Page 6 of Curvy Fake Wife for the Player

The door flung open immediately and Mr. Witter appeared with wild, frantic eyes as he reached out and grabbed my wrist, yanking me inside.

“Thank god you’re here,” he growled and then dropped my arm as if he just now realized his faux pas. “Sorry. But I’m glad you’re here.”

“It’s all right. What’s the problem?”

“Which one?” He asked around a snort and scrubbed a hand down his face. It was then I noticed that Mr. Witter didn’t have a shirt on. His chest and back were smooth and perfectly bronzed, like a statue. Covered in muscles and ink, he was a sight to behold as I followed him towards the sound of a baby crying. “This is the problem.” He stepped aside and motioned towards the overstuffed sofa where the little girl laid on her back, naked with her feet kicking in the air.

I should have bitten back the laughter, but it fell free before I could compose myself. Three discarded diapers dotted the sofa, each one more mangled than the previous.

“You’ve never changed a diaper.”

“No.” His answer was simple and plain, no excuses. I appreciated that.

“First, your sofa is far too nice to double as a changing table.” But since it seemed that fatherhood was thrust upon him, I decided to cut him a break. “Do you have more diapers?”

“A few,” he grumbled and handed me one. “They’re tricky. Good luck.”

I smiled at him and then down at the little girl who wore a sweet smile. “Okay, Mr. Witter, at first this seems impossible, but after two or three diaper changes, you’ll see it’s nothing.” To prove my point, I grabbed the baby at her ankles and slid the diaper underneath her, making use of the diaper ointment and baby powder on the coffee table beside me. “Front flap up, left sticker and then right sticker, and there you go!” I lifted the baby in the air, her legs and arms kicking as she cooed sweetly. “Fresh as a daisy.”

“How did you do that?” His green eyes were wide with shock, a look of awe on his face.

“Like I said, it’s easy once you know what you’re doing. You’ll catch on,” I assured him as my gaze raked over his naked torso.

He seemed to realize just now that he was half naked. “She squirmed and nearly rolled off the sofa when I removed the dirty diaper and I didn’t want her to fall.”

I chuckled at his dismay. “That’s why you need a changing table.”

“I don’t know what that is,” he admitted easily, something I noticed that rich and powerful men had a hard time doing. “Make a list of what she needs. Please,” he added belatedly.

I wanted to ask—badly—what in the hell had happened that led to a clear bachelor taking care of a baby, but again, it wasn’t my business. “I’ll do that, and maybe you can do something for me?”

He frowned as he raked one hand, and then the other, through his thick blond hair. “What’s that?”

“Tell me her name. Babies respond better when they have a familiar word to answer to.”

His brows furrowed. “I don’t know. When she arrived, she didn’t have one.” His cheeks turned a bright shade of pink and he shook his head. “It’s complicated, but I guess I have to give her a name?”

I didn’t want to add to his guilt or whatever else he was feeling, so I only nodded. “What did she come with?” It looked as if I would have to dive right into whatever this messy situation was, and it was lucky for Mr. Witter and his little girl that I handled messy like a pro.

“Just the bag,” he said and pointed to a pale blue bag covered in daisies. “It had a few baby items in it, but that was it.”

“No note?”

“Attached to the carrier,” he said absently.

The more pieces of the puzzle were revealed to me, the greater my sympathy for this situation became. “Do you mind?” I asked and pointed to the bag.

He nodded.

I went through the bag to see if there was anything he’d forgotten, because in my experience even the most detail oriented man tended to miss important things right in front of his face. I took inventory of what was left and it wasn’t much, about five diapers, two bottles pre-filled with formula, a fresh pack of baby wipes, and a few onesies.

“Told you there was nothing.”

I looked up at him with a smile as the little girl’s head fell against my shoulder. “Did you check all the pockets?” I didn’t wait for an answer as I dug into the smaller zippered areas and found a pacifier with a plastic sunflower on it, a bottle of distilled water, several bottle cleaners, and way in the bottom, a sheet of paper. I slowly freed the sheet and glanced down at what was a birth certificate, but the mother’s name was blacked out. “Hername is Dixie Summer Witter. She’s about six months old, give or take a week.”

He snatched the paper from my hands with an apologetic smile before he gave the document his full attention.

I watched in twisted fascination as at least a dozen different emotions splashed across his face. There was so much happening behind those green eyes, and I was more curious than I should be about the details. Suddenly, every emotion melted away and left a blank stare in its place. He lifted his gaze to meet mine, something akin to embarrassment in his eyes.

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