by Sami Lee
Meg had sunk to the floor and sat there, cross-legged, nibbling absently on a carrot stick that would never be glazed in honey sesame reduction now, when she heard the front door open. Oh great. Mrs Dunkirk had come back after all. What a kick the scene of Meg’s latest disaster would give her.
But it wasn’t Mrs Dunkirk’s voice that inquired with caustic interest, ‘Well, well, well. What do we have here?’
Meg looked up to see an elegant, immaculately maintained brunette standing in the kitchen doorway, a hand tipped with professionally manicured pink fingernails resting on one slender hip, the colour an attractive contrast to the cream linen of her designer pantsuit. If the long dark hair rolled into a French twist and the wide brown eyes hadn’t given it away, Meg’s memory of the photos lining Phillipa’s dressing table would have confirmed it.
She had been caught covered in flour and huddling on the floor of Bryce’s kitchen by his ex-wife, Isabelle.
She really wasn’t in the mood for this. Her polite inquiry sounded as forced as it was. ‘May I help you with something?’
A perfectly shaped dark brow hiked over one eye as Isabelle surveyed the room. ‘My dear, it doesn’t look to me as though you’d be any help to anyone right now. I assume you’re the new nanny my daughter’s been telling me about.’
‘You assume correctly.’ Meg pulled herself to her feet so she could face the other woman on equal footing. She felt a glimmer of satisfaction to find she was in fact an inch or so taller than the brunette. Not nearly as well proportioned and certainly not half as clean, but the small advantage gave her the temerity to fabricate the intimation that she didn’t know exactly who she was talking to. ‘My name is Meg, and yours is…?’
Isabelle’s laughter was both incredulous and snide. ‘Don’t be silly. You know perfectly well I’m Bryce’s wife.’
Ex-wife, Meg felt like correcting, but stopped herself from giving away how much it niggled her that the other woman had dropped the ex part of her title. Don’t go acting like you have some kind of claim on Bryce, Meg. You’ll make an even bigger fool of yourself. Instead she asked, ‘Is Phillipa with you?’
‘She’s upstairs collecting her things for the weekend. I picked her up from school early,’ she stated breezily as she swept past Meg toward the espresso machine and began operating it as though she were still the lady of the manor. ‘Paolo and I came back from our trip a few days early and I couldn’t wait to hear all Phillipa’s news and give her her presents.’
‘You’re taking her for the weekend? Does her father know?’
Isabelle turned and gave her a sharp look, her shiny pink lips pressing into a taut line. ‘The visitation arrangements I make with my daughter’s father are none of your concern.’
Meg bristled at the woman’s haughty tone. ‘As his daughter’s nanny I don’t believe Bryce would have made arrangements for you to take Phillipa without informing me.’
She saw the speculation that hovered over the other woman’s expression and mentally kicked herself for using Bryce’s first name. No matter that he was the one who insisted she do so in the first place, he was clearly the only one who saw nothing improper in it.
A gurgling noise from the espresso machine signalled that the coffee had been poured and at last Isabelle took her eyes off Meg long enough to collect the brew. Gliding to the breakfast bench, she sipped delicately at the short black while eyeing Meg over the rim of the white china cup.
At last she deigned to explain, ‘Bryce was in another one of his endless meetings, so I left a message with his secretary. He knew perfectly well Phillipa was coming to stay with me the minute I returned from my trip.’
Meg refrained from reminding the imperious woman of what she had just said — that she had come home early from her trip. Instead she affected a nonchalant shrug. ‘As long as Phillipa is happy to go…’
Her words trailed off when Isabelle laughed at her. ‘Of course she is. She’s ecstatic.’
The implication seemed to be that she was ecstatic to be escaping the abysmal company of the nanny.
‘I would have thought you’d be happy to have an unexpected weekend off,’ Isabelle went on with a casualness Meg suspected concealed shrewd interest. ‘You can go out with friends, get away from this stodgy place.’ She gave the surroundings the once-over, her nose twitching ever-so-slightly to express distaste.
