Daddy's Girl (Bachelor Fathers) Read online

  He shifted Daisy to his other arm. "You did a great job this morning. I'm impressed."

  She dipped her head in acknowledgment. "Thanks. Some women are rocket scientists, others are baby wranglers."

  "I've heard you're one of the best in the business."

  "Small business," she said. "Not a great deal of competition."

  "You should learn how to take a compliment, Ross. I don't hand them out often."

  "Then tell your boss," she said brightly. "I can always use the work." The twinkle was back in her blue eyes. "But tell him that as of tonight I'm on vacation." She had one more assignment this afternoon and then she was free for the next six weeks, after which she flew to the island of Maui in Hawaii for a job.

  "Why don't I get Daisy's diaper situation squared away, then maybe we could grab a bite to eat somewhere. I owe you for saving my butt back there."

  She hesitated, her gaze resting on Daisy. "It isn't that I don't appreciate the offer, Hunter, but I don't think I--"

  "No problem," he broke in. Obviously Daisy was the real attraction here. "Thanks again for taking such good care of her during the shoot."

  She gave the baby's foot an affectionate squeeze. "My pleasure. She's a doll."

  Daisy let loose with another wail of distress and Hunter felt instantly guilty. "I'd better change her."

  Jeannie nodded. "See you around Madison Avenue, Hunter."

  He watched as she disappeared down the corridor. "So much for flirtation," he said to Daisy as they headed back toward his office where he'd stashed the diaper bag. There'd been a time when women had actually sought his company. These days it seemed as if Daisy was the only female eager to spend time with him.

  Not too many of the women he knew were itching to jump into a ready-made family. Having a baby was one thing; raising someone else's baby was another thing entirely.

  His last date had been over five months ago and there wasn't another one anywhere on the horizon. Which was probably a good thing since he barely had time to brush his teeth in the morning, much less manage a social life.

  "She wasn't my type anyway," he said as he headed down the hallway toward his office. He liked tall, leggy blondes. Jeannie Ross scarcely topped five feet, if she was lucky and her hair was black as a starless sky.

  Still he had the oddest sense that they had only just begun....

  Once in his office, he shoved aside the fax machine and a portable car seat, and changed Daisy on the credenza, right next to a stack of million-dollar ad presentations waiting to be signed off on. Hard to believe there'd been a time when his office had looked like an office and not a branch of Baby World.

  "Ingenious use of company furniture," said a dry male voice from the doorway.

  Hunter, diaper in hand, glanced over his shoulder. Walter Grantham, the boss of bosses at CN&S, offered up one of his executioner's smiles. Daisy, oblivious to danger, happily kicked her chubby legs in the air.

  Hunter ditched the dirty diaper in the garbage pail and reached for a clean one.

  "What can I do for you, Walt?" he asked Grantham as he slid the fresh diaper under Daisy's bottom. No point in stopping the proceedings now. Not even Hunter was clever enough to pretend he was doing anything but the obvious.

  "Good going," said Grantham, aiming his smile at Daisy. It was the first time he'd looked at the baby as anything other than a pain in the butt. "You pulled our fat out of the fire. Team spirit. That's what we need around here...more team spirit."

  "We'll have to fill out forms on Daisy." Hunter fastened the diaper securely then rummaged through the diaper bag for a pair of pink ruffled pants. "Social security card, all that sort of thing. The government's pretty clear on the requirements." And so am I. He damn well expected his daughter to be paid for her labors. Daisy might not command the same fee as the talented little Amanda, but his daughter was no slouch.

  "Of course, of course," said Grantham, although Hunter could see that the notion of compensation had taken the man by surprise. "Personnel will see to everything." Again that killer smile. "We have to keep our young star happy, don't we?"

  Hunter quickly glanced around for the guillotine in the corner or the firing squad hidden behind the drapes. He scooped Daisy up in his arms, then leaned against the edge of the desk. Grantham, of course, remained standing. Everyone at the ad company had majored in intimidation in school--Hunter, included. Trouble was, you could only look just so intimidating with an eight-month-old baby sucking on your silk tie.

