Convincing Leah by Becca Jameson

Chapter 21

Craig

To say I’m nervous would be an understatement. I hadn’t expected Leah to want to dive into work today. I won’t stop her. If she’s feeling creative, great. But I’m worried about her trying to do too much too soon and being too hard on herself if it doesn’t work out.

I’m also perplexed by her adamant desire to use her pink little-girl room as an office. That’s the weirdest part of all. I tried to explain to her that she might want to step out of her role when she’s working on a book, but she just as equally disagreed with me.

I’m not going to tell her what to do. Not when it comes to her career. What do I know? I’m pleased that she wants to be in that space. I’m so glad she likes it.

I definitely freaked out when I returned from my jog and didn’t find her in my bed this morning, and my heart nearly jumped out of my chest until I found her sound asleep in her new room.

I was still gasping for oxygen from my panic attack as I quietly tiptoed into her room and then stared down at her. She looked so peaceful and angelic at rest. Her hands were folded under her cheek. She was smiling in her sleep.

My heart seized a bit. I’m wondering if she’s going to want to sleep in there now. A lot of littles sleep in their own rooms. It’s not uncommon. But for some reason, I’m not fond of the idea.

Maybe I couldn’t have verbalized my preferences regarding Leah specifically a week ago, but now that I’ve had her in my bed, I’d rather she’d sleep with me always.

I want to hold her and be able to reach out to her. I want to feel her body heat and listen to her breathing. I want to know when she’s restless and when she’s peaceful.

The thought of tucking that sweet girl into her own bed at night makes my chest tighten. I’ll do it if it’s what she needs, but I fully intend to voice my disapproval first. Naps are fine. Maybe I won’t mind her moving into her own bed when I go for early morning runs. But the bulk of the night, I intend for her to sleep in my bed.

I intend for it to be our bed.

I occupy myself while she’s working by ordering her a desk and chair—a pink one that swivels. Next, I call Colton.

He picks up on the first ring. “Hey. How’s it going? Did Leah do okay after we left?”

“Amazing, actually. I was impressed. I expected her to be far more skittish and stressed letting herself be little in front of other people, even you two.”

“I thought she was shockingly well-adjusted,” Colton responds.

“Me too.” I lean back in my office chair, staring absently out the window. “She’s doing so well. I keep waiting for everything to implode, and it hasn’t yet.”

“Maybe it won’t.”

“Maybe.” I clear my throat as I remember the reason for my call. “Hey, I want to install an alarm system. I thought you might be able to recommend someone. I know Black Blade Protection handles several types of alarms.”

“It’s a good idea. We can do it for you. Davis is our resident expert when it comes to alarms.”

“Oh. I hadn’t thought of that. I assume your business worked with much larger accounts than a simple single-family home.”

“We do. But we’re capable of smaller jobs, especially for friends. Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll call Davis and see if he can swing by and take a look. He’ll set you up with whatever fits your needs.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it. I wasn’t thinking this morning when I went for a run and left Leah here alone. She says she didn’t freak out when she woke up and found me gone, but I suspect she was fibbing a bit. I know she’ll feel more secure knowing she can keep sleeping and no one can get into the house.”

“I agree. I would feel that way about any woman, even if they hadn’t been recently kidnapped from their own home. You’ll sleep better at night and rest easy during the day too with an alarm.”

“Thanks, man. Appreciate it.”

“I’ll call Davis now and have him get in touch with you.”

“Perfect.” I end the call and set my phone on my desk. My life has undergone a dozen changes in the last week. All of them good. All of them stressful at the same time.

I glance at the time. It’s almost noon. I need to get lunch ready for Leah. I’ve never watched her work, but I suspect she gets distracted and doesn’t eat. I’m familiar enough with creative people to know that it would be inappropriate to interrupt her if she’s found her groove, but I will at least ensure she eats, even if it’s at her desk.

I can make a mean homemade mac and cheese, which is perfect for a little girl’s lunch, so as I get that started, I also cut up apples and carrots. Leah hasn’t indicated any specific foods she doesn’t like except Brussels sprouts, so I’m hoping she’s okay with my selections.

I’m not sure what I’ll find when I check on her, but as soon as I quietly push the door open a few inches, I realize pacing rapidly back and forth across the room wasn’t what I expected.

