Billionaires, Billionaires, Billionaires, and more Billionaires: Billionaire Bundle Page 10

  “Okay, no problem.”

  I look over at Mom. She smiles at Mason and me but doesn’t say anything.

  “So, I got a babysitting job, Mom,” I say, ironically stating the obvious.

  “Who got a babysitting job?” Dad finally looks up from his iPad.

  “Your daughter,” Mom says, and patiently explains what just happened.

  “Oh, that’s good,” Dad says. “Let me know when you’re ready to sign the papers, Mason.”

  * * *

  Half an hour later, the papers are signed and duly witnessed.

  I help Mom bring lunch out for everyone while Mason has a word with Dad about me coming to stay with him for a few days.

  He knows I don’t need their permission, but I can tell he’s doing it out of respect.

  Then he tells me a little about himself, so that we’re more properly introduced. His full name is Mason Grimmell, he’s a robotics engineer, he’s from California and moved here years ago. He runs a business from his home outside Johnstown.

  Dad’s complete lack of concern about me going to stay with Mason is assurance enough for me that he’s a good guy. I don’t know his entire life story, but Dad probably does. And he’s okay with it.

  Which means, so am I.

  After lunch, Mason, now the sole, legal custodial parent of Baby Drew, prepares to take his son home.

  Mom promises to email him a list of nanny recommendations. Mason and I exchange phone numbers, then he says his goodbyes to my parents, and my brother and his friend.

  Then I walk them out to the car and watch as Mason carefully buckles his newborn into the car seat.

  Drew is fast asleep again, and Mason fusses with the baby’s head, tilting it gently so that it leans comfortably on the padded armrest of the car seat.

  Awww! My heart gets all melty, watching this gorgeous hunk of a man care for his tiny newborn so tenderly.

  I can’t stop admiring Mason’s pecs, biceps and shoulders. They’re so… shapely! His every movement shows off his well-defined muscles as they ripple under his skin.

  Yum.

  And his ass, as he bends into the car…? I’ve never seen such a squeezable pair of male buttocks.

  “Okay, I think we’re good. You sure you don’t want to come home with me right now?”

  I look up at his face. His words could be full of innuendo, but they’re not.

  His tone is casual, but I detect something in his eyes. In the way he’s standing. A tiny bit of…fear?

  Anxiety. The poor guy’s anxious. Of course he is! Taking care of a newborn is tough, demanding. Anyone would be nervous. It’s an unexpected situation, he’s doing it alone, and probably hasn’t got much sleep since the baby came home.

  My heart goes out to him.

  “I need to pack some things, get ready…you know.” I try to smile reassuringly.

  “Right. I know. Okay. Well, what time should I expect you?”

  “Well, what’s a good time for you?”

  “Right now,” he says, laughing.

  “Seriously, though. What time do you eat dinner? What time do you plan to bathe the baby and put him down?”

  “Um…ah…dinner’s usually, whenever I get hungry. I don’t have a set time to bathe or put Andrew to bed, either. Does it matter?” He grins sheepishly.

  “Well, kind of. I’ll come as soon as I’m ready. Maybe an hour? I’ll text you if anything changes. How’s that?”

  “Great! See you then.”

  * * *

  Dad might be okay with my change of plans, but Mom is a different story.

  She held her peace while Mason was here, but as soon as I get back into the house, she pounces.

  “Samantha, what are you doing? All you’ve talked about since you got back from Vermont is having free time. Par-tay, par-tay!” She does a little dance, mimicking my enthusiasm. “Remember?”

  “Yes, I know, I know! But hey, you were awful quick to brag about my babysitting credentials.”

  “I’m proud of your credentials. It slipped out. I didn’t mean to push you into doing something you don’t want to.”

  I sigh. “You didn’t. It’s okay, never mind.”

  “But… you’re gonna skip Marie’s barn party tonight? The one that all her brothers are going to be at?”

  “Argh! Don’t remind me!”

  I go up to my room and start packing up some clothes. She follows right behind me.

  “Samantha? Do you know who Mason is?”

  “Yeah, he’s Dad’s client.”

