Baby Be Mine Read online

  All Clarice could do was shake her head vigorously. Her eyes stung furiously as jets of tears streamed down her cheeks, the alcohol in her oral cavity burning her alive. The foul liquid continued to kill her taste buds one by one, her mouth becoming numb.

  Feeling sick to her core, she couldn’t contain the liquid anymore. Thirty or not, spinster or not, she didn’t want to die just yet. If she didn’t do something fast to rid herself off this foul burning liquid in her mouth, she would surely meet her maker.

  So out it went. She spat out the entire shot, in the process spraying a stream in Hunter’s direction, who now sat facing her with a mixture of spirit and saliva all over his face and shirt.

  And for the second time that night, Hunter’s libido deflated once more.

  Chapter 4

  A thousand bulldozers could not compare to the stomping headache that was drilling inside Hunter’s head as he was forced to peel open his eyes when the sunlight leaking through the light curtain became too bright to bear early the next morning.

  “Bloody Virgin Mary, help me!” He groaned while massaging his temple to dispel the ache.

  “Virgin Mary will help you if you ask her politely,” a female voice whispered seductively in his ear.

  “Jesus Christ!” he blared, jerking up from bed, startled at seeing an unknown woman beside him, clad only in bed sheets. “You’re Virgin Mary?”

  The woman giggled and winked at him. “Not necessary a virgin, but my name is Mary.” Then she winked at him again, licked her lips, and asked, “Wanna go for another round?”

  Hunter looked at her like she’d just grown a pair of horns atop her head. Someone please kick me in the ass. Did my taste run that dry?

  The woman lying next to him was definitely not his type. She was too big, too tall, and too bulky. Definitely not his style. What was he thinking going for her? Then his memory of the night before came flooding back to him.

  The cute petite woman sitting on the stool!

  That’s right. The small woman who had him hooked from the first moment he saw her, that pixie who’d brought him the roses just a week back. It was that same woman who spat on him because she’d asked him to buy a drink for her.

  Damn that woman. What was she thinking spitting all over him like that? And it had to be on his new baby-blue shirt too. At that moment, his hands wanted so much to wring her neck, but she was just too much his type to truly hurt her. If he saw her, next time he would surely strangle her, or maybe kiss her, depending on his mood.

  Hell! No woman had ever treated him that way before. It hurt his ego. And because he got so mad with her last night, he had literally grabbed the first woman that made him an offer. And that was how he’d ended up with this not-so-virgin Mary in his bed and this raging headache.

  “Well, baby, are we gonna go for another round?” Mary asked, her arms and legs draped over his body like an octopus’ tentacles, sucking its favorite prey.

  Of course not, Hunter was about to say, but before he could reply, his cell phone rang. He signaled for the girl to stop speaking for a bit, then removing those long tentacles of hers from his body, he sat up again and retrieved his cell phone on the bedside table, then flicked it open.

  “Bloody hell.” Hunter let out another groan. It was from his goddamn cousin Anton.

  AGAIN!

  Anton had been relentlessly calling him nonstop since last night. He had to shut off his phone before he went mad and checked himself into Cherry Farm, aka the mental institution. Again, Anton was reminding him about the upcoming merger meeting between his father’s company, Silverton Enterprises, and The Bass Ltd. later this morning.

  Hunter rubbed his jaw in frustration. What role did he play anyway? He didn’t actually have a part in the decisions of the company. All he ever did was entertain people and party. It was Anton who had to deal with all the merging.

  Anton had been nagging him nonstop about work since the discussion of the merger came up. If he didn’t know Anton any better, he would have assumed he was a woman. He’d tried escaping a few times just so he could get some peace and quiet (although his definition of peace and quiet usually meant squandering women at night, doing vigorous bedroom exercises with them), but Anton had always seemed to catch up to him.

  Flicking the phone closed again, he got up, shuffled on his dirty clothes from last night, and made his way out the door while saying, “Sorry, Maisy, gotta go.”

  “It’s Mary!” he heard her shriek as he pulled the door closed.

