“Who’s she?” Claire asked. “Who is it that we’ll be entertaining?”
“Abby. Aidan’s daughter. The nanny’s sick so he’s on babysitting duty, and that’s harder than all our jobs combined. Abby is three and she’s a real operator. I’m afraid she’s going to grow up to be Emma.”
“Hey,” Emma protested. “That’s a good thing.”
“If you say so.”
“It’s a moot point, anyway.” Casey had started to laugh. “With a military father and uncle? No way.”
“How about Mrs. Aidan?” Emma asked.
“There is none. Never was,” Marc answered. “Aidan was pretty heavily involved with someone in France. They reconnected in the U.S., and then eventually broke it off. She died in a car crash. He never even knew she was pregnant until social services showed up on his doorstep with Abby in their arms.”
“Poor baby,” Claire murmured.
“You won’t think so after she’s trashed your yoga room.” Marc’s words of warning were belied by the tender note in his voice. “She’s a pistol but she’s a heartbreaker. She has my tough brother wrapped around her tiny little finger.”
“It sounds like she’s got her navy SEAL uncle wrapped that way, too,” Claire said.
“Guilty as charged. I’m crazy about the little brat.”
“This should be fun,” Emma said brightly.
“It’s not about fun, Emma. It’s about work.” Casey brought her receptionist back to earth. “Aidan is coming here to help Ryan. But since you’re so psyched about this, you can be the chief babysitter. How’s that?”
“Sure. Aidan can play with Ryan. I’m sure I can teach Abby a trick or two about torturing the Devereaux men.”
22
AN HOUR AND a half later, Emma wasn’t so sure.
Aidan had arrived promptly like any respectable former marine. Emma had flown to the front door, leaving her chair swiveling around wildly from the motion.
She punched in the dummy code and opened the door.
Outside stood a tall, serious-looking man, with Marc’s straight black hair and broad shoulders. But Aidan’s eyes were navy blue and rounder, his forehead was high and his nose was more patrician than Marc’s. In his open cashmere coat and rock-hard build, he came across as even more intimidating than Marc—if that was possible.
Beside him, jumping up and down and saying, “Daddy, is this where Uncle Marc works?” was an adorable little girl with a mop of dark hair and her father’s blue eyes and stubborn chin.
“Yes, Abby, and we’re going to leave it in one piece,” Aidan said in a deep, loving voice. He glanced up at Emma and held out his hand. “I’m Aidan Devereaux. This is my daughter, Abby.”
“Hi. We’ve been expecting you both. Come in.” Emma squatted down at once so she could meet Abby at eye level. “Hi, Abby, I’m Emma. Do you like cupcakes?”
“Yes!” Abby exclaimed, her face lighting up.
“Good, because I bought way too many, and I need help eating them.” Emma glanced up. “Is it okay with your daddy?”
“It’s fine.” Aidan was hanging up his coat, revealing a navy sweater and jeans. “Just not too many. She’s already bouncing off the walls. More sugar will turn her into the Energizer Bunny.”
Abby was poking Emma’s arm persistently. “I like shawclate better than vanela.”
“Well, we have both. So chocolate it is.” Emma rose and extended her hand to Abby. “Come on. I’ll take you to the kitchen.”
“’Kay.” Abby gripped Emma’s fingers tightly. “Bye, Daddy.”
Aidan’s lips twitched. “Bye, princess.” He mouthed the words thank you to Emma.
She smiled and called out, “Yoda, please summon the team and tell them Aidan’s here.”