Falling for Your Boss by Emma St. Clair

Chapter Fourteen

Zoey

“I don’t understand,”Delilah says in a hushed whisper. “Kids always like me.”

“Well, they always hate me, so you were my last shred of hope.”

We’re both staring at Ella, who has her tiny arms crossed in an act of rebellion that could almost be humorous. Except it’s not. Delilah was supposed to come save me, being the kid whisperer with her happy smile and sweet Southern accent. She was supposed to get Ella to open up or at least warm up. But I swear, if anything, Ella is colder than she was the night before.

Delilah even brought donuts and kolaches as a bribe. Apparently, Ella is on a macro diet, which I had to google on my phone. It essentially means she can’t eat anything easy. Not that there’s anything to eat in Gavin’s house. I’m not convinced the man eats. The inside of the fridge looks like a model home or something. There weren’t even any condiments. What kind of a person doesn’t have at least outdated ketchup in the door of the fridge?

“I’ll try again, but …” Delilah shrugs helplessly, and I know she hates this. She’s used to being liked by everyone. It’s somehow worse being rejected by a kid. I would know since they always seem to find me lacking. I swear, at the last baby shower I went to for some not-so-close college friend, I made an infant cry from across the room just by glancing at her.

Sighing, Delilah sets down her coffee mug and crosses the room. She sits next to Ella. Ella moves to another couch. It’s like a game of musical chairs without the music and without the fun. I shake my head, taking this opportunity to check on Gavin. Walking toward his room, my heart skips out a merry rhythm in direct contrast to the reality of things.

He’s still too old. He’s still my boss. He’s still ill.

And he has a child.

There is a Gavin-shaped lump in the center of his bed, twisted up in the sheets. He didn’t wake up when I slipped away in the middle of the night. If it weren’t for Ella, I would probably have stayed in bed with him and woken up feeling guilty and disappointed in myself. I should have left sooner than I did, but it was a painfully sweet luxury to snuggle with the man whose voice has the power to make my insides shiver with delight and longing.

Because this isn’t my life, getting comfortable in his beautiful house. Snuggling with him in his bed. Running my fingers through his hair and making him beg for more.

Nope. Any time today, his fever is going to break. He’s going to wake up, go back to acting like my boss and I’ll have to rebuild all the walls I carefully constructed over two years. Turns out they were no better than sand, wiped out with the first wave.

Oh, and Gavin will also wake up and learn he has a daughter. I wonder if Ella will hate him as much as she seems to hate everyone else.

I watch Gavin’s chest rise and fall for a few moments, allowing myself to remember how good his hair felt under my fingertips. How nice and solid he felt curled up next to me. Let’s not forget how much better he smelled after his shower.

He never would have allowed any of that if he hadn’t been half out of his mind with fever. I fill his empty glass with water from the bathroom sink and close the door quietly behind me.

It wasn’t real, I remind myself. It wasn’t real. At least, it wasn’t real for Gavin, who might not remember anything at all.

But it was very real for me. Real enough that I pause outside his door and navigate to the website where I’ve had an application drafted for a new job, my resume attached and everything. Today, I click Apply. It should make me feel better, but it makes me feel worse instead.

When I get back to the open living area, Ella is out of sight and Delilah gives me a tight smile.

“No luck?” I say, feeling my stomach drop.

“That’s one tough kid,” she says. “Though it’s not hard to believe given her situation.”

No, it isn’t. I hate it for her, but I’m also starting to get irritated with the whole bratty act. No one should be able to hate Delilah. She’s like a ray of sunshine bottled up with honey sweetness.

“Look, I hate to go, but one of my dog-walking clients called and they need me this afternoon.”

“I understand.”

Out of all of my roommates, Delilah is the only one who couldn’t find a steady job since we graduated from UT two years ago. She’s managed to scrape by with dog-walking jobs, the occasional personal grocery-shopper gig, and even some retail work. Long term, we’re all worried for her, but she doesn’t want pity or help.

“Are you gonna be okay, darlin’?” she asks, touching my arm lightly.

And I know, because she’s one of my closest friends, that she doesn’t just mean with Ella.

I shrug. “I guess I have to be.”

We walk to the front door, and when I open it, a man is climbing out of a tiny red sports car so fancy that I don’t recognize the make or model. He smiles up at us as he stalks closer in his expensive suit, a single dimple popping out on one cheek. He looks like the kind of man you should cross the street to avoid because he is just Trouble.

I bet he seduces a lot of women with that dimple. And the car. But mostly the dimple.

It is a wicked feature, one that should never have been given to a man that already looks darn good with dark, tousled hair and facial hair that’s somewhere between a five o’clock shadow and neatly trimmed beard.

