3. Sterling
“When is the nanny supposed to arrive?” I pressed my fingers to my temples. A headache pounded through my brain. The baby had spent the morning wailing.
She woke up crying, and she didn’t stop.
Between Wayne and me, we managed to get her changed and into clean clothes. That didn’t stop the crying. He held her on his lap as I tried to spoon applesauce into her mouth, and that also did not stop her crying. Nothing soothed the child.
By the time she passed out, I think we were all exhausted.
“I don’t believe she’s a nanny,” Wayne said as he held out a bottle of headache reliever pills and a glass of water.
I tossed back double the recommended amount and then drained the glass.
“Then why are they sending someone out? I thought she said they were sending someone from the agency to help out. Sounds like a nanny to me,” I muttered.
“Would you care for?—”
“A Bloody Mary,” I instantly requested. “Extra Tabasco.”
“Is alcohol wise this early?”
“Consider it brunch. Fry up some bacon and stick a couple of slices in the drink. I don’t think I can face super greens this morning.” I stopped and turned to watch him. The man was unflappable. How was it that he didn’t need a stiff drink after the morning we”d endured?
I stood in the living room and stared down at the sleeping kid. I guess calling her a kid was being generous. She still had the round face of a baby and didn’t seem to be able to even walk yet.
She sprawled out on the floor, her pudgy little arms above her head. She slept where she”d collapsed. I didn’t want her to fall, so setting her on the floor seemed like the best idea. She just sat there and wailed until she fell over from exhaustion.
“Me too, kid.” Part of me sympathized with her. Best to just give up and sleep and try again later.
The smell of frying bacon wafted in from the kitchen. I followed the smell just in time to watch Wayne put the final touches on my drink.
“Oh, you’re here. You drink,” he said, handing it to me. “Is it wise to leave Miss Georgie alone?”
“She’s asleep, and we’re only a few yards away. It’s not as if we have left the apartment with her sleeping on the floor.”
I took my drink and sauntered back into the living room. He had a point, and the floor seemed so undignified. But I didn’t want to risk waking her if I tried to move her. And where would I put her? She spent the night in a laundry basket next to my bed.
I squatted down and peered into her little face. She looked exactly like Argene had when she was born. They could be twins, or clones. I hadn’t known what to do with Argene at that point, either. And it certainly wasn’t as if our mother would have encouraged me to interact with a baby girl.
It wasn’t appropriate, as she would have phrased it. I had been fourteen and struggling, like all teenagers stuck between being an adult and still wanting to be a kid. Dad would have said something a little harsher. Something like, ‘Real men don’t take care of babies, that’s women’s work. You aren’t a woman, are you?’ They were very traditional in their ways. Something my dear Argene had railed against. Unfortunately, that had included going against me as well.
This sleeping baby on the floor was all I had left of Argene. There was some kind of symbolism with Georgie asleep in her misery on the floor and me looking down on her, uncertain of how to proceed. That summed up my relationship with Argene pretty well, uncertain how to proceed.
The intercom buzzed. Normally, I would ignore it, but my gut was already clenching with nerves waiting for someone to come and figure out what I was supposed to do with this child.
“The concierge said the woman from the agency is here. She is coming up directly,” Wayne announced.
I headed toward the elevator. It pinged open, and a teenager stood there looking amazed and confused all at once.
“Mr. Alexander?” she asked Wayne.
I snorted. I stood up, lifting my glass toward her. “That’s me. Sterling. You want a drink?”
She looked at me, a sneer across her pretty face. Her gaze then shifted to Wayne, back to me, and finally, to the sleeping baby on the floor.
She rushed from the elevator, unceremoniously dumped the armful of file folders on the nearest side table, and rushed to the baby, landing on her knees before putting her face right in front of Georgie’s.
“She’s asleep?” The woman twisted and looked back at where Wayne and I stood.
“Yes. You could have simply asked.”
She stood and brushed the front of her skirt. I pretended that I didn’t notice, or that I hadn’t been staring at her curvaceous ass when she was on the floor.
“Why is she on the floor and not in a crib?” she snapped.