  Hunter chuckled. God, he loved one-night stands. Even if those women got pissed with him, he would never have to face them again anyway. That was the beauty of it. He didn’t have to deal with the heartbreak, heartache, or midnight blues.

  Hunter had just one rule. Girls were like bed sheets—best changed every night. With the world at his fingertips, he got a chance at any girl he chose. It was like a variety of women presented to him on a silver tray. Chuckling at the thought, he slid into his red Ferrari, slammed the door shut, and drove off at a dangerously high speed. He owned the road.

  Driving on the open road cleared his head a bit. When he saw the gate to Silverton Estate, an isolated area protected by guards all around, he swiveled the car to a brief stop to say hello to Chase, their security guard, then slowed to park outside the main entrance of Silverton Mansion after a further five-minute drive in.

  Silverton Mansion was a colossal estate, covering many thousands of hectares. There were vineyards and orchards all around and a stream in front, boasting a scenic view year round.

  The Silvertons owned many businesses. Under the parent umbrella, Silverton Enterprises, founded by his father Clinton Silverton, they owned department stores, farmlands, and various real estate, but his father’s specialty was hotels. At the moment, they owned one in every city of New Zealand and Australia.

  But Hunter couldn’t understand his father’s mind. With the amount of wealth he owned, why did his father choose to live in New Zealand, a country that was even smaller than the state of California? Not to mention the weather could sometimes be temperamental too.

  Breathing a sigh of satisfaction after having not been to Silverton Estate for a good month, since most of the time he was cooped up in his private apartment in Central Auckland, Hunter stepped out of the car. Before he could fully straighten, a big golden terrier ran and tackled him.

  “Hey, Dori.” Hunter scratched the dog’s ear as he rolled around on the ground. “Long time, no see, little bro.”

  In response, the dog just lay near Hunter’s feet, wagging his tail, his tongue lopped out on one side in satisfaction.

  “Hunter!” A deep voice sounded from inside the house.

  “Crap!” he uttered. When he looked up, he saw his father heading his way. “Hey, Dad. How’s life on this side of the equator?”

  “Hunter, I’m going to strangle you,” Clinton Silverton said by way of greeting his only son. “Why did I send you to the States? You wasted my fortune!”

  Hunter’s father, Clinton, had wanted him to go to the US to negotiate a deal. But his son had failed him. Not only that, but he had partied each night away and spent all the money meant for the expenditure of the deal on his midnight pleasures. He didn’t report back until Anton told him the news about the deal being off.

  “Come on, Dad. People make mistakes. I’m sure we didn’t lose much.”

  “We didn’t lose much?” Clinton’s face fumed with madness and he pulled at his hair in frustration with his no-good son.

  “We lost a good two million,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “Holy shit! That much?” Hunter asked, surprised. Surely he didn’t spend all that much. He knew the negotiation didn’t go well, so he assumed they would lose the deal anyway. Instead of coming home immediately, he stayed in the States a few days extra for some much needed holiday—the last one over two weeks prior. Plus, it was an extra bonus to see Fern, his best friend from college, too.

  “That much,” Clinto
n confirmed.

  “Look, Dad, I’m sorry. How about if I make it up to you somehow?” Hunter asked. He didn’t like to disappoint his father; the old man did fund his living expenses. Anything to make him happy.

  “Good. You will go to the meeting today,” Clinton declared.

  “No. Not the meeting,” he moaned. “You know how boring it is. The last time I was there, I fell asleep.”

  “Well, you’ve got to learn somewhere. You’ll be taking over this empire pretty soon. I’m not going to be here forever,” Clinton said, persuading his son.

  Clinton knew his son loved him and would never intentionally disappoint him. Sure, he was a little bit of a rotten egg once in a while, but the boy just needed some responsibility to toughen him up and straighten his path. This time he was sure to make his son take full responsibility, and good practice starts with having a good mentor. He was certain Anton would be his perfect mentor.

