by Lisa Lace
Bella is enjoying the mock high tea with Bella’s juice box and her own cup of coffee.
“Can I have more biscuits?” Bella requests, her high-pitched voice matching Laura’s.
“Why, of course!” Laura acts as if the question is an affront. “Marques! Do bring about more biscuits and scones, and please make sure the plate is never empty!”
Bella laughs harder and pauses to sip her apple juice.
“Pinky up!” Laura reminds her in a loud whisper.
“Pinkies! Both pinkies!” Bella holds her juice with two hands and two raised little fingers.
They continue their play, and I dare not break the magic that is happening. Bella is spunky and spirited. She’s never had a problem with socializing. But never has she connected with anyone the way I see her talking with Laura on a regular basis. The only comparison I can think of is Bella’s first nanny, who was with her since her birth. She was professional and matronly, and although Bella was comforted by her, she always treated her the same as the housekeeper or the maid—with a little distance. As if she knew the nanny had a job to do, and she didn’t want to interfere with that.
But with Laura, she acts as if she’s found her best friend.
Laura is making a hat for Bella as well, customizing it to her preferences. Her long, slim fingers fold and crease carefully as if she’s crafting something special. It’s nice to see Laura with her guard down for once. She is professional, of course. But she also has an unmatched level of sophistication compared to her peers, and even those much older than her.
I’ve noted that her hair is usually in a stiff bun on top of her head, but the strands are slowly coming loose around her neck. Some flyaways come to rest around her heart-shaped face, and she brushes them away absently. I want to cup her behind the neck and feel her lips on mine. Since the night she texted me about being a virgin, it’s all I can think about. To be fair, it was already on my mind, but the text amplified my desire tenfold.
A woman brushes past me, and I realize I’ve been standing in the entryway for far too long. There will be more people filtering in so I join them at their table.
“Daddy!” Bella jumps up and down and tugs on my arm. “You have to have tea with us, right, Laura? See, but I have apple juice, and she doesn’t have tea either, but it doesn’t matter.” Bella rushes to explain the rules and orders me to sit down so I can play along.
I notice the exact moment when Laura withdraws. Her brilliant green eyes shutter, and she pastes a polite smile on her face. “You two enjoy the rest of your lunch. I’m going to head back upstairs and finish up some work,” she says, rising from the table. She smooths her skirt in the front and does a quick sweep on the back before lifting her small handbag into the crook of her arm.
This is the first time I’ve seen her in a cardigan, and I love how it molds to her form. Somehow, it doesn’t make her look mousy, but it definitely gives her a softer look than the jackets she favors.
“Why don’t you stay?” I ask. I feel bad about how I approached the situation last week and wish I could take back the words. I wanted to air out our issues that day, but I think I botched everything instead.
Laura picks up her plate of salad and gives me a polite smile. “I would love to, but I should get back upstairs. I don’t want to fall behind on anything.”
“How are you staying on top of all your work?” I feel like an ass since I haven’t even considered the amount of time she’s been giving to Bella when she could be working.
“Oh, I just take a couple files home when I need to. It’s no big deal, really.”
“Well, it’s a big deal to me,” I tell her. “Please keep a log of how many hours you’ve been putting in at home. I want you to be compensated for that time.”
Bella is not appreciative of our adult conversation and makes her point known by trying to shove her straw into my mouth.
“Of course; I can do that.” She begins to back away but moves back to the table suddenly. She dips down low and gives Bella a warm embrace.
Bella, in the middle of feeding me a biscuit, drops it into my lap to return her hug. I am happy for Bella, but can’t help feeling left out of the bond they’ve developed. “Can’t you stay, Laura? Please?” Bella pouts, and I will her to produce fake tears to seal the deal.
“I’m so sorry, Bella. I have to go. But you know what, next week, let’s tell Marques that we want a cake with tea. I think that sounds splendid, don’t you? You decide what kind of cake.”
