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There’s nothing discreet about a little girl melting down in a small store, but my efforts at pulling her into line were. I bought us a little privacy by speaking to her in French. “Make a decision, Bridget,” I demanded.

  “Les deux,” she whimpered.

  “You can’t have both.”

  She fell forward, clung to my legs and began wailing as if her world was ending. The easy option would’ve been to cave and give her what she wanted. After a nanosecond of deliberation I went with the hard option and gave her what she needed instead.

  Slightly embarrassed by my feral kid, I scooped her up, apologised to the man behind the counter, and for the first time in her short life carried her out of a place kicking and screaming.

  ***

  It was a long cab ride home. Bridget spent the whole ride switching between calmly begging me to go back to the store and wailing about how mean I was when I refused. How we weren’t thrown out mid-journey is beyond me.

  Bridget didn’t notice that Charli was home when we got there, mainly because she refused to come inside. She parked her butt on the floor of the foyer and told me she wasn’t moving.

  “Okay,” I replied cheerily. “I guess I’ll see you later then.”

  Before she had a chance to sass me again, I closed the door.

  “What the heck is going on?” Charli rushed toward me. “You just locked our kid out?”

  “Today she’s your kid,” I clarified. “And she’s fine.”

  Charli couldn’t seem to find words. It was an understandable reaction. She’d missed all the drama. The only thing she saw was me locking our daughter out of the apartment.

  “She’s fine, Charlotte,” I mumbled, leaning against the door as if there was a chance the little bad wolf was about to bust her way in. “Trust me on this one.”

  After a long moment of focusing on Charli’s worried face, self-doubt began to niggle. I was just about to open the door when a tiny little knock came from the other side.

  I slowly opened it. “Yes, miss?” I asked. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m home now, Daddy.”

  Bridget was calm, collected and marginally contrite. She also looked exhausted. Tantrums take a lot out of a girl. I stepped to the side and waved my arm as if royalty was entering. “Welcome back, Bridge,” I announced. “We missed you.”

  ***

  There’s no rest for the wicked, which is unfortunate because despite the fact that she needed a ten-hour nap, Bridget had dinner plans for the evening.

  I thought Ryan’s scheme of using her to win his date over was stupid, but Charli had already agreed to let her go. I didn’t argue because with Bridget gone, I’d have her mother to myself for a few hours.

  “It’s not a real date,” explained Charli. “He’s going out with Bente.”

  “And he needs Bridget to referee?”

  “Don’t be cynical,” she scolded. “He’s really looking forward to it.”

  So was his niece. She came bounding down the hallway with an armful of clothes. It must’ve been a heavy load. She stopped short and hurled them the rest of the way.

  “Which one are you wearing, Bridge?” asked Charli, stooping to pick them up.

  “All of them,” she replied matter-of-factly.

  “Pick one dress,” instructed Charli. “You can’t wear them all.”

  Perhaps confused by the déjà vu moment she was having, Bridget frowned. “Do I have to give you my money?”

  Charli thrust a yellow dress at her. “Bring it back undamaged and there’s no charge.”

  Satisfied with her answer, Bridget took off to her room dragging the dress behind her. Charli dumped the reject outfits on the couch. “Your dad gave her fifty dollars last night,” she explained.

  That would’ve been a good time to let her know that he’d actually given her ten times that amount, but I kept quiet. I was hoping for a peaceful evening making love, not war. I snaked my arm around her waist and pulled her against me.

  “Do you think I should say something to him or just let it go?” she asked.

  I swept her hair over her shoulder and kissed her neck.

  “Adam?”

  “What?”

  She tightened her grip on my forearm. “I’m talking to you.”

  “Sorry,” I murmured against her skin. “I couldn’t hear you over all the imaginary sex we were having in my head.”

  Her quiet laugh was as warm as she was. “Was it good?”

  “I’ll let you know in about half an hour when it plays out for real.”

