Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
I nod, head spinning already. He keeps going with nary a pause. In the meantime, Maisie plays with my hair. She seems fascinated by it, wrapping the curls around her hand.
“Credit card”––Jordan slides a Visa card with my name on it across the counter. I stare at it in disbelief––“and cash is always in the drawer. I am trusting you.”
He looks pointedly at me, laser focused. He’s intimidating when he gets like this. All I can do is nod.
“The baby––she walks. Watch her carefully. She is to have the helmet on at all times when you go out.”
He’s a wannabe dictator. My new boss is a control freak. “Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously.”
“But don’t you think––”
“Yes, I do. And you shouldn’t,” he says, talking over me. “You’re paid to follow orders. Remember our deal? She could get hurt. The helmet stays on. I will text you when I’m on my way home. I don’t need to know your whereabouts during the day, but you are to be here when I get back.”
Finally, he pauses, takes a deep breath. His gaze softens to butter when he looks at Maisie. Then quietly, ever so quietly in that deep voice of his, “I like to be here when she has dinner.”
He averts his gaze as if there’s something shameful in that, fusses with the drawer. I finally found his soft spot. Nice to know he’s got one.
“Will do,” I say, desperately trying to hold down a smile. The Grim Reaper wouldn’t appreciate it.
“If anything comes up, anything at all, call me. No matter how small the problem.”
“Got it.”
“Don’t take anything into your own hands. Call me.”
“I’ll call you if anything should go wrong, but it won’t.” He doesn’t seem convinced. The worry lines are still there, etched between his brows. “You don’t have to worry Jordan. I’ll take good care of her.”
“One more thing. The most important one,” he says, his voice dropping an octave, his countenance very serious. As opposed to just serious like it always is.
I nod and await this most important command.
“Don’t ever lie to me, Riley. I can’t stand liars. Whatever it is, tell me the truth.”
An uncomfortable feeling stirs in my gut. I hate lying too but not all lies are created equal.
“Promise,” I tell him. I just hope I can keep that promise.
He exhales. “Okay. Let me see you change a diaper.”
“Not straight enough…No higher. You have to secure the diaper higher on her waist or it will be at her ankles in ten minutes. Higher, I said.”
I’m starting to sweat under his scrutiny. The man is worse that a Marine drill sergeant. The way he’s been carrying on for the past thirty minutes you would think if the diaper isn’t applied to his exacting standards a mortal disaster could happen. On top of which, he keeps checking his Rolex because he has a meeting to go to.
Earlier, he led me to this makeshift baby room with a crib and a changing table and proceeded to blow my mind. I watched him change a stinky, shit-filled diaper with proficiency while I stood by desperately trying not to gag and throw up in my mouth. Not my best moment. And credit where credit is due. The man can change a diaper.
The good news is that Maisie keeps giggling and kicking out her legs every time I tickle her belly. From what I’ve seen so far, she’s a happy baby.
“How’s this?” I ask, securing the last tab. Two perfectly clean shredded diapers lay on the floor in a discarded pile of test runs deemed not good enough by Grim.
He eyeballs my handiwork and checks his watch for the third time. “It’ll have to do for now. I’m late.”
He starts to leave and turns. “Don’t forget. Phone on. Be here when I get back. All food needs to be organic––”
This one’s new. “All food?”
“Yes, Riley, all the food you give this baby needs to be organic. What’s difficult about that?”
I mean, it’s kind of difficult. “Is there a reason?”
“The reason is I say so. Toxins and heavy metals introduced in the body at a young age contribute to illness later.”
I’m seeing a pattern here. Safety obsessed and now illness obsessed too. Hmmm. He walks out of the baby’s room without a farewell. Probably for the best.
A week later…
“He’s gone,” I coo at Maisie, bouncing her on my knees. I set up a play area in the kitchen so I can cook and watch Maisie at the same time and Grim and I had words about it. It’s been a rough week with a steep learning curve.
This morning was another doozy. Jordan introduced me to the stroller. “You know how this works?” he said, pulling it out of the hallway closet. I gave it a rough examination.
“I know how to use a table saw. I think I can figure this out.” This did not go over well with Mr. Safety Obsessed. I probably should’ve anticipated that. For the transgression, I received a ten minute lecture reminding me that I’m handling a baby, not a piece of wood. As if I needed reminding.