“Cake!” Bella claps her hands. “Daddy, you have to come next week for cake and tea!”
I give Laura a grateful smile and agree with Bella. “I will, of course. How can I miss cake and tea?”
Laura is already walking away, and I watch her perfectly-shaped behind until it disappears down the hallway. Bella continues to chatter about her day and her plans for next week’s high tea. I agree with her choices and offer my own opinions.
“No, Daddy. That doesn’t make sense.” Bella sighs in exasperation. “Laura knows all about high teas, and she taught me. She’s really smart.” She begins to list all the things she loves about Laura, and I agree to each one. As she talks, my mind drifts to the trips that I have to take later next month. At this point, with no nanny, I know I have to take Bella with me. But handling her while I am busy with lengthy meetings will pose an issue.
If I tell Sam that we need to take Laura along to help with Bella, and also continue to do some work for him on the side, I am positive he will agree. Satisfied with that thought, I tune back into what Bella is talking about and find that I don’t like the direction of her thoughts.
“Do you think she’ll marry Uncle Sam?” Bella queries, her mouth full of fries. “She makes Uncle Sam laugh, too, just like me.”
I frown and don’t know how to respond. I want the idea of him marrying Laura out of her head. “I don’t think he wants to get married,” I tell her abruptly.
“Why not?” Bella looks concerned. “I thought everyone wanted to get married!”
“He does,” I correct myself. Dammit. “I just mean that he doesn’t want to get married right now.” I wonder if Sam is interested in Laura beyond a working relationship. It never occurred to me that he might like her. It’s clear that I’m more than interested, though. Shit.
“Oh.” Bella frowns and looks away. “So, people get married when they want to? What do they do until they get married?” Bella gets a faraway look in her eyes and then hits me with an even harder question. “Remember that nice lady that used to come to our house with Uncle Sam? Is that his wife?”
Oh boy. I am not prepared for these questions. “No, honey. That was his girlfriend. They aren’t together anymore.”
“Why not?” Bella prods.
“You’ll have to ask him,” I tell her. “But I think it just didn’t work out. Sometimes that happens.”
“Like with you and my mom?” Bella is astute.
“Kind of like that, yes.”
She chews on a fry delicately, dunking it in the little puddle of ketchup in front of her, nibbling it, savoring it as if she only intends to eat one.
After I tuck Bella into bed tonight, I watch her eyes dance when I read her one last fairy tale. She snuggles down deep under her covers, her nose pokes out just over her pink blanket. “Daddy,” she murmurs, “you’ll get married again, right?”
I snap the book shut and place it back on the bookshelf. “You should get some sleep,” I say quietly. I turn, smooth her hair back off her face, and plant a kiss on her forehead.
“If you do, you have to make sure she’s a real princess.” Bella yawns.
“I already have a princess,” I tell her.
“Who?” Her eyes widen.
“You, Bella.” I laugh. “You’ve always been my princess.”
“Oh, Daddy. That’s not what I mean.”
“Okay, if you find a princess for me, you let me know,” I tell her.
“I will,” Bella says, closing her eyes.
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By the time I get into bed, it’s near midnight. I lay awake and think about Bella’s words from this afternoon. Does Sam like Laura? I can’t shake the uneasy feeling that comes with this thought. I smile to myself at the thought of Bella looking for someone for me. Not having known her own mother, I’m surprised she feels the void as much as she does. My eyes drift close before they pop open once more. Maybe Bella is onto something.
Laura
At the end of my third week of working at Brideau Corporation, I feel like I’ve been there for three years. Granted, it doesn’t help that I take some work files home, but the mental stress does me in more than anything else. I want nothing more than to take a nice, hot bath and order in.
I peruse my options from the menu drawer. A pizza sounds too big to finish on my own, but maybe I can talk Riley into coming over to share it with me. Although with the way she’s been with her diet, I can’t be sure.
“Pizza? Let’s just order a large and put our feet up. What do you think?”