There was something else besides the awkward possibility of either of them dating that she and Bryce hadn’t yet discussed — what she would do with herself when Phillipa went to stay with her mother. She’d given up her apartment the minute she’d been hired here, and Jessica had rented out the second room almost immediately because Lachlan lost had his job and they couldn’t afford the rent by themselves after all. While it might be fun to visit Jessica, Meg didn’t think spending the entire weekend on the pull-out couch while her former flatmate and her boyfriend got amorous in their room sounded like two days in paradise.
Something of what she was thinking must have telegraphed on her face, because Isabelle’s gaze turned acidly amused. ‘Surely you don’t think you can stay here, you and Bryce alone?’ she asked maliciously. ‘You think he might notice you, as a woman, if you hang around here long enough? Sweetie, you’ll only make a fool of yourself, or be sent packing by my daughter as soon as she gets wind of it.’
Gosh, they had quite the team effort going here. Isabelle, Phillipa and Mrs Dunkirk, all scaring off any woman who showed the slightest interest in Bryce. All for different reasons – Mrs Dunkirk was being protective in a motherly kind of way, Phillipa was afraid of losing her father’s affection. As for Isabelle’s motivations, she could only guess.
Isabelle carried on. ‘Whatever silly fantasies you have in your head about you and Bryce will amount to nothing. That man is used to women of class and sophistication.’ From the proud tilt of her chin Meg could only guess Isabelle included herself in those categories. The contemptuous glance she raked over Meg’s shabby appearance was equally as telling, her next words aiming right for the heart of Meg’s self-esteem. ‘He’s hardly going to have his head turned by you.’
The drawled words from the kitchen doorway had both women turning to see the subject of their discussion regarding the scene with curiosity. ‘Hello Isabelle. You’re winning Meg over with your charms I see.’
Chapter Eight
Bryce knew his ex-wife well enough to recognize that, beneath that haughty countenance, she was squirming at having been caught using her standover tactics with a member of his staff — something he had warned her against in the past.
Not just any member of his staff either, but Meg. My Meg, thought Bryce, shocked at the swift rise of fury he experienced, the urge to protect her that filled him with a rush of blood. He wanted to cast a glance at her, to assure himself Isabelle hadn’t succeeded in upsetting her, but he was afraid she would see something in his expression, something raw and frantic that he didn’t understand himself.
Or worse yet, Isabelle would see it. She was nothing if not astute when it came to finding and targeting a man’s weak spot.
Is that what Meg was to him — a weak spot?
‘I don’t have to win any member of your staff over,’ Isabelle reminded him, adroitly recovering from her initial unease. ‘We’re not married anymore.’
‘Something for which I’m eternally grateful,’ Bryce remarked, satisfied to see her blanch beneath her skilfully applied make-up. ‘I got your message, Isabelle, about taking Phillipa for the weekend. A little short notice isn’t it?’
He’d returned to his office to find Claudia waiting to deliver the news. He felt bad now for the way he’d snapped at his secretary for not calling him out of the meeting to relay the message, and made a mental note to apologise on Monday. But he’d been gripped by a sense of impending disaster that had him leaving the office uncharacteristically early. The thought that Isabelle was going to swan into his house and start wiping the floor with Meg had him pushing the speed limit to get home
, the instinct to shield her from his ex-wife’s cruel barbs consuming him.
But now he realised he may have been worried about nothing. When he dared to spare Meg a glance he saw she appeared perfectly composed despite the chaotic state of the kitchen. She had a streak of flour across her forehead, assorted stains on the apron she wore over her dress and her hair flounced out wildly from a ponytail at the back of her head. She was a mess, yet clearly not in the least cowed by Isabelle’s domineering presence or impeccable presentation.
Bryce felt a violent surge of admiration.
‘We agreed I’d take Phillipa for a few days when I got back.’ Isabelle spread her hands wide in that way she had of indicating she was the most important person in the room. ‘Well, I’m back. I don’t intend to explain myself further to you, or the nanny.’
