Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
VIOLET
“You’re late.” Cleo arched a perfectly sculpted brow. She was tucked into a corner booth, oversized sunglasses perched on her head, long nails tapping against the rim of her water glass. Imani, seated across from her, sipped an iced coffee, watching me.
“I’m not late,” I said, maneuvering Hazel’s pram between the tightly packed tables of the café.
Cleo checked her phone. “Lunch was at one.”
“It is one.”
“One-oh-seven.” She grinned.
Imani smirked, sipping her iced coffee. “She’s been counting.”
“You’ve got entirely too much time on your hands,” I muttered, parking the pram beside the table.
“Oh, we absolutely do,” Imani said, setting her drink down. “Considering you’ve barely answered a single text since the incident.”
My stomach flipped. “What incident?”
Cleo scoffed, adjusting her sunglasses like she needed a physical barrier between her and my audacity. “Oh, you know.”
Imani arched her brows. “The incident where Julian Carter showed up like the wrath of God and dragged you out of the pub.”
“That’s not what happened.”
“Right.” Cleo crossed her arms, expression distinctly unimpressed. “Because normally, when your daddy calls, you just drop everything and leave without explanation?”
Imani drummed her nails against the table. “And then disappear for nearly a month?”
I shrugged, pretending my water glass needed my full attention. “I’ve been busy.”
Cleo let out a low whistle, shaking her head. “You don’t do busy. You do structured, color-coded, planned six weeks in advance.” She gestured at Hazel. “This is not on your Google Calendar.”
I fought the urge to wince. Cleo and Imani knew me too well. Knew my habits, my tells, my inability to lie convincingly under scrutiny.
I sighed. “It’s complicated.”
Imani snorted. “Oh, babe, we figured.”
Cleo studied Hazel, who had her tiny fist wrapped securely around one of her fingers. “And I’m guessing this little angel is at the center of it?”
I hesitated. Just for a second.
“Vi.”
I took my seat and reached for the menu, feigning indifference. “A friend’s.”
“Since when do you babysit?” Imani asked.
“She needed someone,” I said, keeping my voice light. “I had time.”
Cleo squinted at me. “And you, of all people, were the most logical choice?”
I’d known they’d push. Of course they would.
Imani drummed her nails against the table, her expression too amused. “You really expect us to buy that?”
I took a slow sip of water. “I don’t care if you do or not.”
Cleo, still mesmerized by Hazel, tucked a finger under her tiny fist and grinned when she latched on. “Well, I don’t care. She’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. Are you keeping her?”
Imani rolled her eyes. “She’s not hers, Cleo.”
Cleo waved a hand. “Well, obviously, but this isn’t just a casual babysitting gig, is it?”
I hesitated. Just for a second.
Imani’s gaze sharpened. “You paused.”
Cleo gasped, delighted. “Oh, scandal.”
I exhaled through my nose, shifting the menu. “I didn’t pause.”
“You absolutely paused,” Imani said, her voice thick with satisfaction. “Which means we were right. It’s not just babysitting.”
I ignored her, flagging down the waitress. “Can I get the aubergine parmigiana? And—” I glanced at Cleo and Imani. “Another round for them?”
The waitress nodded and disappeared, but neither of my best friends had taken the hint.
Cleo sighed, shifting Hazel’s blanket with gentle fingers. “Look, if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine—”
“Thank you.”
“—but that’s not going to stop us talking about it.”
I groaned.
Imani leaned forward, chin propped on her hand. “Who is he?”
“No one.”
She scoffed. “So no one just dropped their baby on your doorstep?”
“It’s just a favor.”
Cleo waved her hand. “Move it along. Who’s the favor for? Is he hot?”
“Ew.” I scrunched up my nose. “It’s a favor to my dad, okay? Can we move on now?”
Cleo wrinkled her nose. “What kind of favor does your dad need that involves a baby?”
I made a vague gesture. “You know how he is.”
Cleo scoffed. “Controlling? Strategic? Terrifying?”
“Exactly.” I picked up my water, hoping the subject would die there.
“So, what?” Imani side-eyed me, a little smirk curling her lips. “You’re looking after some important client’s kid? Someone from the team?”
I hesitated again and silently cursed myself when Cleo snapped her fingers excitedly.
“Oh, shit. It’s a driver, isn’t it?”
Imani inhaled sharply, leaning in. “Oh my God. Is it Stefano’s? That man would absolutely forget he had a child until it showed up at his garage in a go-kart.”
I choked on my sip of water. “No.”
Cleo studied me, eyes narrowing. “Not Stefano. Not anyone from the old grid…” Then her expression shifted, a slow grin curling at the edges. “Oh my God. Is it Griffin?”
Imani smacked the table. “It is.”
“No, it’s not,” I hissed too quickly.
Cleo let out a delighted laugh. “You cannot lie to save your life.”
I shoved a hand through my hair. “I’m not lying.”
