Page 4 of Vicious Arrangement (Alpha Billionaire Daddies #7)

Chapter Four

NOAH

I’m still fuming the following evening when I get out of my Uber on Leonard Street, in the old-school Italian part of Williamsburg that’s been overrun by hipsters.

Asher’s house has a small yard that used to house a saint in a plastic display unit when he inherited it from his grandparents.

I go through the gate, and in two steps I’m at the door. It swings open when I knock, and a scream of “Noah!” splits the air as a rambunctious four-year-old launches himself at me. I swing my satchel with the wine in it to behind me as I catch him and swing him high in the air as I step inside.

“Noah! Noah! Noah!” He hugs me tight and plants kisses on my face and I can’t help but squeeze his little body that’s starting to lose some puppy fat. He giggles and screams, “spin me!”

I laugh. “In your hallway?”

“Yes!”

“You might go flying through the wall and into Daddy’s study.”

The idea delights him. “Daddy, can Noah make me a doorway?”

Asher’s laughter fills the air as he walks through the converted house, now mostly open plan, apart from his study, bathrooms, and bedrooms, and he shakes his head, a tea towel over one shoulder.

The air is filled with the delicious aromas of what smells like lasagna, something he’ll have made from scratch from his Nonna’s cookbook.

“I don’t think so, Joshy,” he says to his kid. “I need some privacy when I work.”

“Daddy’s no fun.”

I put Josh down, and he races off to the living room area, which is set up for him to play in, and he starts in on his Lego.

I follow Asher through to the kitchen.

“You know, man, I think that damn kid loves you more than me.”

“I’m richer,” I say.

“You’re an asshole.” But he grins and pours a glass of wine, pushing it over the granite island at me.

“Thanks.” I set down my satchel and pull out dessert, and the wine, and a small packet of Josh’s favorite candy. “Of course, he might just pretend to love me for these.”

Thing is, as Asher grins in the direction where Josh is, I can feel the love in the air. It’s actually palpable. And it hurts something in me, as well as makes my heart swell.

It really doesn’t matter how often I see them together, his love for his kid is something that amazes me and humbles me.

Josh is so well-adjusted, just a good kid who knows he’s loved.

Nothing’s missing in Josh’s life, he’s never wanted his mommy, not since he was a tiny kid. He just wants his daddy, the man who loves and protects him, who cheers him on and keeps his life warm and good.

It’s a million years from my cold upbringing.

But it’s not just Joshy. It’s Asher. I’d never tell him, but he’s a rock for me, too. I’ve never met someone so together.

He’s a single fucking dad in New York, raising his little son. I mean, Josh is the best, but he’s also four and tantrums and four-year-old dramas happens all the time. But Asher just takes it in his stride and no matter how busy he is, he has endless time and patience for Josh.

“How the fuck do you do it?” I ask.

“Do what?” He takes a swallow of his red wine, and starts chopping a cucumber into small cubes the way Josh likes. “I pick up a knife, slice the cuke this way, and then?—”

“Not that.” I take a swallow of the wine, tension easing out of me. “This. Josh. Your life. You work as an IT specialist from home. And you manage to cook, clean and do everything for Josh.”

“He’s a good kid,” Asher says, “and not all of us were born with a whole selection of silver spoons.”

“Yeah, well, there are times I can barely look after myself.”

“It’s the drool, you’ll want to see to that.”

“Funny.”

“I’m thinking of taking the act on the road.”

But the thing is, it’s true. I don’t know how to nurture myself or anyone else. It’s why I avoid relationships. All that shit where you need to look after the relationship, to grow it, or whatever bullshit they all say you have to do.

I’m better on my own.

So yeah, I avoid relationships. At least it’s one of the reasons.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Fine.”

“I’m asking?—”

“I know what you’re asking about, Ash,” I say, getting up and putting the dessert to one side and the candy in a cupboard so Asher can give them to Josh at his own discretion.

It’s not about laurels for me. I don’t need to buy this kid’s love or win points, but I like to do little things to spoil him and not step on Daddy’s toes in the meantime.

“He was still your grandfather.”

“Oscar was a controlling, cold, unfeeling man to me. And yeah, to you and Josh, he was nice, and I thank you for coming to the funeral, but I’m fine.”

“Let me put my therapist hat on for a moment. Complicated relationships bring conflicted and complicated feelings about things like death.”

“Oh, fucking kill me.”

He darts a look over to the living room. “Fucking language, Noah.”

“I’m good.” And it’s not complicated. My grandfather resented me, and I loved him without a drop of love back.

That’s about as simple as it gets.

