Daddy's Pretty Baby Read online

  “Yes, I’m Melissa,” I said carefully.

  “Well, Miss, I’d get out to open the door for you, but we need to skip-a-doodle, this is a fire lane and NYPD is gonna ticket me if they catch us. Here, Angela asked me to show this to you,” he said, reaching into his glove apartment, one age-spotted hand disappearing. I stiffened, unsure what to expect. Don’t people keep guns in their glove apartments?

  But it was merely Humphrey’s TLC license. That’s right, every driver in New York City needs to be registered with the Taxi and Limousine Commission, and Humphrey was part of the crew. His ID photo had been taken some forty years ago, his face unwrinkled and hair still brown in the pic, but it wasn’t expired and it was definitely him. So I took a deep breath, handed the card back before hopping in the car.

  “Okay,” I said, still a little nervous. “Let’s go.”

  Humphrey merely chuckled and nodded, pulling smoothly onto the West Side Highway. Perfect. If he’d headed off to the east side, I would have screamed, it was the wrong direction when you were driving to New Jersey. But no, we were going in the right direction, and what do you know, but the destination on his dashboard GPS read, “Valley Pine Estate.” Thank god for Google Maps. I was going to be okay, and not whisked off to a dungeon somewhere.

  So I leaned back and tried to enjoy the ride. Cityscape flew by, only to be replaced by the bridge, and then New Jersey developments. But that melted away too and soon I was rolling past clusters of trees, magnificent oaks and verdant pines, all lush and gorgeous. New Jersey is the Garden State, I’d forgotten, and tremendously beautiful, green and glorious.

  The trees parted like magic as we pulled into a gated community. My eyes grew larger, mouth hanging open in awe as we rolled by each house. Because these homes really were manors, straight out of Pride and Prejudice or Downton Abbey. The stone facades had to be at least three stories tall, with sprawling lawns circling each one, sometimes a fountain, sometimes gracious oak trees or a carefully manicured lawn, almost fluorescent green, they were so lush.

  And finally we rolled to a stop in front of a mansion with a thicket of pines surrounding it. This had to be Valley Pine, and sure enough, Humphrey brought the car to a halt.

  “Madame,” he said, bowing as he opened my door, a twinkle in his eye. “Welcome to the manor.”

  I stepped out tentatively, a little wobbly after the long ride, breathing deep. Mmm, it smelled good. The trees lent a woody scent to the air, and I could already feel my head clearing, my lungs inflating fully. Man, this place rocked and I already liked it. There was so much nature, such a wonderful change from the grittiness of the city.

  So I walked with a spring to my step to the front door and pressed the bell, a melodic chime ringing out. And what do you know, but a woman answered, probably Angela herself.

  “Hi, I’m Mel,” I said, as confident as I could manage. “We talked on the phone?”

  The woman was every inch a responsible businessperson. Tall with jet black hair pulled into a bun, she wore a sleek grey suit with a pin on its lapel.

  “Welcome,” she said, shaking my hand. “As you’ve probably guessed, I’m Angela. Please, come in.”

  And I stepped into a foyer that made me pause and gape, despite my best efforts to hide it. Because the entry hall was at least three stories tall with a huge chandelier floating above our heads made from what looked like a million different pieces of crystal. It was fantastical, unbelievable, insanely gorgeous, and probably cost more than two years of my salary.

  “Mr. Lancaster appreciates beauty,” said Angela with an amused tone in her voice. “Mr. Lancaster is very particular about whom he surrounds himself with as well as what he surrounds himself with, and his home and furnishings reflect that,” she added.

  I nodded, still speechless. Because by now, we’d moved into a sitting room, and it was straight from the movies. Elegant high-backed chairs surrounded a marble table with flowers, with low-slung couches spread about and priceless artwork on the walls. The whole setting was serene, elegant, and expensive, each candlestick, each objet d’art perfectly arranged to please the eye.

  “I see,” I murmured, gingerly sitting down on one of the chairs. “Yes, it’s very beautiful.”

  And Angela nodded, briskly taking a seat across from me.

