Page 1 of Baby Contract

Chapter One

CARR

“Iknow Dex is your cousin, but he’s the worst. The absolute worst!” cries Megan. The blonde is the latest in a long string of blondes that Dex has made cry. Fortunately, most of them never make it into my inner sanctum. Unfortunately, this latest one has a ring on her left finger and was, until a few weeks ago, carrying his child. She’s since given birth, and the sleeping baby is resting in a carrier on the side of my desk, wrapped in a pink Gucci blanket. I wasn’t aware that Gucci made baby blankets.

I discreetly check the time. Megan has been crying for fifteen minutes. Does a person even have enough water in them to cry for that long?

“What am I to do? I’m not the motherly type. Do I look like a mother to you?” Megan flicks her fingers down her frame that’s currently wrapped in a tight black dress. She definitely does not look like she gave birth six weeks ago.

”I don’t think there’s any standard mother look.” I try to think of the last mother I’ve had contact with and can only conjure up mine, who is perpetually gowned in her Chanel tweed suits with her No. 5 perfume wafting around her like a scented cloud. Nothing like Megan.

“I am not a mother. I’m twenty-eigh—I’m twenty-two—“ She catches herself and quickly revises the number. “I’m meant to be at Fashion Week and premieres, not changing diapers and cleaning up baby vomit. If I’m awake at three in the morning, it’s because I’m coming back from Club Nine One after seeing a surprise private performance by Harry Styles, not because this child decides it only wants to sleep during the day and never at night. Do you understand?” Her rant ends on a high-pitched shriek. The baby’s eyes pop open. Her little hands turn into fists, and the cry that erupts from the tiny body is louder than a fire engine. This only makes Megan more upset, and the two girls sob in unison. Misery.

Megan jumps to her feet and grabs her tiny purse. “I can’t do this, Carr. I’m not cut out for this life. I’m sorry.”

“Wait—“ I rise from my chair and hold out my hand, but Megan is nearly running for my study door. “Dammit, Megan, you can’t leave your baby here. Megan, come back here. Fuck.”

I can’t leave the baby. I grab the carrier handle and stride after Megan, only to hear the front door slam shut.

Errol, my housekeeper, gazes helplessly at me. “What could I do? Physically restrain her?”

If he had, she probably would have sued him. He tightens his apron strings and comes over to peer into the baby carrier.

“The child is very loud.”

“Yes.”

We can barely hear each other over the volume of this tiny being’s screams.

“Is there a bottle?” He pokes around the sides of the carrier, but there’s nothing but a baby and a blanket. The little tyke screams louder, and her face grows so red, I’m alarmed. “Maybe it’s in her bag,” he suggests. “Did she bring a bag with her?”

I can’t remember. I hurry back to the study, and by the chair Megan was sitting in is a big Louis Vuitton bag. I rummage through it and find two empty bottles. I hold them up. “What now?”

“Is there formula?”

I find a small container with a baby’s face on it. “Can you make this?” I hand over the bottles and the formula.

Errol stiffens. “I can make a perfect risotto. Baby formula will not be a problem.”

As we enter the kitchen, my driver appears.

“Oh thank Christ.” I shove the carrier into Ben’s arms. He has two kids. Granted they are adults now, but he had to have handled an infant at some point.

“What’s this?” he shouts over the ongoing cries. That baby’s lungs are stronger than Secretariat’s.

“Dex got some woman pregnant, and she left the baby here. Errol is making formula. I’m gonna call Dex. You get this baby to stop crying.”

Ben ducks his head to look into the carrier. “I haven’t held a baby in twenty-something years.” Gingerly, he reaches inside and pulls the tiny body out.

“Be careful,” I caution.

He shoots me an exasperated look, so I shut up.

“Little tyke’s probably hungry. How’s the formula coming?” Ben asks Errol.

“I’m working as fast as I can, but water takes time to heat. Can’t you get the baby to stop crying? It’s making me jittery.”

“I agree.” My head’s pounding as if I went on a five-day bender.

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