Brogan (Carolina Reapers 9)

Tears rolled down my cheeks, and I swiped them away. “You telling the world I’m nothing more than your employee has me running,” I snapped, and he raked his palms over his face.

“If you give me permission, I’ll tell the entire world right now that you’re mine. I’ll hold a fucking press conference. But you haven’t said yes to me, Fiona. You’re terrified, and I get it. I’m here. I was protecting you by not labeling you. The paparazzi are relentless. They’d dig up your past and haul it out for everyone to see. I thought I was making the best choice—”

“By saying I’m just the nanny,” I cut him off, shaking my head. “And really, isn’t that what I am? What I’ve always been? I came in and saved the day when you needed help. I love your daughter like she’s my own, take care of her like it too. And hey, I’m not bad in bed either, so why not try and lock me down—”

“I’m not trying to lock you down,” he growled over me. “I just…” He breathed out deeply, searching for the right words.

But honestly, what right words were there to say? He clearly couldn’t deny the truth I’d just laid down. Our relationship was solely built on the job, the convenience, and his no-effort response to an interview question just fucking proved that.

And yet, I waited. I stood there, tears on my cheeks, and watched him. Waited for him to say all the right things, to choke out the words I needed to hear in order for me to drop my bag and race into his arms. Because I was just a glutton for punishment, I guess. I wanted to stand there and bleed until he told me that he loved me for so many more reasons than how convenient I was or how good I was with Skye.

“Fiona,” he said, his voice almost a whisper.

And cold fear and reality drenched me with the way he floundered for something to say.

Because he didn’t have anything else to add.

He didn’t have the right words.

And despite how desperately I wanted to fall into his arms and have him tell me this was just a stupid misunderstanding, he wasn’t reaching for me.

“Brogan, I—”

A knock on the door cut me off, and I sucked in a breath. I hurried to wipe the tears off my face, so not wanting Maxim or Sterling or whoever might be on the other side of that door to see me fucking crumbling.

“Ignore it,” he said, but I pushed him out of the way.

“I was leaving anyway,” I said, utterly broken and needing nothing more than to get some space to clear my head and heal my heart—even if I didn’t think that was possible. I swung the door open, prepared to say a quick bye to Maxim or whatever Reaper was there and rush to my car.

But I stopped dead in my tracks at the sight of the woman standing on Brogan’s front porch.

Tall, leggy, and with blue eyes I completely and utterly recognized.

Skye’s mother.

17

Brogan

“Ignore it,” I said, but she brushed right by me, anyway.

This. Was. Not. Happening.

I didn’t give a fuck who had just knocked at the door. How could Fiona question my feelings? I was the one who’d gotten my mother’s ring. I was the one who’d had it sized for her so I could ask her to marry me. I was the one who’d said, “I love you,” first. I’d been the one to take the first step every damned time, and now she was running away because I was trying to give her privacy in the press?

“I was leaving anyway,” she said, her back ramrod stiff as she strode for the door.

Dumbfounded. I was completely and totally dumbfounded. And she thought this was all about being convenient because she was Skye’s nanny? Fuck that. It happened in spite of the fact that she was Skye’s nanny, and if she didn’t already understand that then—

Then what? You’ll just let her walk away?

The thought drove a spike through the center of my chest.

“Tell whoever it is to go the hell away so we can sort this out.” I said every word with low, calm deliberation as I turned to face the entry. There was no chance I was letting my temper get the best of me. Not now.

Fiona stood in the doorway, her hand white-knuckling the doorknob as she stared straight ahead.

“Fiona?” I started toward the door.

She turned toward me, and stricken didn’t even do a half-ass job of describing the widening of her eyes, or her dropped jaw. “I think it’s best if I go, since the person who’s supposed to be in this family has finally arrived.”

What the hell?

Fiona snatched her car keys out of the dish on the entry table, and the person standing in the doorway came into full view.