Tasty Mango: A Billionaire and Single Mom Romantic Comedy Page 6

  I hang up and switch to the new call. “Havannah!”

  “Donovan! You’re calling. You’re going to have to turn in your Millennial card!”

  I laugh. “I do a lot of phone calls for work. It’s natural to me.”

  “I only talk to Grandmama on the phone.” She laughs, and the sound is like music.

  “Well, I have a proposition for you. It’s not an indecent proposal. I promise. But it might sound like one.”

  “Now you have my attention.”

  “Can you see Maplewood Street from your apartment?”

  “What?”

  “Maplewood Street. It’s in front of your apartment complex. Can you see the street from where you are?”

  “Sure, if I go to Magnolia’s room.” Her voice has a suspicious note in it.

  “Well, go to Magnolia’s room!”

  There’s silence for a moment, then some rustling, then a sharp inhale. “Is that your limo?”

  “A rental, but yes, it’s mine.”

  “Is that you?”

  I look up at all the windows I can see on my side. I have no idea where her apartment might be. I’ve never been there, as she met me by the street for our one and only date. But then I see movement, and Havannah leans out the window and waves.

  “Is that really you?” she yells, forgetting the phone. I have to pull it away from my ear.

  I kill the call and hold out my arms. “In the flesh!” I shout.

  “Well, come up! I’m in 208. Go straight down the pathway, then turn left two staircases down.”

  I follow the directions. The apartment complex is a lot like the one where I lived in college, tan brick with faded brown siding. Metal and concrete staircases lead to doors with gold numbers and twenty layers of paint.

  I knock on the door, and she opens it, looking exactly like her picture from a few hours ago. Her long golden hair flows down her back.

  She’s perfect.

  “You’re here,” she says, sounding breathless.

  “Pretty crazy, right?”

  She backs into the apartment to let me in.

  A floral sofa dominates the room, the arm piled high with white cloths. There’s a baby swing in the corner, slowly undulating back and forth. Rebel is inside, asleep.

  “We should whisper,” I say.

  “Let’s go to another room,” she says.

  I follow her down a short hall to a bedroom. It’s messy, the bedspread rumpled. A small bassinet sits at the foot of it. The dresser is strewn with colorful bits of baby items. Cardboard boxes of diapers fill the corner.

  “I’m not even going to make an excuse about the mess,” she says. “I’m doing good to keep us both bathed and fed.” She sits on the edge of her bed.

  I lean against the doorframe. “Don’t sell yourself short. I’m not sure I could keep a small human alive, much less take him to work.”

  She smiles, her eyes on me, and that electric charge I felt when I first met her two months ago zips through me as if no time has passed.

  “So, I thought you were in France,” she says. “I don’t understand why you’re here.”

  It’s do-or-die time.

  “I have a proposition for you.”

  “Right.” She tilts her head, her expression wary. “You mentioned an indecent proposal.”

  “Come to the wedding.”

  Her eyes go wide. “How? Everyone’s already gone. I could never get a flight. And there’s Rebel. The plane would be full of people.”

  “I brought my own plane. It’ll just be us.” I long to reach out and hold her hand or make some small gesture, but I’m not sure where we stand. We have, after all, had only one date. I’ve never even kissed her.

  “There will only be the pilot and two crew members. The flight attendant is the mother of three. We’ll have help.”

  Havannah runs her hands over the bedspread, smoothing out wrinkles. “This seems sudden.”

  “There’s a place for you. You’ll stay with your family.”

  “I can’t bring Rebel to the wedding. He might make a fuss. He’s so little.”

  I anticipated this. “Dell and Arianna are bringing an au pair from her daycare business to come with them. I checked with her. The woman is happy to watch Grace and Rebel during the ceremony. She and the kids will be on-site at the castle for the entire ceremony and reception.”

  “You thought of everything.”

  Even as she says it, she stares at the floral pattern on her bedspread.

  So it’s a no. I’m not going to push.

  “I understand it’s too much. I thought I would take a shot.”

