the grind studying and checking for teaching jobs.
I can catch up on podcasts when my arms are full, and when they’re not, and I’m not reading for school, maybe I can read for pleasure.
The books on the shelves in my room boast an impressive collection.
Some business related, some classics, most nonfiction.
Arik even has a copy of one of the books I’m reading for class: Historical Thinking and Other Unnatural Acts.
I don’t know if he’s read everything in this collection, but he seems like the type who would, especially to be as successful and well off as he is at thirty-five.
The library in my room paints the picture of a well-educated, critical thinking, history and classics nerd who does not shy from loving his books.
I know some consider it sacrilegious to dog ear pages and bend spines, but that’s for fiction. Non-fiction can be used roughly. That’s maybe not the best way to put it, but it’s sort of fun, taking a moment to get a glimpse of the real Arik Anders.
Like the glimpse I caught of him in the kitchen.
Stop. The books are safer to focus on. Like…
“The Art of War? Really?” I say aloud.
“And why not? It should be a staple for the modern businessman.”
ARIK
Beau spins around to face me with a jump. Still in sleep clothes and an open robe, he paints quite the domestic picture feeding my son. Beau’s curls are in even more disarray than the day we met.
I move into the room, pleased to see that there is still nearly half of Bastian’s bottle left.
I think Beau is surprised by my attentiveness.
He must not have snooped enough yesterday to find the collection of baby books in my nightstand’s top drawer.
Smart of him not to, considering my sex toys are in the second and third drawers.
I am freshened up and dressed, but I left my suit jacket in the sitting room.
I still look good in just my trousers, shirt, and a tie, and by the way Beau peruses me, he agrees.
I thought I saw some color in his cheeks again when he nearly caught me on display before I cinched my robe closed. I’ll have to be more careful.
Or not. The more I doubt how straight he is, the more he has me curious to press my luck, smart as it may be not to.
“It’s a book on warfare,” Beau says.
“Yes. And its principles on strategy, planning, leadership, and understanding one’s competitors are timeless. Business is war, Beau. Especially the way I do it.” I wink, and he flushes with color again.
I should stop. I’m playing with fire every time I tease him, but just because I had sex last night doesn’t mean I’m not restless. I am always restless, which is why I indulge in sex as often as I do, and now that I have a child to raise, I will have to get it whenever I can.
“I thought you weren't as ruthless as Richard's Gere's character in Pretty Women,” Beau teases. He’s good at that too, so it isn’t as if I’m poking the fire alone. Maybe he just likes to banter and doesn’t mean anything by it. But I wonder.
The tenets of the Art of War by Sun Tzu really are words to live by, however.
Know yourself and your enemy.
Be secretive and subtle.
Strike where the enemy is most vulnerable.
Pick your battles.
Be aware of outside influences.
Act quickly and decisively.
“Don’t we all need to be a little ruthless sometimes?” I say. “Go on. Get yourself ready for the day. I can take him.”
Beau carefully extracts the nipple from Bastian’s mouth long enough to pass me first the baby and then the bottle. “All yours.”
Bastian feels especially cozy after being cuddled in those burly arms.
I leave to give Beau his privacy and head for the sitting room. My favorite view from my penthouse is there, visible both in the sitting room and from my office above. There is just enough cityscape melting into the park’s trees to break up the monotony of steel cages.
Bastian finishes his bottle, and I heft him up to burp him. So far so good. He is honestly being too easy of a baby, but then I wasn’t the one who had to get up with him three times in the night.
It’s not as if I have zero experience with infants. I’ve hosted corporate family picnics for my employees. I don’t have siblings, but I have cousins with children. I don’t see any of them often, but this isn’t my first time feeding a newborn a bottle. It’s still the first time the baby was mine.
After a tiny belch, I pull Bastian from my shoulder to see his eyes already drooping again. My phone vibrates, and he is fast asleep before I finish setting him in the swing to answer it.
“Change your mind already?” I ask, since the caller ID read: Clara.
“Ha. Ha,” she drones. “Do you know I have to wait six weeks before I can return to my usual workout routine? It’s going to take forever to drop this baby weight. And speaking of… how’s he doing?”
“He’s good. Sleeping at the moment.” He really is quite precious. We’ll see how long that lasts. Before I know it, he’ll be throwing wild parties and talking back at me in an effort to rebel. That’s what I did.
“Did you take a few days off?” Clara asks.
“Can’t. Big merger brewing. Not to worry though. I hired a nanny.”
“You did? One you’ll be sleeping with before the end of the week?”
“Not this time. I’ve told myself that he is off limits.
“You hired a manny? Oh, I am even more convinced you’re going to sleep with him.”
“Does this call have a point other than to raz me?”
“Just checking in,” she answers innocently, “but also, a friend of mine mentioned this online forum I thought you might be interested in. It’s specifically for advice from single dads to each other. Might be helpful if your manny underperforms.”
“Doubtful.” Haven’t online forums gone the way of the dodo? I only need the kind of help you pay for, thanks.
“Too bad,” she says. “I’m sending you the info anyway. Have fun trying to not seduce the help!”
“Goodbye, Clara.” When more giggling replies, I hang up.
As I do, a sour odor assaults my nose, and I turn my head to see the spit-up on my shoulder. Wonderful. Bastian must have done that when he burped.
“A covert assassin, I see.”
I hear Beau chuckle and turn to see him entering holding a spit rag. “That’s what these are for. You left it in my room.”
“So I did. New shirt it is. At least I had the forethought to not put my jacket on yet.” As I accept the rag from him to dab at my shirt despite knowing I will be changing it, I get a shock from our hands touching.
It’s nothing special, no fantastical “spark,” just the colder, drier weather causing static electricity from Beau’s sock-clad feet dragging across the carpet.
He must have felt it too, because he gets some of that color in his handsome cheeks again.
I am not going to seduce my manny.
Nanny.
I head out of the room to replace my shirt, thinking that if I am going to hold true to that, I am going to need to keep letting off steam with others. Often.