  “Come now, Dad. Don’t talk like that.” Hunter led his father to the azalea trestle that shaded the roof from the sun, where there were a few outdoor seats. “Here, sit down.” He gestured for his father to take one of the seats and started massaging his father’s arms. “A young man like you will live up to a hundred years.”

  “Only a hundred?” Clinton smiled at his son, a sparkle of love in his eyes, no longer angry.

  “Okay, a hundred and fifty, then.” Hunter smiled, happy his father was no longer mad at him.

  “I don’t need to live that long. I just want to see you and Anton get married, settle down, and have a family.”

  “Well, for Anton, there won’t be a problem, but for me, well, let’s just wait and see how the future pans out.” He scratched his nose.

  “Can’t you do this much for your old man?” Clinton asked in desperation.

  Clinton knew he was getting old. He wanted his son to have a family. More importantly, he wanted a grandchild. He was way over sixty. His first wife, Andrea, conceived Hunter when she was in her early thirties, while Clinton was in his forties. Once Hunter was born, his beautiful wife had passed away, due to cancer, leaving him to look after their baby.

  He missed his wife dearly, still holding on to their cherished memories, but he really regretted having his son at such a late age. But Clinton was the type of man to look toward the future. He would not let his past gloom affect his judgment for the future. That was why it was imperative his son look for a girl now, to stop the cycle of conceiving a baby at an older age.

  “Dad, I can’t just go up to some random girl, ask her to sleep with me, then marry her. It doesn’t work that way with me.” Hunter interrupted his father’s train of thought.

  “You’ve been doing that already. So just ask the question once you’ve done with the sleeping bit.” Clinton half-heartedly argued with his son’s statement.

  “Dad, I told you I can’t. I need to love the girl. When my time comes, I’m sure I’ll find the right one for me.”

  “But if you get the girl pregnant, wouldn’t you have to marry her?” Clinton took in his son’s suggestion, smiling at the thought. “Yes, that could be a very strong possibility. Then you could marry the girl.”

  “Dad, I won’t get a girl pregnant. I practice safe sex, so don’t dream about that,” he declared.

  “Well, how do you propose to go about getting a family, then? I’m not getting any younger. I want to see my son married.” Clinton was back to square one again.

  “I can’t answer that for you.” Hunter folded his arm and relaxed into the chair next to his father, having had enough of the massaging now, since his tactic of sweet action didn’t work on his father. The man was just so adamant on finding him the perfect girl.

  “You’re not making this old man happy.” Clinton moaned like a child whose toy had been taken away.

  “Ah, come now, Dad. Stop acting like a kid.” Hunter patted his father’s hand in comfort. “I’ll call Betty to make you your favorite chocolate cookies. Okay?” He turned toward the main house and shouted, “Betty, make Dad something to eat. He’s upset again.”

  Betty was Hunter’s stepmother, or more precisely their housemaid who had turned into his stepmother. His father had remarried when Hunter turned sixteen.

  No woman was like Betty. She was amazing. In fact, she was the only woman he could tolerate living in the same house. She was a sweet soul, and he was glad when she agreed to marry his father.

  Betty, upon hearing Hunter’s shout, came rolling out of the kitchen door at the back of the house, dressed in an apron, a rolling pin in her hand. Her face was white, covered in flour. She must be baking again, Hunter thought.

  “Betty, what are you doing? You have flour all over your face,” Hunter said as Betty got closer.

  “I was cooking something for Clinton,” she said, waving the rolling pin in her hand.

  “Right,” Hunter said, nodding his head.

  Betty came closer and sniffed him.

  “Master Hunter, did you bathe in alcohol? You stink. Go and clean up.” Betty pushed Hunter toward the house entrance.

  “I didn’t bathe in it, Betty, but a maniac woman suddenly thought it would be fun to spray me with the alcohol she was about to ingest.”

  “Serves you right, Master Hunter, for always changing your women like you change your clothes.”

  “She’s not my woman, Betty,” Hunter retorted.

