Ryke is more comfortable with his nephew since Lily and Lo don’t have a printed list of rules for handling their kid. He told me that last week when I asked why he never visits Jane in her nursery but he’s constantly in Moffy’s.
I tap my high heel, the threatening noise dying on the rug.
Ryke suddenly tosses Maximoff in the air, the baby out of his hands. Wide, hot and frantic laser beams shoot out of my eyes. Ryke catches him around the waist upon descent, and Moffy laughs again in delight.
My mouth is permanently unhinged. I think I just had a myocardial infarction.
“Ryke,” I almost shout his name. Jane will not live past tomorrow with him.
“Yeah, I got it. The lion is fucking important.” He sets down Moffy, and the baby beelines for Jane again.
“I swear to everything that’s holy, if her first word is fuck I’m going to strangle you in your sleep.”
Ryke sighs heavily, glancing between the babies and me. “We’ve been over this. If you don’t want me cursing around your baby, then don’t fucking let me babysit.”
That’s not an option. When Jane and Moffy were first born, Lily and I took time off work to be with our babies, but now that they’re a little older, we have to return to our companies.
Halway Comics has launched a brand new superhero through a twelve-issue event. Lo, through his own keen eye and passion, discovered the writer and the artist. Even though the company now has a marketing team, Lily is in charge of merchandising the new superhero throughout Superheroes & Scones: cardboard cutouts, sweatshirts, lunch boxes, watches, action figures and more.
It’s a critical time for them. This superhero could launch their brand into the stratosphere of Marvel and DC and Image Comics. Or it could fail.
I also lent control of my boutique, Calloway Couture, to trusted employees while I focus on Calloway Couture Babies with Loren, the fashion line now owned by Hale Co. The only company at a stasis is Cobalt Inc.—which has reached a high profit margin and needs no further growth or expansion right now.
Our “no nanny” policy is still in place. We take turns working from home to watch the kids. Ryke and Daisy offer to babysit sometimes, and I wish my little sister could be here to help her boyfriend and to restrain him from tossing children and things into the air.
She’s in New York City for a therapy appointment with Frederick.
Maybe I can wait for her to come home…
I glance at my cell.
“Janie will be fine with me,” Ryke tries to assure me. He sits on the rug in front of both babies, and they crawl onto his ankles with jubilant smiles. Connor and I argue about her godparents—the same way that Lily and Lo have trouble choosing. They won’t tell us who they’re leaning towards, and we haven’t announced who we are either.
I always lean towards Lily, my closest sister.
But Connor trusts Ryke. He tells me all the time that Ryke is more suited to take care of handfuls of children. Lo can’t handle eight kids, if we have that many. Ryke could.
I recall Connor’s confidence in Ryke. I hone in on the fact that he’d be willing to leave Jane with him forever if we died.
Okay, Ryke. I’m trusting you with my daughter. No lists this time. I desperately try not to think about him throwing her in the air like a football.
“Don’t be a hero,” I say, my tone icy. “If you think something is wrong, just call me.”
“You’re on speed dial, Rose.”
I nod once, and my heels finally unglue from the rug. It takes an incredible amount of force to slowly walk away and out the door.
* * *
I should have stayed home.
The singular thought crosses my mind when the Chief Quality and Product Integrity Officer of Hale Co. decides to ramble about branding for Calloway Couture Babies instead of focusing on his particular field of interest.
Being with Jane is less of a headache and a million times more pleasant than this.
“The board of executives are going to make the final call on what to name the brand,” James reminds me for the tenth time. “You should let go of this so we can move forward. We’re working on a timeline.”
“I’m aware of the timeline.” CCB will be in stores this summer, and until then, I need to sort through labels, advertising, merchandising, and appeasing the person with the most sway: the head of this company.
Loren Hale.
I’d rather focus solely on designs, but I love the control Loren has granted me. He designated me the head of the baby clothes division. This isn’t just a fashion line. It’s a subsidiary company of a huge corporation, something I’ve never been entirely a part of.
I spent years in college struggling to sell my designs to big corporations like H&M, succeeding only a fraction of the time, and ultimately letting the dream fall to the wayside. The stress and uncertainty was driving me insane and it didn’t hold the same value it once did.
Now that I finally have the opportunity to see my clothes permanently in department stores, I won’t compromise all of my artistic beliefs.
James continues talking, and I hold up a hand, stopping him mid-sentence.
“I’ve heard everything you’re telling me from the Chief Marketing Officer.” Albeit, on the phone while he’s away on vacation. “So if the next words aren’t an original idea or thought, I’m going to cut off your tongue.”
The ash-blond man, twice my age, goes silent. He pushes his thin, silver-rimmed glasses further up his nose.
I drum my nails on my desk. “I like you, James.”
“Could have fooled me, Mrs. Cobalt.” He lets out an unsure, uncomfortable laugh.
My expression never softens. “You’re in my office, sitting in one of my chairs.” I motion to where his ass resides, five-feet from my mahogany desk. “But if you keep coming in here just to reiterate that the company wants to put HC on the tags and not CCB, you’re not going to make it past my doorway.”
I hate being the bitch boss. It’s a cliché that I most naturally fit into. My cold personality aside, I struggle to handle my employees and these businessmen any other way. They all look at me as a twenty-six-year-old girl, seated here from nepotism and notoriety. I can’t trounce the judgment without time and a track record, showing I deserve this position because I’m intelligent, hardworking, and damn good at creating clothes—even miniature-sized ones for little monsters.
He shifts uneasily in his chair. Good. A small twinge of guilt flares, foreign and very, very unwelcome.
“Anything else?” I ask, clutching my pen like a knife, my fingertips whitening. I feel like an Amazonian Warrior, ready to assail an enemy at first glance. The only problem: poor James is not my enemy. He’s on my team, but it doesn’t feel that way.
“Nothing as of right now,” James mutters before standing. I watch him dash to the door, ready to leave my office. I bet the first thing he’ll do is gossip about me. How nasty of a bitch I am. How my husband probably isn’t satisfying me at home.
That was yesterday’s comments I overheard in the breakroom, right beside the microwave and Fizzle vending machine.
Today’s gossip will be more colorful, I’m sure.
When James leaves, I spot a feminine body outside, fist raised. She lowers it and procures a congenial smile, red hair splayed over her shoulder. Hannah is the only female I interact with on a daily basis, and it’s usually perfunctory comments or the frequent, Loren Hale would like to see you in his office.