Page 39 of Baby Daddy
Upon hearing us enter, she stopped what she was doing and gazed up at us. A smile graced her porcelain-skinned face. She’d stayed out of the sun for years to avoid wrinkles and now her self-discipline had paid off. While all her friends were constantly getting Botox injections and subjecting themselves to myriad youth-inducing procedures, my mother had never undergone either the knife or a needle and looked stunning.
“Why, hello, children,” she began, her voice breathy and regal. “How was skating?”
“It was SO much fun!” exclaimed Tyson, holding Dee’s hand. “Drake says I’m a natural girl, but I don’t know what that means.”
Dee shot her a stern look. “You mean ‘a natural’ which means things came easy to you. You shouldn’t be boasting.”
Tyson gave her a puzzled look. “What’s boasting?”
“Showing off.”
I quickly came to the little girl’s defense. “Mom, she’s not showing off. Tyson did amazing. By the time we were done, she could skate around the entire rink by herself and do a bunny hop.”
I watched proudly as the twinkly-eyed child demonstrated the rudimentary jump. My mother’s face lit up. It was no secret she had always wanted another child—a little girl—but that never happened after the tragedy.
“Darling, you’re a child after my own heart. I began skating at your age, and my son took to the ice almost as soon as he could walk.”
I felt myself reddening. But that was a fact. Before I could say a word, Tyson tugged at Dee’s sweater.
“Mommy, I want a pretty skating costume like Drake’s mommy’s.”
“They’re very expensive.” I detected a bit of frustration in Dee’s voice. It must be hard to not be able to give your kid whatever he or she wanted. But then I remembered that despite their extreme wealth, my parents made me work for what I wanted. And save up. Even in college. I so fucking wanted that Mustang convertible, but it took being a sperm donor to finally get one. My parents had no clue how I’d earned the money. I told them I worked in the campus bookstore (fat chance!) and they believed me. My wanking-off-for-dollars days filled my head and distracted me. So, when I heard a familiar breathy voice call out my name, I was startled.
My heart jumped, hurtling me back to the moment. Standing at the entrance to the dining room was Krizia Vanderberg, the stunning daughter of my father’s financial advisor, Karl. Once an aspiring actress, she now had her own public relations firm and counted us among her clients. We’d grown up together, and both sets of parents thought we were a match made in heaven. They were wrong. I had no interest in Krizia and never had. She was pushy, abrasive, and manipulative, qualities that served her well in her new career. And qualities that turned me off along with her relentlessness to get me into bed and put a ring on her finger. A wild party girl, she stalked me at events and once went as far as throwing a glass of champagne in my face when I refused to take a photo with her. And then there was the time she tried to unzip my fly and grab my cock. The list went on and got worse. With her acute mood swings, sometimes I wondered if she was manic-depressive or high on something. My father had recently been urging me to get to know her better—start up a relationship—especially since Gunther Saxton was looking for me to settle down. While my father thought highly of Krizia as a professional, he had no clue about her stalking tendencies or erratic behavior in her personal life. I held back on sharing this info with him because of his long-time relationship with her father. Moreover, she’d been instrumental in bringing Gunther and my father together. Gunther, it turned out, was also her client. So, I found myself walking on eggshells, risking setting Krizia off and upsetting the all-important Saxton Enterprises takeover.
I met her feline green eyes. I hadn’t seen her in a while. She’d been away on a business trip in South America for several weeks. Holding a mimosa in one hand, she looked as beautiful as ever. Tall, slender, and bronzed. Fresh and rested. Her mane of flaming red hair cascaded over her shoulders in soft, lustrous waves, and her tight designer jeans and halter-top showcased her supermodel figure. Given how beautiful she was, neither my mother nor father could understand why I wasn’t attracted to her. She was, according to them, perfect marriage material.
“Why aren’t you saying hello, Drake darling?” she pouted, snubbing Dee and her little girl.
“Krizia, what are you doing here?” My tone was as cold as ice.
“Why just helping your mother with the seating arrangement for the upcoming gala. It’s mega important that Gunther sits next to the right people.”
My mother smiled. “It’s such a Godsend to have her here. She’s been so helpful.”
“Thank you, Alexis. The party is going to be divine.”
“Krizia literally just got back from Brazil,” my mother informed me, “where she had a lot of work.”
Shooting me a seductive smile, Krizia sauntered into the room. On closer inspection, it was obvious what kind of “work.” Plastic surgery. Her tits looked noticeably bigger as did her lips, and that little bump on her otherwise perfect nose was gone. Her eyes shifted to Dee and Tyson, giving them the once over.
“Drake, why don’t you introduce me to your friends?” Her voice was coated with disdain.
“I recognize you from the photos I saw of you with Drake online,” Dee said before I could make the introductions.
A predatory smile snaked across Krizia’s plump lips. “And you are…”
“Dee. Drake’s temp.”
Krizia’s arched brows shot up. “Really?”
“Mona’s daughter gave birth early. She’s taking a few weeks off to be with her new grandson,” I explained, trying my best to get through this uncomfortable encounter.
“Whatever,” sniffed Krizia dismissively. Egocentric Krizia had little interest in the affairs of other people, and she detested children. Sitting down at the table next to my mother, her venomous gaze fixed on Tyson. “And who is this little imp?”
I cringed. Fucking Krizia. I wanted to stuff one of my mother’s paper seating arrangements down her throat.
Tyson looked up at her mother, her eyes full of innocence. “Mommy, what’s an imp?”
Dee protectively wrapped her arm around her daughter and then narrowed her eyes at Krizia. Poison darts were going back and forth between them and I was in the crossfire. There was nothing I could do except get the hell out of here as fast as I could.
Before Dee could respond to Tyson, I bit out, “Mom, we need to go. I promised I’d take Dee and her daughter to The Beverly Hills Hotel coffee shop for lunch.”
“But darling, I’ve had Blanca prepare a lovely salad with fresh Alaskan king crab. Your favorite. Why don’t all of you stay and join us?”
“Yes, why don’t you…Drake?” echoed Krizia, taking a slow sip of her mimosa.
Dee answered for me. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Hanson. Tyson is highly allergic to crabs and so am I.”
Krizia fired Dee a scathing look. My chest constricted. And I was allergic to bitches.