Page 22 of Penthouse Prince
Fucking snap out of it, Lex. She’s not here to play house with you.
Maybe I’d have a life like this if nineteen-year-old me hadn’t been such a cowardly dipshit. But that’s not how it went down, and that’s not what’s happening now.
Corrigan is just doing what needs to be done for Grier’s sake. I shouldn’t get used to this illusion of a shared home, and I definitely shouldn’t let myself be seduced by its warmth and get wrapped up in what could have been.
“So, what did you and Corrigan do today?” I ask Grier while soaping her up. “Tell me everything.”
“Yummy ice cweam. Seagulls said aaah!” She cracks up at her own noisy bird impression.
“Sounds like a great day by the beach,” I say. “And you painted too. Was that fun?”
“Yeah. Messy paint. I made big picture.” She flings her arms out to illustrate, pelting me with drops of soapy water.
“I saw. A masterful portrait of Her Highness, the great Princess T-Rex.”
“No, Daddy, it Flapflap playing in da sky.”
This time I’m the one who laughs. “Oh, you’re right. Sorry.”
I keep encouraging her with commentary as I scrub, rinse, and towel her dry. Her merry jabbering puts a smile on my face and melts away my stress about Mom’s health.
And if I strain my ears, I can just barely hear Corrigan working away downstairs.
God, she’s already done enough, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell her to go when she was willing to stay a little longer. Plus, I’d like to talk to her out of earshot of Grier before she leaves.
I spray detangler and comb out Grier’s curls. I learned the hard way that her hair must be brushed after her bath, otherwise it’ll tangle into a snarled mess.
As I dress her in pajamas, Grier says with big, solemn eyes, “My like Cor-gan lots.”
“Me too, baby girl,” I reply. Way too much.
“Say night-night?” Grier asks.
“Yeah, Corrigan has to go home. But we’ll . . .” There’s no guarantee we’ll see her soon, or ever again.
“No,” Grier says shrilly. “We give bye-bye!”
“Okay, sweetheart. Come on,” I say as I hoist her into my arms.
By the time I’ve reached the last stair, she’s already half asleep, her head heavy on my shoulder. I round the corner . . . and I’m astounded again. Everything is spotless and back in its proper place, except for the foil-covered plate she set out for me at the table, complete with silverware and a napkin.
Corrigan herself is waiting for me by the door with her purse. She looks beautiful.
I bring Grier close, and she reaches out to touch Corrigan’s arm.
“G’night,” Grier manages to mumble before her head drops back onto my shoulder, where she nestles in close, pressing her face to my neck.
“I’ll write you a check as soon as you decide your rate,” I whisper. And whatever figure she names, I’ll top it with a generous bonus. “I really can’t thank you enough for today. You seriously saved my skin.”
Corrigan runs her fingers through Grier’s hair. “It was no problem. I mean, when you first left, I kind of wanted to castrate you,” she whispers back, smiling. “But it was your mom. You couldn’t exactly ignore her. Besides . . . Grier is a really sweet little girl and we had a lot of fun today.”
“She is. She’s my whole world.” I hesitate, then think, Fuck it—nothing ventured, nothing gained, and take the leap. “And I need you, Corrigan. There’s no one else I’d trust.”
She looks away, swallows, and I’m so prepared to hear absolutely not that I almost don’t catch her murmuring, “I’ll do it. Text me the details.” And with that, she’s gone without another word.
I take Grier back upstairs, lay her gently in bed, and return to eat my dinner.
It’s the best spaghetti I’ve ever tasted.9* * *CORRIGANLet me state the obvious—two-year-olds are a lot of work.
Don’t get me wrong, Grier is absolutely precious. Sure, it took a while for the shock of the whole situation to fade, but once I had her wandering along the beach with her tiny hand in mine and the other with a death grip on a strawberry ice cream cone, something in my brain just switched. Yes, I wanted to chop Lexington’s balls off the second he walked out the door, but by the end of the day, I was actually a little bummed to be leaving my new bite-sized bestie behind.
Of course, that went away the second I slid into the driver’s seat of my car, when exhaustion hit me like a freaking tidal wave. I’m talking about a level of tiredness that no amount of coffee from Lexington’s fancy new espresso machine could fix. The kind of exhaustion that makes you wonder if caffeine pills are such a bad idea and, more importantly, if Lexington is superhuman for doing this whole parenting thing all by himself.