  5. CREEPY BABIES

  Charli

  Ryan Décarie had undergone some changes of late. No one seemed to notice that he’d slowly been changing his ways, but I did. I couldn’t remember the last time he went out on a date, which probably explained his slightly nervous demeanour when he turned up at our door.

  I felt the sudden urge to give him a pep talk. “It’ll be fine, Ryan,” I encouraged. “Just be yourself.”

  “Don’t tell him that,” Adam teased. “Bente knows him. The only hope he’s got is if he pretends to be someone else.”

  The nerves must’ve really been getting to him. Ryan didn’t have a comeback. In fact, he ignored his brother completely. “Where’s Bridget?”

  “She’s just getting ready.”

  Ryan glanced at his watch. “Please Charli, no sparkly crowns or weird outfits. I need normal tonight.”

  I was about to ask him for his definition of normal when Bridget stormed the room, made a beeline for her uncle and crashed into his legs. Ryan obviously approved of the dress she was wearing. He thanked me.

  “The boots stay though,” I warned. “It’s as normal as we get.”

  “I can live with the boots.”

  It was Adam who wasn’t pleased. He called Bridget over and asked her to hand over her backpack. “The bag stays here, baby,” he told her.

  Bridget stood in front of her dad, hand on hips. It was a move we didn’t see often, for which I was grateful. There’s nothing remotely cute about a four-year-old with attitude.

  “I need it.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  There had been major drama that day. I hadn’t gotten around to asking what it was about so I didn’t dare intervene.

  “Please, Daddy,” she said sweetly.

  Adam stepped forward and took the bag off her back. Bridget didn’t protest, perhaps because Adam had the good sense to explain why he was doing it. “If Ryan finds out you’ve got all that money in there, he’s going to ask you to pay for dinner.”

  Bridget glanced back at her uncle. “True, Ry?”

  “Probably. I’m cheap like that.”

  “Hide it somewhere,” she urged her father in a very loud whisper. “Near my girls.”

  Adam nodded. “Understood.”

  Bridget returned to Ryan and grabbed his hand. “Ready, Ry?”

  “Born ready.” It was too bad if he wasn’t. Bridget was already dragging him out the door.

  I stood in the doorway until they reached the elevator, shamelessly eavesdropping on their conversation.

  “You have to use your money for the dinner, Ry,” Bridget instructed. “I don’t have any.”

  “Maybe it’s time you got a job then,” he replied.

  She didn’t miss a beat. “I will when I’m six.”

  I closed the door, chuckling, but the moment was lost the second I turned around. Adam was on the couch pulling wads of screwed-up money out of Bridget’s bag.

  “Where the hell did that come from?” I asked, aghast.

  He finished counting it before replying. “Apparently every time Dad sees Bridget he slips her fifty dollars,” he explained, dropping the pile on the coffee table. “There’s seven hundred bucks there.”

  “How dare he?” I was appalled. “She has no clue about money.”

  “I know,” he replied. “That was evident today when I tried to get her to part with it.”

  I listened as Adam filled me in on the debacle.
Hearing the details didn’t make me feel any better. I was furious. “You have to tell your father that it’s not okay to do that!” I stared at the stack of money. “I am so sick of being undermined all the time.”

  “Me too.” Ire was noticeably absent from his tone. Maybe it was because he’d had all day to stew over it, or perhaps it was because he had other things on his mind. He leaned to the side, pushing me onto my back. My body sank into the cushions as he pressed against me.

  I put my hands to his face in a futile effort to keep him at bay. “You’re thinking about imaginary sex again, aren’t you?”

  When he grinned, my thumb moved to the dimple in his cheek. “It’s getting closer to reality now,” he replied, expertly unbuttoning my shirt with one hand.

  It had been a long time since we’d had an evening alone together. Spending it in bed was a wonderful idea, but Adam seemed to think I needed convincing. His hand crept inside my shirt, trailing a gentle line across my body. In a very unsexy move, my stomach chose that moment to rumble.

  He lifted his head. “Hungry, Charlotte?”