“Hello, ladies,” he says, hopping up the steps. “I understand now why Gavin didn’t show up for our meeting this morning. Is there a two-for-one special I need to know about?”

The sound of Delilah smacking the smile off his face is so loud that I literally gasp. It’s like the crack of a rifle.

“Looks like your mama needs to teach you some manners,” Delilah says, in a voice so fiery that I’m shocked her sundress doesn’t go up in flames.

The man is completely undeterred, stroking the cheek she slapped as he continues to grin. “I could say the same about yours. Not that I mind.”

She goes to slap him again, but he grabs her wrist, twisting it slightly to plant a kiss on the back of her hand. Delilah goes to use her left hand, but he grabs that too.

I am completely frozen. What would a bouncer on the Maury Povich show do? The only piece of advice going through my head is that you don’t separate two dogs in a fight. And to be honest, these two seem more dangerous than a pair of dogs. I decide to just watch, wishing I had a bucket of popcorn drenched in movie theater butter.

“Truce?” the man asks.

Delilah scoffs. “Not on your life, mister.”

“If I let you go, do you promise not to slap me again?”

Her head tilts to the side as she thinks about this. Finally, Delilah nods. “Promise.”

“Are your promises trustworthy?” The man’s lips curl up into a smile, and I’m a little in awe of his lack of self-preservation. It’s like he’s not even afraid for his baby-making capabilities.

Or maybe he’s smarter than I thought, because he shifts to block Delilah’s knee with his hip just as she goes for the gold.

“Okay, okay,” he says. “I trust you.”

He releases Delilah’s wrists in a slow and dramatic fashion, holding out his palms as though showing he’s unarmed. Delilah smooths down her hair, huffing out a little annoyed breath.

And then she socks him right in the gut.

The man bends over at the waist, his face looking like he can’t get any air. Delilah pats him twice on his head like he’s a big puppy who’s just been disciplined after peeing on the rug, then hops down the stairs, her skirt swishing around her hips. Her dramatic exit is slightly dampened when her car takes almost a minute for the engine to turn over. But the backfire when it finally does is like an exclamation point on the whole exchange.

When I look over at the man, he is smiling as he watches her go, absentmindedly rubbing his stomach. I’ve never seen Delilah act so violently, not that this man didn’t deserve every ounce of it. He seems completely delighted, which is the most shocking thing about it all.

“Wow,” he says, after a moment. “What’s her name?”

“No way.” I almost add a mister, because I can still hear Delilah’s voice in my head. But that’s not my style.

“I guess I deserve that.”

“And then some,” I say, crossing my arms.

The man clears his throat, looking properly chagrined for the first time. “We didn’t get off on the right foot, I’m afraid.”

I snort, and he sighs, all traces of amusement sliding off his face, replaced with apology.

“I’m actually quite sorry. Sometimes my mouth moves a little faster than my brain.”

“So, you still would have thought it, just not said it? Sounds like my friend was right about your manners. Maybe you need a reset of the mind, not just your mouth.”

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and I slowly raise mine, channeling my very best in threatening looks.

“You sure shoot straight. Look, I am sorry. My name is Thayden. I’m one of Gavin’s best friends and his lawyer. He missed breakfast and wasn’t answering his phone. I got concerned, and I came to check on him. I was a little thrown off seeing two beautiful women leaving his house. He never has women here.”

So many words to process. This man is Gavin’s best friend? Yikes. But my mind snags on the bigger and more important fact that Gavin doesn’t have women here. Not that it’s any of my business.

“He’s sick.”

He frowns. “What kind of sick?”

“It’s a virus, going around our office. He caught it from his personal assistant.”

“Nancy? Is she okay?”

My shoulders sink a little in relief that he knows Nancy and seems concerned. Maybe he has a heart under all the smarminess on the surface.

“She’s getting better. It’s pretty fast and furious, so hopefully he’ll be up and around later today.” When the man moves toward the front door, I shift to block him.

Like Delilah’s attitude, this seems to amuse him. He must like his ladies with a kick.

“Do you mind if I check on him?”

I don’t let him pass right away. But honestly, I’m out of my depth here. I’m definitely not the one who should be here taking care of Gavin. This guy is apparently Gavin’s good friend, though with his attitude it’s hard to believe. He knew the code to the gate and knows Nancy. He’s probably fine. Even if he’s a world-class jerk.

“I didn’t get your name.” He holds out his hand, and for a moment, I just stare it down.

He’s chuckling by the time I finally take it, squeezing his hand firmly without a smile. “I’m Zoey.”

His eyes spark with recognition and amusement, like some puzzle piece slid into place, and he shakes his head. “Yes, you are.”