But I change the subject and we talk about the hot kindergarten teacher I noticed one time I dropped Josh off for Asher.

“You gonna ask her out?”

“I’m not dating his teacher.”

I look at him. “Are kindergarten teachers real teachers?”

“You walk fine and dangerous lines, Noah.”

“What lines? Can I draw lines?” Josh says, looking about, appearing from nowhere. The kid sometimes has a stealth mode when he isn’t operating his noise-making one. “I’m hungry.”

Asher adds the now-chopped tomatoes to the salad, and wipes his hands, and grins at his kid. “Well, we better do something about that.”

“And no woman’s trying to marry you for food like that,” I say, pouring another glass of wine.

Asher snorts a laugh as Josh is spread on the sofa, Spiderman in one hand and sound asleep. “I haven’t met one I want to impress yet.”

Shit, we’re both as skittish as the other, but the difference is Asher would meet someone in a heartbeat if he didn’t think it could put strain on Josh.

He doesn’t want to be one of those parents with a different flavor of mommy or special friend every other week. Right now, his focus is on his kid.

But he, unlike me, should have someone.

“You want help getting him to bed?” I ask.

“Hell no. Move him right now and he’ll be awake. Noah is here, so he’ll be up for hours trying to show you how cool he is.”

“He is cool.”

Asher smiles and picks up a small slice of the chocolate-raspberry pie I bought. Josh and Asher love this bakery and I’m fond of it, too. Plus, it’s around the corner from me in SoHo.

“He is,” Asher says. “Want to tell me why you’re so quiet? More than usual.”

“Fucking Oscar put stipulations in his will. Marry some girl or finish the merger with Sanderson Inc. in order to get the billions I’m meant to inherit, along with being president of Templeton’s.”

He frowns, then shrugs. “So go through with the merger. Billions can take a merger. I know of Sanderson, but they’re not huge, just known and have been part of the New York landscape for forever. It won’t send you under. Fuck, I doubt it’ll rock Templeton at all.”

I give him a sour look as I set my wine glass down, that anger coiling up inside once more. “Fuck that. The merger’s a terrible business idea. I’m not doing it. And the worst thing? Oscar knew that, right from the start. So that’s off the table.”

“Well, I guess you’ll be getting married, then. Congrats?” He leans in. “Who is the lucky lady, anyway?”

I open my mouth and close it again. “Fucked if I know.”

He chortles with laughter. “Oh yeah, you’re a great businessman.”

“Her name’s Aria Sanderson and I just have to marry her for however long, a year or so. I don’t have to fuck her.”

“Charming.”

I don’t know a thing about her. Not what she looks like, her age, or what she does.

“Aria… Sanderson …” Asher starts typing into his phone, and I grab mine and do the same.

“I don’t know, man, maybe we met when we were kids. Oscar was friends with William, her grandfather.”

“She’s on the socials… is she… a nurse?”

“Dude…” I stop because I come across her feeds. She isn’t a socialite, far from it.

There’s a photo of her in scrubs, looking tired, and the caption reads My Team! It’s not by her, though, but she’s listed, and I know who she is because…

“Fuck.”

“What is it?” Asher asks. “You don’t like blondes?”

But I’ve moved on from her in scrubs to her with a guy I don’t like at all, not from his smug face to his try-hard goatee. She’s in a red dress, smiling, her hair’s down in loose waves and not the curls I saw. But…

“Holy shit, it’s the girl from the bar.”

He smacks my phone down to the table. “Do not tell me you already boned her.”

“I didn’t bone anyone. This week.” Or last week, either, but I’m not telling him that.

Asher doesn’t say a thing, just waits for me to start fucking talking. So I sigh.

“I met her the night of the funeral. I went out drinking. I needed… I just needed to get hammered or something, I don’t fucking know.”

“Uh huh.”

I scowl. “And she literally bumped into me. You saw the pics?”

He picks up his phone, looks me up because he starts snickering about diapers. But I ignore him.

“She spilled a jug of water on me. And then she decided to try and wipe it up.”

He stares and suddenly starts falling about laughing.

“Not that funny, Ash.”

“It is, you know,” he says, wiping his eyes. “Were there sparks?”

“We seemed to have a connection, and she was in no way trying to run off. I think we would’ve hooked up if it wasn’t for her very drunk friend.”

“Cocked blocked by a drunk.” But he shakes his head as he considers me. “You know, you’re being forced to marry someone you’re actually attracted to, so maybe it won’t be so bad.”

“Maybe you’re right,” I say, thinking about it.

Because yeah, he’s right. Things could be a whole lot worse.