Private Property (Rochester Trilogy 1)

“Mrs. Fairfax.”

Oh. “I didn’t realize she was your nanny before me.”

A scrunched nose. “She didn’t play with me or anything, but she made sure there was food.”

I hide my cringe. That sounds like a bad situation for a child not yet six years old, to be alone in this house without a real caregiver. I wonder if Beau Rochester knew about what was happening with his niece while he was busy being a playboy. For that matter I wonder where he even was after he stepped out of the limelight. “I appreciate you telling me this,” I say to Paige. “You can always talk to me. I will never get mad at you for your feelings or for being honest, okay?”

She wriggles on my lap, and I wonder if we’ve lost the seriousness of the moment.

Then she leans close, her small arms wrapping around my neck in a hug. I squeeze her back and close my eyes, breathing her sweet child-scent in deep.

“I’m afraid,” she whispers against my throat, and I tense. “Whoever hurt her might come to the cliff. They might come for me next.” Before I can think of a reply, she jumps down off my lap and runs upstairs. When I follow her, she already has the Monopoly game out. She deals out the money and we play, pretending she didn’t say what she said, my mind reeling.

She definitely can still beat me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Jane Mendoza

My contract with the Bassett Agency technically gives me Sundays off, although there is a clause for the family to ask for more work if needed or to change the day. For the most part I’ve spent Sundays with Paige. I don’t know anyone in Maine anyway, and I enjoy spending time with her. But this Sunday, I step into Beau’s office.

“I’m going up to Portsmouth,” I tell him, hoping my voice is casual. I’m already dressed for the excursion, in long sleeves, a puffy jacket vest, and a scarf. My boots are downstairs, and an Uber has been ordered. “For my day off.”

He sits behind his desk and raises his brows. “You get days off?”

“Ha. You know I do.”

“Fine. It’s probably a good idea for me to spend time with the brat.”

I hesitate, wondering how much I should tell him about Paige. Or if I should tell him anything. “Has she ever spoken to a professional? Like a therapist, about her parents?”

His expression turns hard. “Why?”

“It might be a good idea. A lot of kids need help coping with grief.”

“I thought you had her talking to that school person.”

“That’s been helping, but I mean something more specific to her parents. Her loss.” I blow out a breath. “She told me yesterday that she was afraid.”

It drops about five degrees in the room. “Afraid?” He looks both incredulous and slightly wounded, as if I’ve managed to shoot a bear. “Of me?”

“No,” I assure him. At least I don’t think so. “I guess she has the idea that someone hurt her mom? And her dad? I didn’t know what happened enough to say anything.”

He stands abruptly and looks out the window. There’s only gray. Gray like Paige’s eyes. Not like Beau’s though. His are dark brown. She must get hers from her mother’s side. “Find someone,” he says, his voice clipped. “No, find the best. Whoever deals with children and grief. Make an appointment and get her in to see them. If you hit any walls, let me know.”

Because he’d pull strings. Those famous-people, rich-people, privileged-people strings. I don’t resent them now, though. I understand them. You do anything for the people you love. And in my small way, I love Paige. “I’ll start looking for someone this afternoon when I’m back.”

He glances at me. “So where are you going? A coffee date?”

The words are thrown out casually, but I know they’re not casual at all. “No.”

“Lunch?”

I glare at him. “Not that it’s any of your business, but no. I’m not ever going to see Mateo Carter again unless he’s on the big screen. Happy now?”

“Far from it.”

“You have no right to be jealous, not when you’re the one who invited those men over. And especially not when you won’t say anything to me that’s kind unless we’re having sex.”

“To be honest I didn’t think I was kind while we were having sex, either.”

I give an exasperated laugh. “Have a nice morning with Paige. You should play Monopoly with her. That should last a few hours at least.”

“That little loan shark? She’s terrifying.”

I stick out my tongue. “And you’re the guy who built a billion-dollar business before he turned thirty. Surely you can stop her from getting a monopoly across an entire side.”

He looks unmoved. And contemplative. “My brother and me, we were always competitive. Really competitive. That Monopoly board Paige loves? That was ours from years ago. Half the games ended in physical violence.”