  When she finally lifts her eyes to me, I say, “I knew I didn’t have a chance at all if I texted you. I wanted to make a real go at it by flying here to ask you in person.”

  I never took Havannah to be shy, but the way her gaze returns to the floor makes me wonder if I have misjudged her. Maybe it’s her new role as a mother that’s made her cautious.

  I’ve overstepped. “I apologize for putting you in this awkward position,” I say. “I’ll head out.”

  I take a backward step through her doorway, but she holds up a hand.

  “No, wait. Maybe you’re good at snap decisions, but I’m not. Especially now. I have so many things to factor in.”

  So there’s hope. “Is there any concern I can alleviate?”

  “I guess I won’t worry too much about the baby. The flight will be like a bedroom in the air for him, as long as I help him through the takeoff.”

  I chuckle. “A bedroom in the air. That’s quite a picture.”

  She tilts her head with the warning look, and that’s the Havannah I remember.

  “That’s a great segue into the next part of this conversation,” she says. “What are we doing here? You’re a world traveler who owns a jet. I’m a single mom barely keeping her head above water. What’s in it for you?”

  I close the distance and sit next to her on the bed. When her hand is in mine, that electric thrill returns. It’s rare for me to feel it, even with the actresses and heiresses and power players I often find myself out on the town with.

  But I say none of that. I run my thumb along the inside of her palm. “It’s simple, really. Your family is in France. It’s going to be an amazing wedding, and I have the ability to get you there.”

  “So it’s all honorable.” Her tone tells me she doesn’t buy it. Damn, I like her.

  “Oh, certainly not. But I don’t meet a woman like you very often. I’m looking to mitigate the obstacles to be near you. And this wedding is a significant carrot.”

  “A carrot.”

  “You want to go, right? You said yourself you were devastated to miss out.”

  “But a carrot. Like I’m a horse.” She jerks her hand out of mine.

  “No! Not a horse. I needed a way to draw you out.”

  “Like the stable. I’m a broodmare you find more challenging than the society girls you normally run with.”

  “It’s not that.”

  Her ire is rising, her face and chest bright with color. I love it even more.

  I draw upon everything I know about managing difficult circumstances. I’m not out of my depth here. At least, I don’t think so.

  “I knew it would take a lot to get you to come. Rebel is your top priority. I admire you for that. But I want to be your knight in shining armor. I want to take the princess to the ball. Baby and all.”

  Her chin drops out of its defiant jut. “I see. Why this princess? There are real ones to be had where you’re headed.”

  This is it. My last shot. “Because I look forward to our text messages. Even when I’m in the most intense meetings, I find my thoughts drifting to you. I have to fight the urge to check my phone when I know you’re up with the baby. I’ve put his feeding schedule in my phone so I know when I might catch you.” I tug my phone from my pocket and light up the screen.

  She reads it aloud. “‘Five a.m. feeding. Seven, nap, about an hour. Sec
ond feeding midday, another nap around two, but she sleeps, too. Feeding around five, then nine. Don’t bother her until she texts at two a.m.’” She looks up. “You do know it.”

  “You’ve only settled in the last two weeks. But that’s how I knew this could work. The flight might mess him up, but if we keep him on the schedule he’s used to, he’ll be sleeping during the ceremony.”

  When I look up after putting the phone away, her eyes are misted with tears.

  “How can you know so much about me when we’ve only met a few times?” She seems incredulous.

  “Because everything about you is worth knowing,” I say.

  We’re close, the mattress tilting us toward each other. It’s not how I pictured kissing her for the first time. Normally I make it memorable. A quiet balcony at an elite restaurant. A snowy walk. A frenzy on the plush seats of a limo.

  But when my lips meet hers, surrounded by laundry, diaper boxes, and scattered clothes, it isn’t any less perfect.

  It’s the kiss of let’s try. Of I want this. I’m ready.

  Her mouth is warm and inviting. She tastes of stolen chocolate and smells like fruity shampoo and baby powder. My hand slides beneath her hair to the back of her neck. She leans into me, a small groan in her throat.