  "Hunter," said Grantham, "we need to talk...."

  Jeannie was standing on line at the deli that evening when she saw him. At first she wasn't entirely sure that the exhausted-looking man with the baby girl asleep on his shoulder was the same sophisticated ad exec she'd bantered with earlier that day, but that rough-hewn profile of his was a dead giveaway. You didn't see too many men in the middle of New York City who looked as if they'd ridden straight out of a Marlboro commercial. He was leaning against the other end of the long counter, his eyes at half-mast, apparently waiting for his order to be prepared.

  "The usual, Jeannie?" Tuna-on-rye-hold-the-mayo, extra pickles, and a Diet Pepsi.

  "And a brownie. It's been a long day."

  Al shook his head. "Believe me, I like your business, Jeannie, but when're you going to make yourself a hot meal?"

  "Oh, you know how it is, Al," she said, stealing another glance at Hunter Phillips who seemed to be asleep on his feet. "Never enough time to get to the supermarket before it closes." Not entirely forthcoming, but true enough.

  As far as Jeannie was concerned, there was no lonelier place on earth than the express checkout line on a weekday evening. You could tell a lot about a woman by peeking into her grocery cart. Those cans of soup-for-one were a dead giveaway.

  Al set about putting together her order. Jeannie turned slightly and glanced at Hunter for the third time in as many minutes. The sight of that beautiful blond baby nestled in his arms brought a lump to her throat. If men had any idea how effective it was on soft-hearted women, bachelors would rent babies and stand around looking ruggedly vulnerable.

  So go say hello, Jeannie.

  She hesitated. She'd only met him once and that had been strictly business.

  You know you loved that baby. Wouldn't it be nice to hold her in your arms one more time?

  She took a step back. All the more reason to stay away. The last thing she needed was to get attached to his little girl, even for an instant.

  Take a good look at him, Jeannie. He's a pathetic sight.

  Gorgeous dark-haired men with muscles to spare couldn't be pathetic if they tried. He probably had an equally gorgeous wife at home and three more adorable children.

  "Here's your sandwich, Jeannie." Al leaned across the counter and handed her a brown paper bag. "Bon appetit."

  "See you tomorrow, Al." Taking the bag, she started for the cash register, certain she could make her getaway without being spotted by Hunter Phillips.

  She was about to pocket her change and vanish when it happened.

  "Jeannie? That's you, isn't it?"

  Slowly she turned around. "Hunter." She gently touched the sleeping baby's foot. "Hi, Daisy."

  He looked even more exhausted up close. Dark circles ringed his beautiful hazel-green eyes and he stifled a yawn. His fancy silk tie looked as if it had been caught in a threshing machine and his slacks had never recovered from the accident that morning.

  Strangely enough, none of it mattered. The truth was, the man looked more splendid tired and rumpled than most other men looked on their wedding day.

  "You live around here?" he asked, shifting Daisy's position.

  Jeannie nodded, trying hard not to notice the way the baby's chubby hand rested against her daddy's cheek. "The old pre-war building across the street."

  He whistled low. "I know that place. High ceilings, great view...how'd you manage it?"

  "Dumb luck. I came to town just as my old college roommate was leaving. I'm suble
tting." Okay, Jeannie. The ball's in your court. "Are we neighbors?"

  He gave her an address two blocks away. "Not as impressive as your building, but we like it."

  We. Hunter and Daisy? Hunter and wife and Daisy? Just ask, you fool. It's not against the law.

  "Pastrami on rye, extra mustard, side of slaw," called out one of the counter clerks.

  "Over here," Hunter said. "I'll be right with you."

  "Look," said Jeannie, "I don't want to keep you from your dinner."

  He started fumbling around for his wallet, trying to balance briefcase, diaper bag, and sleeping child.

  "Let me help you," said Jeannie. She reached for the briefcase and diaper bag. He handed her the baby instead.

  Daisy's cornflower blue eyes fluttered open. She gave Jeannie one of those unfocused, sleepy looks that children specialized in, then popped her thumb in her mouth and promptly went back to sleep. For a moment she was tempted to hand Daisy over to the cashier and run for her life, but reason intervened.