  She leans against my doorjamb and crosses her arms. She’s looking at me like she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop or something.

  “And…?”

  “And…he’s gorgeous?” I grin, and pull out two short babydoll nighties from my drawer. I stuff them into my bag, and then pull out two more and shove them in there, too.

  “He is gorgeous, isn’t he?” She grins. “But you know that’s not what I mean…hey!” She suddenly notices what I’m doing. “I thought you were going to stay a couple days. Why do you need four nighties? And all those panties?”

  “I don’t know. Didn’t you say I should always make sure I have plenty of clean underwear?”

  She laughs. “Yes, but, that’s a bit much, don’t you think?”

  “Probably. I don’t know!” I shrug and throw some t-shirts into the bag. “So…okay, Mom. I’ll bite. Mason told me that people know of him, but that he’s not famous. Not that I give a shit, but, did he invent the internet or something?”

  “No. He’s…he’s the only…” She stops, tilts her head, and purses her lips. “You know what? Never mind. On second thought, it’s a good thing that you don’t know.”

  I shrug. “Maybe. It makes no difference. He’s cute, yes. He needs help. It’s not like we’re getting married, Mom. And he’s not Jack the Ripper. That’s all I care about.”

  “True. Well, you can always ask him yourself. You’ll have to, if you want to know. There’s probably nothing to Google about Mason Grimmell.” She pauses, looking at me as if I should know who she’s talking about. I shrug, spreading my hands. “What I meant was, the fact that you don’t know who he is, means that you’re doing this out of kindness and not um, ah…self-consideration.”

  “Well, it’s a sad situation and he seems like a decent guy. But there’s definitely some self-consideration. I’ll get paid double-time and a bonus! And, he’s not hard to look at.” I smile. “Besides, Dad’s totally cool with it.”

  She smiles like she knows a secret, which, she apparently does. “Yes, your father’s known him since…well, for many years. I’ve met him quite a few times too. Mason is a decent guy. He’s trustworthy and discreet. He’ll take good care of you while you’re there.”

  I gather my toiletries and finish packing, then change into yoga pants and t-shirt.

  “All that aside…maybe there’s something else that needs to be said.” She hesitates, looking at me speculatively.

  “What?”

  “Jus that…this isn’t a situation to take lightly. You wouldn’t want to start something that can’t go anywhere. He’s a lot older than you are, for one thing.”

  “Really? How old is he?”

  “He’s thirty-five. But he doesn’t look it, does he? Honey, he’s a grown man with serious responsibilities.” She pauses, puts her hands on my shoulders and looks me in the eye. “Listen. It’d be a bad idea to lead him on, or to get too attached to that baby.”

  “Mom! I’m just babysitting, helping out for a few days.”

  “Samantha.” She’s speaking kindly but firmly, like she does when she wants to make sure I’m listening. “I wasn’t born yesterday. I’m not saying you’re doing anything wrong, I’m just saying…there’s a child involved.”

  “You’re reading too much into this. Yes, he’s good-looking but, I just feel sorry for him. Plus, it’s extra money.”

  “He’s lonely, good-looking, decent and a single dad. And you’re a lovely young
woman with a good heart who wants to help. I’m just saying, be careful. Don’t start something that all three of you might regret.”

  “All three of us? Andrew’s a newborn. He won’t remember me a month from now.”

  “No, but you’ll remember him. Think about that. That’s all I’m saying.”

  Chapter Four

  Mom drives me to Mason’s, not saying much. I try to assure her that I don’t want to get involved with an older man, especially not one with a newborn.

  I love babies but no way in hell am I ready to deal with one on a permanent basis.

  She just listens, nodding, but the look on her face still says she knows something that I don’t.

  In Mason’s driveway, I hug and kiss her and thank her for the ride. She tells me not to hesitate to call her if we need help, night or day.

  Mason’s house is out in the country, very rural, in a nice secluded spot with no close neighbors.

  It’s a large, new home, a long, rambling, ranch-style bungalow on a big lot. It’s a nice size, but it’s not a pretentious McMansion or anything. It’s at the end of a long, private, but ungated driveway.

