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Eat with the dirty duo? No thanks. Each child had food smeared on every reachable surface. Even their hair bore traces of whatever gooey substance she’d fed them. The need to escape surged through him, but his growling stomach insisted he tough out this encounter long enough to feed himself.
“I’ll fix my own breakfast. Today and every day.” And the sooner he did so the sooner he could leave this unappetizing sight behind.
He yanked open the refrigerator and gathered the makings of a sandwich which he hastily slapped together—trying all the while to block out the annoyingly cheerful voice of the woman behind him yakking to the boys.
“Where do you keep Graham’s toys?”
Anna’s question made him pause mid-chipotle-mayo swipe. “Ask Sarah. She may have bought a few last week.”
Silence broken only by the boys’ babbling and banging on their trays filled the room.
“Graham is here…legally? Isn’t he?” Fear tinged her voice.
Pierce rested his fists on the counter. The last thing he needed was a hysterical woman calling the authorities. Not that he had anything to hide but officials poking around would only slow him down.
Still, Anna believing he’d kidnapped the kid when he’d had to force Kat to list his name on the child’s birth certificate just in case of emergencies like this one struck him as ironic. Not that he’d ever expected to be called into duty. Kat had assured him she had foolproof child care set up. She’d been wrong. But no child carrying his blood would end up in the system.
“I am the boy’s legal guardian until his mother returns. Sarah has the documentation if you must see it.”
“What happened to his previous sitter?”
“She dumped the kid on child services when his mother was…detained.”
He’d deliberately neglected to reveal Kat’s identity to keep those who might be more interested in Kat’s fame than her son’s welfare from applying for the job. There had been too many stories in the news lately of employees selling their celebrity employer’s secrets to make a quick buck. His and Kat’s relationship—however strained it might be—was private. News of it leaking wouldn’t help his company’s image, which in turn might undermine his goals for Hollister Ltd.
Concern puckered Anna’s brow. “Poor Graham. Could we swing by his mom’s place and pick up a few things?”
“Kat lives in Atlanta.”
“Oh. Too far then. Would you mind if we borrowed some things from the kitchen?”
His irritation reached boiling point. Pierce slapped the top on his sandwich. “I don’t care how you entertain the kid. Just do it. And leave me out of it.”
Her face blanched, making her freckles stand out. He experienced a sudden craving for cinnamon toast—the way his mother used to make it twenty-something years ago. He used to lick the granules off—
He shook his head to banish the thought. But damned if the nanny’s freckles didn’t look like cinnamon sprinkled on bread.
“Yessir.”
Feeling as if he’d kicked a kitten, he grabbed his plate and a bottle of water and retreated to his office. He’d hired her to deal with the trivial child-care issues. He didn’t need her or her sleepy, sexy—no, not sexy—morning eyes condemning him. The kid would be better off if Pierce kept his distance.
He turned on the television to drown out the noise coming from the kitchen and tried to concentrate on CNN while he ate. He had a team of people feeding him regular updates on Kat’s situation, but occasionally he heard news on TV before he received a report.
His turkey pastrami and imported Swiss cheese sandwich tasted like cardboard. An identical sandwich yesterday had been delicious. He’d better check the expiration dates on the meat and cheese.
More likely it was the nanny—and her incessant questions—killing his appetite. He pushed his half-eaten meal to the side of his desk, exhaled then cracked his knuckles, determined to have a productive, interruption-free day.
The sooner he chose the scholarship recipient the sooner he could get back to his real goal of doubling Hollister Ltd.’s net worth before the company’s fiftieth anniversary next year. And to do that he needed single-minded dedication and no distractions.
But first the scholarship. He reached into the mail crate filled with unread applications, grabbed one and swiveled his chair to face the three mesh bins on his sideboard. The rejected applications stack towered over the short “maybe” stack. The “yes” bin remained empty. It should only take a few moments to decide into which category the one in his hand would go.
Every year more people needed a hand up. He couldn’t afford to help them all, so he searched for the one with the most potential and ambition. The one who’d fought hardest against the greatest odds to achieve the most.
He’d only read the applicant’s name when Sarah breezed into the room. “Ahh. My first full night’s sleep in a week. I feel human again and well enough to tackle composing the rejection letters. I felt guilty for not staying last night to help with the transition, but with my ulcer acting up, I needed the peace and quiet.”
“Not a problem.”
She dropped her purse on her smaller desk. “How did Anna and the boys make out last night?”
“I don’t know.”
“You didn’t ask her over breakfast?” she inquired as she grabbed a six-inch stack of applications from the rejection bin.
He nodded toward the sandwich. “I’m eating at my desk.”
Sarah’s red lips curved downward. “I have never spoken ill of your father before, but—”
“Don’t start now.”
