by Gina Wilkins
She would take his advice under consideration—after all, she had asked for it—but she would not be told what to do.
Getting the kids bathed and tucked in took as long as Mark had warned—and then some. Payton’s inevitable crash had been accompanied by whining and tears. Madison, who had been agreeable enough to the move into Payton’s room when Mark had discussed it with her before, suddenly decided she wanted her own room back.
Mark had been forced to speak firmly to both his daughters before they’d settled down enough to go to bed. To repay them for the upheaval his generosity had put them through, he had read an extra bedtime story to them before tucking them in with kisses and promises that life would be back to normal soon.
He and Miranda met up again in the den. Rubbing the back of his neck, he gave her a weary smile. “Did you get the boys in bed okay?”
“Yeah, they went right to sleep. And the girls?”
“No problems,” he lied airily.
“Liar. I heard Madison crying all the way down the hallway. She was upset about the twins taking over her bedroom, wasn’t she?”
“Madison doesn’t take well to change,” he admitted. “But she’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it.”
“I’m sorry to cause so much trouble.”
“Will you stop saying that?” Hearing the slightly cross tone in his own voice, he grimaced and spoke more gently. “It isn’t too much trouble. I want the girls to learn to share, and to adapt when life throws them a curve or two. This is a good experience for them.”
Still not looking convinced, she nodded. “If you’re too tired to talk about my plans tonight, we can—”
“I’m not too tired.” He straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin in an instinctively male reaction. “Let’s go into my office.”
For some reason, that suggestion seemed to please her.
It was almost amusing how much more comfortable she seemed once he was settled behind his desk and she sat in the clients’ chair across from him. He pulled a legal pad in front of him and picked up a pencil. “You said you wanted me to help you prepare a budget.”
She leaned her elbows on his desk and propped her chin in her hands. “Right. And you’ll bill me at your usual hourly rate for doing this, of course. You should probably make a note of the time so you’ll remember.”
He frowned. “I’m not going to—”
“I won’t let you help me unless I pay you,” she interrupted flatly.
Impatience laced his sigh. “Fine,” he said, making a point of looking at his watch and writing the time at the top of the page. “Now we’re on the clock, so we’d better get with it.”
Miranda tilted her head to eye his expression. “You look just like Payton when you pout.”
“I’m not—” He made himself swallow the rest of the words.
Now that she felt more comfortable in her surroundings, she had reverted to the Miranda he had known as a client for the past year. Smart-mouthed, confident, just a bit brazen. He needed to revert to his own predinnerdate persona—professional, focused, imperturbable, at least on the outside.
“Okay,” he said, his pencil hovering over the paper. “What’s the most you’re willing to pay for rent?”
“I picked up a couple of those free apartment listings brochures yesterday. The two-bedroom apartments in the same general area where I have been living all run pretty much in the same price range.” She named a couple of figures which he jotted on the pad.
“And day care?” he asked, making no comment about the rent figures. Obviously she had checked out the less expensive places; he wondered if he could talk her into letting him look them over from a safety perspective before she signed a lease. Probably not.
“Um—I don’t have a clue. I haven’t had time to make any calls yet.”
Because day-care expenses were listed in so many of his clients’ financial records, he had a ballpark idea. Miranda groaned when he gave her an estimate. “That much?”
“Good childcare is expensive, especially for two kids,” he replied sympathetically. “That’s why it’s so difficult for many single working mothers to make ends meet.”
“No kidding.” She swallowed hard, then nodded. “Okay. What else?”
They spent the next half hour discussing every possible expense involved in raising two preschoolers. By that time, Miranda looked a bit pale, but grimly determined. “Anything else?”
“That should pretty much cover it—barring any unexpected expenses.”
“Such as?”
“Emergency room visits, braces, glasses—that sort of thing.”
“Oh. Of course.” Her voice was hollow.
“Those are just possibilities, of course. With kids, you never know. You’d better see about getting them listed on your health insurance policy as soon as possible. Your premium might go up a bit.”
“I’m sure it will,” she said with a sigh.
“You can do this, Miranda.”
“I know. It’s just…a big change.”
He didn’t have the heart to tell her they had barely begun to discuss the changes raising twin boys would make to her life.
“I’ll spend my lunch hour for the next few days checking out apartments and day-care facilities,” she said, pushing a hand through her tousled hair.
“I’ll ask around, see if I can come up with some recommendations for day care.”
“Thank you. And now, before I forget, I want us to agree on an amount for me to pay you for our stay here, in addition to what I’m giving Mrs. McSwaim. There’s the price of food and—”
He set his pencil down. “Forget it.”
Her expression turned stubborn. “I insist on paying you.”
“Don’t tick me off, Miranda,” he warned very quietly. “My home is not a hotel. I don’t charge my guests to stay here.”
He was well aware of what she had been doing by putting them back on an accountant-client basis. He even somewhat agreed that it was a good way to keep a careful distance between them during her stay, however brief that might be. But no way was he letting her turn him into a landlord.