Bryce felt his jaw tick at her condescending tone. Not for the first time he wondered how he could have been so blind as to fall in love with this woman. Then he remembered that she had taken great pains not to show this particular side of herself while they had been courting. The woman he’d thought himself in love with had been an illusion.
Not like Meg. There was nothing duplicitous about Meg. She was an open book. Already, given the tendency she had of spilling all the details of her life to him, Bryce felt he knew more about his daughter’s nanny than he had ever known about the woman he had once been married to.
The sobering thought made his frown deepen.
‘I’ll go upstairs and check on Phillipa,’ Meg announced suddenly, wiping her hands on a tea towel as she moved toward the door.
‘Don’t you think this…’ — Isabelle gestured to the litter of pots and pans, opened packets of ingredients and dishes of mysterious sauce that covered the granite bench-top — ‘needs clearing first?’
Bryce was about to rebuke Isabelle for ordering around his employee, but soon found he didn’t need to. Meg turned and smiled sweetly at his ex-wife. ‘Oh thank you Mrs Carlton. I’d really appreciate the help,’ she said before sweeping out of the room, leaving the door swinging behind her.
‘She’s incredibly impudent,’ Isabelle complained the second they were alone. ‘I hope you’re going to reprimand her.’
‘On your behalf? I don’t think so Isabelle. You can only benefit from being taken down a peg or two.’
‘You always were too soft with the staff, Bryce. I’ll never understand why you’ve put up with Mrs Dunkirk all these years, and now her.’ She indicated the door through which Meg had departed.
‘Not everyone wants to surround themselves with sycophants who smile all the time and tell us only what we want to hear. How is Paolo by the way?’
‘He’s outstanding, as always. And while we’re on the subject, how’s your sex life?’
Bryce shrugged off the taunt. ‘You know very well you scared me off women, Isabelle. I’m a veritable monk these days.’
‘Really?’ she enquired archly, crossing her arms over her chest. The chest that his alimony cheques had paid to lift and tuck to rounded perfection last year. ‘Even when the nanny has her eye on you?’
‘Her name is Meg,’ Bryce pointed out dryly, hoping the way his heart had picked up speed at Isabelle’s comment didn’t show on his face. ‘And I’ve no plans to have an affair with her.’ Making illicit, erotic plans to do just that when he was alone in bed at night didn’t count. Not when he had no intention of carrying them out.
Isabelle laughed incredulously. ‘Oh darling. Don’t you know by now that men don’t make the plans when it comes to that sort of thing? I’d bet you a month’s alimony that she’ll try and seduce you this weekend.’
‘Meg’s not like that, Isabelle.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like you — devious and self-serving. Willing to compromise herself for money.’
‘Oh my God,’ Isabelle said, her mouth falling open. ‘You’re actually falling for her, aren’t you?’
‘You’re crazy,’ Bryce swiftly denied. Too swiftly, if the look of triumph that flickered through Isabelle’s eyes was any indication. He felt his blood rush, his scalp prickle at the implications. Was he falling for Meg?
He thought about her vibrant personality, her wide, dazzling eyes. He thought about the way she had just faced down his ex-wife in full vindictive mode, the way she had stood up to him a time or two as well. She’d come into his life in the most unexpected of ways and, just as surprisingly, had filled it with light, laughter and sweet unpredictability.
How could he not fall for her?
‘I think you’re the one who’s crazy, if you think you can get away with a squalid little affair with the nanny. Really, Bryce. You’re a walking cliché.’
Bryce arched a cool brow, keeping the confusion of his emotions about Meg from showing on his face with the skill of long practice. ‘This from the woman who left me for her personal trainer?’
‘Paolo treats me like a queen. You never did.’
Bryce bit back the pithy retort that leapt to mind. He should know better by now than to be drawn into an argument with Isabelle. Besides, she was right. He never had treated her like a queen — he hadn’t wanted a queen. He’d wanted a wife, a real, warm loving person, not an untouchable figurehead.
But he hadn’t seen that Isabelle wasn’t the right woman for him. That was his mistake and he was suddenly tired, so damn tired, of beating himself up over it. He wanted nothing more than to put it behind him. Fighting old battles with his ex-wife was not going to achieve that aim.