“But,” she continued in a way no other employee would dare, “children are not meant to be dragged out only when it’s convenient.”
“Spoken from your vast experience.”
She winced and her expression turned somber. Pierce experienced a swift stab of regret. He was on a roll of hurting feelings this morning. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled-for.”
“But accurate. My husband and I weren’t able to have children—a fact that I regret more each day and one that makes me appreciate other people’s offspring—in small doses—all the more now that I’m pushing fifty and my friends are enjoying their grandchildren. Graham needs you, Pierce.”
She’d passed fifty a while back, but he let her fib go uncorrected. “He has his mother and a nanny you handpicked.”
“Don’t repeat your father’s mistakes. Spend time with your son. If you let him Graham will enrich your life in ways you can’t even begin to imagine.”
“He’s Kat’s son.”
“Yours and Katherine’s. It doesn’t matter that Katherine got pregnant behind your back. Graham is still your flesh and blood—as this current custody situation and the exorbitant child support you pay every month attests.”
“I’ll spend time with him when he’s old enough to intern at the company. Like Hank did with me.”
Sarah shook her head. “I became Hank’s executive assistant while he was still operating Hollister on a shoestring budget. When he began the paperwork to adopt you I had hoped a child would soften his hard edges, but he never changed his ways even after he brought you home.
“He worked just as late and he never took vacations. I tried to tell him children—especially an eight-year-old boy who’d recently lost his family—needed love and attention. And what did that damned fool do? He married a woman thirty years younger even though he was never going to love anyone other than that fickle hussy who’d dumped him and married his brother while Hank was deployed.”
Pierce frowned at the reminder. The year he’d turned thirteen he’d come home from school for the summer and been presented with a new “mommy.” He’d hoped that they’d be a real family and that he could live at home and attend a local school like a regular kid, but that hadn’t been the case. The woman, he couldn’t recall her name, hadn’t been interested in anything other than shopping and spending Hank’s money, and come fall Pierce had been sent back to boarding school. His new “mother” had been gone by the time he returned for Christmas break.
“At least the prenup kept her from robbing him blind.”
“You’re deliberately missing my point. More than once I asked Hank, ‘Why have a child if you’re not going to spend time with it?’”
“He needed an heir to keep his lazy, girlfriend-stealing brother from inheriting the company.” Pierce could practically hear Hank’s raspy voice snarling the words.
“That is not a good reason to bring a child into your home.” Sarah shook her head and settled in her chair, piling the papers in front of her.
“Hank needed someone to take a welder’s torch to his frozen heart. And you’re going to turn into a cantankerous old grouch just like him if you don’t let someone past that armor of yours. I understand your distrust of Katherine. She deliberately deceived you. But, Pierce, that’s not Graham’s fault. And handing out money isn’t going to fill your heart the way giving and receiving love does. No matter how many scholarships you award, you can’t bring your brother back.”
Damn, she had a way of going straight for the jugular. But Sarah didn’t know about the baby in Pierce’s foster care home—the one who had died. And Pierce had been the last one to see it alive. He pushed the memory away.
“I might be able to prevent another kid from the system from facing the same fate as Sean. That’s why we’re here sorting through over a thousand applications—with a looming deadline before the announcement and banquet.”
“Sean made bad choices after your parents died because he lost the emotional connection to someone who cared enough to guide him. Make sure you don’t put your son in the same position.”
It was his turn to recoil. Sarah asked too much. Letting Graham—or anyone—into his life meant making himself vulnerable. Everyone he’d loved had died. His parents. His brother. Hank.
Kat would return, and when she did she’d take Graham back to Atlanta. Eventually she’d find someone else willing to give her the ring she craved, and then even if Pierce wanted time with the boy he would play hell trying to get visitation. He’d seen custody battles happen time and time again with friends and employees.
Keeping his emotional distance would be easier in the long run. When he had something to offer Kat’s son—like a job at Hollister Ltd., he’d teach Graham the business if the kid was interested. But until then, he wasn’t investing himself in a temporary guest.
Three
Four days on the job—two of which Anna hadn’t seen any sign of her boss.
The good news: he wasn’t trying to take advantage of her and hadn’t made even one untoward move. The bad news: he was completely ignoring his son.
Her anger on behalf of the adorable little boy reactivated her dormant resentment toward her son’s father and her own. Were all men self-absorbed idiots who procreated without thought of the life they were bringing into the world? Did they never consider the emotional needs of a child before unzipping their pants?
To give Hollister credit, he hadn’t spoiled his son with material possessions to make up for his neglect the way her father had. Sure, every request Anna had made had been met almost instantaneously, like her grocery list and the installation of the stair gates and the pool and hot tub alarms. But it wouldn’t kill Hollister to drop by the nursery and share a few minutes of his precious time with his son. The best gifts—like love and attention—were free.