  “Valley Pine has been in Mr. Lancaster’s family for generations,” she said mildly. “But he’s improved on it, really enhanced the house itself, the furnishings, the surroundings, to make the most of the space. Most people who visit greatly enjoy their stay,” she added thoughtfully.

  I nodded, almost afraid to speak. But that was no good, this was still an interview despite the opulent surroundings, and so I sat up straighter then, looking Angela in the eye.

  “I appreciate the home,” I said in a straight-forward manner. “I take good care of my things, and I’d do the same for Mr. Lancaster’s things. I’m clean and neat, and I’d be a good housesitter,” I added quickly. “He wouldn’t even notice I was here.” Oh shit, maybe I’d said too much, too fast. We hadn’t even had any real chitchat yet, and I was already trying to make my case.

  But Angela merely smiled and nodded.

  “I’m sure you would,” she agreed, that sleek head bobbing up and down, “but Mr. Lancaster has certain … um, predilections, so to say.”

  I looked at her confused.

  “But he’s not going to be here, right? I thought he needed a housekeeper because he was away?” That off-hand remark about “predilections” was confounding and I wasn’t sure which direction to turn next. Why would his predilections matter if he wasn’t even here? Was I forbidden from drinking the wine from his cellar, thousand dollar bottles of champagne off-limits? Or maybe he had some weird pets that I had to take care of, Komodo dragons he’d picked up in Thailand?

  But Angela wasn’t very forthcoming. Instead, she merely nodded vaguely.

  “Mr. Lancaster travels a great deal for business, so no, you won’t see much of him. But he does stop by New Jersey on occasion. This is his home after all, and he likes to enjoy it when he can. So although you likely won’t be seeing much of him, it’s possible that you’ll overlap.”

  And I nodded then. Okay, that made sense. Yeah, if I owned this place, I’d want to be here three hundred and sixty-five days of the year, I’d resent anything that dragged me away.

  “But I’m sorry, what were his predilections?” I ventured timidly again. “I don’t think you specified.”

  Angela just brushed away the question.

  “Why don’t I show you around?” she answered, changing the subject. “Before we talk more, why don’t I show you the house and grounds and you can decide whether you’d be interested in housesitting this place.” My eyebrows jolted upwards. I couldn’t imagine anyone not being interested, especially when you were me with zero options. But I nodded agreeably. No need to show all my cards during an interview.

  So Angela gave me a brief tour of the mansion, showing off the public rooms, the two living rooms, the formal dining room, the casual dining room, the entertainment area, the gym, the pool in back, and the pool house, all of it interconnected by a web of hallways, corridors, and landings. It was like a tour of a castle, there were special spaces for everything, from a mud room to a bike rack, a music room, a recording studio, and a bowling alley to top it all off.

  “Wow,” was all I could say. “Wow.” This place needed a map, it was so huge. And reading my mind, Angela chuckled.

  “We don’t have maps,” she said kindly, “but we do have an intercom so you can call if you get lost,” she said, pressing a button on the wall to demonstrate. And immediately, another woman’s voice came on.

  “Blanca?” asked Angela. “Is that you?”

  “Si, si,” said the voice on the intercom, warm and accented.

  “Oh great, just showing off the house to a visitor,” replied Angela. “Thank you Blanca, I’ll be down later.” And she clicked off, expert and efficient. I marveled at the entire sc
enario. Where I come from, there was no need for an intercom. We’d been packed like sardines, one on top of the other, stuffy with little personal space except when you went to the bathroom.

  But evidently there are people who live a different kind of life because everything about this Mr. Lancaster’s home was gracious and elegant. Every detail was perfect, every accent a complement, every carefully hung artwork a testament to his taste. Where did people this perfect come from? Was he even human? It’s messy to be human, and this guy seemed more of a god than a man.

  But that was for me to find out later, if at all. Because who knew if we’d overlap? Maybe Mr. Lancaster was on a trip to Antarctica at the moment and the glaciers had frozen over for the winter, there was no way to sail back to New Jersey. Or maybe he was a spy overseas, and could hardly walk out of a deep cover situation, it’d blow years of meticulous planning. So I shrugged. Mr. Lancaster was a part of the equation, yes, but probably not a big part, really only an afterthought. And at this moment, seeing the lavish grounds, the crazy good life, I was ready to sign.

