Curvy Fake Wife for the Player

4. Sasha

Chapter 4

Sasha

I stood on the sidewalk before a tall glass and cement building that stretched into the clouds. It was the absolute height of luxury, I could tell as someone who grew up surrounded by wealth, but even I was intimidated by the ostentatious display. It was a nice change of pace from the large mansions with acres of land that stretched in all directions that had dominated my professional life for the past decade, so I decided to embrace the difference.

It won’t be so bad.

It couldn’t possibly be all that bad since Mr. Witter was determined to pay me double what I’d made for the past five years. Serenity had assured me that I would earn the pay hike with all the extras that came with working for a man like Mr. Witter, but how could I turn down the opportunity to fatten my future savings? I couldn’t. There would come a time when my life would no longer accommodate a live-in nanny position, and I would have my savings to fall back on.

And your trust fund, that annoying bitch that lived in my subconscious reminded me the way she always did.

Yes, I had a trust fund, but in all the years since I left Connecticut, I’d only used it once. I lived on my salary and that was that. The fact that it pissed off my dad only made it feel that much better.

The day was sunny and warm, but as I stepped into the black and silver marble lobby of Mr. Witter’s building, I was instantly hit with a shot of cold air that sent a shiver down my spine. It’s not an omen, I told myself and put on my best smile for the uniformed doorman with the salt and pepper hair.

“Hi, Barry. I’m Sasha and I’m here for Mr. Witter.”

He looked me up and down with a studious gaze that was almost offensive. “You’re here for Mr. Witter?”

“I am.” I kept my smile in place because that’s how I’d been trained my entire life, but the disdain, or maybe it was disbelief, in his grey-green gaze put me on edge.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t let you up.” He didn’t make a call or look at a list, which meant he was simply rejecting me.

“Mind telling me why?”

“Yes, I do mind, actually.”

Oh, he wanted to play it that way? Okay. I was used to people treating me a certain way because I was considered ‘the help’ or because I was a lot curvier than the average woman even down here in Texas, but that didn’t mean I tolerated that nonsense. After all, I was Sasha Turner, daughter of the media mogul Bradley Rutherford Turner. No one treated me like that, not because I was someone important, but because I was someone, period.

“What if I told you that Mr. Witter was expecting me?”

Barry tossed his head back and laughed. “You think you’re the first woman to try that line with me, sweetheart? You’re not, which means you’re not going up.”

I frowned at his words. Did women often try to get inside Mr. Witter’s apartment? I mean sure he was big and classically handsome with his shaggy blond hair and sparkling green eyes, but lying to get into his apartment was a bit much. Wasn’t it?

“You should leave before you embarrass yourself, Miss.”

That was it, that look of pity in his eyes pissed me off more than I could possibly explain. I leaned across the tall marble counter that kept him separate from the visitors, narrowed my gaze and lowered my voice.

“Look, Barry, I don’t know who you think I am or what you think my motives are, and frankly I don’t give a shit. But what I can tell you is that if I leave now, I’m not coming back, and if that happens you will be the one out of a job. So please, for both of our sakes, call Mr. Witter and tell him that Sasha Turner is downstairs and she wishes entry to his apartment.”

He sized me up for a long minute before deciding to hedge his bets and save his job, picking up the phone and talking discreetly into the receiver.

“Send her up!” Alex barked loud enough that I heard him.

“Right away, sir.” Barry turned to me with an apology in his eyes that I chose to ignore. “You have to understand…,” he began but I cut him off.

“I understand you have a job to do, but I don’t understand you treating me like less than a person based on your own personal opinion.”

Without another word, he escorted me to the elevator, inserted a key, and pressed the large P that would take me to the penthouse. “It opens into the hallway and Mr. Witter’s door is at the other end.”

“Thank you.” Just because he was a presumptuous pompous jerk didn’t mean I had to be.

The elevator ride to the top lasted several minutes, at least that’s what it felt like, or maybe it was just my nerves at starting a new job. Or, more likely, it was this particular job for the mysterious, handsome man who seemingly had a baby dropped into his lap. I decided on my way here that I wouldn’t judge Alex. I didn’t know his circumstances, and as far as I could tell, he cared about my new charge. Nothing else was my business.

The doors slid open into a dimly lit hall that was black and silver just like the downstairs lobby. Step by step, I made my way towards the imposing black door, willing my heart to stop beating like this was a cause for worry. This was a job, an assignment like dozens of others I’d had over the years. There was no cause for alarm. Nothing to worry about.

I repeated those words over and over as I rapped on the door in five sharp knocks and waited.

The door flung open immediately and Mr. Witter appeared with wild, frantic eyes as he reached out and grabbed my wrist, yanking me inside.

“Thank god you’re here,” he growled and then dropped my arm as if he just now realized his faux pas. “Sorry. But I’m glad you’re here.”

“It’s all right. What’s the problem?”

“Which one?” He asked around a snort and scrubbed a hand down his face. It was then I noticed that Mr. Witter didn’t have a shirt on. His chest and back were smooth and perfectly bronzed, like a statue. Covered in muscles and ink, he was a sight to behold as I followed him towards the sound of a baby crying. “This is the problem.” He stepped aside and motioned towards the overstuffed sofa where the little girl laid on her back, naked with her feet kicking in the air.

I should have bitten back the laughter, but it fell free before I could compose myself. Three discarded diapers dotted the sofa, each one more mangled than the previous.

