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Remy: Still staying strong on your “No Nanny” rule, huh?
There is no way I could ever get a nanny. I just…can’t do that to my sister. It was one of two things that were important to her when it came to raising her daughter.
The other one was breastfeeding her, and that only panned out in failure. I can’t disappoint her again.
Me: Staying strong? The jury is still out on the official verdict, but I’m definitely trying. Does that count?
Remy: You’re doing awesome, Maria. Don’t forget that. And…don’t be jealous, but I happen to be heading to an appointment with an investment client who LOVES babies…
I am most definitely jealous.
Me: Ugh. Can we switch clients?
Remy: How about we just switch Izzy? I can come over and pick her up and take her with me.
Dammit. I should’ve known he was gearing me up for something.
Me: Remy, don’t be ridiculous. You don’t have to do that.
Remy: I know I don’t. But I WANT to do it.
I look at Izzy and back at the screen of my phone. Can I really let him do this? Take Izzy with him to a meeting?
No. I can’t. That’s asking for way too much.
Remy: Don’t overthink it.
Me: I’m not. It’s just too much, you know? You shouldn’t have to bail me out all the time.
Remy: I’m not bailing you out. I’d say you’re doing pretty damn well managing right now. Plus, this is really for me. I could use a distraction with this client, and Izzy is the cutest distraction I can think of. I’m coming over to get her.
Me: REMY. No. We’ll be fine.
Remy: It’s happening. I’ll be there in about 10 minutes.
I sigh and even try to call him, but all I get back is his voice mail and another text.
Remy: 8 minutes.
I look at Izzy, who has just finished up her bottle, and blow out a breath.
“Well, honey, forget everything I told you about real estate and start thinking about things like the Dow and the S&P 500 and any stock-focused things your little mind can handle. Looks like you’ll be specializing in investments today because Remy just can’t help himself.”
The thoughtful bastard.
Remy
As I step onto the elevator and hit the button for the twentieth floor, my phone pings in the back pocket of my jeans. I check the screen to find a rambling text message from the woman I just saw about thirty minutes ago.
Maria: Are you doing okay? Is Izzy behaving? God, I hope she sleeps through your meeting. I mean, even people who love babies don’t necessarily want to deal with a screaming baby in the middle of talking about their investments.
I start to text her back, but when Izzy fusses a little from inside the baby carrier against my chest, I stop and glance down to find her little face scrunched up into a grimace as she attempts to suck on the material of the ridiculous suit jacket Maria dressed her in today.
A baby. In a suit. Add that to things I never thought I’d see.
With one hand gently stabilizing the back of the carrier, I use my free hand to reach into the front pocket of the backpack diaper bag that Maria packed up for me and locate Izzy’s pacifier. Once I pop it into her mouth, she sucks on it like a real-life Maggie Simpson and begins to settle down.
I don’t hesitate to snap a quick picture of the victorious moment and send it to Maria.
Me: After a hearty debate on whether you should invest on a monthly basis no matter what the market is doing or wait to buy the dip, Izzy has decided she needs to ponder her investment strategy before revealing her final answer.
Maria: I take it this is your way of telling me all is well in the land of baby watching?
Me: You are correct.
The elevator dings our arrival and I step off the cart, but I pause halfway down the hall toward Thatcher Kelly’s office when another message from Maria chimes in.
Maria: Have I already told you that I’m forever thankful you’re doing this? Because I am.
Me: About one hundred times before I left your apartment. And like I’ve said one hundred times myself, no thanks needed.
Maria: Don’t be crazy. I owe you. Big-time. You saved my ass today.
Me: You can make it up to me in compliments about how amazing and studly I am and a promise of dinner tonight.
Maria: You got a deal on the dinner.
Me: And the compliments?
Maria: REMY WINSLOW IS AMAZING AND STUDLY. OH MY GOSH, HE’S, LIKE, GOD’S GIFT TO ALL WOMEN.
I grin and type out a quick response.
Me: Hmmm… Why do I sense sarcasm?
Maria: What? No way. I totally meant every word.
Me: Go sell an apartment. I’ll take a rain check on the compliments.
Maria: *rolls eyes*
Me: *smiles like the studly, awesome man that I am*