I almost ask him what that’s supposed to mean, then decide I’m not sure I want to know. He walks into the house ahead of me, and I realize suddenly that Ella is in there somewhere. I had forgotten all about her. More evidence I would never be a mother.

But remembering, I’m filled with an intense protective urge, like I need to shield both her and Gavin somehow. To preserve their privacy and the delicate strangeness of this whole situation. It makes very little logical sense. But I hate thinking about half the people in Gavin’s life to know about his daughter before he does. And Ella really doesn’t need any more strangers shoved at her.

“Thayden, wait!”

I grab his arm, but he’s already halfway in the door. He stops just inside, and I know before he even says, “And who might you be?” that he’s seen Ella.

I shove my way past him and move to Ella, who has the kind of stillness about her that a woodland creature does when a predator stumbles upon them. Like if she just stays frozen, she’ll be invisible. I don’t even question the urge to throw my arm around her shoulder and pull her into my side. I just do it.

“This is Ella,” I say. And that’s all I say.

I can see the gears turning in Thayden’s head as his eyes bounce between the two of us. Ella looks more like her mother with her strawberry blonde hair. Maybe she could pass as mine if you’re not examining too closely. Never mind that I would have been in high school when I had her. Thayden has no idea how old I am.

“Are you coming in or not?”

Thayden gives his head a little shake and closes the door behind him. “Right. Is he in his room?”

“He was asleep the last time I checked.”

I can tell that this whole situation amuses Thayden to no end, but I don’t know exactly why. I wonder if Gavin has ever talked about me, and that’s why Thayden seemed to have some recognition when I said my name.

Oh, please say that Gavin talked about me. Pretty please.

Thayden knows his way around the house and disappears toward Gavin’s room. I look down at Ella, who recovers enough to pull out of my grasp.

“You said you might want to swim today. Delilah brought my suit for me, so you want to go out?”

Ella lifts her nose and sniffs. “I’d rather not. I’ll be in my room watching movies if you need me.”

Is that all this child does? How many hours is she glued to her tablet each day? Is that the new nanny—electronics? And how does she somehow seem so old and so young at the same time?

I want to argue, but Ella isn’t my kid. And it hasn’t gone well when I’ve tried getting her to do anything. This whole weird babysitting gig is temporary. Gavin can figure it out later.

That thought feels like a fire poker shoved right into the center of my chest. I don’t know him well enough to know if he ever wanted kids or not. But I know how much it would have shaken me to suddenly have one dumped unceremoniously on my doorstep.

How did he not know? Why did his ex tell him now? And why leave Ella here? There have to be laws and child support payments and all kinds of things mixed up in this.

There are so many more questions in my mind. Questions I don’t really deserve answers to, considering Gavin and I are not even really friends. I don’t get to count anything that happened in the fever bubble.

Not the way it felt to be in his arms. Not the way it made my heart leap into a series of complicated cheerleading jumps to hear him call me butterfly. Not feeling needed by this man that I’d respected, admired, and crushed on for so long.

Nope. None of it counts.

Still, I have this intense protectiveness that surged in my chest when I think about Gavin recovering only to find out about Ella. And that his ex left her here. Just thinking about it again gets me all riled up.

I need something to focus on, so I start cleaning up the mess from the kolaches and donuts. I might have stress-eaten a few more than usual, and there’s powdered sugar dusting the smooth marble. Wiping it down so it shines again calms my nerves a fraction. Until I hear a scream.

I go running down the hallway to Ella’s room, where I find her stomping and shrieking in the middle of the room. I’m relieved that there’s no break-in, no small fire, and no sinkhole opening in the floor. I can’t actually assess any danger. It just looks a little like her suitcase exploded with pink and purple girl clothes everywhere.

“What’s wrong? Ella?” Maybe going running three times a week isn’t enough, because I’m breathless.

“It’s out of batteries!” she shouts in a voice that sounds far too much like the Exorcist for me.

“What’s out of batteries?”

She turns to me with wild eyes. She’s feral. Not a woodland creature but a rabid hyena. Do they get rabies?

“My tablet,” she growls, and if I had holy water, I might be tempted to toss it on her, just to cover all my bases.

“We can just charge it,” I say in my most soothing voice.

“The cord isn’t in my bag!” Ella throws back her head and screams before stomping her feet, kicking at the furniture, her bag, at me.

I’m concerned for about half a second until I recognize this for what it is. This is what it looks like when an eight-year-old throws a temper tantrum.

Maybe I’m not cut out to be a parent. But I know exactly what to do.

Picking her up so her arms are restrained, I march her through the house, ignoring her screams and the kicks that land on my shins, and I dump her unceremoniously into the pool.

It would have been a lot more satisfying if I hadn’t fallen in after her.