Whisked Away by Her Millionaire Boss

‘What did you think of the film?’

‘I loved it. I’m a sucker for a good animated film. Jodie and I sometimes have a Disney afternoon—don’t we, sweetheart?’

‘Yup. But Mummy says I should only run off with a prince if I get to have a sword and rescue him and be equals. Like in that film there. Because the witch fell in love with the hero even though he wasn’t tall, dark and handsome and he wasn’t a prince.’

‘But he was kind and strong and...’

‘And he had red hair too. A girl at school called Gemma Carling says that people with red hair smell and are bad—but that’s not true.’

‘It’s not true at all,’ Ben said firmly. ‘It doesn’t matter what colour your hair is. What matters are the choices you make.’

Jodie tipped her head to one side, a mirror image of her mum.

‘Gemma says that you’re born good or bad and it’s all to do with your mum and dad.’ Her face scrunched into a frown. ‘She says I’m probably half bad, because my dad may have been bad, but I don’t know anything about my dad because he and Mum broke up before I was born and we don’t know where he is. I probably am half bad.’

‘I don’t believe that.’

Memory echoed inside him—memories of his fear that he would be like his unknown father, his frustration at the comp

lete lack of information, the obsessive studying of his image in the mirror for any clue. Did he look like his father? What was his name? And why had he been rejected?

‘I believe it’s all down to the choices you make—and I bet you make good choices.’

‘Sometimes...’ Jodie said cautiously and Ben laughed.

‘We all make some mistakes. Sometimes you can make the wrong choice, but that doesn’t make you bad either. Because next time you can always make a better one. You are in control of your choices.’

Perhaps this was too much for a six-year-old, but he still wanted to say it. After all, even if she didn’t fully get it now perhaps she’d remember his words later.

‘Does that make a little bit of sense?’

‘Yes.’ Jodie looked down at her drawing and picked a different crayon. ‘But I still wish I had a dad. All my friends have dads. Most of them live in the same house as them. Except Tom’s. His parents are divorced, but he gets two Christmases and he sees his dad every week. Oh, and Holly’s dad died, which is really, really sad. But she has lots of photos and he was a good dad.’

It was clear that Jodie had given this a lot of thought and something tugged in Ben’s chest—sympathy, empathy and a strong impulse to help. His reaction was reinforced by the shadow that crossed Sarah’s face.

‘Do you know what, Jodie? I don’t know who my dad is either. He may be good—he may be bad. But I try to be good, because I believe that is my choice and nothing to do with him.’

He felt Sarah still next to him, but he was watching the effect of his words on Jodie.

She looked up at him. ‘You don’t know who your dad is?’

‘Nope. And I’ve turned out just fine. So you can tell Gemma Carling that she’s got it all wrong.’ It was irrational to feel so cross with an unknown six-year-old but he did.

Jodie smiled. ‘I will.’ And then, ‘Really? Do you really not know your dad?’

‘Really.’

‘It sucks,’ she said. ‘Doesn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ he said softly. ‘It does. But you know what? I think we’re both really lucky. Because we’ve both got lovely mums.’

Jodie nodded. ‘Yes! Does your mum have red hair?’

‘No. I’m afraid not. She has blonde hair, but she’s still a fantastic mum. A real heroine.’

The conversation turned to all sorts of topics after that, and by the end of lunch Ben knew all about Jodie’s best friend, her favourite sport and how much she was looking forward to learning ballet.

The tussle over who paid the bill was eventually decided in his favour. ‘You paid for the cinema. I pay for lunch. Then we’re quits.’