  Any client of my dad’s is bound to have money. If this place is anything to judge by, Mason’s doing okay. Maybe not on a level with Bill Gates, but that’s fine by me.

  It’s a peaceful spot, lots of trees and birds, almost no traffic on the road. A nice place to raise kids.

  The soft sound of lullaby music is coming from behind the house.

  “Hello? Back here,” Mason’s voice calls out.

  Following the sounds, I go around the corner of the house and stop to take it in.

  The driveway continues for maybe fifty feet before ending in a enormous, detached, two-story garage. The roof of the garage bristles with antennae and the structure boasts four roll-up doors. It’s big enough to house an impressive car collection.

  Or maybe, the Bat Cave, I think to myself.

  To my right, there’s a big patio, set away from the house, with a fire pit, benches, comfy chairs, a water feature and a gazebo strung with lights.

  Attached to the house is big deck, which holds a huge grill under a rain-roof, conveniently placed close to the sliding doors leading inside. The deck has lots of seating, including built-in benches with outdoor cushions, punctuated by small built-in tables for drinks or whatever.

  A lush green lawn rolls away from the house. Old-growth trees and saplings alike grow nicely spaced apart. Shady spots are dotted with benches and little paved paths meander here and there.

  The lawn is bracketed by garden beds coming into summer bloom, home to annual and perennial flowers and plants proudly displaying their colors.

  Far in the distance, a line of trees forms what’s probably the back border of the property line. A very large multi-acreage property, by the looks of it.

  It’s a stunning place, secluded and lovely. Wryly, I think to myself that it makes my parent’s home look kind of cheap in comparison.

  “Hi. I heard the car,” says Mason.

  He’s lying in a shady hammock strung between two trees. Baby Andrew lays belly-down on his father’s chest, eyes open, staring at his fist again in apparent wonderment.

  There’s a blanket on the grass, and the diaper bag sits next to that.

  Mason’s phone is open beside him, playing a YouTube lullaby video. Both his hands are on the baby, holding him in place, rubbing the child’s back in time to the music.

  “Hi,” I say. “Wow, this is…what a nice place. Seems like a large property, too. Is that the property line way down there, by those trees?”

  “Oh…um. Actually, I, um, own the land pretty much as far as the eye can see. It’s mostly undeveloped, except for some hiking and ATV trails through the forested areas.”

  He motions with his chin and I turn to look at the leafy canopy of trees in the distance. “There’s hundreds of acres of sensitive environments that I don’t allow anyone to step foot on. All kinds of wildlife. Deer, turkey, spotted owls and various other birds. Endangered reptiles and amphibians live in wetlands back there, too.”

  “Hundreds of acres, all to yourself? It’s beautiful, Mason. And no wonder it’s so quiet.” I gesture at the house. “And this house…looks like an entertainer’s dream.”

  “Thanks. I…yeah, it’s a bit much, actually. I went with some existing plans the builder had. I don’t know how much entertaining I’ll be doing, quite honestly.”

  “Well, you could rent it out for weddings or bar mitzvahs or, or…symphony orchestra concerts,” I say. We both laugh. I look down at the two of them, swaying gently in the hammock. “Did you know he’s awake?”

  “He is?” Mason glances down before smiling back up at me. “He’s so quiet, I thought he was still asleep. I guess maybe he likes this music.”

  “And the rocking. And the sound of your heartbeat. All babies like that. Hell, I’d like it myself.”

  I grin down at him cheekily. He grins right back.

  But the baby starts moving now, his bottom sticking up and his little face turning red. He grunts a couple times, and I start laughing as I realize what’s going on.

  “What?” Mason says. “He can’t be hungry again already?”

  “Oh, he could be,” I say, “but I think he just pooped.”

  “Ugh, geez. Did I mention, he does that. A lot,” Mason snorts. “Well, let’s take him inside and deal with it.”

  “Here, give him to me,” I say, holding my hands out. “I haven’t even held him yet.”

  I take the baby, cradling and supporting his head, feeling that rush of tenderness that holding a tiny helpless newborn always brings.

  Then I watch as Mason struggles out of the hammock, grunting comically.