Riley is tempted. I hear her hesitate before she refuses. “No, you go ahead. I can’t make it for dinner. I could cancel on this second date I have with this guy, but it’ll make it the second time I’ve had to do that, and I actually kind of like him.”
“Oh, a date is far more important!” I agree. “How come I’m just hearing about this mystery man?”
“It’s a long story. I’m afraid of ruining everything by talking about it.” Riley is uncharacteristically quiet about her love life for the first time.
“But expect me later. I’m going to come by with dessert,” she vows. “We can watch a movie too. How about that?”
“That depends on if you get lucky and if I can stay awake,” I joke. “Okay, I’ll see you in a few hours, then.” I hang up with her and look back at the pizza flyer. I doubt I’ll see Riley tonight if she has a date. There’s no way I can eat a pizza by myself. Under the bottom of the pile, I spy a Chinese take-out menu promising free spring rolls, and I’m sold. One look at my phone battery tells me that I’d better order quickly.
Ten minutes later, my order is placed and is promised to arrive within an hour. It seems like a long time, but I know the time will pass quickly with the hot bubble bath ready to welcome me. A few minutes later, I place the dead phone to charge and pad over to the bathroom.
The rosewater fragrance wafts out and teases my senses as I undress. I sigh when the bubbles come to greet me. The water bobs around me, lapping at my skin. The smell is heavenly, and I wonder if I’ll be awake by the time the delivery comes.
Willing myself to stop thinking about work, I try to focus on anything else. Unfortunately, since work has consumed me for the better part of the month, it’s hard to think about anything else. Except for Maxwell. I really should go on one of these dates that Riley’s always trying to arrange for me. If nothing else, it will help me break out of the vacuum I’m living in.
After several more minutes of trying to name as many flowers as I can, I give up and let my mind wander where it will. Tomorrow I have a free day, so I can sit down and look at some of the files during breakfast. Then I’ll have the rest of the weekend to pamper myself some more. I find myself wishing that Bella could come to a spa with me. I smile, imagining our snooty counterparts getting a mani and a pedi.
My eyes drift closed, and I picture Maxwell coming in to join me. I don’t question why he’s there; it just seems inevitable. I’ve been keeping all thoughts of him at bay at work, and I want to indulge for once. The more I think about how protective he is of his daughter, the more respect I have for him. But that’s not what has me thinking about him now. It’s the masculine energy that he has, the way he assumes control of a room just by entering it. The way his muscles bunch under his fitted shirt with a faint sprinkle of chest hair visible under his shirt when he removes his tie. I imagine him sliding into the water and moving over me. Our lips touch and his hands glide over my body. One of my hands slips down between my legs, and I allow my fingers to explore. The tension is building quickly, and I feel myself coming toward a release.
I’m so lost in my fantasy that I almost don’t hear the doorbell ring. But it chimes again, and I sit up with a start. I reach for my phone and remember it’s still on charge. Riley must have decided to stand up the guy, after all, I think to myself, a little annoyed at the interruption. Throwing on a fluffy robe, I slip my feet into slippers and try to compose myself before going to answer the door. Since Riley found out what I’d said about being a virgin, she hasn’t let me forget it. And since then I’ve been obsessing over a part of me that lay dormant for years. Or as Riley deems it, “making up for lost time.”
Starting to form a joke about the irony that she’s been trying to set me up on a date for years unsuccessfully while standing up men unapologetically, I throw open the door and freeze.
It’s not Riley. It’s Maxwell. It’s as if he sensed my thoughts and came running.
“Hi...Maxwell.” My lips are moving, but I don’t know if the words that will come out are going to be appropriate. Hi, I was just thinking about you while I was in the bathtub.
He looks surprised himself, and it takes me a second to figure out why. I’m in a gaping bathrobe and slippers. So much for maintaining professionalism. But he came to my house unannounced; what did he expect?
“Hi, Laura. I’m sorry to bother you like this. May I come in?”