Imani tilted her head. “You’re evading.”
“I’m protecting my own sanity.”
Cleo nudged my shin under the table. “Is he as insufferable in real life as he is on TV?”
I groaned. “Can we please move on?”
Imani sat back, shaking her head. “Vi, you realize you just confirmed it, right?”
I shot her a glare.
Cleo whistled low. “So, Griffin Michaels has a secret love child.”
“Would you keep your voice down?”
Cleo and Imani wouldn’t tell anyone. I knew that.
But if I couldn’t keep it from them, what chance did I have with reporters?
I shouldn’t go to Singapore.
Cleo grinned. “I mean, it makes sense. The man gives off strong serial sperm donor energy.”
Imani choked on her drink. “Cleo.”
“What?” She shrugged, unbothered. “You think someone that pretty doesn’t have questionable judgment?”
I groaned, rubbing my temples. “Can we not speculate on Griffin’s reproductive habits?”
Imani smirked. “Little late for that, Vi.”
Cleo propped her elbows on the table and leaned forward, eyes sparkling with mischief. “So what’s the deal? Surprise pregnancy? Secret baby mama in the Alps? Or is he just running a private nursery out of his penthouse?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “You’re unhinged.”
“Vi,” Imani breathed. “Be honest with us. This isn’t just a quick favor, is it?”
My fingers tightened around my water glass and Cleo and Imani’s teasing energy melted away.
I sighed, slumping back against the booth. “It’s… complicated.”
Imani reached for a sugar packet, rolling it between her fingers. “Yeah, babe. We figured.”
“It’s temporary.”
Cleo gave me a knowing look over the rim of her drink. “Uh-huh. How temporary?”
“End of the season.”
Imani let out a low whistle, dropping the sugar packet onto the table.
“So you’re a full-time nanny for four months.
” She let that sit for a second, then shook her head.
“Be serious. You barely trust people to load a dishwasher correctly. You think you can just... hand a child back and be done with it?”
“Yes,” I said flatly.
Cleo squinted. “And this is definitely just about helping out?”
“Of course it is.”
Cleo made a thoughtful noise, stirring her drink with her straw. “Hmm.”
I leveled her with a look. “What does hmm mean?”
Imani drummed her fingers against the table. “It means we’re debating whether to believe you.”
“Believe whatever you want.” I huffed. “I agreed to help for a couple of months, and then I’ll be back to my actual life.”
Cleo tapped her chin. “And in your actual life, you famously hate drivers.”
“Exactly.” I pointed at her like she’d made my case for me. “I hate drivers. Hazel’s dad is no different.”
Cleo tipped her head, eyes narrowing. “Wait. What exactly is the arrangement here? Do you live with him?”
I sighed. “Yes.”
Both of them froze.
Imani’s brow shot up. “You—You live with Griffin Michaels.”
Cleo made a high-pitched sound in the back of her throat. “Under the same roof? With him?” She clapped a hand over her mouth like she’d just uncovered the biggest scandal of the year.
I rolled my eyes. “It’s not like that.”
Imani blinked at me. “Vi, you hate drivers. You literally call them feral.”
“Exactly.” I threw my hands up. “They are feral!”
Cleo let out a disbelieving laugh. “And yet you willingly moved in with the most insufferable one of them all.”
“I didn’t willingly move in,” I muttered. “It was… logistically necessary.”
“Wait.” Imani stared at me, her brows pulling together like she was solving a puzzle. “Oh, Vi.”
Cleo’s gaze darted between us. “What?”
“You didn’t just agree to help, did you?” Imani crossed her arms, her voice tight with frustration. “He forced you.”
Cleo’s lips parted in disbelief. “Oh my God. He blackmailed you.”
Imani’s expression darkened. “Again.”
I groaned, pressing my fingers into my temple. “Would you both stop making this sound like a crime?”
Imani shook her head, anger creeping into her voice. “Vi, this is exactly what we were talking about before. He pulls this shit every time. You know that, right?”
My stomach twisted. Of course I knew. Julian Carter had spent years perfecting the art of making compliance look like a choice.
Cleo waved a hand. “You could have told us! We would’ve figured something out.”
“There wasn’t time,” I muttered.
“There’s time now,” Imani said. “Look, I know it’s not ideal, but loans exist. Grants. I can ask around at work—”
I shook my head before she could even finish. “I don’t qualify for scholarships.”
Cleo frowned. “How do you know?”
“Because my last application got denied before they even read it,” I muttered, picking at the seam of my napkin. “They don’t give financial aid to students with rich parents.”
Imani rolled her eyes. “God, I hate rich people.”
Cleo perked up. “Oh! My office is looking for a temp assistant. Not glamorous, but it pays well.”
I sighed. “Guys.”
“No, listen.” Imani’s determined eyes fixed on me. “If you got a job now, you could start saving, move out, find a way to cover tuition yourself.”