  Which was fortunate because Angela had pulled out a contract. I looked at it askance. The document was at least an inch thick, all fine print, and I squinted blearily. Oh god, more words, and my head began to hurt. I’ve chosen to be an artist because I love the power of a painting, the depth of shape and color morphing into one, but also because I’m horrifically dyslexic and right now, this contract was doing me no favors. The letters literally swum before my eyes, a p inverting into a q, or maybe it was the other way around. Oh god, oh god.

  But I didn’t want to let Angela know. This was the opportunity of a lifetime, and I couldn’t miss out, no matter what the contract said. So I smiled and squinted a little more.

  “I’m sorry, how much did you say rent was?”

  For a place this nice, Mr. Lancaster would probably want something, even if it was just nominal. I prayed it was less than five hundred a month, less than three if I was lucky. God help me, any more than that would be a stretch.

  But Angela merely chuckled.

  “No rent necessary,” she said mildly. “We just put that in the ad to scare off the wrong type of person, there are a lot of odd folks floating around NYC. In fact,” she continued, “Mr. Lancaster is prepared to pay you,” she said smoothly. “Five thousand a month for your housesitting services.”

  I gasped then, unable to hide my shock.

  “Five thousand a month?” I parroted dumbly. “Really?” With fifteen thousand after three months, that was enough for me to make a dent in my student loans, maybe even build up a small emergency cushion for rainy days. Holy cow, I had to get this gig, this was too good to be true. So I picked up a pen and smiled merrily.

  “Where do I sign?” I chirped.

  Angela merely nodded.

  “We ask that you initial every page, in addition to signing here, here, and here,” she said, pointing to pages that had been flagged. “It’s standard business procedure, Mr. Lancaster likes all his i’s dotted and t’s crossed,” she added.

  My smile was so large that it almost cracked my cheeks. Holy shit, it was happening, it was happening! I’d found myself a new place to live, and not only that, but I was going to make money off the situation instead of bleeding my bank account dry. Somehow, I’d landed on two feet and it came with a heady feeling of freedom, of release. I was going to be okay. Even with an eviction on my record, I was gonna be okay.

  So I began signing. On every page of the long document, I jotted my initials, always with a smile, and with absolutely zero hesitation. In fact, I’d never been so happy. I was gonna be safe for the next three months thanks to the generosity of my benefactor, the mysterious Mr. Lancaster … with his mysterious predilections.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Melissa

  “Um yeah, this is all my stuff,” I said as nicely I could manage. Goodwill had come and hauled away my furniture, and now I had nothing but a suitcase and a purse on my shoulder. It hadn’t been hard to say goodbye to my things because honestly, I’d bought most of it from Goodwill to begin with, so the cycle was merely continuing.

  “Are you sure?” asked Catherine, eyeing me suspiciously. “How did you find a place so fast? God, the apartments I’ve seen have all been shit,” she muttered, narrow jaw locking.

  I shrugged.

  “Guess I just got lucky,” I said, reaching for the doorknob. “Take care of yourself okay? Oh, and I almost forgot. Here’s last month’s rent that I owe you, plus a little extra for the groceries that I ate. Thanks so much Catherine, I really appreciate your help when I was in a tight spot,” I said sincerely, pressing the money into her hand.

  She took the cash, fingers closing numbly around the bills.

  “But where did you find your new apartment?” she asked again, plaintive this time. “I swear, I went and saw twenty places yesterday and they were all snapped up by the time I got home. How in the world did you find something?”

  I sighed. Man, this woman was insulting without even trying. It was like I was the bottom of the barrel, any landlord would be crazy to rent to me.

  “I found a housesitting gig in New Jersey,” I explained slowly. “It’s for a rich guy who travels a lot, so he needs someone to keep an eye on things for the next three months. It’s awesome,” I added with a small smirk, unable to help myself. “There’s a pool, Jacuzzi, and sauna, it’s like living at a hotel.”

