by Nicole Vidal
Chapter 12
Savannah
Near three I finish gathering the files for Sam. Like yesterday, Jimmy greets me cheerfully before I ride upstairs.
As the doors open, Sam is standing near the island downing a bottle of water. I have seen Sam dressed in a tux, a suit, and business casual. Never have I seen him dressed comfortably. Tonight he’s in low-slung sweatpants and a graphic tee with Dave Matthews Band emblazoned on the front.
“Hi, Savannah.”
“Hi. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to disturb you. I wanted to drop these off for your review. I’ll get going.” I turn and push the down button immediately.
“Don’t go.”
Confused is an understatement. He asks for space, yet less than two days later, he asks me to stay.
“Do you have somewhere to be?”
I turn to face him. He scrubs his hand down his face.
“No, I was going home.”
“I miss you. I miss seeing you every day. I know that almost two days doesn’t seem long. However, for the last year, I have spent entire weeks with you at the office unless I was travelling. Add in the fact that our dates were amazing, and I’m twisted up in knots.”
You forgot your potential fatherhood, your status in this city, and the fact that I’m a normal girl who happens to work for you. “I don’t know what to say except I miss seeing you too.” A glimmer of hope pierces the armor I surrounded my heart with while riding the elevator. “If you genuinely want me, then you know where I stand. However, I can’t go back and forth between dating you and working for you to simply working for you.”
“I do.” His gaze burns into mine. Uncertainty reflects in his dark eyes—eyes that I could lose myself in as easily as I can in his arms.
“But….”
It took him months to ask me on a date, now his life is upside down.
“I won’t be able to give you all the attention you deserve, especially if she’s my daughter.”
“I understand. Please know that I wouldn’t expect to be ahead of your child. I’m sure you’re petrified with the unknowns right now. I’ll handle the office and bring the files to you as long as necessary. Have a nice evening.”
The elevator doors open, and I step inside, dropping my head. He doesn’t stop me—not that I’m sure I would have stayed if he tried to.
As the doors open in the lobby, flashbulbs go off. Jimmy hops into the elevator with me and closes the door.
“Miss Clemons, I was about to call up to Mr. Morgan. We have a situation.”
When the doors open upstairs, I see Sam, glass of scotch in hand, staring out the window, his features drawn and weary.
“Savannah. Jimmy. What’s going on?”
“Photographers are camped out at the entrance, Mr. Morgan. Most are inquiring about Miss Clemons and a baby,” Jimmy answers quickly.
“Damn him!”
I set my hand on his forearm, not only for me, but for him. The familiar tingles up my arm have me removing it much sooner than I would like. He looks over at me, his expression unreadable.
“Thank you, Jimmy. Savannah and I will discuss our options and let you know. If you can ask them to leave, we would appreciate it.”
“Absolutely, Mr. Morgan. Please let me know if you require any assistance.”
Once the doors close, he pulls me into his arms. One hand around my back while the other is at the base of my neck. At first I’m tense because I don’t know what this means, if anything. My resolve crumbles within moments. I sigh softly, memorizing him again. Taking in the smell of his cologne and the feel of his muscular back under my fingers. His shirt is threadbare; he might as well be shirtless. This feels amazing. I rein in my thoughts and slowly step back.
“I shouldn’t have…. This is my fault. Let me figure out how they know who you are and how to get you home.”
“Sam, there’s no need to be sorry. I knew this was a possibility simply working for you.”
“Please make yourself comfortable, then join me in my office.”
“Sure. But, Sam, where is your office?”
“I’m sorry. My office is the first room on the right off the kitchen.”
I nod, unsure what to say. I step out of my heels, line them by the door, pull my phone out of my purse, and check my messages.
Scarlett: I have a late shift. I’m going to stay at my new place tonight.
Me: Okay. LY
I pour a glass of white wine. Along with the scotch, Sam’s wine selection is impressive as well. After a few healthy gulps to settle my nerves, I refill my glass and pad to his office.