Because she still looked prepared to argue, he stood abruptly, bringing the conversation to an end. “I’m sure you’re exhausted after moving all day. Is there anything else I can do for you this evening? If not, I have some paperwork I need to look over before office hours in the morning.”
“Oh.” Looking a bit disconcerted, she stood. “I don’t want to keep you from your work any longer, but I—”
He had already moved to the doorway. “What time do you usually leave for work in the morning?”
“Around seven-thirty.”
He nodded. “I always have breakfast ready for the girls by seven. It’s usually just cereal or oatmeal with fruit juice, but I want you to make yourself at home in the kitchen. And if you ask me for a bill for your meal, I’m liable to do something violent.”
Looking resigned, Miranda shook her head. “I never realized you were so stubborn.”
“Apparently you didn’t know me as well as you thought you did.”
“Apparently not.” She studied him appraisingly for a moment, then moved toward him and the doorway. “Good night, Mark.”
“If you need anything during the night, you know where to find me.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, he wanted to take them back. He hadn’t meant anything by them; he had simply been playing the conscientious host.
He should have known Miranda would twist his words to mean something else, entirely. Her face lit up with the wicked smile he knew so well—the one that always presaged an outrageous comment. The one that always made his own lips twitch in response.
“As tempting as that sounds,” she all but purred, walking her fingertips up his chest to tickle his chin, “I think it would be best if I stay in the guest room all night.”
Damn, but she could change from chilly client to sultry seductress in the blink of an eye. He had realized long b
efore that Miranda was the only client he’d ever had who left his head spinning. She had a fairly dramatic effect on the rest of his body, as well.
It annoyed him that he couldn’t switch gears as easily as she did. He was forced to clear his throat before he could say, “Good night, Miranda.”
With a soft laugh, she ran a fingertip across his lower lip, then turned and walked away.
Mark sank into his chair and shoved a hand through his hair. It would probably be a good thing for his sanity if Miranda found another place to stay very soon.
Wednesday morning did not go as smoothly as Mark might have wished. Having risen early after another late night in his office, he had decided to make pancakes—his daughters’ favorite breakfast when served with warmed strawberry syrup. And then he had promptly burned a batch of them, quite possibly because Miranda had wandered into the kitchen, fully dressed for work, but still looking morning-sleepy—a distracting presence.
After cleaning the griddle and successfully cooking another batch, Mark served the meal. Payton announced during breakfast that she wasn’t going to preschool. She wanted to stay home and play with Madison and the twins.
“You have to go today,” Mark reminded her. “Today’s the final rehearsal for the end-of-the-year program tomorrow night.”
“I want to stay here,” Payton complained. “I already know all my lines for the program.”
“But you still have an obligation to go to the rehearsal,” he replied firmly. “The teachers and the other students are counting on you to be there, and you will be. You can play with Madison and the boys when you get home.”
“It’s not fair!” The words were accompanied by the kind of flounce only a four-year-old girl could pull off so expressively.
“It wouldn’t be fair of you to blow off the rehearsal when everyone else is going to be there,” Mark corrected her. He was aware that the boys were watching the confrontation, and that Miranda had busied herself clearing away the dishes. He really didn’t want this to turn into one of Payton’s rare, but formidable tantrums.
Keeping his tone firm, he said, “Come on, Payton, you know you’ve been looking forward to this program. You have a starring role, don’t you?”
Her lower lip protruding, Payton nodded.
“I bet Kasey and Jamie would like to come see you perform tomorrow night, wouldn’t you, boys?”
The twins nodded dutifully.
The prospect of a slightly larger audience brought a new spark of interest to Payton’s eyes. “Will Miss Martin come, too?”
Mark wasn’t so sure about that. “Oh, I—”
“Sure, Payton. I would love to come to your program,” Miranda assured her. “Why not?”
“So,” Mark concluded, “you have to go practice so you’ll do an especially good job, okay?”
“We won’t do anything fun until you get home, Payton,” Jamie promised earnestly. He wore a yellow shirt today in contrast to Kasey’s green.
“I wish I could go to preschool,” Kasey murmured. “It sounds like fun.”
“It is fun—sometimes,” Payton conceded slowly, her temper cooling. “You’ve never been to preschool?”
Both boys shook their heads.
“Well, how did you learn your numbers? And your ABCs?” she demanded.
“Mama teached us our ABCs,” Kasey replied. “We can write our names and count to a hundred and we know lots of songs.”
“I know some of the words to ‘American Pie,’” Jamie volunteered. “That’s Mama’s favorite song. She plays it all the time.”
Mark heard Miranda gulp softly, and he had to suppress a wince at the thought of Jamie’s clear little voice singing about “drinking whiskey and rye.”
“You’ll go to kindergarten in the fall,” Miranda promised them. “You’ll learn lots of new songs then.”
“I’m singing some songs in the program tomorrow,” Payton said quickly, making sure the topic didn’t wander far from herself. “Not alone, but with my class.”
She proceeded to rattle off the names of the songs they would be hearing the next evening. Relieved that the brief crisis was over, Mark told himself that he was going to have to stay vigilant in keeping Payton’s tendency toward narcissism in check. She had inherited that trait from her mother, he thought with a sigh.
