Chapter 7
Spencer
Aharsh cry splits the dark room.
I roll over and face-plant onto the pillow. The cold pillow I just laid down on two minutes ago. I lose a staggered groan into its cool softness, my eyes burning from being awake most of the night.
I’ve never wished for dawn so badly in my entire life.
I roll over and rub my hands over my face, half hoping the cries will peter out. Knowing they won’t. They haven’t all night.
With a heavy sigh, I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed. The small pink bassinet rests on my nightstand, which I repositioned to the furthest corner of the room. In a brief moment of insanity, I thought maybe that might help. It didn’t.
My feet hit the marble floor, and I cross the room for what feels like the hundredth time in the last eight hours.
In the dim light, I can make out the wriggling pink bundle, her mouth open to expose her gums, still screaming.
“Geez, baby girl. I have no idea what I’m doing here. Give a man a clue, will you?” I run my hands through my mess of hair and lean over, laying my hand on the restless baby.
My hand covers most of her chest and belly.
She’s too damn small.
I’m terrified I’ll hurt her . . .
What kind of woman leaves her baby with a useless prick like me?
Hell, I’m barely holding my own life together. I have no right to be responsible for another.
The cries settle a little as I rub my hand over her chest, making soothing noises. God, I feel ridiculous. I can’t remember where I saw this maneuver, and I can’t remember if it’s intended to soothe an animal or a baby.
At this point, I don’t even care.
Her little legs kick out, the blanket unraveling, and her cries return with a new ferocity.
“Oh, kiddo. Seriously? Come on, we have to get some sleep sometime tonight.”
The instant the words leave my mouth, the first ray of dawn splinters around my blackout curtains.
The sliver of golden light sends my gut plummeting.
A full day of work lies ahead of me, with zero sleep and even less of a clue of how I am supposed to go to work and take care of this little bundle of screams at the same time.
I have a newfound appreciation for mothers everywhere as I lift the bassinet from the bedside and rest it on the floor. I sink to my seat and lean against it, returning my hand to her belly and rubbing it as I croak out a verse of whatever song I can remember in my haggard state.
“Love Somebody” by Morgan Wallen falls out in a low, slow tone. My head falls back against the bedside, my eyes drifting shut.
Baby’s cries settle and she fusses.
It’s then I remember the pacifier.
Fuck me.
Nice work, Spence. Pushing off the floor, I hunt for the pacifier in her bassinet. The instant she sucks it from my fingers and into her mouth, the cries stop.
“Christ above, you idiot.”
How stupid can one exhausted man be?
I resume my position, head resting on the side of the bed, eyes closed as I send my hand around her belly. When my head lolls, I barely feel the cool wood of my bedside pressing into my temple.
Or do I . . .
I don’t car—
An hour later, I have a bottle made, microwaved to perfection. I feel the outside of the bottle. Nice and hot. She should love it.
I shove it inside the bassinet and grab my jacket from the back of the sofa. My phone is buzzing already.
I’m officially an hour late for work. Luckily, I’m the boss. Unfortunately, today is the board meeting with the founding members and my father.
I hurry out the door, bassinet in hand, and make a beeline for old Mrs. Henderson’s door. I knock, crossing every appendage that she’ll take pity on me and babysit.
The door opens and Mrs. Henderson looks up at me, her rollers still in her hair, her mug of steaming tea clasped between two thin, wrinkled hands. Before I utter a syllable, she drops her gaze to the bassinet.
“Well, well. Who would have saw that coming, young man. With the stream of overnight guests you have, one was bound to stick around eventually.” Her lips curl up into a smile.
I huff a nervous laugh, rubbing my free hand behind my neck. “Would you be able to help a guy out? I have a meeting an—”
She holds up a hand. “Say no more. I would be delighted to help just this once. Being a parent is a serious responsibility. You need to sort out care for your little girl, and fast.”
“She’s not mi—”
Mrs. Henderson tilts her head, her eyes widening as if challenging me to finish that sentence.
“Okay, she’s probably mine. But I didn’t sign up for this.”
Mrs. Henderson laughs, a hearty belly laugh that echoes throughout the short hallway. “Sweetheart, you have no idea. Are there diapers and formula in this precious parcel?”
“Formula, yes. I made her a bottle.”
“Only one?”
“She needs more than one?”
Her eyes drill into me as her chin dips. “And the diapers?”
Ah, shit.
“I can get some sent over?”
“Unless you want me breaking into your penthouse to use your shirts, I would recommend it. Some more formula, too.”
“Thanks Mrs. Henderson, you’re a lifesaver.”
She hums, turning her attention to the baby. Taking that as my cue to leave, I turn on my heel and stride for the elevator. I am so fucking late.
“Oh, Spencer?”
I turn back.
“What is her name?”
I freeze, every limb rigid with part shock, part inability to admit that . . .
I have absolutely no idea.
When Mrs. Henderson’s brows drop, I panic.
“Um, I’v—”
“Ivy!” Her focus returns to the baby. “What a pretty name, Miss Ivy.”
A disbelieving smile flashes on my face. “Thanks again. Text me if you need anything.”
“I’ll call you, hon. Come on, little miss. Let’s have a feed and some cuddles.”
She wanders back inside her apartment and closes the door. I stare at it for a beat before heading to the elevator.
Fuck a man sideways.
I don’t even know her name.
After two hours of the meeting from hell, literally trapped between a cougar and a lion—Mrs. Princeton and my father—I am tapping out a message to Stace. I’m on the hunt for diaper delivery while I sit in my office alone and examine every life choice I’ve ever made.