‘I’m sure Phillipa will be ready any minute, Isabelle,’ Bryce said, ‘I’ll leave you to your coffee.’
An expression of surprise crossed Isabelle’s face, making Bryce aware that rehashing old issues was a bad habit they’d fallen into. It was about time one of them took the high road and broke it.
Fortunately he was willing, because Isabelle surely wasn’t. Before Bryce could make his exit, she called out a final taunt. ‘That girl will try to seduce you this weekend. You won’t see it coming, but she’ll try. Mark my words.’
Shaking his head, Bryce continued walking.
***
‘I can’t cook,’ Meg told Bryce with a defeated sigh after Phillipa had been spirited away in her mother’s flashy red sports car.
‘I wouldn’t have guessed. You really look the part.’ Bryce swept his gaze over her, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
‘I look like I’ve been hit by a flour bomb. I was trying to make something special like I said but the hollandaise is lumpy, the marinade tastes like hydrochloric acid. And I corked a bottle of your red wine.’
His face took on an expression of mock horror. ‘Please tell me it wasn’t the Grange Hermitage.’
‘It wasn’t one of the dusty ones, if that helps. I’m not that dense.’
‘Well, it can’t all be ruined. We might as well make use of it. Would you like a glass?’
Meg watched with no shortage of astonishment as Bryce found the offending bottle of wine and poured some of the liquid into two long-stemmed glasses. ‘You’re not mad?’ she asked. After the way he had been snarling at her all week, Meg had half expected her calamitous cooking venture to be the straw that broke the camel’s back. Especially given that he had also spent time trading insults with his ex-wife.
But his expression remained faintly pleased as he handed her the wine. ‘Meg, if cooking isn’t your strong suit, why did you call me especially and insist on making dinner?’
‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘I guess it was a stupid idea. Especially since Phillipa isn’t going to be here now. I suppose I’ll pack all this away.’
Bryce surveyed the items strewn across the kitchen bench. ‘The steaks still look perfectly fine to me. Why don’t we grill them and make a salad?’
‘You mean you still want to have dinner?’ Meg gulped. ‘Just us?’
The look he sent her set her heart racing and her breath catching in her throat. But when he finally spoke all he said was, ‘No sense wasting a
ll this food. And it will give us a chance to go over those sketches you were telling me about.’
Of course. She had suggested tonight was an opportunity for them to discuss the redecoration project. How could she have forgotten? That was the only reason Bryce was offering to dine with her. ‘That’s a good idea. Why don’t I get this mess cleaned up first?’
Bryce insisted he help her with the task. They worked side by side, stopping occasionally to take a sip of their wine. With Bryce’s help, the task was a lot more enjoyable than Meg had expected. Afterward, she went down to her room to shower and change.
She took a ridiculous length of time deciding what to wear. Her heart pounded as though she were going on a date, only it wasn’t a date. It was a business dinner. In his house. Just the two of them.
Meg swallowed, her heart rate kicking up several more notches.
In the end she chose the one black skirt she owned that wasn’t fraying around the hem and her favourite teal and purple floral print blouse, the one she usually saved for going out. Not because this was a date, she told herself yet again, but simply because she hadn’t worn it in a while.
Yet the way Bryce looked at her when she entered the kitchen and found him already preparing the pan for the steaks filled her with warmth. Wholly unprofessional warmth.
Silly girl.
Bryce had showered too, and changed into blue jeans and a casual grey knit shirt. The more relaxed look was discombobulating, to say the least. She found herself blurting, ‘You look great.’
His warm smile only tipped her further off balance. ‘You look better.’
Oh, crikey.
She watched as Bryce laid the steaks into the hot pan. They sizzled nicely and her stomach took notice. ‘I should do that.’
He sent her a wry look. ‘I think you ought to steer clear of cooking duty for now.’
‘Actually, I can cook,’ Meg retorted. ‘Just not fancy things like filet mignon. I make a mean sausage stew.’