Daddy's Coming Home For Christmas

Daddy's Chasing His Valentine:4 - Bet My Britches

Robert

I woke up feeling disoriented, groggy and hung-over, even though I hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol since the day after Trevor was born. I was half draped off the side of an unfamiliar bed, staring at a new, forest green carpet - the carpet that Segretto Star used in all of their hotels.

But when I rolled over, the rest of the room was unfamiliar. This was not the three bedroom suite in Sydney. Memory rolled in like a lifting fog. I had sold everything I owned in Sydney to come help Rafe get a new Segretto Star Resort off the ground. I was somewhere in the frozen wilderness with my son.

My son!

Suddenly I realized the king-sized bed was suspiciously empty. I threw back the comforter, but there was no kid curled up under the covers. I jumped off the bed and frantically looked around. His tennis shoes were still on the floor where I had tossed them last night. His coat was still on the back of the desk. The suitcases were still on the trolly waiting to be unpacked. I ran into the bathroom, and found it empty, but judging from the amount of yellow dried pee spots on the toilet seat, he had used it at some point in the night.

“Trevor!” I yelled, as I tore through the room, checking the closet and under the bed. Then I realized the security bolt on the door was open. Thinking back, I was so tired when we arrived I don’t think I ever secured it after Rafe left the room last night. Which meant there was nothing to stop my five year old son from wandering out into God-only-knows-where.

That’s when I noticed a paper on the floor.

I bent and picked it up, while my mind raced with the terrible thought that someone had kidnapped my child and I was about to unfold a ransom note.

Instead the note read in a rather pretty scrawl, “Good morning, Mr. Quinn. Your son accidentally locked himself out of your room this morning. He didn’t want to wake you up, so he’s hanging with me. Noelle.”

Anger erupted from my gut, so visceral that it burned in the back of my throat. Who the hell was Noelle, and where did she get off just yanking my kid out of the hallway? Of course she should have woken me up! What kind of twisted psycho was she? What if she was a p.edophile who preyed on small boys, or a trafficker who was going to sell him on the dark web, or just some psychopath who kidnapped kids for the thrill?

I yanked open the door and looked frantically up and down the empty hall. I vaguely remembered Rafe said something about his assistant staying across the hall. I’d never cared for Rachel, but at this point I needed any help I could get to find my son.

I pushed the buzzer three times, and then raised my fist to pound on the heavy, fire-proof door.

When it was finally opened, it was not the blond-bombshell I was expecting.

The woman standing before me was almost as tall as I was. Most of her face was obscured by a pair of huge, round spectacles, and a pair of chocolate brown eyes blinked at me from behind the glass. A long rope of brown hair was somehow wound around the top of her head like a crown, and she was dressed in a shapeless brown sack with red pockets. “You aren’t Rachel!” I growled accusingly.

“That would be correct.” She said evenly. “But I bet my britches that you must be Mr. Quinn.”

“Who are you?” I demanded, “Where is my son?”

“I’m Noelle,” she said, sticking out her hand. “Mr. Segretto’s new assistant. And Trevor fell asleep watching cartoons—“ I ignored her proffered hand, pushed her roughly out of the way and charged into the room. I stopped when I found Trevor sprawled on his belly facing the foot of the bed and the TV, his chest propped on a pillow, his face on his forearm, something pink smeared around his mouth as he drooled slightly.

He was okay. He was safe. He hadn’t been kidnapped or murdered or trafficked. But instead of cooling my anger, finding him safe and sound only poured fuel on the fire. Because if this woman didn’t do anything wrong then all the blame fell squarely on my incompetent shoulders.

“How could you just take a kid into your room without asking his parent?” I shouted at her. I expected her to shrink away from my temper, but she just blinked at me behind those thick glasses.

“Now I can see why he was afraid to wake you,” she said quietly.

“He was what?” Some of the pressure left my volcano. My kid was afraid of me?

She walked over to the door and opened it. “Go ahead and take your son, Mr. Quinn. I’d like to get some sleep now.”

I glared at her, but she really wasn’t leaving me any choice. I scooped Trevor off the bed and stomped angrily across the hall. I juggled holding Trevor’s sleep-floppy body in one hand while I fumbled in my pocket for the keycard in the other. I pushed the door open with my foot. When I turned around to kick the door shut, I found her lounging against the door frame, arms crossed, watching me like I was something new and weird and fascinating.

I kicked the door shut with more force than I was intending. Shutting out the picture of that tall, aggravating woman. Luckily there were no guests in the hotel yet to be aggravated by the noise.

There was just me and Trevor and my boss’s personal assistant.

And I’d just made a total ass of myself.