  You work with babies eight hours a day. Hugging them, playing with them, wiping away their tears. This isn't anything different.

  But it was. Jeannie didn't know how or why, but from the first moment she saw Daisy and Hunter, she'd had the feeling that life would never be the same.

  "Ridiculous," she said out loud, nuzzling Daisy's sweet-smelling neck. She was tired and hungry and not thinking clearly. A baby was a baby was a baby. Tomorrow she'd be working with Amanda or Troy, and Daisy would be another chubby little face in her scrapbook. "What's taking your daddy so long?" She glanced toward the counter where Hunter was engrossed in conversation with Al. Hunter held a brown paper bag like her own and was about to take possession of another bag twice its size.

  "You have quite an appetite," she remarked when he approached.

  "This is mine," he said, lifting the smaller of the two bags. "The other is for both of us."

  Her mouth dropped open in surprise. "For the both of us?"

  "Yeah," said Hunter as if they'd been through it a hundred times before. "I wanted to take you to lunch this afternoon."

  "And I said no." She tried to ignore the fact that Daisy's face was now pressed against her cheek. "I never mix business with pleasure."

  "We're not doing business any more. Daisy is retired."

  "Perhaps," said Jeannie, "but you aren't."

  "Don't worry. The odds of us doing business together again are a million to one." He rarely handled advertising accounts that had anything to do with children or pets. She never handled anything else.

  "How do you know I don't have a husband at home waiting for me?"

  The expression on his face told her he hadn't remotely considered his invitation in a romantic light. "He's welcome to join us." He paused a beat. "Are you married?"

  She shook her head. "Are you?"

  "No. It's just Daisy and me."

  He had the kind of smile a woman felt in body parts she hadn't realized she possessed. Not that it mattered to Jeannie. She was no more interested in him that way than he was interested in her.

  "So what do you say, Jeannie? Just dinner. No strings attached. The place is a pigsty, but I can clear a spot for us at the table easy enough."

  She thought of her own immaculate apartment. Quiet. Pristine. Lonely.

  "Why don't you and Daisy come to my place?" The words were out before she realized what she was doing.

  "Sounds great." He traded his bags of food for his baby daughter. "Let me drop my gear off at home and grab something for Daisy and we'll be over."

  She gave him her street address and apartment number. "Ring twice and I'll buzz you in," she said. "The doorman's on vacation."

  "Half an hour?" Hunter asked.

  “Perfect,” Jeannie said.

  Chapter 2

  "So what do you think?" Hunter asked as he buttoned Daisy into the red and white sweater his office assistant had knitted for her. It was early May and the evenings were still cool "Is this a date or isn't it?"

  Daisy happily waved her chubby legs in the air then blew a spit bubble.

  "That's about what I thought," said Hunter. "It's not a date."

  So this was what it had come down to: asking an eight-month-old baby for advice on his love life.

  "What love life?" he said, scooping up Daisy into his arms. His once energetic social calendar had disappeared somewhere between Daisy's berth and the introduction of solid foods.

  No wonder he'd entertained a fleeting glimmer of hope that Jeannie Ross's impromptu invitation was something more than a humanitarian gesture.

  "We must've looked pretty pathetic in the deli," he said as he grabbed his leather jacket and slung it over his shoulder. Daisy had been asleep in his arms and he'd practically been out on his feet himself.

  But not any more.

  He gathered up the rest of her paraphernalia. Funny how meeting up with a beautiful and sympathetic woman could put the wind back in your sails.

  "Okay, Daisy, here are the ground rules," he said as they rode the elevator down to the lobby. "No food fights, no spitting up on your hostess, and no cussing. Got it?"

  "Daah," said Daisy.

  Got it.

  Twenty minutes later Jeannie wasn't so sure.

  The apartment was in the same immaculate condition in which she'd left it that morning, but still she raced from room to room, dusting, polishing, and making sure everything was in order. When you lived alone, it was easy to keep the place clean, but Jeannie couldn't resist making doubly certain things were in order. It wasn't every day she invited a total stranger home for dinner. God only knew what had possessed her to ask Hunter and Daisy to her apartment, but ask them she had.

