Crazy for Loving You A Bluewater Billionaires Romantic Comedy - Pippa Grant Page 0,39

and glares at me with the kind of glare that could explain the dinosaurs going extinct all those millions of years ago, if she’d been around back then. “I’ve signed Remington up for music lessons, and—”

“No.”

“Mr. Jaeger—”

“He’s two fucking months old. Music lessons can wait.”

“You have a lot to learn about how children are raised in this family.”

“I’m his family. I say what he does.”

“Daisy is his family. You’d best learn your place.”

Christ. This woman knows how to piss a person off. “My place is right here. If you ever want to see this child again, you’re going to quit looking down your nose at me, quit issuing orders, and learn to say please. I don’t know where the hell you came from, but where I come from, a person’s character is determined by their actions, not their bank accounts. And I’m not raising a kid around people of questionable character who think music lessons are more important than making sure a kid knows he’s loved and safe. Now, you can either pick up a box of diapers and help get it to Remy’s room, or you can get the hell out of this house.”

Huh.

She just grew two feet taller.

That’s probably a bad sign.

Also a bad sign? That she can make me lose my temper with four words. There’s something about her haughty insistence that the world bend to her just because she wants it to that sets off all of my triggers. Who is she, really, to think she can play god?

“Mr. Jaeger, you do not issue orders around here. Speak to me like that again, and you won’t see this child again. Ever. Also, his name is Remington.”

I fold my arms and glare at her.

She folds her arms and glares back.

Daisy’s assistant is perched on the curved glass staircase behind us, leaning forward for a better angle on her phone.

Fuck. She’s recording this.

“Now,” I growl, “start over. Politely.”

“I believe we’ve already covered who issues orders in this house.”

“Daisy does. And since we got married over lunch, turns out, I do.”

Fuck. Fuck. I don’t know where the hell that came from, but it’s stupidly satisfying to see her face drain of all the blood.

Maybe this is why Daisy likes chaos so much.

There’s power in unpredictability when dealing with her grandmother.

“You did not,” she breathes.

“Didn’t we?”

She doesn’t know if she should believe me.

Lying goes against everything I was taught growing up, and everything I learned as a Marine.

But nothing about the past few days has followed the rules of life.

“Help or get out,” I growl.

“I’m not leaving until I speak with Daisy.”

The assistant is still aiming her phone at all of us. Definitely recording this for YouTube.

“That’ll be hard to do, since right after we said our vows, she had an allergic reaction to some shrimp,” I tell Imogen. “If she doesn’t make it, I’m the only hope you have of ever seeing this baby again.”

“Tiana. Where is Daisy?” she barks.

The assistant shrugs. “Last I heard, getting admitted to the emergency room. Cell reception’s spotty inside hospitals. And I didn’t catch which one, but Alessandro assured me they had real doctors on staff.”

“Daisy’s not allergic to anything.”

“She’s allergic to something, and she’s at the hospital.”

Her neck swivels until she’s aiming that apocalypse-inducing glare at me again. “You poisoned my granddaughter.”

Christ. Am I in a soap opera now? “Did you actually see your other granddaughter’s dead body, or is this all a conspiracy to ruin my life because I wouldn’t put a fountain in her fucking nursery?”

She sucks in an audible breath, and I can’t decide if I regret all those hours I spent listening to my sisters discuss Pretty Is As Pretty Does, that daytime show that my mom got them all addicted to, or if I’m having fun.

I’m probably not having fun if I have to question it.

She snaps her fingers, and a butler who was hiding behind a giant palm in the corner leaps to attention. “Yes, Mrs. Carter?”

“Pierson. Time to go.” She spears me with one last glare. “The Rodericks have filed more legal paperwork suggesting that you’re as unfit a parent as they claim Daisy is. Do not leave this house again until I say you can.”

Definitely not happening.

I have jobs to finish.

A house to check on.

And some sanity to get in touch with.

But mostly, I need to make sure Daisy’s okay.

And break the news to her that we’re married.

Christ.

I don’t know who I am today, but it’s not the same person I was when I