The convenience store closest to my apartment delivers for an exorbitant fee. I tap out my order and pop Mrs. Henderson’s address in.
Twenty minutes later, my phone vibrates.
I accept the call.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“Hello Spencer, dear. Yes, Ivy is fine. Such a good girl, she’s slept most of the day.”
Of course she did, she was practically nocturnal last night.
“That’s great. Did the diapers arrive?”
“Oh yes, you didn’t have to buy so many. Two hundred is rather excessive for a day visit.”
“Ah, sorry, I didn’t know. I just bought the best ones.”
“Well, they are very high quality, but a tad big?”
Oh shit.
“They’re the wrong ones, aren’t they?”
“Well, no, not if you roll them over and overlap the sticky tabs.”
My forehead hits the desk.
Fucking hell, I am not meant to do this. Not yet, at least. I am not father material. Hell, the thought of having kids has never even crossed my mind till yesterday.
I was all but ready to send her back. Then, one look at my own blue eyes staring back up at me, and the thought of sending her back to a mother who could drop her and run like an Uber Eats order was atrocious.
Needless to say, I need to find care for her during the day so I can work. I may love my fun and independence, but I am not an asshole. I’ll find a way to keep her until her mother wants her back.
A soft knock on my office door pulls me from the insanity of my thoughts.
“Come in.” I sit up, pushing my phone away.
Glenda walks in. “Morning boss.”
“Morning. What’s up, G?”
She leans on the door, the way she always does. “There’s a young Irish woman waiting for you in reception.” Her expression turns curious as she tilts her head. “I see your reputation has crossed an entire ocean, Spencer.” She winks at me with a chuckle.
Irish?
Oh fuck.
Riley.
“Stacey’s friend, not my . . . acquaintance, Glenda. Send her in.”
She shakes her head with a soft huffy sound that I put down to amusement. “Alright.”
I rack my brain at why Riley, whose side-eye could have killed a man at my complete lack of baby care taking skills—
Wait. I need a nanny.
She was brilliant with . . . Ivy.
Guess we’re going with that name. Thanks, Mrs. Henderson.
Riley walks into my office as I stand.
“Sorry to track you down at work,” she says, her gaze wandering the expanse of my office. “But I have a proposal for you. And before you ask, no, Stacey does not know I’m here.”
I fold my arms over my chest.
Be nice, Spencer, you idiot. She could be the person to fix the childcare problem.
“Go ahead. What can I do for you, Riley?” I tilt my chin up. I may have a favor to ask her on the tip of my tongue, but I’m still a proud man. I’m still a Lockwood.
“Actually, it’s more like, what I can do for you. I’m aware you’re needin’ someone who knows what they’re doing to take care of your daughter. I’m looking for a job. One that pays decent that I can fit mostly around my studies.”
Your daughter.
Two words I never thought would be aimed in my direction.
Fuck.
Honestly, if they were, it would be on the end of a tongue lashing from someone’s old man. Not me being someone’s old man. Christ.
I clear my throat.
“What makes you think I haven’t found someone, or that I even need help?”
Her brows fall. “You’ve already found someone, then?”
“I—”
“Look, I don’t want to waste anyone’s time. But if you need a babysitter or whatever, I need the work. I have years of experience with babies and kids. I practically raised—”
I hold up a hand.
“How will you attend class and look after Ivy?”
Riley’s eyes widen in time for her face to soften.
“Last time I checked, the postgrad MBA was in person.” Now my brows crash.
“It is, but I can work for you whenever I’m not at school. Night, weekends, etc. Before and after my classes.” She looks uncomfortable, like this is actually the last thing on earth she wants to do.
“That’s a lot of traveling back and forth from the campus.”
“I know, but without the income, I have to go home.”
“Home?”
Her face twitches like she wants to roll her eyes at me but holds back. “Back to Ireland.”
“Okay, but I need a live-in nanny, Riley. I can’t be up all night and working during the day. Last night was—”
“You won’t be. I’ll do it.”
She grips her tote bag’s handle, setting her shoulders back as if steeling herself for the idea. “That would be a full-time paying gig, right?”
“Sure.”
What the hell, I can afford it, and I really do need the help. I’m dead on my feet today. I can only imagine what it would be like after weeks of baby life.
“I would have to have my own room. And Ivy—pretty name, by the way—needs her own, too. I can’t be in your room taking care of her.”
“Okay . . .”
“And one last thing. I require payment in advance to cover my living expenses and tuition, at least the next three months.”
I shift on my feet.
I’m not worried about the money, as such, but will she even stick it out for three months? I guess I have to take the chance. God knows I’m fucking desperate. I need her to stick it out.
“Take it or leave it, Spencer. If it doesn’t suit, I’ll find something else.”
My phone buzzes and a message covers my screen.
Stacey.
Spence, you’re going to need a live-in nanny, and you can’t take her to work. Because obviously, this can’t get back to Mom and Dad.
Honestly, a live-in nanny would be fantastic.
I round the desk and close the space between me and the tiny little Irish woman whose dark hair and pretty features have been haunting me since I walked in on her at my sister’s apartment a few weeks ago.
“Deal, O’Malley. But I have one condition.”
I hold out my hand.
She eyes the gesture, sucking in a breath. “And that is?”
“I’ll pay you to stay with Ivy for the rest of the year, and up front. But I need every weekend to ride.”
Her face is unreadable.
“Oh right, the bull riding thing.” The smile that pops over her face is static. “No problem.” Her hand slides into mine, and she shakes it.
The loathing she possesses for me flickers through her expression. And I have the distinct feeling she is not doing this for me.
Far, far from it.