  Her lips part and the kiss goes deeper, honeyed, desperate. I draw her close, her body pressed to mine. We kiss like teenagers, like star-crossed lovers, like a long-parted couple reunited at last.

  It’s impossible. I barely know her. But I feel it.

  When we gasp apart, her hair is mussed, her lips pink, her eyes bright.

  “All right,” she says. “I’ll come with you.”

  I squeeze her hand. “Good. Let’s pack.”

  9

  Havannah

  Holy baloney, this private jet is something else.

  I step outside of the limo directly onto the airfield. Like, literally, planes are going down the runway a couple of football fields away.

  The wind is high with so much unbroken ground. I hold Rebel’s baby bucket car seat in my arms and take it all in. The airport control tower, off in the distance. The plane, long and sleek and silver, right in front of us. The driver asks if I would like him to carry Rebel up the narrow steel steps leading to the jet door.

  Uh, no way. Nobody’s carrying my baby up those stairs but me.

  “No, thank you,” I say. “But I’ll give you this.” I pass him the diaper bag, my purse, and the sling I expect I will need on board.

  “Very good, ma’am,” he says, and adds my items to the pile of luggage moving from the trunk to a rolling cart.

  Man. One baby and you go from a miss to a ma’am.

  Donovan walks around the car from where he was directing another man to handle the bags. “You got him okay?” he asks.

  I clutch the handle of the bucket seat closer to me. Do I look too pathetic to carry my own baby? Geez. “I’m fine.”

  It might be my outfit, though. I’ve really done it up.

  I had to do it. Big black movie-star sunglasses. A bright gold scarf wrapped around my head and a second one tied around my neck, left long to fly with the wind. Ankle-breaking gold heels. Finally, my feet aren’t swollen anymore, although it was a bit of a squeeze. I have a feeling I might be a permanent half-size bigger, which sucks for my stiletto collection.

  I poured myself into shaper lingerie I bought when I was first pregnant and trying to control my bulge.

  I outgrew it within a month, but it’s coming in handy today to keep all the jiggly parts reined in.

  At first, I regretted letting Magnolia borrow so many of my great dresses, but quickly realized that the ones that fit her weren’t going to work on postpartum me.

  Thankfully, my entire wardrobe isn’t made of skintight hooker dresses. Today’s outfit is a loose-fitting sheath that hits just above the knee.

  I’m going for an Audrey Hepburn vibe, despite the weather pushing ninety degrees in the shade. If the paparazzi were here, I’d look like a million bucks.

  Donovan takes my arm and leads me to the stairs. “I’ll follow close behind. If the baby gets too heavy, say the word.”

  I nod. I’m about halfway up the steps when my arm starts to shake, but I grit my teeth and keep going. Still, when we reach the inside of the plane, I’m relieved to set the baby down.

  A cheerful mid-fifties woman in a smart slate-blue pencil skirt and cardigan approaches. “You’re here!” She looks down at Rebel. “Oh, what a precious little boy!”

  Okay, I already love her.

  She shows me where we can lock his base onto a long padded bench. “We have a spot here to strap in his car seat so he’s good and safe. Looks like he’s out like a light.”

  He snoozed through the car ride, which is typical. The motion soothes him. Only when he’s strapped safely in do I turn around and look at the interior of the jet.

  Two rows of wide leather seats fill the part of the cabin closest to the front wall, which I assume leads to the cockpit. On the far wall, a beautifully appointed dining table with a tablecloth and crystal goblets awaits by a window

  On my side, two swivel chairs take up the corner, then the padded bench holding Rebel’s seat.

  Donovan glances around and nods. “Everything looks perfect, Bianca. Thank you. I’m going to speak with Simon about the flight plan. Show Havannah around so she knows where everything is should she need something for the baby.”

  Bianca smiles. “Of course. Looks like he’s going to sleep for the moment. Let’s take a tour.”

  Donovan heads to the front of the plane. Bianca presses a button on the back wall near the swivel chairs, opening another compartment. “Through here,” she says.