“Leah?” I ask tentatively.

She snaps her head to me and groans.

“You okay? I don’t want to mess with your mojo, but I do want you to eat. I can bring your lunch in here or you can come to the table.”

“I might as well come to the damn table,” she murmurs as she stomps toward me and straight past me.

Uh oh.

I catch up with her quickly and set both hands on her shoulders from behind, pulling her to a halt. “Hey there. I don’t like to hear my sweet girl cussing, remember?” I don’t want to go overboard though. She’s probably in an adult mindset at the moment. I can’t very well punish her when she’s not in her little space.

The confusing part is that she’s been literally in her little space all morning. Her room. I’m not sure she can spend hours in her room dressed like a little girl, surrounded by toys, and feel or think like an adult. The entire idea of using her room as an office is mind-boggling to me.

She sighs. “Sorry, Sir.”

She sounds little, so I spin her around. “Tell Daddy what’s bothering you.”

“I’m just so frustrated. I felt creative this morning. I thought I could work, but nooooo, apparently not. Not on the fantasy story I’m supposed to be writing. It’s like Suzanne got kicked to the curb and she’s not permitted to come back.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” I give her a half-grin, finding it funny that she speaks about her pen name as if she has multiple personalities. I’m being sort of silly to lighten the mood when I say, “Maybe Leah could speak with Suzanne and explain the situation?”

My adorable, sweet girl frowns at me. “Leah doesn’t have anything to do with it.”

“Then who kicked Suzanne to the curb?” I asked, still feeling like this is all a joke.

“Lizzy. She won’t leave me alone. She’s only permitted to occupy one hour of my time a day, and she’s been demanding lately. She insists she wants more time.” Leah’s voice rises and she rolls her eyes. “Oh, noooo. That’s not even true. She wants all the time. She makes none of the money, but she wants all of the time.”

I’m stunned and confused and frankly a bit concerned.

Leah lifts her hands and gives her pigtails both a tug outward as she stomps her foot and screams out her frustration. “Urgh!”

I swallow, my face falling. I’m not smiling anymore. “Leah?”

“What?” she shouts, meeting my gaze. She waves a hand through the air and sighs dramatically. “Just ignore me. I’m frustrated. You wouldn’t understand.”

“You’re right. I’m totally confused. You’re speaking as if you have multiple-personality disorder except you’re well aware of it.”

Leah laughs and shoves at my chest playfully. “Hazard of being an author.” She meets my gaze and laughs again. “Craig, chill. I’m fine. I promise. I’m perfectly aware of who I am. I tend to speak as though I’m Suzanne when I’m deep in one of her books.”

“What about Lizzy?”

Leah swallows. “Yeah, well, she’s annoying the hell out of me.” Leah spins around and stomps toward the kitchen. “Oh and you’re right. Stomping does feel good,” she tosses over her shoulder.

I follow her, leery. “So, let me get this straight,” I say to her back as I follow her. “When you’re writing, you tend to feel like you’re someone else?”

“In a way,” she states as she climbs onto her chair at the table.

I decide to take a stab in the dark since she isn’t giving me enough information. “So, if I’m understanding correctly, Suzanne writes fantasy and sci-fi. When you’re in that zone, you’re Suzanne. Lizzy writes something else entirely, and she’s clambering to have her story told instead of letting Suzanne have the stage, which is causing you to be stuck in a sort of writer’s block.”

Leah sits up straight and smiles huge. “That’s exactly it.”

I’m not at all sure I understand a word I just spoke, but I’m glad Leah does.

I frown. “Why can’t you let Lizzy have more time then? If that’s where the muse is leading you right now, it sounds like you’re not going to be able to escape. How long has Lizzy been demanding attention?”

Leah sighs. “For a while. Probably since I started getting those damn annoying emails from T. I was supposed to be starting my new series, but every time I try, nothing comes out. I’m starting to think I’ll never be able to write again, which is stressing me out.”

I think I’m following, though I wish I had a recording of this conversation so I could replay it later and ensure I got it all right. “Why can’t you just put Suzanne on the backburner for a while and let Lizzy have her day?”

“Because Lizzy doesn’t make any money,” Leah tells me a second time, her voice in a tone as if she’s said, “Duh.”