It’s exactly as I would picture it. Light, neutral colors are splashed on the wall. Built-ins surround a massive granite fireplace. There’s a set of chairs situated around the hearth. His desk faces the large windows.
“I found the story that led them here.” He motions for me to join him to see the screen. Sam Morgan, The Nanny, and a Baby.
Being this close to him isn’t good for me. I crave his lips on mine again. The wine surely isn’t helping.
“It appears Ramon gave an exclusive to the paper saying that the baby is mine. I don’t have the results yet. Either there has been a violation of my privacy or he’s lying. I would lean toward the lying, considering how much someone would pay for dirt on me.”
“What about me? I didn’t talk to any reporters. Is it because I came to the hospital?”
“I know you didn’t. I trust you, Savannah. It might be because you came to the hospital. I’m not upset about that. I’m concerned for your safety and Scarlett’s.”
“Don’t worry about Scar. She isn’t coming home tonight. Well, it isn’t really her home anymore.”
He turns his eyes to mine, setting his hand atop mine. “What do you mean?”
“She’s moving out this weekend.”
“When did she tell you?”
“Last night.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
I open my mouth to respond and immediately close my mouth. I wanted to. So much, but I couldn’t do it. “I didn’t want to impose on your space. Yet, here I am.”
“You did nothing wrong bringing the files here. This isn’t on you. That gauntlet of reporters is on me and likely Ramon Santiago.”
My stomach growls loudly. I giggle.
“Why don’t I cook something for us? Maybe you can outwait the reporters.”
“If it isn’t too much trouble, I would like that.”
“No trouble at all.” He rises from his chair, pressing his lips to my temple. I sigh inwardly and follow him to the kitchen. Despite my offers to help, Sam prepares the meal himself. It smells delicious.
Chapter 13
Samson
Plating the chicken with risotto, I set a dish in front of Savannah and the empty spot next to her.
“Thank you for staying for dinner. I’ll escort you home after we eat through the garage, to make sure they aren’t camped at your place as well.” I dig into my meal and savor a few bites.
“That isn’t necessary. No reason for you to ride with me. I’ll be fine.”
“It’s not optional. If you want to go home, I’ll escort you. This is about me. It’s partially why I waited so long to hire someone. Despite your qualifications, I should have hired someone named Joe who isn’t gorgeous like you.” My words come out a bit more forceful than I would have liked.
“I—”
“Mr. Morgan. You have a few urgent visitors,” Jimmy’s voice echoes through the intercom. His tone indicates asking for more information isn’t necessary.
“Send them up.”
When the doors open, three people step into my home.
“Mr. Morgan, I’m Officer Peters. This is my partner, Officer Jetty, and this is Pamela Torcher; she’s a social worker with the Office of Children and Family. Could you please provide photo identification? Who are you?”
“Savannah Clemons. Mr. Morgan is my boss. I came to bring some files, and the mob of photographer
s delayed my departure.”
“I need identification from you as well.” Both Savannah and I show our licenses to Officer Peters. After a cursory look between the cards and our faces, he continues. “Mr. Morgan, we’re here to inform you that Baby Jane Doe at Lennox Hill Hospital born of the late Marisol Luisa Santiago is your daughter. Ms. Torcher is here to explain the process for custody.”
I open my mouth to speak, but the words get caught in my throat. After two more failed attempts, finally I reply, “Thank you. Could you give us a moment?”
“Of course, Mr. Morgan,” Officer Jetty replies.
“Savannah, will you come with me?” I barely resist the urge to take her hand.
Back in my office, I’m shaking like a leaf. Tears prick my eyes, and I’m markedly overwhelmed. Her hand cups the side of my face. I turn my head, kissing the inside of her palm.
“Breathe, Sam. You can do this.”
I pull Savannah into my arms to draw comfort and strength from her. Without trying, she calms me.
“Do you want me to stay here?”