  “Shit, I forgot that it’s a lot easier getting into that thing than it is to get out of it,” he remarks. “I should’ve thought of that before I laid down in it with a baby in my arms.”

  “Good thing I was here to take him,” I say.

  “Good thing you’re here, period,” he says. “Come on, let’s go inside.”

  * * *

  We go straight through the house to a large master bedroom. It’s a little messy, with an unmade king-sized bed and clothes, shoes, personal and baby items. Lots of empty cartons and boxes are strewn around.

  In a window-filled alcove on the far side of the room, there sits a long desk, holding three monitors and computer equipment. The screens are all blank, turned off or in sleep mode at the moment.

  Against one wall next to the bed, there’s a changing table, a bassinet, and a bunch of brand-new, unopened packages of diapers, baby clothing, toys and assorted stuff.

  “Sorry about the mess,” Mason says. “I ordered some stuff online and…what with the baby and all, I haven’t had time to tidy up much.”

  “It’s not that bad. Is your housekeeper off today?”

  “Yeah, she doesn’t work weekends. She’s not allowed in my room anyway. I clean that and my bathroom myself.” He pauses. “I mean, when I feel like it. I’m not gonna say I clean my room every day or anything.”

  “Okay. Let’s get the baby changed and then you can show me around.”

  Mason takes the baby out of my hands and lays him on the change table. As soon as he gets the onesie off, he makes a gagging sound. “Oh God,” he says. “I’m not used to this yet.”

  “Do you want me to….”

  “Nope! No, thank you. I have to get used to it. You’ll do your share soon enough. But right now, I gotta do this.”

  I watch, amused, as Mason turns his head, takes a breath, holds it, then removes the diaper.

  He looks so comical, I can’t help but giggle. He gives me a chagrined look, then wraps the soiled diaper up and chucks it into the nearby diaper bin, letting his breath out.

  Then he turns his head, takes a breath again, cleans the baby’s bottom, throws the soiled wipe into the diaper bin, then finishes the job, including umbilical care, breathing normally.

 
I’m giggling the whole time, but still impressed with his handiwork. “You’re doing a great job keeping him clean,” I say. “Especially for someone who’s nauseated by baby poop.”

  “I figure, it’s gotta get better. Right?”

  “Right.” I’m sure not going to tell him how much worse it could be.

  He picks up the freshly-diapered baby and tucks him into the crook of his arm.

  Then he takes me on a tour of the house.

  * * *

  It’s a very nice place. He hasn’t been living here long, and it shows in the clean but sparsely furnished rooms.

  As modern and up-to-date as you could want, the home features gleaming hardwood floors throughout, wired-in broadband in every room and high-end fixtures, appliances and finishes everywhere.

  The kitchen is big and bright, with granite countertops, a Sub-Zero refrigerator, a small walk-in freezer, walk-in pantry and a Wolf range. There are deep, double sinks in front of a big window facing the back yard and the walls above and below the long, generous counter spaces hold plenty of cherrywood cabinets. Mason opens them to show me the locations of his restaurant-quality dishes, plus every accoutrement and kitchen gadget you could want.

  A smaller sink for washing produce graces a granite-topped center island with disposal unit, separate, enclosed trash and recycling bins on one side and a full-length wine rack on the other.

  A small hallway leads to a butler’s pantry, then an office, and a powder room. In the pantry, a brand-new high chair waits for Drew to grow into, and there’s a child’s dish set in bright, primary colors, waiting to be unboxed.

  “The housekeeper uses the kitchen more than I do, but I’m trying to learn to cook,” Mason tells me. “Now that I’ll be home with Andrew, I’ll probably get better at it.”

  “Have you always worked at home?”

  “Just since I moved here, a few months ago. My shop is out back.”

  There’s a big living room with a wall-mounted flat screen over a generous-sized wood-burning fireplace, and built-in shelves and cabinets in the same warm cherrywood as the kitchen.

  While we’re in there, he shows me how to turn on the TV and access the internet, Netflix and his vast collection of movies. He opens a cabinet to show me gaming consoles of every type available.