Mr. Smithfield - Page 4

“I love her singing voice. It’s delightful. And she has excellent rhythm. She’s been invited for a play date with one of the kids from the class. Would that be okay with you?” I asked.

“You’ll be there with her?”

“Of course. I’d never leave her.”

“Then yes, if you think she would enjoy it.”

“And if we can fit it in. She has quite the schedule. We have swimming tomorrow. Gymnastics on Thursday. Music on Friday. And all this on top of pre-school. But from what I heard from the other nannies today, all the kids are scheduled like they’re the Obamas.”

He chuckled and I stared at him, fascinated. His smiles were rare and certainly, I’d never elicited one before. Perhaps he just needed to get to know me a little better and he’d warm up.

“I guess it’s the same in New York,” I said. “Or any big city with lots of pushy, successful parents.” A far cry from Oregon, and my parents. They didn’t even know if I was in school, let alone keeping up with any extracurricular activities that might have been offered. Which they weren’t. There might have been a chess club active for a semester, but chess wasn’t really my game. I’m pretty sure that if I’d gotten a job at the trailer park where we lived or in the factory where my sister used to work, they would have been as proud as Idina Menzel’s parents when they watched Wicked for the first time. Or they might not have noticed at all.

Gabriel pulled open one of the cupboard doors and retrieved a bottle opener from where it was hanging on a rack inside the door.

“Spatulas!” I squealed, spotting the elusive flipper. “How did I not spot these here? You’ve got them hanging up like they’re in a tool shed.” Why didn’t he just put them in a drawer or something? “You Brits.”

“I never thought a fish slice could make someone so happy,” he said, looking at me as if I’d lost my mind.

“It’s always the little things that feed hope, Gabriel. Always the little things.”

He scooped up the fish slice from its hook and held it out to me.

“Are you sure I can’t fix you an omelet?” I asked, taking the implement. As my hand wrapped around the handle, our fingers brushed—and it was like a bolt of heat shot up my hand, warming my entire arm. I sucked in a breath.

It was just an accidental scrape of his fingers, but the touch was as intense as if he’d grabbed me and kissed me.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. What was he apologizing for? He hadn’t grabbed my boob or anything. He cleared his throat. “I must get on.”

I glanced at the locked door. Back to stuffing bats or whatever it was he did in there. “If you’re busy, I’m happy to keep Bethany’s monitor.”

“Bethany will have you running around and playing hide-and-seek, riding her bike, and taking her to the park tomorrow. Don’t burn yourself out.”

I flexed a bicep. “I can handle her.” I winced. “I think.”

He pulled out a single key from his pocket and slipped it into the lock. A moment later, he disappeared behind the closed door, shutting the entire world—and me—out.

Three

Gabriel

A crash downstairs drew my attention to the clock on my computer. Shit. Seven thirty. I’d been on this video call for two and a half hours and it was a Sunday morning.

“I’m going to have to go,” I said. I’d mentioned having to ring off before seven when I answered the call at just after five. But as usual, Mike Green, my biggest client, liked to push boundaries.

“We’re just making progress,” Mike said. “I think if we keep going, we can have this deal hammered out by noon your time. You’ll get the rest of the day.”

“I have a four-year-old, Mike. I’ll catch up with you tonight. Just don’t engage those useless environmental analysts. I’ll find someone else.”

“Gabriel, they’re the best in the business.”

“They were four days late with the last report. They can’t be trusted.”

“Can you just give me a few more hours? We can get this done.”

When I didn’t respond, he sighed and gave me a disappointed nod of the head. He’d make me pay for this. People thought that when you made partner at a law firm, you were your own boss, but that was bollocks. Clients ruled my life in a way that other people’s bosses made their lives hell. Mike was a dickhead. But he was a successful dickhead and headed up one of the few private equity houses that was still doing deals in this recession. Probably because he had nothing else to do.

I left the meeting and headed out of my office, toward the sound of the crash. Bethany woke between seven and seven thirty every morning like clockwork, and although she normally just played in her bedroom until I came and got her, she may have wandered downstairs.

Tags: Louise Bay Romance
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