Baby Daddies - Tara Brown Page 0,32
my tone in check.
“Right.” Sukii lowers her gaze.
“Let me guess,” Jenny says with a wry grin. “You got it from an old widow for a song so you bought it as a little investment and now they’re using it for the wedding since it sits empty all year?” Her stare is challenging and for a moment it feels like we’re normal again.
“No.” I chuckle. “I paid a fortune for it almost five years ago. And yes, I was eighteen at the time. But I’ve had it renovated and it’s sort of a rental. I guess. I’ve used it a few times for personal events. My grandfather’s birthday was there a couple of years ago.”
“You bought a house when you were a teenager? Is that even legal?” she questions me with that sexy and challenging look.
“Not without a trust. But I figured it out.” My tone kills off the conversation.
When Bev puts her seat back, Jenny gets up and walks over to sit next to me.
“I’m sorry we’re always doing the ‘you’re twenty-two’ thing,” she mutters. “It’s not that you’re so young, it’s that we’re getting older and haven’t accomplished any of the things you have.”
“A five-year age gap isn’t long enough for you guys to catch up to me,” I say with a laugh as she whacks me playfully. “Because you haven’t had the advantages I have. I grew up a privileged rich kid. My dad’s friends helped me play the stock market. I snuck into my grandpa’s computers and found out how he was making money and gave my dad’s friends tips so they could invest for us all. Helping people get richer made me friends in the right places.”
“Jesus, how old were you?”
“Eleven.”
“What did your parents think?” She gasps.
I lean in and brush a kiss against her soft lips. “I don’t know, I don’t pay much attention to their opinions. I love them, they’re my family. That’s it.”
“Okay.” She narrows her gaze and changes the subject, obviously sensing my discomfort speaking about my family and the way I like to play them off as great and everything is fine. “Should I emotionally prepare for how big this house is? Is it some crazy mansion with staff calling you Mr. Eckelston?”
“Uhhh—maybe.” I pause and pull up my old purchase agreement for it.
“Witchwood Manor,” she reads with doubt in her tone. “This twenty-one-thousand square-foot waterfront mansion comes complete with a sixty-foot yacht. The Witchwood experience delivers comfort in every aspect of the home. The staff—two cooks, a bartender, two housekeepers, a butler, and a captain—are willing to stay on with the purchase so your every need is taken care of while you work on your tan. Does that say sixty-three million dollars?” Her eyes lift to mine. “Is that what you paid?”
“I told you, I didn’t get it from a widow for a song.”
“The main house comes with eleven bedrooms and fourteen bathrooms. There’s also a guesthouse with five bedrooms and six bathrooms, all of which is on five acres of waterfront property?” She turns to me again. “Why do all your houses have more bathrooms than bedrooms. What’s happening in your life that requires this?”
Bev snorts but pretends to sleep.
“So you own a hotel?”
“No, it’s—” I pause. “It would be more like an inn.” I offer Jenny that grin, the one I’ve realized she wants to punch off my face.
“This is crazy. Your life is crazy. No wonder you cried when you saw my apartment.”
“I didn’t cry,” I defend myself and turn to Cap who’s lifted his eyebrows. “I didn’t cry.”
“Yeah, you did.” She sits back and hands me my phone.
“Do you own crazy expensive houses too?” Bev asks Cap.
His cheeks flush and his gaze lowers as he pretends to laugh at the question. “No!”
We don’t mention what he lost in the divorce.
“Your life is so weird.” Jenny closes her eyes and leans on me, her cherry scent flooding my every breath.
It’s a quiet and heavenly flight of her lying on me, though it’s strange she keeps sleeping so much.
When we land, she wakes with a start and her hand slips to her stomach. She holds it like she’s not feeling well.
“You okay?” I ask.
She sits up and lowers her hand and we’re back to the awkward distance. “Yeah, good. We here?”
“We are.” I stand and help her up. Her hand in mine feels nice. I slide an arm around her waist, pinning her against me. “You ready?”
“Yes, I do like an inn. Does the cook make blueberry waffles?