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REESE
“I’m sure we can come to a mutual resolution.”
Paula sounds patient.
I, however, am not.
I’ve got a screaming Violet in her bassinet and a teary-eyed replacement babysitter cowering across from me. Her hair is all rumpled, eyes red. I have a headache from hell from all the fucking noise.
“All you needed to do was heat up her formula and get her down to sleep. I don’t see what the problem is.”
“I told you, Mr. Dalton,” the girl sniffles out, “I did. She won’t eat!”
“You must’ve heated the formula up wrong. Did you put it in the microwave or on the stove in the bottle?”
“I heated it just fine! I forgot about the stove, so I put it in the microwave. I’m sorry, I told you I was sick so my head’s been a little fuzzy. But it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. She’s just not taking to anything, Mr. Dalton.” The girl scrubs her face with her sleeve, making it even redder than it was before.
I scoff. “You barely even had a little sniffle when you came in today. Find a better excuse. I’ve played hockey with a broken femur before. A little baby can’t be that hard. I’ve seen someone take care of her without a single hiccup and she was ten times worse than she is now.”
The girl lets out an infuriated screech. “Rehire her then! I’ve been here for three days and all you’ve done is talk down to me, come in later than we agreed on, and act like you know what I’m supposed to do better than me! If you and this mystery woman are so good at taking care of your daughter, take care of her yourself!”
The girl storms out, slamming the door when she does. The whole foundation shakes—honestly impressive, coming from a college-aged girl who weighs a hundred pounds soaking wet. Old Reese might’ve chuckled at her audacity.
Now, though, it just pisses me off even more.
“The fucking nerve of that bi?—”
“Mr. Dalton.” Paula gives me a look with a raised brow. “Don’t you think that it would be prudent to treat the people looking after Violet a little… gentler? After all, she could easily go to someone and out the fact that you are in need of a babysitter in the first place…”
My nostrils flare until I look like the Bulls mascot. But I know Paula is right.
I shouldn’t have gone left on that girl. Deep down, I know she was just doing her best. She had told me that she wasn’t feeling so hot, and the stress of a noncompliant baby can’t be good for the immune system.
Guilt starts to churn in my stomach. I bury my face in my hands and let out the latest in a long line of weary sighs.
I miss Olivia.
I stop myself as soon as the thought crosses my mind. I don’t have time for all that shit.
“I’ll figure out a way to apologize,” I mumble, going to my screaming daughter.
She’s been like this, or close to like this, since Olivia left. I don’t blame Olivia for that. Her mother is—or was, I don’t know—in the hospital. In trying to force distance, I haven’t asked her how that’s going. How her mother is faring. How she’s feeling.
Even when those questions have been tearing me the fuck apart.
The shroud of “scumbag” hangs over my shoulders. It’s beyond denying. You’re a scumbag if you fuck a woman, pour your emotions into it, and then, when she experiences something hard, you just abandon ship. There’s no other word for it.
You’re a scumbag, Reese. You’re a real fucking scumbag.
“Paula, do you think you can watch her for a bit? I just… need to get my head screwed on right.”
Paula snorts, and then she gives me the least impressed frown I’ve ever seen on a woman when she realizes that I’m serious. “Absolutely not,” she says. “You don’t pay me nearly enough for that. And I have plans.”
My brow goes up. Paula never dates. Or does she? I don’t actually know anything about her personal life, just that she is very good at her job.
“I—”
“Mr. Dalton,” she says, her tone pointed, “your regular nanny is MIA, you have gone through four temporary babysitters in the last two weeks, and your daughter is currently extremely upset, if her decibel level is anything to go by. I think this is something you need to handle. Pushing it off onto other people isn’t doing you any favors.”
