Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 108905 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108905 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
I loved my tub, and it pained me to do it, but I turned off the taps and popped the plug, opting for a shower instead. I washed up as fast as I could—which wasn’t very fast, considering the layers of filth that had accumulated on me—and dressed in some fresh clothes. I braided my hair, not bothering to blow dry it, and went back to the kitchen.
A hot guy being cute with a baby was the most incredibly sexy thing to me, even though I’d never wanted kids. There was just something satisfying in seeing a guy who should, by societal standards, strive for hyper-masculinity in all things, doing something traditionally feminine.
And there wasn’t much that said “traditionally feminine” more than feeding a sleepy baby. El-Mudad had taken off his jacket, and he sat in one of the kitchen chairs, holding Olivia in the crook of his arm. His t-shirt must have been tailored or something, because it fit him the way Chris Evans’s t-shirts fit in the Marvel movies. I swore the sleeves were straining, while the faded burgundy cotton clung to his near-concave abs.
Olivia gazed up at him, her fat little hands clasped around his as he fed her the bottle. When I fed her, she held her own bottle. She didn’t need his help, she was just flirting with him.
When she was old enough to process abstract thought, we were going to have a serious conversation about pretending to be helpless to get a guy’s attention.
“That was faster than I expected,” he said with a chuckle. “I thought you would be hiding in there for at least twenty-four hours.”
“Nah.” I went to the coffee pot, glancing at the stove. “You made the mac and cheese?”
“Yes. Somehow, by the grace of God, I was able to complete this task, though the struggle was mighty.”
“Okay, smart ass. I’m sorry, I’m just impressed that you and Neil know how to do anything.” I filled the coffee pot with water as I talked. “If I had that kind of money, I would never do anything.”
“But you do have that kind of money. And there you are, making coffee.” he reminded me.
“And mac and cheese,” I admitted guiltily. “I don’t know, I thought maybe because I grew up in a different lifestyle than the two of you…but, you know, it is a little weird having someone taking care of Olivia, instead of us, all the time. It’s nice, but it’s a little weird.”
“Having live-in staff is intrusive,” El-Mudad agreed. “Is that why you don’t have a nanny?”
“Oh, we do.” I paused to grind the coffee beans. As I dumped them into the filter, I added, “She’s just out of town for a family thing.”
“And you’re somehow able to survive?” he teased. “Having money is just having money, but you know how inconvenient it can be. If you want a snack at two in the morning, do you call someone and wait for them to make it, or is it easier just to go to the kitchen yourself?”
“Okay, that’s a point. But this is also coming from the guy who made his helicopter pilot just sit around while we f—” I noticed Olivia’s interested stare. “While we…played board games.”
He raised an eyebrow.
Olivia wiggled and let the nipple of the bottle go with a wet pop. I threw a kitchen towel over my shoulder and went to take her. Instead, when I leaned down, El-Mudad snagged the towel from my shoulder and flipped it over his own. He lifted Olivia with practiced ease and said, “I miss this, with my girls.”
“You got to be pretty involved with them when they were growing up?” I asked, taking a seat at the table.
He rubbed Olivia’s back as he considered. “As much as I would have liked to be? No. I was too young to realize that they were a blessing and not possessions.”
I frowned. El-Mudad was thirty-six. “Wait, how old are your kids?”
“Amal is fourteen, and Rashida is eleven.” He shrugged one shoulder. “I wasn’t a teenager, but I might as well have been. Bijou was the one who had to mature quickly when we had the girls.”
“Bijou was your wife?” He’d never mentioned her by name before.
“Yes. I met her in France, on a trip with my father. She was a waitress at a café.” He smiled fondly at the memory, but the fondness quickly turned to black humor. “I should have skipped the coffee that day.”
I shook my head. “No. Look at what you got out of it. I mean, my mom probably regretted sleeping with my father at that party. Objectively, you could say that I ruined her life. But she doesn’t see it that way.”
“You’re right—” Olivia’s loud burp interrupted him. He chuckled and drew his head back to look at his shoulder. “Ah, you hit the target. Very good.”