“You can’t leave with those reporters downstairs.” My quick reply gets me a raised eyebrow.
“I meant in your office. Would you prefer to talk to Ms. Torcher privately?”
“Honestly?”
“Absolutely.”
“I would like you to be there with me.”
Slowly I release her from my hold and return to the living room. After I offer drinks, Ms. Torcher explains what I need to do, how the process works under these circumstances, and when I can see my daughter. Savannah sits beside me listening intently. We’re sitting side by side on the couch. Her body pressed against me helps and hinders my focus. She calms my mind but drives my heart and body to distraction.
Under an hour later, I’m pacing the floor of my home after my guests leave. Savannah is calmly writing a list, probably of immediate needs for my daughter. My head is spinning. I’m a father. I’m responsible for that beautiful, little, pink bundle of joy. There are so many things to do. Most people have months and months to prepare for this, I get one day, two tops.
“Sam.”
I hear my name in the recesses of my brain.
“Sam.”
Again, but I don’t reply. As I pass, Savannah sets her hand on my forearm and calls me again. I stop walking and look down at her. The heat from her touch shoots over my entire body. It’s the last thing I should be considering right now. Yet I crave her. Once she has my attention, her soft skin slides away. “How can I help?”
“Believe it or not, you are by being here. I need to make a list of things she’ll need. Maybe there is a list on Google that I can use as a starting point. I need to prepare a statement. Call my family. Do you mind bringing files here as necessary? I know it isn’t part of your job, but….”
Savannah is furiously typing on her phone. “No, of course not. Anything else?”
“She needs a name.”
“Have you ever given any thought to your future daughter’s name?”
“No, I was waiting for the right woman.” I found the woman, but now my life is in chaos and I can’t devote enough to her to grow our relationship. Savannah doesn’t react to my statement.
“I’m sure there are lists upon lists on the internet or even books to purchase,” she softly suggests. “Why don’t you go to your office and get started on this list? I emailed it to your personal address. I’ll make some coffee and join you. Maybe after a bit more time, the crowd will have dispersed enough for me to go home.”
I nod and move slowly to my office, opening our group chat.
Me: I need to talk to all of you and your better halves asap.
Cash: We’re here.
Billie: Us too.
Auggie: Give me five. I’ll call Caro.
I open a video chat room and invite my siblings and Caro, simply because she and Auggie don’t live together, at least not yet. Soon my siblings and their better halves start gracing my screen. Once they all join, I take a deep breath and share my amazing and scary-as-hell news. At some point during the conversation, Savannah sets a cup of coffee near me and leaves my office. That spurs an entirely different conversation that I push off. After many well wishes, offers of help, and shelter away from New York, I sign off with my siblings and reach out to my father. I share the same news with him and my game plan, at least for a press statement. I ask that he attempt to stifle Margaux at least until my statement is made and my daughter is safely home. The rest… I’m still swimming in details. After my call and a scan of the email Savannah sent, I search for her.
Not only did she make me coffee, but she cleared and washed the dinner dishes and pans. She’s staring out the window toward the skyline. While my instinct is to wrap my arms around her from behind and press my lips to the curve of her neck, I refrain. As I approach, she looks over her shoulder at me.
“Thank you. You didn’t have to clean up.”
“You’re welcome. It’s no problem. You cooked. I washed. What did you tackle first?”
“I called my siblings and my father. I’ll work on a press statement for release after I bring you home and order some necessities.”
“Honestly, I don’t need you to come with me.”
“I insist.” Eventually, she will realize that arguing with me about her safety isn’t going to get her anywhere.
“Fine, I give.”
We ride straight down to the garage where we slide into a waiting car. The ride to her apartment is quiet. When we arrive, there are no reporters milling around. I ask the driver to wait while I walk Savannah to her door.
“Good night, Sam.”
“Good night, Savannah.”
She steps inside and closes the door. I hear her exhale sharply from behind the closed steel. I hope when I’m settled into my new role as a father, she’ll still want me. Want us.
