Caught Up (Windy City Series)
Caught Up: Chapter 3

Monty: Leave Max with Isaiah and come back to my room. We’ve gotta chat.

Me: Am I leaving Max so you can yell at me?

Monty: Yes.

Me: Cool, cool. I’ll be sure to rush right over for that.

“I found Max a new nanny,” is the first thing he says before I’ve even closed the door behind me.

Huh? I take a seat across the desk in Monty’s hotel room, eyeing him with confusion. “How? I fired Troy an hour ago.”

“I’m just that good, and you’re going to hire her because you clearly have shit taste in nannies since you won’t stop firing them all, so I’m taking over.”

“Her?”

“My daughter.”

My eyes shoot to the framed photo sitting next to him. It’s the same picture he has back in his office in Chicago. The same photo he props on his desk in every city we visit.

I knew the girl in the picture was his daughter, that much was clear, but even though he and I are close, he’s never told me much about her. I always assumed it was because he felt guilty leaving her and traveling for work as much as we do. That, or he knows talking about his kid who he misses will only reaffirm what I already believe—that it’s nearly impossible to do this job as a single parent.

The girl in the photo can’t be more than thirteen or fourteen years old. She’s in that awkward phase we all had in our early teens, donning both braces and acne. Dark hair is slicked back in a tight ponytail, visor shading her face and a bright yellow T-shirt with number fourteen centered on the front. Softball player, with her too-big sleeves cinched together with some sort of band on each shoulder. A pitchers’ glove rests on a single knee as she poses for her season photo.

Monty would have a softball-playing daughter.

“She’s free for the summer and I want her to travel with us,” he continues.

Makes sense, she’s out of school for the summer.

“Yeah, but Monty, this is my kid we’re talking about.”

“And mine.” His brows raise, daring me to say something against this plan. “It’s not a question, Ace. I’m telling you this is happening. I’m tired of you replaceing something wrong with every single person we hire. We’re doing background checks every few weeks for someone new, and changing names on the hotel rooms and plane manifests is becoming a pain in the ass for the travel coordinators. She’s Max’s new nanny, and the best part about it is she’s my kid and you can’t fire her.”

Shit.

“She’s only free until September so we’ll have to replace someone else to finish the last bit of the season, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

It’s clear there’s no getting out of this. I owe him for everything he’s done for Max and me, and he fucking knows it.

If I have to leave my son with someone who isn’t me, I guess this isn’t the worst possible solution. This is a nanny that’s probably too young to give a shit about a bunch of pro baseball players, and her dad will most likely be watching her like a hawk anytime she’s not taking care of Max, which takes that responsibility off my shoulders.

What’s two months? Just double the time I’ve gone without firing someone.

“Can she drive?” I ask.

His brows furrow in confusion. “What?”

“Like if something happens to Max while I’m not around, can she get him to the hospital?”

“Yeah . . .”

Okay, that’s good. She’s at least sixteen. That photo is probably a couple of years old at this point.

“Is she responsible?”

“She’s . . .” he hesitates. “She’s responsible at work.”

Weird answer.

The door to his hotel makes that noise when the electric lock is being undone by a keycard. Over my shoulder, dark hair enters first as a woman walks in backwards, using her ass to open the door.

Chocolate hair. Frayed hem to her shorts. Thick thighs.

She turns around and Miss Double Fisting from the elevator is standing in my coach’s hotel room. And she’s double fisting again, only this time it’s with a couple of coffee cups.

I adjust my glasses on my face to make sure I’m seeing this correctly. Green eyes connect with mine.

“You.” The word comes out part seething, part shock.

She sighs, her shoulders dropping. “I had a feeling it was going to be you.”

Huh?

“Ace, meet my daughter, Miller Montgomery. Max’s new nanny.”

My head whips back in his direction. “You’re kidding me.”

“Miller, Kai Rhodes. You’ll be taking care of his son this summer.”

“Absolutely not,” I quickly interject.

Miller rolls her eyes, handing her dad one of the two coffees.

How is this possible? She sure as hell isn’t thirteen or fourteen. She’s a full-grown woman who drinks beer and apparently doesn’t sleep. The acne is long cleared up, leaving tanned, flawless skin, and her braces have created perfectly straight teeth in a mouth that says whatever the hell it wants.

She looks like a Miller, though. That wild tomboy thing she’s got going for her with her cutoff overalls and tattoos.

“She’s not watching my kid.”

Miller takes the seat next to mine and points at me with her thumb, giving her dad a look that says, this fucking guy.

Monty laughs—traitor.

“You two have met already, I see.”

“Yeah, she was double fisting beers in the elevator at 9 a.m.”

“Dear God.” She throws her head back, and that raspy voice mixed with the sexual way my brain took that phrase has my cock betraying me. “They were Coronas. Do you know the alcohol content in those? That’s some people’s form of hydration.”

