The Diaper Diaries. Abby Gaines

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ

      He would do the same at their meeting next week. It wouldn’t make any difference if she was coherent, babbling or speaking Swahili.

      Bethany’s future flashed before her eyes, and it wasn’t a pretty sight. She’d have to pull out of the research team at Emory; she’d been a late addition to the team, accepted on the basis of her funding from the foundation. Every cent was allocated, they couldn’t carry freeloaders. She would have to start traipsing around the charitable foundations, submitting applications, presenting her case. And every time, she’d be up against dozens of other worthy projects.

      This could mean the end of the goal she’d worked toward since she was thirteen years old.

      She could find a way to deal with the recriminations from her parents—she just wouldn’t answer her phone for a year—but knowing she’d failed to do the one thing that would make any sense of Melanie’s death…that would haunt her.

      Now Tyler stood before her, frowning with faint confusion, as if he couldn’t understand why she was still in his office, still holding “his” baby. He didn’t give a damn about the children she hoped to save. Did he care about anyone, other than himself?

      Bethany’s mouth set in a determined line. “I’m not leaving until I’m certain you’ve made acceptable arrangements for this baby.”

      “For Pete’s sake.” His hands came together in a throttling motion that she hoped was involuntary. “I told you, I’ll find a sitter. I’ll have Olivia call you later and let you know how I get on.”

      “Does that work the same as, ‘Call Olivia and have her slot you into my diary’?”

      A smile tugged at Tyler’s mouth. Surprise, surprise, he wasn’t taking her seriously again.

      “Do you know how to choose a sitter?” she demanded. He probably planned to ask one of his girlfriends. Goodness knew what sights the poor baby might be subjected to. “You need someone qualified. And I mean capable of more than sashaying down a catwalk.”

      He laughed out loud. “Modeling is a very demanding profession,” he chided. “I’ve been told many times.”

      “I’m trying to say—”

      “I am saying, this is none of your business,” he interrupted. “I assure you, though I don’t have to, and I really don’t know why I’m bothering, that I’ll hire a qualified, professional sitter, the best that money can buy.”

      Everything came back to money.

      He had it, she needed it.

      Which seemed so monumentally unfair, Bethany wanted to cry.

      “We’re done here.” Tyler took a step toward the door. “I’ll be happy to update you about the baby at our meeting next week. If you’ll hand him over to me…”

      “No,” Bethany said. Because an idea was glimmering in the recesses of her mind, and she just needed a minute to tease it into the open.

      “You don’t want an update?” He added hopefully, “Or you don’t want to meet next week?” It obviously didn’t occur to him she wasn’t about to hand over the baby.

      It was coming closer, her idea, coalescing into a plan. A plan to get money out of him, without her having to beg, or rob him at gunpoint, both of which had occurred to her in the course of this encounter.

      “I want,” she said casually, confidently and—best of all—coherently, “you to hire me as your babysitter.”

      The allure of Bethany’s feisty brand of cute was wearing off fast, Tyler decided. And the way she was holding on to the baby as if he was a bargaining chip was decidedly alarming. “No way.”

      “I’ve worked with social services in the emergency room,” she said. “They know me, they trust me. When I tell them you’re not a fit guardian for this baby, they’ll be around here faster than you can proposition a supermodel.”

      “I doubt that’s possible,” Tyler said coolly. “But, humor me here, why exactly would you want to tell social services that?”

      “Because it’s true.” Her tone said, Duh, and he could see she believed it. “I’m not going to let you risk this child’s well-being because you want, for whatever reason, to keep him—” She stopped. “I bet you see this baby as some kind of chick magnet.”

      “I’m a chick magnet. And I don’t need you telling lies to social services.” Just the thought of her carrying out that threat made Tyler go cold. He imagined the resulting furor when the news hit the headlines. He might as well go out and have Don’t choose me to run a family think tank tattooed on his forehead right now.

      “If this is about the handbag incident,” he said, “I swear I was nowhere near that nightclub, and I haven’t seen either of those women in a long time.”

      “What handbag incident?” She shifted the baby to her other shoulder.

      Great, why didn’t he make things worse? “Just kidding. Look, how about I let you choose a sitter—one who meets whatever standard you want to set.” He reached for the baby. “Here, he looks heavy, why don’t you pass him over.”

      She squinted at him and held the infant tighter. “The standard is, it has to be me.”

      “You’re overqualified,” he said. “And you have lives to save. Your research, remember?”

      “The research I’ve run out of money for,” she pointed out. “I’ve been pulling shifts in the E.R. for weeks now, so I can use some of the foundation’s grant to extend my assistant’s hours. But as of this week, she’s working for someone else until I get more money.”

      The money. Again. “I find it difficult to believe you have a burning ambition either to work for me or to be a babysitter.”

      “I admit I have an ulterior motive—access to you.” She turned her cheek to avoid a sudden grab by the baby. “I’ll use up the vacation time I’m owed looking after this little guy until his mother is found, and I’ll spend every minute I can educating you about my research.”

      The days and weeks stretched before Tyler in a Groundhog Day nightmare of lectures about kidneys and caring.

      “Did you think of demanding a renewal of your funding in exchange for your butting out of my business?” Not that he would have paid her off, but it would in theory have been simpler than this Machiavellian scheme.

      “That would be blackmail,” she said, shocked. “All I want is a fair hearing.” The baby blew bubbles, and she wiped gently at his mouth with her finger. “I’ll work for you—” the hardness of her voice, at odds with that tender gesture, startled Tyler “—and I’ll make you listen.”

      She couldn’t make him do anything. But he couldn’t afford to have her bad-mouthing him to social services. And he did need a qualified sitter. Plus, her knowledge, not just of how to look after this baby, but of wider child-related issues, might come in handy.

      Tyler made a decision—his decision, for his reasons. “You can have the job.” Her СКАЧАТЬ