  We pass through a small galley with a sink, microwave, and refrigerator. Clearly this is where the crew stores food and things.

  “If you need to warm up a bottle for the baby, let me know. We can do it in the microwave, or I can boil a pan of water and set it inside. Whichever you like. Do you have some refrigerated things?”

  “I brought some breast milk.”

  “Very good. We’ll get it stored.”

  “I’m not sure where they put the diaper bag,” I say.

  “It will end up here, I’m sure.” She presses a button, and the back panel opens to another room about a third of the size of the first one. “This is the bedroom. The leather sofa folds out into a queen.”

  Everything is luxurious and spotless. The air smells like the inside of a freshly filled linen closet.

  Bianca says, “Let me know if you want me to turn down the bed for you and Rebel. Donovan will sleep up front. The bench Rebel is on also can turn into a bed.”

  “Oh, should I take that one instead?” I ask.

  Bianca shakes her head. “You should be back here. You’ll want to be next to the bathroom.” She presses one more button, and another panel slides open.

  How long is this jet? But I can tell by the shape of this room that we’re at the end. It has a glass and steel shower, a toilet, and a gleaming steel sink.

  “We don’t have a changing table, but I’m guessing any surface will do,” Bianca says. “I’ll make sure some small plastic bags are around for the diapers. Are you cloth or disposable?”

  “I brought disposable for the trip,” I say.

  She nods. “That’s easy, then.”

  We head back to the bedroom. “I do hope I get an opportunity to rock the baby,” Bianca says. “My children are that age where they are grown, but I’m still quite far from grandchildren. I love getting to steal someone else’s.”

  I laugh. “I’m sure you will get your chance.”

  I take the sunglasses from where I pushed them up on my head and unravel the scarf. I feel silly, all gussied up, when I should be more practical. As I pile the items on a small table, the limo driver enters with the diaper bag, my purse, and the sling and sets them on the bed.

  As we pass back through the galley, I ask Bianca, “Will you be traveling with us
once we get to France?”

  She shakes her head. “Sadly, no. Donovan’s brother Dell will be coming from New York. So as soon as we land and the pilot gets a good night’s sleep, we’ll be heading right back to New York to fetch him.”

  “Oh. I got the impression they were already in France.”

  “Arianna and Grace are. She wanted to take her time. She’s pregnant, you know.”

  I vaguely recall Dell mentioning that during our mentoring sessions two months ago. “When is she due?” I ask.

  “Not until November.”

  “So she’s in the easy phase,” I say.

  Bianca nods knowingly. “She’s quite energetic still. We can’t wait to find out what they’re having.”

  I’m glad Bianca is here. It will help with the awkwardness of traveling with a man I barely know.

  In the main section of the jet, Donovan waits by the baby. Rebel’s eyes are open, and he’s looking around with interest.

  “We were having a little man-to-man,” Donovan says. “I’m teaching him the finer points of jet ownership.”

  I laugh. “I’m sure that will come in handy with our humble lives.”

  Donovan’s face gets serious. “Dell and I grew up mucking out greyhound stalls as kids. It can happen to anybody.”

  “Oh. I see.” I realize how little I know about him.

  The cockpit door opens and a friendly man with an orange-gray beard peers out. This must be Simon, the pilot. “We’ll be taking off in T-minus Starr’s arrival.”

  “Thanks,” Donovan says. “Though I might leave her this time.”

  Simon laughs. “You always say that.” He ducks back into the cockpit.

  Rebel starts to fuss, so I unbuckle him and cradle him on my shoulder. “What did he mean by that?”

  “Starr is the other member of the crew. She’s an assistant pilot, whip smart, but terribly tardy.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought you or Dell would allow anything but perfect, impeccable staff.”

  He laughs. “Starr is worth it. She can do anything. Fly a plane. Jump from a plane. She’s a bodyguard, too. She should be in an action movie.”

  Bianca approaches. “Havannah, would you like me to warm up a bottle, or do you plan to nurse him through the takeoff?”