“You’ve never changed a diaper.”

“No.” His answer was simple and plain, no excuses. I appreciated that.

“First, your sofa is far too nice to double as a changing table.” But since it seemed that fatherhood was thrust upon him, I decided to cut him a break. “Do you have more diapers?”

“A few,” he grumbled and handed me one. “They’re tricky. Good luck.”

I smiled at him and then down at the little girl who wore a sweet smile. “Okay, Mr. Witter, at first this seems impossible, but after two or three diaper changes, you’ll see it’s nothing.” To prove my point, I grabbed the baby at her ankles and slid the diaper underneath her, making use of the diaper ointment and baby powder on the coffee table beside me. “Front flap up, left sticker and then right sticker, and there you go!” I lifted the baby in the air, her legs and arms kicking as she cooed sweetly. “Fresh as a daisy.”

“How did you do that?” His green eyes were wide with shock, a look of awe on his face.

“Like I said, it’s easy once you know what you’re doing. You’ll catch on,” I assured him as my gaze raked over his naked torso.

He seemed to realize just now that he was half naked. “She squirmed and nearly rolled off the sofa when I removed the dirty diaper and I didn’t want her to fall.”

I chuckled at his dismay. “That’s why you need a changing table.”

“I don’t know what that is,” he admitted easily, something I noticed that rich and powerful men had a hard time doing. “Make a list of what she needs. Please,” he added belatedly.

I wanted to ask—badly—what in the hell had happened that led to a clear bachelor taking care of a baby, but again, it wasn’t my business. “I’ll do that, and maybe you can do something for me?”

He frowned as he raked one hand, and then the other, through his thick blond hair. “What’s that?”

“Tell me her name. Babies respond better when they have a familiar word to answer to.”

His brows furrowed. “I don’t know. When she arrived, she didn’t have one.” His cheeks turned a bright shade of pink and he shook his head. “It’s complicated, but I guess I have to give her a name?”

I didn’t want to add to his guilt or whatever else he was feeling, so I only nodded. “What did she come with?” It looked as if I would have to dive right into whatever this messy situation was, and it was lucky for Mr. Witter and his little girl that I handled messy like a pro.

“Just the bag,” he said and pointed to a pale blue bag covered in daisies. “It had a few baby items in it, but that was it.”

“No note?”

“Attached to the carrier,” he said absently.

The more pieces of the puzzle were revealed to me, the greater my sympathy for this situation became. “Do you mind?” I asked and pointed to the bag.

He nodded.

I went through the bag to see if there was anything he’d forgotten, because in my experience even the most detail oriented man tended to miss important things right in front of his face. I took inventory of what was left and it wasn’t much, about five diapers, two bottles pre-filled with formula, a fresh pack of baby wipes, and a few onesies.

“Told you there was nothing.”

I looked up at him with a smile as the little girl’s head fell against my shoulder. “Did you check all the pockets?” I didn’t wait for an answer as I dug into the smaller zippered areas and found a pacifier with a plastic sunflower on it, a bottle of distilled water, several bottle cleaners, and way in the bottom, a sheet of paper. I slowly freed the sheet and glanced down at what was a birth certificate, but the mother’s name was blacked out. “Her name is Dixie Summer Witter. She’s about six months old, give or take a week.”

He snatched the paper from my hands with an apologetic smile before he gave the document his full attention.

I watched in twisted fascination as at least a dozen different emotions splashed across his face. There was so much happening behind those green eyes, and I was more curious than I should be about the details. Suddenly, every emotion melted away and left a blank stare in its place. He lifted his gaze to meet mine, something akin to embarrassment in his eyes.

“I hate to do this so soon, but, ah, do you think you’ll be all right on your own for a couple of hours? I need to talk to my agent immediately.”

Agent. That was a big clue about what kind of big shot Mr. Witter was. “Sure.” I frowned because I couldn’t conjure up an image of him in anything I’ve seen recently. “You’re an actor?”

Mr. Witter unleashed a beaming smile that made it clear why he was a Hollywood heartthrob here in Texas. “No. I’m a hockey player.”

Okay, now I was really confused. “There’s hockey in Houston?”

Mr. Witter’s smile faded and I worried, for a moment, that I might have offended him. But a beat later, a loud laugh exploded out of him, startling both me and Dixie. “I promise to be offended by that later, but for now, I really need to head out.”

“Dixie and I will be fine for a couple of hours, but this isn’t enough to even get us through the night.” I patted the daisy diaper bag on the sofa to remind him that this wasn’t something we could postpone.

“Yeah, okay,” he nodded absently, clearly distracted. “This first and then baby supplies.” He slipped into a pair of sneakers and grabbed his keyes.

“Uh, Mr. Witter?”

He stopped and studied me. “Call me, Alex. You’ll be living in my home, no need to be so formal.”

“Okay then, Alex. You might want to put on a shirt before you head out.”

He looked down at his sculpted bare chest and grinned. “Good idea. Thank you, Sasha. You’re already helping.” He disappeared down the hall and returned a few minutes later in a fresh pair of jeans and a black t-shirt, looking like a big, beautiful, blond Viking before he rushed out of the apartment.

I turned to Dixie who was still studying my face with a ghost of a smile on her lips. “It’s just you and me for a while, kiddo. Let’s get to know each other.” I held her close and got acquainted with my new work and living space.