Crazy for Loving You A Bluewater Billionaires Romantic Comedy - Pippa Grant Page 0,28
much to me is hard, “but he’s got me, so no worries there. As for what I know about babies…I’m getting plenty of on-the-job training, and he’s really pretty awesome.”
“This baby is the luckiest baby in the world to have you,” Luna tells me.
“In so many ways,” Emily agrees.
“And us,” Cam pipes up. “We’re going to be the aunts he never knew he wanted. Dibs on the college fund!”
“I’m sure my grandma’s taking care of the college fund and trust fund and IRA,” I tell my friends. “Provided he doesn’t fuck it up when he turns twenty-one, but she’d be over a hundred by then, so he might be spared the family test. Except for the part where she’s part-vampire and basically immortal. So maybe I should do a college fund for him too.”
Emily snorts in amusement.
“Vampire would explain a lot,” Cam says, more to herself than to me. “I wonder if the mirror thing is true. That would be a simple way to conduct a test.”
“What did your mom say about the baby?” Luna asks. She peers hesitantly toward the cabana hut, her voice dropping like she’s afraid she’ll wake him.
“She doesn’t know yet. She’s out of reach on my yacht.”
That earns me a healthy side-eye from all three of them, but they don’t press it.
“Will she try to move in?” Emily asks. “We can amend the community rules to dictate that anyone over thirty can’t live with their parents. I don’t think it would impact any other families in the neighborhood. And I’m already getting requests for another community forum since your note went out about increased security for the baby. But it would mean another association meeting…”
“Oh, psh. I’ll hire stunt doubles for us,” I assure her.
“I’m not letting a stunt double stand-in for me during negotiations.”
We all crack up. Well, except Emily. Once a quarter, we have meetings with the Bluewater residents for them to air their complaints and make suggestions for improvements. As the community’s management team, final decisions are in our hands, and we always send Emily in to negotiate terms of improvements.
She has a well-earned reputation for being tough but fair, and I always bring the alcoholic beverages because it makes watching the proceedings that much more fun.
Luna strokes my hair. “Your house isn’t big enough to share with your mom? Your mom is awesome.”
“She is,” I agree. “But I still don’t want her talking to Cristoff.”
Emily’s eyes go wide. She gets him half the week, and I get him the other half. Our chef is the most temperamental culinary genius I’ve ever met. I pay him exceptionally well, because I love food, and I especially love Cristoff’s food, and I’m secretly entertained at how easy it is to make that vein in his forehead throb and then make it all better by tossing out a perfectly timed By the way, Cristoff, I’ve never had better cinnamon pineapple risotto. One day you’ll be immortalized with a statue in the Chef Hall of Fame. Magnifique!
I like to think of it as my way of bringing balance to his life, because he wouldn’t appreciate the compliment if he wasn’t steaming hotter than a fresh-boiled lobster first.
“What’s wrong with your mom talking to Cristoff?” Cam asks.
“The last time she talked to him, she made him so mad in four seconds flat that he only prepped me California rolls and avocado pasta for the next three weeks. Which was delicious, by the way, because it’s Cristoff, but the point is, they can’t exist in the same kitchen space if I want any variety in my menu.”
“Wait, wasn’t that the time he made me that amazing garlic-shallot-butternut squash ravioli with prawns in a cream sauce?” Emily asks.
“No, that was the time he gave you peanut butter sandwiches for a week. The ravioli was after one of my guests told him her chef did tuna steaks better, because her chef cooked them all the way through. So he was insulted, but mostly on behalf of the tuna instead of on his own behalf.”
“Oh. Okay, yes, your mom definitely can’t talk to Cristoff.”
“Oh, no!” Luna suddenly says. “What are you going to do with the baby when you have to travel? Does he have a nanny? Will you take him along? What about…”
She trails off, and all three of my friends look at me.
Because what do you do with a baby while you’re having a hot weekend fling with an Italian stallion is probably beyond what all three of them