It’s not like I can say no, even if I’m not properly clothed. “Sure, just give me a minute, and I’ll go get dressed,” I say. Why do I have to sound so breathless?
I escape to my closet and shut the door securely. Without thinking, I throw on an old t-shirt and shorts and emerge. Belatedly, it dawns on me that I forgot to put on a bra. So now my nipples are poking out through my clingy shirt. Perfect.
“What brings you here?” I can’t hide my curiosity any longer. I didn’t realize the CEO was so involved that he made house calls.
“I’m so sorry. I tried to call you but your phone was going to voicemail. Anyway, I think Sam gave you a file that was intended for me. Do you mind taking a look to see if you have it here? If it’s at the office, I would need you to retrieve it because it’s urgent.”
My heart sinks at the logical explanation. I don’t know what I’m hoping to hear, but I know it’s not that.
“Sure, have a seat. I’ll go get my tote.” I keep talking to fill the silence. “It’s my fault, too. I should have looked at the files before I left. I usually do, but you know, it’s Friday, so I was in a rush.” We haven’t really spoken to each other about anything except Bella since last week. I don’t know if he was avoiding me, or I was successfully avoiding him. Probably both.
I produce my files and watch him sort through them. He’s wearing another button-up and simple but expensive jeans, and the energy he exudes is still of a man in power. It thrills me, and I find myself growing warm again, my mind still preoccupied with my bath activity.
“Ah, here it is.” Maxwell examines the contents of the folder and nods at me. “Thanks. I don’t know what I would have done if I had lost this.”
The doorbell rings, startling us both. “Oh, it must be the food,” I tell him as if he was actually with me earlier and knows that I ordered food. I pay the delivery guy and shut the door.
“I’m sorry to disturb your evening. I’ll get out of your way.” Maxwell moves in front of me, sandwiching me between the door and himself. I know I should move, but I don’t want him to leave just yet.
“Please, join me. Chinese from this place is excellent.” The words are out, and I can’t take them back. I hope I don’t sound like I’m throwing myself at him. It’s bad enough that the text was sent.
“Oh, I couldn’t.” Yet he doesn’t sound like he’s protesting too much.
“Please, it’s always too much for me, because they make you order a certain amount just for delivery. You’d be doing me a favor,” I tell him with a smile.
He shifts from one foot to the other a
nd nods. “Sure, I haven’t had dinner yet. Thank you.” He takes the bags from me, and we move into the dining room. I find his slight nervousness endearing. For a man who is always in charge and never lets his guard down, he seems to have a hidden soft side.
“Actually, I did have some other opportunities I wanted to discuss with you. I’ve seen your background—your resume. I know you don’t have a lot in terms of experience, but I have no doubt you’ll have ample time to work on that.”
He continues to talk while I go into the kitchen to get some plates and silverware. I would just eat out of the containers, but I figure there are some boundaries I should keep.
“So, what I want to know is, what are your long-term goals? Short-term, I assume you want to move toward a point where you will have more options available to you, even if that means doing things that aren’t related to your area of expertise.”
“Well, I assume that with the natural progression of things, I’ll end up there in a few years. I don’t plan on staying a temp forever. I have some debt that I would like to take care of before I move into a lower-paying position in my field.”
“I’d say you’re more than a temp now,” Maxwell says, stabbing a pair of chopsticks in my direction. “You can move up slowly on that path if you choose. But I think you should know that ‘a few years’ isn’t as accurate as you may think. It might be at least a decade before you can move into your field of study, and by then, you’ll have so much experience outside of your field that it will seem more foreign to you.”
I hate that he has a point. Best case scenario, I think I can manage to save enough to barely scrape by, but it won’t leave any room for error. “What do you have to offer, then?” I ask. It doesn’t hurt to know my options.
He sets down his plate and draws closer. “If I told you that you could have your debt paid off in a year, would you consider my offer?”
A year? I’m excited by that prospect, but I’m sure there’s more to it. “Doing what?”