She checked the boys again. Cody’s pink cheeks confirmed he’d finally succumbed to the nap he’d been fighting. She debated her options. Sitting in the nursery and updating her resume as she’d done during the boys’ previous naps didn’t appeal. The sun was shining and the temperature was warm but not too humid. She’d love to sit on the patio with a book. But in the rush she hadn’t packed any of the books she’d picked up at the swap shop.
Perhaps her boss had something she could read? There was only one way to find out. Dread slithered under her skin. She knew he’d be alone since she’d heard Sarah drive out ten minutes ago, and while Anna wasn’t keen on facing the lion in his den, she’d rather do that than stare at the ceiling for two hours. She clipped the baby monitor to her waistband and descended the stairs, heading toward Hollister’s office. She knocked on the closed door.
“In,” his deep voice rumbled through the wood.
She turned the knob and pushed. Hollister sat behind his desk, a pile of papers in front of him. His white polo shirt accentuated his tanned face, broad shoulders and chest muscles. His frown intimidated her, but she’d come this far, she might as well follow through despite her fluttery pulse and a strong urge to run.
“Hi. I’m sorry to bother you, but do you have any books I could borrow? The boys are napping and I—”
“Make it quick.” He pointed at a shelf behind the smaller desk on the opposite side of the room.
“Thanks.” She entered the study and his crisp, clean scent filled her nose. She could feel him watching her as she perused the titles—not in a sinister way, but in a way that made her cells tingle.
Most of the books were business related. She was about to abandon her search when she spotted a hardback thriller by one of her favorite authors. She grabbed it, eager to get started, but paused. “Have you read this yet?”
“No.”
“Oh.” She started pushing it back into its slot.
“Take it.”
“Are you sure?”
He jerked a sharp nod. “I don’t have time to read it.”
“Okay. Thanks.” In a hurry to make her escape, she debated fleeing, but she had a point to make if she could find the courage to voice it.
“I’m enjoying taking care of Graham. He’s a sweet little boy and so cuddly. You and his mother must be very proud—”
“Chatting me up is the wrong way to convince me you didn’t make overtures to that father at your last job.”
Indignation snapped her spine stiff. “I was merely trying to suggest you spare a few moments for your son.”
“He is not my son in any way other than biologically.”
The odd answer rattled her. “I don’t understand.”
“You don’t need to, Ms. Aronson, and if you value your job you will get out of my office. Now.”
When he put it that way…“Yessir.”
She turned, in a hurry to get away from the grouch. Her elbow caught on a bin of paperwork on the smaller desk. The basket tipped over, scattering sheets over the desktop and the floor. Some even floated under the furniture.
She winced. Way to go, Anna.
“I’m sorry. I’ll clean them up.” She dropped to her knees and started collecting the pages. Some were neatly typed and paper-clipped in bundles. Others were handwritten on notebook paper and barely legible, their folded top corners all that held them together. But it was the top line on each cover sheet that caught her attention.
The Sean Rivers Memorial Scholarship.
Then she spotted loafers planted in front of her. Loafers attached to long denim-clad legs, a leather belt and a white shirt. Her heart climbed to her throat. Hollister surprised her by squatting and helping rake up the remaining mess. Their fingers collided, and the heat of his touch jolted through her. She snatched her hand back.
What was that? It couldn’t be attraction. No way. Not to a workaholic.
Alarm? Yes, that’s all it was. A good ol’ case of uneasiness. She didn’t want to be accused of inviting illicit invitations again.
Her gaze shot to his. Only a narrow span of inches separated them. “You’d think after fifteen years of ballet lessons I’d have a little more grace.”
He all but ripped the forms from her hands and stood to tower over her. “Fifteen years and you didn’t pursue it?”
“No amount of enthusiasm or determination can overcome a total lack of rhythm. My dance instructor repeatedly encouraged me to find another hobby, but I had my reasons for sticking with it.”
He didn’t even crack a smile at her self-deprecating tale. She stretched to reach a page far under the desk. Curiosity got the better of her as she rose beside him. “Who is Sean Rivers?”
His perpetual scowl deepened. “My brother.”
“It says ‘Memorial Scholarship.’ Does that mean he’s—”
“Dead. Yes.” Clipped words, devoid of emotion.
Empathy welled inside her. “I’m sorry for your loss. As much as my sister irritates me sometimes I’d hate to lose her. And…all this?” She indicated the stacks.
“Not that it’s any of your business but Hollister Ltd. provides a college scholarship to a deserving student from the foster care system each year.”