I direct Eddie to my next stop, Lennox Hill. My palms are sweating, my head is spinning, and I feel wholly inadequate as Shelley helps me gown up to meet my daughter.
“Congratulations! You’re welcome as often as you like. She’s doing well. Her formula intake is sufficient, two ounces every two hours. Her oxygen levels are stable. The doctors will try to ween her off the supplemental oxygen starting in a few hours. If her numbers hold steady, you can take her home tomorrow.”
“Thank you.”
“Have you decided on a name?”
“Still working on it. I’ve only known for a few hours. At a minimum, could you change that to Baby Girl Morgan for now?” I point to the card on her bassinet.
“Of course.”
I sit in a comfortable rocking chair as another nurse, Kyla, instructs me how to hold my daughter. The successful businessman in me wants to rebel, but I’m not equipped for this. I take her guidance and words to heart.
“Everything you feel right now is completely normal—the fear, anxiety, lack of knowledge,” she assures me after setting my daughter in my arms.
She’s so tiny. Although from the information Savannah sent, she’s appropriate size for a baby born at thirty-six weeks. My heart feels like it’s going to burst. Yet I wish Savannah were here too. No matter how hard I try, I can’t ignore my feelings for her. For the next hour, I chat with, cuddle, and study my daughter, imagining how I got to this point. How inexplicably I feel like she was meant to be.
Chapter 14
Savannah
Navigating my relationship with Sam just go a bit harder. I’m not upset about Marisol or their daughter at all. I have no right to be, but resisting my urge to kiss him again is more difficult that I imagined it would be.
Thankfully, there were no reporters camped out at my apartment. Unfortunately, I’m here alone counting the divots in my ceiling because I can’t sleep. Tossing and turning, I finally give up and flick on the television. Nothing good graces the screen in the wee hours of the morning.
Hours later, I pull myself up, dress for a run, and take off out my front door. A run usually
clears my head a bit. Turning the corner to my apartment after a sunrise run, there are photographers leaning against the stoop of my building.
“Miss Clemons, care to comment on your relationship with Sam Morgan?”
“Are you the nanny?”
“Is the baby his?”
“Who is the baby’s mother?”
After a slew a questions as I approach, I stop on the stoop and address the reporters. I understand they simply have jobs to do.
“At no time will I answer any of your questions, now or in the future, except to say no comment.” I enter the foyer and hurry to my apartment to dress for work. Hopefully if I vary my schedule, I can avoid their daily inquiries.
As my Uber approaches Sam’s building, I note the swath of reporters still camped out there. Unfortunately, I need to get the files from last night. More questions hurl in my direction as I step inside. I ignore them, walking directly inside.
“Good morning, Jimmy.”
“Miss Clemons. Good morning. He returned a while ago. He’s likely in the gym.”
“Thank you.” I ride up to Sam’s. Setting my bag on the island, I see a stack of files. Opening the top one, I note it isn’t signed yet. No problem. I’ll come back later with more and collect these. Regathering my bag, I push the down button on the elevator.
When the doors open, Sam is stepping into his home. Holy hell! Sweat is dripping down his sculpted chest and abs. His form could be used as model for others. Broad shoulders, lean waist…. My mouth is watering as heat rushes southward. I squeeze my inner thighs to tamp the sensations building in my core. Thankfully, I’m wearing a skirt and he doesn’t notice. I resist the urge to fan myself by the slimmest of margins.
“Hi. You’re here already? Did you sleep at all?”
“No, actually. I didn’t sleep well. Did you sleep?”
“I didn’t sleep. I went to the hospital after I left your apartment. I couldn’t help myself. She and I have come to an understanding.”
Why does that feel like a gut punch? I have no right to think I deserve an invitation to meet his daughter. We’re colleagues who shared two amazing dates and a few toe-curling, knee-weakening kisses, that’s all. Wrap your head around that, Savi.