I let out a sharp breath. “She’s on the floor because she passed out from crying. We’ve had a difficult morning. I did not want to disturb her. There is no crib.”
“And how much vodka is in your Bloody Mary?” There was no dodging the judgmental tone in her voice. Maybe she was older than I first thought.
Lifting one eyebrow, I twisted to look at Wayne.
“None, Miss.”
“What?” we both asked at the same time.
“None. I made it with non-alcoholic vodka. I figured with this morning’s visit, it would be prudent,” Wayne said.
Part of me was pissed I hadn’t noticed vodka missing from the drink, and part of me was astonished at how this man had my back in little ways.
“Show me,” the agency lady snapped.
Wayne tipped his head and led the way to the kitchen. “Mr. Sterling keeps a well-stocked bar,” Wayne started.
“Oh, I’m sure he does,” she retorted.
“That included provisions for his acquaintances who choose not to imbibe. When he is in training, Mr. Sterling also refrains from alcoholic beverages, though he still enjoys cocktails.”
Once in the kitchen, he showed off the bottle of zero proof spirits.
“I have extra bacon. Would you care for me to make you one?” Wayne offered.
She glanced from the drink I still carried to the bottle and then smiled at Wayne. “Since I don’t smell any coffee, if it”s not a terrible bother, yes, please.”
She turned to me, and the smile that illuminated her face immediately dropped away. “My apologies for jumping to a conclusion without having all of the facts, Mr. Alexander.”
“Please, call me Sterling.” I extended my arm, indicating we should return to the living room. I took a seat and indicated that she should as well.
She gathered her file folders back into her arms and perched on the sofa. The woman needed a tote bag if she was planning on hauling a file cabinet’s worth of documents around.
“So, exactly how are you going to be able to help me out?” I asked. She didn’t exactly look like a nanny, and I couldn’t figure out how all that paperwork would be beneficial.
Georgie picked that moment to start squirming, and then her siren wail of distress was back.
I set my drink down and lifted her up. I had never been allowed to hold or play with Argene until she was older and walking. Her daughter sort of hung from her armpits with my hands around her tiny rib cage.
“That’s not how you hold a crying baby!” the agency lady said, launching from where she sat.
She pulled the kid from my hands and immediately had her arms wrapped around the baby and began cooing and bouncing.
“She’s soaking wet. Where is the changing station?” she demanded.
I shook my head.
“Diapers? Do you have any?”
“Miss.” Wayne appeared suddenly with the diaper bag in hand.
“Thank you. Where do you change her?” she asked.
I shrugged. “Wherever.”
When she rolled her eyes at me, I changed my mind again. She couldn’t be more than nineteen. Why had they sent over a kid?
“Wherever? Like you just change her diaper on the couch, the kitchen table, the floor?”
“Oh, no, not on the table, but that would be the right height. So far, I’ve just changed her on the bed.”
“She has a bed?”
“My bed,” I clarified.
“Where’s your bathroom?” she asked.
“I’ll show you. This way,” Wayne interjected.
She turned to follow him.
I followed her.
“When was the last time you gave her a bottle, or did she have anything to eat?”
“She had some applesauce last night. And we tried to give her some this morning, but she refused to eat.”
“No bottles?”
I shook my head. “No one said anything about bottles.”
Wayne opened the bathroom door. She brushed past him, set the diaper bag on the counter, and then placed Georgie next to it. The baby hadn’t stopped crying, but she was much quieter. The young woman never took her hand off the kid as she rummaged through the bag and pulled out what looked like a mini yoga mat, and then a diaper. With what looked like professional skills, she had Georgie on the mat and her diaper changed in no time.
She then proceeded to remove the clothes that I had struggled to dress the baby in. She held them out. “This is wet. Also, the fabric is super scratchy. Has she been fussy?”
“Fussy would have been pleasant,” I admitted.
“Mr. Alexander, it doesn”t appear to me that you know what you’re doing. My first report isn’t going to look very good.”
“Report? Who are you going to report me to? How about we start with who you are?” I asked.
“I’m so sorry. I was caught off guard with what appeared to be a disaster, and then your drink… My bad. I’m Cecelia Harrison from Child Services. I’m your case manager.”