Mrs. McSwaim arrived soon afterward, and then it was time for Miranda to leave for work. She rather awkwardly kissed the boys goodbye and told Payton and Madison she would see them later. She left her work phone number and cell number with Mrs. McSwaim, gave Mark a cheery little wave and took off.
For the second time that morning, Mark found himself thinking of his ex-wife. Brooke had worn an expression of deep relief when she had finally “escaped” the bonds of marriage and motherhood. He suspected glumly that he had just recognized a very similar expression in Miranda’s amber eyes.
Chapter Ten
It wasn’t that Miranda was deliberately stalling at her office, she assured herself late Wednesday afternoon—early evening, she corrected herself with a glance at her desk clock. Almost 6:00 p.m. But she had missed two days of work, so naturally, she had a lot to do to catch up. She hadn’t even had time to check out apartments during the lunch hour she had spent working at her desk.
Which didn’t quite explain why she was still here, even after she had completely emptied her in-basket.
Her desk phone rang and she picked up after only a momentary hesitation. “Miranda Martin.”
“Well, it really is you.” Miranda recognized the voice as Brandi’s. “I was wondering if you left town or something.”
Miranda smiled wearily. “No, I haven’t left town.” She had merely left her old life behind, she thought wryly.
“We all wondered where you were when you didn’t show up for Oliver’s party. Everyone was there.”
“I’m sorry I missed it.” She had been too busy packing for her temporary move into Mark’s house, feeding her nephews, tucking them in for the night.
“I’ve tried and tried to call you. I left a half-dozen messages on your answering machine. Since I don’t have your cell number, I thought I would take a shot at reaching you at your office this evening. And I caught you!” Brandi added unnecessarily.
Miranda rarely gave out her cell number. She was afraid it would ring all the time if she did. “I’ve been busy.”
“So…is there a guy?”
“Mmm.” She smiled a little. “As a matter of fact, there were two guys in my bed during the weekend.”
“Two?” Brandi seemed genuinely taken aback by that uncharacteristic revelation. “Um—you hooked up with two different men last weekend?”
“Actually I slept with both of them in one night. At once.”
“Okay, now this is just too bizarre. If I were talking to Debbie—or even Oliver—I might believe that tale, but not you. What’s really going on?”
Miranda chuckled in surrender. “Okay, I’ll tell you the truth. It seems that I’m about to become the legal guardian of my five-year-old twin nephews. I’ve had them since last Friday night.”
“You’re kidding!”
“No. They’re really with me. Well, not now, of course, but still in my custody.”
Belatedly rethinking her initial reaction, Brandi said in a more subdued tone, “Does that mean their mother—your sister, right?—has, well, passed away?”
“No, she’s—” Miranda hesitated, then said, “It’s a long story, but she can’t take care of them right now. There’s no one else to take them, so it looks like it’s up to me. I guess that means you won’t be seeing me at the clubs for a while.”
“Wow. This is so—” She couldn’t seem to come up with an appropriate word. “What do you know about taking care of kids?”
“Nothing. Less than nothing. I’m completely at a loss.”
“No kidding. But, er, don’t ask me for help, you know? ’Cause I know even less than you do.”
It was the sort of response Miranda expected
from all her friends. Which only emphasized how generous Mark had been—and he was only her accountant. At least, that was the way she had tried to think of him for the past year.
“Don’t worry, Brandi. I won’t be asking you to baby-sit.”
“Thanks. So, uh, short of that, is there anything you need?”
“No, I’m fine. But thanks for asking. Tell everyone hello for me, okay?”
“Yeah. Sure. If you ever find a baby-sitter—wow, that sounds strange—join us for an evening, okay?”
“Sure.” But even as she disconnected, Miranda wondered when—or if—she would have the opportunity to hang out at a club with her pals again.
“You’re sure you haven’t changed your mind?”
Miranda couldn’t help smiling in response to Mark’s question. It reminded her of when she had asked him if he’d had second thoughts about inviting her and the boys to stay in his home. “I haven’t changed my mind,” she said, just as he had then. “This should be an…interesting experience.”
“You’ve got that right,” he muttered.
He unlocked the door of his SUV, which, fortunately, had a third-row seat so everyone fit inside. “Payton, be sure you have all your stuff.”
“I’ve got it, Daddy.”
Miranda looked around as she climbed out of the front passenger seat of the vehicle while Mark unbuckled and unloaded kids, swinging Madison onto his hip. The parking lot of Miss Dottie’s Preschool was filling up rapidly with sedans, minivans and SUVs. Families filed toward the front door of the large, pink-sided building, preschoolers bouncing around their parents’ feet and calling greetings to their classmates.
Payton joined in the chorus. “Hi, Ethan! Hi, Claire! Ms. Martin, there’s my teacher, Ms. Hendricks.”
With a twin clinging shyly to each of her hands, Miranda pasted on a fake smile. Apparently her brain had been working a bit slowly this week. She had just this moment realized how it would look to the other parents for her to have arrived in the same vehicle with Mark. It must appear as though Mark had brought a date to his daughter’s school program.