  “Starving,” I reluctantly admitted.

  “Well that won’t do.” He got up, reached for my hands and pulled me to my feet. I stepped forward and pressed my body hard against him. “Dinner can wait.”

  “You need to keep your energy up.” He gave a wily grin. “My imagination ran wild this afternoon. I have big plans for us.”

  ***

  I opened a bottle of wine while Adam stood mindlessly watching the plate turning in the microwave.

  “There’s something very wrong with this picture,” he lamented. “Our daughter is probably enjoying filet mignon for dinner and we’re having reheated leftovers.”

  I wrenched his folded arms apart and worked my way into his hold. “I’m hungry enough to eat it. I worked through lunch.”

  “I didn’t,” he replied. “I had to bribe Bridget with nuggets so she’d be quiet in the office.”

  I looked up at him but Adam didn’t meet my eyes. “You went to work today?”

  “Only for a few hours,” he replied. “I had a few things that couldn’t wait until tomorrow.”

  Jean-Luc’s visit suddenly made sense. No wonder he was pissed. The only thing that would’ve infuriated him more than Adam being a no-show would’ve been Adam turning up with Bridget in tow.

  I suddenly felt incredibly selfish. Taking Bridget to the office would have been a nightmare. I’d tried it once, and vowed to never let her set foot in the gallery again. How had Adam coped?

  “What did Bridget do while you were there?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Played with her girls and typed emails on a calculator.”

  “And what did you do?”

  He looked at me. “What do you mean?”

  “I tell you about my job all the time. You never talk shop. I don’t even know what it is that you actually do.”

  Adam kissed me, connecting with my lips at the exact time that the microwave dinged. “It’s just not that interesting, Charli,” he murmured, breaking our embrace. “To either of us.”

  I used the time it took him to plate up dinner to think his words through. I had always been under the impression that Adam was cagey about his job because it was complicated and stressful. The truth was much simpler: it bored him.

  “I’m interested,” I insisted. “Will you tell me?”

  He turned around, a plate in each hand. “I’ll tell you everything you want to know,” he replied. “And then we’re going to bed.”

  ***

  Adam Décarie was a corporate lawyer. That much I knew. What I didn’t know was exactly what that meant. His explanation was an education and a half. Liaising between companies, negotiating mergers and drafting agreements sounded seriously hard-core. It also went a long way to explaining the ridiculous hours he worked.

  “Did you always want to be a corporate lawyer?”

  His dark blue eyes lit as he smiled. “Always.”

  “Why?”

  “You ask a lot of questions, Mrs Décarie.”

  I took a sip of wine. “You’re not usually this open with me,” I told him. “I’m taking advantage of your candidness.”

  “My plan for tonight was to take advantage of you.”

  His grin was distracting, but I wasn’t quite done. “Why corporate law?” I asked.

  He let out a sigh. “Because it’s less adversarial than other aspects of law,” he explained. “I don’t usually deal with wronged parties or criminals or people who’ve been ripped off. It’s all about negotiating and closing amicable deals.”

  “So, you like your job?”

  He grinned. He knew I was trying to garner some sort of confession out of him. “I like lots of things.”

  He pushed back his chair, making room for me on his lap. “Give me an example,” I demanded.

  “I like you,” he murmured, slipping his arm around me. “I like you a lot.”

  “And?”

  “And our kid,” he added.

  I smiled at him. “I like her too.”

  Adam dropped his head, whispering his next words into my ear. “Can we please go to bed and make another one?”

  After toying with the idea for a year-and-a-half, the decision to have another baby had finally been made a month earlier. Meeting my little brother was the clincher. Convincing Adam that the time was right took no effort at all. If he’d had his way, we would’ve had a flock of free-range babies by now – and they probably wouldn’t have been growing up in New York.

  ***

  Running with the good cop, bad cop style of parenting only seemed to work for us some of the time. The biggest problem was, the little crook favoured the bad cop. Adam was much stricter with her than I, but Bridget relished the challenge.