“Why not?” I know I’m pushing this topic almost too far, considering how Leah freaked out when I learned Lizzy’s name. I’m actually surprised Leah is willing to discuss this at all.

“She’s not published.”

“So, publish her.” What’s the big deal?

Leah shakes her head, her pigtails swinging around at the vehement gesture. “Never.”

I flinch. Never. Why not? I don’t ask because I don’t think Leah wants to tell me the reason yet, and I don’t want her to feel like I’m pressuring her.

So, I take another route. “How about this plan then? Why don’t you humor her? Let her get it out of her system.”

“Because I don’t have time to let her take over. I have rules. I follow them.”

“Rules?” The mac and cheese is probably getting cold, but I’m at least glad I turned off the burner before I went in search of Leah, otherwise, it would be burning in the pan by now. This is important.

Leah leans her elbows on the table and sets her forehead against her palms. “It’s the only way I can make a living. I have to reach a certain word count as Suzanne each day, and then I indulge Lizzy for one hour. That’s it.”

I’m finally starting to understand what she means about these personas. She’s not mentally disturbed. This is just how she thinks of her two pen names.

“How about for now you give yourself a break and throw the rules out the window. Just for the week. You’re probably not in a good place to get Suzanne’s work done anyway, and it sounds like Lizzy is demanding.”

“Very. You have no idea.”

“Obviously you’re not making any headway with Suzanne’s stories, and you’ve proven that to be the case for weeks, so you have nothing to lose really. So what if some time passes and you don’t release your next Suzanne book as soon as you intended? Might as well let Lizzy take over, let her tell her story, and then see if she’s willing to shut up after she’s had her turn.”

Leah lifts her face and meets my gaze. She stares at me oddly for several seconds and then slowly smiles. “It might work.”

Thank fuck. I grin.

“I won’t be able to pay my damn rent within two months if I don’t release a book though.”

“Excellent timing. You weren’t planning to return to that apartment anyway.” I lean over the table, flatten my palms in front of her, and smile. I want to fist pump. “No apartment. No rent. You’ll stay here for a while, give that insistent pest Lizzy her time in the spotlight, and then reevaluate.”

Leah giggles. Blessed angels. “It’s actually a good idea.”

“We Daddies are sometimes filled with good ideas. All you have to do is ask.” The next question that I hold back in order to not push my luck is why on earth my sweet girl thinks she can’t publish the books Lizzy writes?

I kiss Leah’s forehead and push off the table to go fix her a plate of food.

When I set it in front of her, I notice her entire demeanor has changed. She’s not looking directly at me. In fact, I think she’s deep in her head, already plotting. There’s a grin on her face that I really like. It’s much better than the angry scowl.

I have no idea who Lizzy is, but I think I like her better than Suzanne.

“Thank you,” Leah says as I hand her a chubby fork and then a sippy cup of apple juice.

She starts eating too fast, shoveling her food in.

I grab her hand and give it a squeeze. “Slow down, sweet girl. You’re going to get sick.”

She sighs heavily as if I’ve asked her to take the trash out—not just to the street but to keep walking until she gets to the city dump. At least she forces herself to slow down. In fact, she gets sassy and dramatic, lifting the fork in super slow motion to her mouth and then chewing as if she’s at half-speed. “Happy?” she asks.

I lift both brows as I continue eating my own plate of food. “I’m perfectly content, but I bet you won’t be in a few minutes. Finish everything on your plate, and then you can stand in the corner for a while.”

She groans—again the drama queen. “That’s not fair. I have ideas. I need to get to my computer.” Her tone is so very five-year-old. Whiny.

This is a new side of little Leah, and I’m struggling not to laugh. It’s hard. I think I like this sassy version of my girl. But I also need to be firm with her and not let her run me over.

“Life’s not fair, sweetheart. There are rules. I’ve been lenient with you since you came out of your room, but you have cussed and argued and sassed me. Whining isn’t going to help. If you keep it up, you’ll be in timeout for so long your legs will get tired, so I suggest you stop while you’re ahead, finish your lunch, and accept your punishment.” I lift a challenging brow.

Her shoulders drop, and she shudders. “Yes, Sir.”

I watch her closely as she takes the next bite, squirming on her seat, her cheeks pinkened. She’s aroused.

I’ve won the lottery.