  When Jeannie had moved in, Clare had said that Jeannie could make any changes she wished, but she had been content to leave things pretty much as is. She'd added a few Ansel Adams prints to the mix and a pair of ivory rugs that had set her back a month's salary and that was it.

  The English country decor begged for family photos scattered here and there, but she didn't need framed snapshots to make the memories any more clear than they already were.

  "Enough of that," she said out loud, heading into the kitchen. She refused to live in the past. Besides, Hunter and Daisy would be there in less than five minutes and the table wasn't even set. Working quickly, she found her favorite taxi-cab yellow plates on the top shelf, the ruby glasses in the cabinet over the refrigerator, and her best flatware in a shoebox tucked away in her bedroom closet.

  Jeannie couldn't remember the last time she'd set a proper table. Mostly she met her friends in local restaurants or cafes for a quick bite and the latest gossip. There was something eminently satisfying about arranging plates and napkins and silverware in the proper pattern and knowing there would be someone other than yourself to enjoy it. More often than not, Jeannie ate in front of the television, watching game shows or sitcom reruns.

  "Daisy!" She stood in the middle of the dining area with her hands on her hips. She didn't have a high chair or a booster seat. None of the paraphernalia babies required. Maybe she should call information and get Hunter's telephone number and--

  Too late.

  The doorbell rang once, then twice.

  Jeannie's heart did a little jig inside her chest. "You don't get out enough, lady," she muttered as she checked her reflection in the mirror one last time. This wasn't a date with Mel Gibson, for heaven's sake. She was splitting pastrami on rye with a bachelor father from the ad agency and his adorable little girl.

  It wasn't a date.

  It wasn't even the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

  It was just a sandwich and nothing more.

  It took her awhile to open the door. Hunter and Daisy waited patiently while Jeannie undid the various locks, chains, and bolts city life demanded.

  "Hi," she said as the door opened wide. "Come on in."

  "How'd you know who it was?" he asked, sounding uncharacteristically protective. "You didn't look th
rough the peephole."

  She laughed and ushered him inside, then closed the door behind him. "You rang twice, remember?"

  "Anyone could ring twice. That's not exactly a secret code."

  "You surprise me, Hunter," she said, holding out her arms for Daisy. "I wouldn't have figured you for a worrier."

  "Try eight months of instant parenthood," he said as he put Daisy in her arms.

  She looked as if she wanted to say something but thought better of it. "The coat closet's to the left of the door," she said.

  He shrugged out of his battered leather jacket, one of the few items of clothing Daisy had yet to mark as her own. "I'll drape it over a chair," he said easily. "Leather doesn't wrinkle."

  "Did you bring Daisy's things?"

  He gestured toward a large canvas bag at his feet. "Everything short of her pajamas and night light."

  Jeannie handled the baby with the ease of someone who'd had a great deal of practice. Hunter was frankly envious of the casual way she balanced Daisy on one hip while she rummaged through the bag. Before he knew it, Jeannie had spread a blanket on the floor next to the dining room table, right on top of a fancy hand-knotted carpet. Daisy's brightly colored toys looked right at home.

  For that matter, so did Daisy. Jeannie didn't blink an eye when the baby scooted across the blanket and onto the expensive rug, blowing spit bubbles as she went.

  "Don't worry about it," Jeannie said went Hunter dove to retrieve his peripatetic daughter. "The rug's mine, not Clare's, and it's survived worse than Daisy."

  There was nothing about her warm and open manner to belie her words. Babies came with certain built-in drawbacks. Wet diapers. Spit-up. Sticky fingers. It was no wonder his friends now limited their invitations to public places only.

  "I'm afraid the apartment isn't baby-proofed. You keep your eye on Daisy," she continued, "while I put everything out on the table."

  "Our food's in the brown bag," he said. "Daisy's is in the red vinyl."

  Jeannie peeked inside the zippered bag. "I made her some farina."