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“I’m stepping out with Mr. Vanguard,” says Magdalene. “I’ll be back after dinner so no need to wait for me. Marie should be here in about an hour for Jacobs’s lessons, so make sure he’s had his snack before then.”
Marie, Jacob’s French tutor, is an absolute terror, and I do my best to avoid her as much as possible when she’s here. She comes in three times a week to tutor Jacob. Well, she comes in and points at things as she says them in French while Jacob blows spit bubbles. I’ve never heard of anyone tutoring a nine-month-old child, but for the right price anything is possible. Magdalene read about infants picking up languages before they can speak, and the rest is history.
I try not to cringe watching Magdalene slip on her shoes, grab her purse, and sashay out the door. Peeking out the window just in time, I spot Magdalene exiting the building. Sure enough, the black Bentley Heath always sends is parked right out front, with the driver holding open the door to the backseat. Magdalene takes her time getting inside and I shake my head as the tail lights disappear into traffic.
He calls, and you run to meet him.
The shitty part is, he never bothers to call her himself. His secretary makes the calls for him, sometimes even going through me. He schedules meetings with her as if she’s a manicurist, or some other hired help.
I don’t realize I’m clenching my hand tightly until I hear the Tiffany frame clink against my ring. Glancing down at the picture still in my hand with a frown, my thoughts go to the man looking back at me. Even at forty-two, Heath is still fit as a fiddle, and annoyingly attractive for someone so mean. His blond hair has little touches of gray throughout and I hate to admit, if I didn’t know him personally, I’d absolutely give him a second glance.
After receiving my first paycheck, I Googled Heath as I noticed his company’s name signed my check instead of Magdalene. Despite already coming from a wealthy family, Heath acquired much of his money through hedge funds. I remember reading about his billionaire status for the first time and nearly choked on my latte. A millionaire in these parts is to be expected, but a billionaire, especially one with his figures, is a little shocking. I assume he’s the one funding this extravagant lifestyle, because I’ve never seen Magdalene go to any job that I know of since I’ve moved in.
She constantly recalls stories from her modeling career, but I know now that she’s thirty-six, Magdalene’s days as a working model are history. The modeling industry is savage and she’s on the wrong side of twenty-five.
I hope she realizes Heath has a type and unfortunately, it’s no longer her. His not-so-secret love life is all over the internet and a quick search returns story after story about his money and numerous sightings with different females of the city’s elite. One minute he’s lounging on the beach with a blonde bombshell, and the next minute he’s cuddling with a brunette in Paris. His status allows him into the inner circles of all the other elite in his international social circle.
Magdalene is either too blind to notice or simply doesn’t care. I can’t imagine being that smitten by love to overlook my mate’s philandering ways. Not that I have a mate to speak of. Dating doesn’t rate highly on my radar right now.
For obvious reasons, I keep my opinions to myself, and of course will never say anything to Magdalene about their little arrangement. If boss lady is happy being a secret mistress, then I certainly have no complaints either. I keep my mouth shut and focus on Jacob.
Finally placing the silver frame back on the table, I check the time before glancing over at the baby monitor. Jacob is awake from his nap and rolling around in his crib quietly. I go up the stairs and walk down the hall to his bedroom, which is right next door to mine. I push open the door and reach down into his crib to pick him up. He smiles and spits at me as we head back to the living room.
Sitting Jacob down on his elephant-print blanket, I rush over to the closet to grab a handful of his toys. He’s on my heels before I’m able to take two steps. He’s recently discovered how to move his legs enough to be considered crawling, and has been a little wiggle worm ever since. I have to be extra careful to keep things out of his way now.
“Let’s go, mister,” I say, reaching down to grab him with one hand and balance his box of toys with the other.
Gently placing him and the toys on the blanket, I sit down on the sofa and watch as he happily bangs on his miniature piano.