  A gleam of desperation entered Catherine’s eye then.

  “Well if it’s so big, could I come with you then?” she wheedled. “I don’t have anywhere to go, and besides, you said the owner’s never there, so no one would know. You owe me, Melissa,” she added petulantly, crossing her arms across her chest. “You’re the one who got us kicked out.”

  I sighed again, shaking my head.

  “No Catherine, I didn’t get us kicked out, we got evicted because the owner’s son wants to move in, which is totally legit under NYC rental law. That has nothing to do with me personally, or you personally, we just hit a bump in the road that knocked us loose. So I don’t owe you anything.”

  But Catherine has never heard of catching bees with honey. Instead, she became even more aggressive, like a pit bull.

  “You owe me,” she reiterated through gritted teeth, bottom lip jutting out angrily. “You’re such a bitch Melissa. How many times did I save your ass, covering your half of the rent when you didn’t have the money, letting you stay here because you were so down and out? You’re such an ungrateful little ho.”

  And I shook my head. The blonde was only making her case worse. Why would I bring her with me to Jersey now? Why would I tow along someone who was nasty to the core, with a bad personality and an even worse attitude? Obviously, there was no way someone like Catherine could fit in anywhere, unless it was with a nest of vipers.

  “No, I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “Thank you for helping when I was down, I totally appreciate it, and I’ve paid you back,” I said pointedly. “But I can’t just bring a friend, that’s not how rental contracts work. So thanks again, and take care of yourself, okay?” I said before starting down the stairs.

  But Catherine trailed me outside onto the landing, bending over the railing angrily, giving me the stink eye. And holy shit, but I heard a huge “raawrfff” and a warm loogie plummeted out of the sky, narrowly missing my head and landing with a loud plop on the stairwell.

  “Take that!” she screamed. “You deserve it, asshole!”

  I shook my head and rushed down the stairs as fast as I could. Holy cow, this girl was unhinged, how in the world had we ever been friends? She’d just tried to spit in my hair! How had I even managed to put up with Catherine for the past six months? It was crazy how people change when they’re desperate and angry.

  So with immense relief, I threw myself into the black car at the curb, Humphrey at the wheel again.

  “Miss Melissa!” he said jovially. “So glad to see you again, I understand you’re joining us at Valley Pine?�
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  I nodded, still a little shaken from the nasty encounter.

  “Yeah, I’m really lucky,” I said, my voice unsteady. “I didn’t have any place to go, so this was kind of my only option,” I confessed. “I’m sure there were many applicants, it’s such an amazing house.”

  And Humphrey nodded.

  “There were a lot of applicants, but as soon as I saw your shoes last time, I knew you’d get it,” the old man winked. “You’re perfect for the job.”

  I was confused. I’d worn Mary Janes yesterday, and there was nothing special about them. If anything, they were really unfashionable, an unhip throwback to childhood. But I couldn’t expect an old man to be up with current trends, Humphrey had to be at least seventy. So I nodded, leaning back onto the seat, trying to unwind during the drive into Central Jersey.

  And when we got there, just like last time, Angela greeted me at the door.

  “Hi Melissa,” she said warmly. “Welcome to your new home.”

  I nodded gratefully, feeling better already. Something about the trees, the rolling lawn, and the house itself calmed me. Maybe it was the air of luxury, maybe it was the air of safety, I just felt like I belonged here, among the beauty of nature.

  “Thanks, I’m really excited to get the job. Will you be staying here as well?” I asked. “I was just wondering,” I added quickly, “because if you are, why would the boss need a housesitter?”

  Angela laughed throatily.

  “I don’t live here, although I’d love to,” she said with a smile. “And I do work here, I have an office on the premises, but the problem is that I’m out and about most times, traveling and whatnot as Mr. Lancaster’s chief of staff. So you’ll be the only person on-site most of the time.”

  I nodded.

  “Will I be here by myself?” I asked, looking around, a little awed by the majestic space. “Not even Humprhey?”

  And Angela laughed again.

  “Humphrey will be here, sure, and other staff as well, the cleaners, the housekeeper, you won’t need to worry chores and maintenance.”