  The latest battle in the very long war played out over breakfast. Bridget was still keen to offload the small fortune her grandfather had given her, and Adam wasn’t making it easy for her.

  She wanted him to take her back to the store he’d carried her out of mid-tantrum the day before, and her pleas were falling on deaf ears.

  “I will spend my money nicely,” she assured him.

  Adam stood and picked up his empty coffee mug. “Not happening, Bridge.” He leaned down and kissed her as he passed her. “You chose to be a brat. You don’t get two bites of the apple.”

  She twisted in her chair to look at him. “I love apples,” she countered.

  I laughed, but Bridget wasn’t seeing the funny side. She was too busy plotting her next move. “I’ll make a deal, Daddy.” I wasn’t surprised by her offer. Bridget and Adam liked to make deals. It was their thing.

  Adam drew out her agony by making her wait for an answer. He poured another cup of coffee and sat back down at the table before uttering a word. “I’m listening,” he said finally.

  “I’ll spend my money nicely and that’s the deal.”

  Her smug tone was a little premature. Her father’s stance didn’t waver.

  “Your negotiation skills need some work, Bridget,” he replied. “Revise your offer and get back to me.”

  Bridget pointed her spoon at him. “I will,” she declared.

  As entertaining as breakfast wheeling and dealing was, it didn’t last long. Adam left for work, Mrs Brown turned up to watch Bridget, and I made my way to a very familiar address on Fifth Avenue.

  ***

  Fiona was expecting the delivery of the artwork Jean-Luc had bought, but she was not expecting me to deliver it. “Have you been demoted, darling?” She wasn’t even kidding. She looked truly looked concerned.

  “No.” I huffed out the word in a laugh. “I just wanted to bring it over myself.”

  Her frown made way for a bright smile and open arms. “Come,” she urged, waving me through the door. “It’s lovely to see you.”

  I set the picture on the table in the foyer and offered to unwrap it. “Do you want to see it? He chose well.”

  Fiona grabbed my hand
and spun me to face her. “No, darling,” she replied looking me up and down. “I’d rather look at you. You always look so beautiful when you make an effort.”

  I dropped my head, glancing down at my outfit. I didn’t think there was anything particularly special about the pale blue dress I was wearing until I remembered that she’d bought it for me. “It’s one of my favourites,” I lied.

  Her face lit up. “I adore shopping for you – and for Bridget.”

  A braver woman might’ve taken the opportunity to air her grievances regarding excessive gift-giving, but I wasn’t brave. I smiled and thanked her instead.

  “Come,” she said, leading me toward the stairs. “I have something to show you – a gift for my granddaughter.”

  A hundred excuses for not accepting it ran through my mind as I followed her, but none were polite enough to say out loud.

  “She really doesn’t need any more presents,” I said gently. “Maybe you should keep it until her birthday.”

  The queen spun to face me. “Nonsense. Her birthday has only just passed.”

  “Which is exactly why you shouldn’t be buying her gifts.”

  Fiona frowned, but wasn’t angry. I’d hurt her feelings, which was ten times harder to deal with. “She’s the only grandchild I have,” she said pitifully. “Please don’t taint that with rules.”

  “I won’t,” I mumbled. I’d let Adam do it.

  Fiona led me into her bedroom and disappeared inside her massive walk-in closet. I remained near the doorway, unsure of what to do. The only thing that dulled the awkwardness was the fact that she kept talking.

  “Bridget’s going to love this,” she predicted, from somewhere deep in the closet. “I’ve had it on order for weeks.”

  I felt like closing the door and locking her in; I could use the time alone to bounce on the massive four-poster bed. The thing was magnificent. Thankfully I managed to hold myself back.

  “I’m sure she’ll love it,” I called distractedly.

  The second she reappeared I wanted to rescind that statement. Whatever she was holding was oddly wrapped in a small pink blanket. The closer she got to me, the more I convinced myself that it was alive – or at least once was.