  “I’m sure you’ll be chasing her up until she becomes your woman. Am I right, Master Hunter?” Betty teased.

  “Argh, all right, all right, enough with the master,” Hunter said, wanting to shake his stepmother. She had been his mother for over seven years now, and not once did she ever call him her son, always referring to him as Master. Maybe she was scared he might be like one of those kids who would resent her for marrying his father. Well, at first he did resent her for coming into his father’s life, stealing away all his attention, but after seeing how Betty had lightened his father’s life, he’d given in.

  “If you want me to stop calling you master, then go get changed. Your odor is not so becoming here,” Betty said, pushing Hunter even farther up the stairs after they all made it inside the grand foyer.

  “All right, all right, enough, woman, enough.” Hunter laughed, then made his way to his suite. “I’ll get back at you for this, Betty.”

  Hunter smiled, watching his stepmother wind her little hands around his father’s waist in a loving way, leading his old man to the main lounge. He shook his head, then went inside his room to wash away the stench that was staring to corrode his nostrils.

  Life for me right now is beautiful, he thought as he stepped into the glory of the hot jet of water spraying from the showerhead. Good food, good life, and not a worry in the world. He had enough money to last him a lifetime, without having to work. What more could he ask for? He was blessed to have this gifted life, and he appreciated every bit of it.

  Once clean and donning new clothes—Armani suit and a black silk tie—gelling back his blond hair, he surveyed himself in the tall closet mirror, identical to the one in his apartment in Central Auckland.

  Hunter was dressed to impress, a sweeping image from head to toe. All the girls at the company would swoon at the sheer sight of him. He was completely sure even old Mrs. Crood, the moody cafeteria lady, would compliment him. He was ready to face the death-inducing boredom of the merger meeting at Silverton Enterprises.

  An hour later, Hunter’s prediction rang truer than a high-priced clairvoyant, as not fifteen minutes into the meeting, he found his eyes closing of their own accord. Everyone was speaking in jargon that he hadn’t a clue as to its meaning. And then to top it all off, the tone of the speaker was so monotone it literally acted as more of a catalyst to lull him to sleep. A few times Anton had to wedge him in the stomach to jolt him awake.

  “You fell asleep during the meeting,” Anton hissed when they went out for their coffee break. “How could you do that? Uncle asked you specifically to attend this meeting so you could learn
, and here you were sleeping.”

  Hunter ignored his cousin reprimand, instead choosing that moment to pick up his coffee cup. Not realizing it was piping hot, he took in a good gulp and ended up scalding his tongue. He spat out the entire contents, hanging his tongue out like Dori.

  “Serves you right, Hunter,” Anton said, giving him some tissue to wipe the coffee off his face.

  After blotting away the remaining liquid, Hunter picked up the cup again and glared at his cousin. “What do you mean serves me right?”

  “For sleeping during the meeting,” Anton said. “It’s karma, Hunter, karma.”

  “Karma my ass. What am I supposed to do? The meeting was so damn boring. Why can’t they hire a better guy to speak?”

  “Hunter, stop being a kid and start acting like an adult,” Anton lectured his cousin. “Boring or not, you’re here to listen to what the other side says. Uncle needs you to carry on the line here.”

  “He doesn’t need me. He already has you.” Hunter blew his steaming coffee now.

  “I’m only his nephew, not his direct offspring. Plus, I’m not fit for this.” Anton resigned to his fate as only second in charge despite being named the best CEO of Silverton Enterprises in E Magazine twice in a year.

  Anton was Hunter’s only cousin. When both of his parents passed away, Clinton became his guardian. He worked hard to repay his debt, thus working nonstop to help gain his uncle’s respect while his little cousin grew up. Now the time was right for Hunter to step forth and take the role of CEO, but looking at his cousin’s behavior now, lying back on the chair like he hadn’t a care in the world, like he was some sort of prince waiting for his next consort, it would be a long way yet before the throne was acceded.

  “If you’re not fit for this, then I’m worse off,” Hunter confessed, stopping Anton’s train of thought.