“I don’t care.” I face her dad. “I won’t leave someone like that in charge of Max.”

“Lighten up, Baby Daddy.” She takes a casual sip of her coffee—or rather her chai tea latte per the tag on her paper cup.

“Don’t call me that.”

“I had a beer to celebrate me quitting my job this morning. You’re acting like I was doing lines of coke off the handrails in the elevator, which yeah, now that I’m saying that out loud, I realize sounds oddly specific, but I promise I’ve never done that.”

I turn back to Monty. “This your kid?”

“The one and only,” he says with pride.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-five.”

I didn’t realize Monty became a dad at such a young age. That’d put him at . . . twenty years old when she was born? Damn. I thought this was hard at thirty-two.

“How old are you?” she asks.

“I’m asking the questions here. I’m trying to figure out if it’s worth risking my kid’s safety just to hire you and get your dad off my back.”

“And I’m trying to figure out if it’s worth ruining my summer by spending the next two months working for a guy with a giant stick up his ass.”

“I’m being responsible. I don’t have a stick up my ass.”

“Probably been lodged so far up there and for so damn long that you forgot it was even inside of you.”

“Miller,” Monty interjects. “You’re not helping.”

“Do you have any childcare experience?”

“Adult children, yes.”

I shoot a pointed glance towards Monty. “We don’t know if Max will even like her. You know how he is with women.”

“He was practically throwing himself at me in the elevator. I think we’re fine in that department.”

“I’m pretty sure he was going for your bottles. They look a lot like his.”

“You’re not going to get over the beers, are you?”

“No.”

“Okay.” Monty claps his hands together. “This is going to be interesting.”

“Do you smoke?” That voice of hers suggests she might.

“No, but it seems you might drive me to if this is how the rest of the summer is going to go.”

“Miller,” Monty interrupts like a stern dad breaking up a fight between his kids. “Thanks for the coffee. Can you give me a minute with Kai?”

Miller sighs, quickly tying her long brown hair up in a knot on top of her head, giving me a better view of the artwork on her arms and shoulders. It’s mostly intricate line-work making up a sleeve of florals. Almost like the outlines of a coloring page.

Max will like those.

“Fine.” She stands from her seat, taking her chai with her, that sweet scent of dessert wafting from her again before she turns to me. “But so you know, I’m doing this as a favor. So, try to be less of a dick about it, yeah? See you later, Baby Daddy.” She stops at the door, her hand on the knob as she cocks her head in contemplation. “Or should I say, Baseball Daddy? Oh yeah. Much better. Baseball Daddy, it is!”

She leaves us alone with that.

I shake my head in disbelief. “Your daughter is unhinged.”

“She’s the best, right?” Monty’s chest rumbles at my annoyance.

“You can’t be serious about this. There’s no way she’s the right person to take care of Max.”

He leans back in his chair, tattooed hands crossed over his stomach. “I’m not just saying this because I’m biased, but you’d be lucky to have her. She might be my wild child and not know what the hell a filter is, but when it comes to work, she’s the most driven person I know. She will do everything for your boy.”

I toss my head back. “Come on, man. Let’s be serious about this.”

“I am being serious. Trust me on this, Kai. I know my daughter. If for some reason, she ever gives you a valid reason to fire her, I’ll even offer to be the one to do it. That’s how much faith I have in this situation.”

Staying silent, I eye him, searching for any sign of bullshit.

I might not know Miller, might not trust her, but I do trust Monty with both my life and my kid’s. And I know he’d never put Max at risk, even if this situation benefits him.

I can’t believe I’m even considering letting him talk me into this, but I owe him. “She gets one strike,” I say, holding a single finger to reiterate.

“Baseball puns, Ace? You’re better than that.”

“Shut up.”

He puts his hand out to shake mine. “One strike, and she’s outta here!”

“Okay, way too far.”

I put my palm in his, but before I can pull away, he tightens his grip, willing my eye contact.

“I’m gonna give you a word of advice, son. Knowing her, she’ll make sure you have the time of your life this summer, both you and Max, but don’t even think about getting attached to her.”

My brows cinch in confusion. “Did you not see that interaction?” I free my hand, gesturing towards the door Miller left through.

“I did, and I’m telling you this, not as her dad but as your friend. She will leave when the summer is over. I love my daughter to death, but she’s a runner and the last thing she wants is to get caught.”

Monty should know me well enough by now that the last thing I want is for her to stay. In fact, if it weren’t for Max growing up far too quickly, I’d be wishing the summer away already.

“Trust me, Monty. You have nothing to worry about.”

He hums, unconvinced.

Standing, I tuck my chair into the opposite side of his desk. “See you at the field.”

I’m almost out the door when he stops me.

“And Ace,” he calls out. “Keep your dick in your pants. We all know how fucking fertile you are, and I’m too young and too goddamn attractive for someone to be calling me Grandpa.”

“Jesus Christ,” I huff, leaving his room.