The Best Next Thing

by Natasha Anders

  His voice cracked, and he shook his head in frustration.

  “It’s not like that,” she hastened to explain. “Miles, I never intended to insult or to hurt you. I just feel less vulnerable with a clearly defined role to play. No misunderstandings…no emotions. Just work. Until I leave.”

  He. Could. Not. Bear. It.

  He hated seeing her like this. Dressed in that horrendous armor. As if she needed to physically shield herself from him.

  She was breaking his heart to pieces, and she thought she was the one who needed protection?

  Stormy growled. The sound was low and vicious and so uncharacteristic, it shocked both of them into staring at her. At first Miles assumed she was reacting to the tension in the room, but the little dog was facing the basement door, her hackles up and her lips raised in a snarl.

  She looked about as threatening as a mouse, but it was clear that something had upset her. Miles frowned at the basement door, wondering what had set her off.

  And then he heard it. Footsteps on the staircase, accompanied by chatter and laughter and…

  “Fuck,” he swore shakily, and pinched the bridge of his nose wearily. Well, this explained Vicki’s late-night text. It was literally the last thing he needed right now.

  The door swung inward, and Stormy’s growls escalated into high-pitched, excited yaps.

  The delighted feminine squeal that greeted the barking grated on Miles’s nerve endings. His sister was always so shrill.

  “Oh my God, what’s this? A pupper? Who are you, buddy?” Vicki asked, scooping Stormy up into her arms. The dog didn’t know how to react. Looking excited and terrified and ecstatic all at the same time. Her tail was wagging and her body shaking and her tongue lapping at every bit of available skin she could find.

  “Christ, give her to me, you’re scaring her,” Miles muttered, possessively taking his dog back and hugging her close to his chest. Vicki had a habit of claiming his possessions. And he would be damned if she thought she could do the same with Stormy.

  “Hullo, big brother, did you miss me?” Vicki grinned, launching herself at him and hugging him tightly. Stormy squirmed between them, and Miles shifted her aside before reciprocating with a stiff, one-armed hug.

  “What the hell are you doing here? What about the shop?”

  “Surprise!” Vicki spread her arms and added a cheeky grin and jazz hands to the expansive motion. “You’re always so cagey on the phone and truly pathetic at texts. And when you refused to send me any proof of health photos, I had no option but to take matters into my own hands. I traded in my winter vacation for a mini summer break, so that I could come down here to see for myself how you’re doing. Linda”—her manager—“and I swapped some things around and here I am! Ooh, and check it out.” She directed her jazz hands toward the door, where Tyler Chambers, her large, hulking bodyguard, was courteously helping an older woman up the stairs.

  “Mum?” Miles exclaimed. His face broke into a delighted grin at the sight of the older woman. “But you hate flying.”

  “Well, I’ve never tried it before, have I?” his mother, ever practical, pointed out. “I can’t hate something I’ve never tried.”

  “But you never wanted to try it,” he said. Overwhelmed by the unexpectedness of this, he still wasn’t sure how the hell they had gotten here. Or why nobody had bothered to let him know of their imminent arrival.

  “Like your sister said, you weren’t very forthcoming in your phone calls. And when she suggested we do this, I did what any concerned mother would do, I packed my bags. So here we are.” As if it were the simplest thing in the world. Never mind that she had broken a lifelong vow never to climb into “one of those tin cans that had no business hurtling through the sky at obscene speeds”.

  “Your sweet friend, Bryan, was kind enough to lend us his aeroplane.”

  “It’s my ’plane, Mum.”

  She gave a disapproving tut and shook her head critically. Making him feel about ten years old. “It’s not nice to brag, Miles.”

  “Yes, Mum. Sorry,” he apologized, only because it was expected of him

  She tilted her head to give him a critical once-over.

  “You’ve gained weight. Good,” she said, with an approving nod. “And put on some color. You look so much better. That very nice man, George, was telling us on the way here from the airport, that you’ve been doing well. Now come over here, give your old mum a kiss, and tell her how happy you are to see her.”

  His smile widened, and put Stormy down, to envelope his pleasantly round mum in an affectionate hug, planting a big kiss on her cheek in the process.

  “I’m always happy to see you, Gorgeous. You know that.”

  He stepped away from her and gave her an assessing once over. Gratified to note that she looked hale and hearty as well.

  “Hello, Mrs. Cole,” Vicki’s cheerful greeting instantly distracted Miles, and his head swiveled to see Vicki smiling up at the taller Charity. “I’m sorry we gave you no advance warning…I know you’re probably miffed we didn’t give you time to prepare for our visit. But we wanted to surprise him.”

  Charity gave Vicki a stiff smile.

  “It’s nice to see you again, Miss Hollingsworth. I trust you’ve been well?”

  “Well enough. Much better than my brother, that’s for sure. There’ll be three extra guests, Mrs. Cole. For the remainder of Miles’s stay. I think you can put the Hulk in Hughie’s room.”

  Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck…FUCK!

  This was so wrong. He hated that Vicki was treating the woman he loved like Mrs. Cole, the trusty housekeeper.

  And yet…Charity had made it abundantly clear earlier, that that was exactly what she wanted.

  “I was just preparing Mr. Hollingsworth’s breakfast. Are you all hungry? Or would you like to settle into your rooms first, and have me fix you something later?”

  Miles glowered at her. Fuming that, without any trace of sarcasm or irony, he had gone right back to being Mr. Hollingsworth.

  “Oh, I think we can settle in and get refreshed before having breakfast,” Vicki replied, oblivious to Miles’s impotent fury. She invited their mother over, with a wave of her hand. “Mum, come and meet Mrs. Cole. She’s a miracle worker. She can get anything you need. At any time of the day or night. I once needed an emergency…uhm…never mind.” She went bright red and cleared her throat, and Miles raised his eyebrows, wondering what dire emergency had required Charity’s assistance at any time of the day or night.

  His mother eyed Vicki askance as well, before focusing her attention on Charity.

  She smiled warmly and held out a hand in greeting.

  “Why you’re just a baby,” she said wonderingly, and Charity coughed nervously before taking Miles’s mother’s hand. “I was expecting someone far older, the way Vicki was carrying on.”

  “Mum,” Vicki’s voice was almost a whine as she darted an embarrassed look at Charity. Her eyes widened as if she had only now noticed the change in their formerly dour housekeeper. Charity may have donned her Mrs. Cole garb this morning, but there was no denying how much younger she looked with the short hair. And there was a softness about her that had been missing before. In the glow of her eyes and around the fullness of her lips.

  “Wow, Mrs. Cole…you do look, uh, different.”

  “She cut her hair,” Miles interjected curtly, hating how discomfited Charity seemed beneath all this scrutiny. “Now why don’t you show Mum to her room, while we fix some breakfast?”

  “We?” Vicki’s eyebrows rose clear to her hairline, and Miles met her eyes levelly.

  “Did you forget who used to cook all your breakfasts when you were a kid?”

  Vicki darted another wide-eyed look at Charity. “Yes, but…Mrs. Cole usually…”

  “Mrs. Cole no longer works for us.” Miles supplied curtly, and Charity made a soft sound of protest.

  “I can stay a little longer to help out.”

  Of course, she was fine with staying a lit
tle longer, now that his family was here to act as an awkward buffer. And she offensively assumed that Miles would be equally fine watching her waiting hand and foot on his mother and sister.

  And pretending that they had never been lovers. And friends.

  “That’s fine, Mrs. Cole,” he growled, hoping nobody could hear the underlying note of simmering resentment in his voice. “You said you wanted to leave by the weekend. No need to change your timeline because of this unforeseen hiccup. Mum, Vicki and I can take care of ourselves.”

  Tyler—who had disappeared back down the stairs obviously to help with the bags—and George entered the kitchen carrying more luggage than seemed feasible for two women staying for a short time.

  “Of course, we can,” his mother agreed firmly. “I don’t have any servants myself, despite this one’s constant nagging”—she pointed her chin at Miles—“I do all my own cooking and cleaning. There’s nothing wrong with my body or hands. And I’m uncomfortable having others do for me, when I can do for myself.”

  “An admirable and attractive quality,” George interjected, his dark eyes wrinkling at the corners as he smiled at the older woman. She visibly preened beneath the attention, and Miles’s eyes narrowed.

  “Oh, stop it, George,” she said flirtatiously. “You certainly know how to flatter an old lady.”

  “Old my arse. Fine ladies like you don’t grow old, they mature beautifully, like a full-bodied cabernet sauvignon.”

  Miles’s jaw dropped when his fifty-five-year-old mother giggled and preened like a schoolgirl.

  What. The. Fuck?

  Miles’s eyes darted between his mother and driver incredulously. Were they flirting?

  “Yeah, that’s been going on since he helped her into the car at the airport.” Vicki muttered beneath her breath.

  His mother returned her smiling attention to Charity. “Well, as I was saying…you needn’t concern yourself about us, Mrs. Cole.”

  “Call her Charity.” Okay, so maybe he had barked that command louder than was polite, because everybody gaped at him in surprise.

  “Only if it’s okay with her,” his mother said, after an uncomfortable beat of silence.

  “It’s fine with me.” Charity said, avoiding Miles’s eyes. She had been avoiding his fucking eyes since his sister had walked through the door.

  “Well, then I insist you call me Enid.” The warm directive was followed by an artful peek at the driver. “You too, George.”

  Jesus.

  This was giving him a throbbing headache.

  “Vic, show Mum to her room.”

  “What about Tyler?” His sister asked, tossing a disinterested glance at the tall, big guy who kind of faded into the background. Admirable quality in a bodyguard.

  “I want to have a word with Tyler. You too, George.”

  “Are you going to relieve him of his duties? I’m perfectly safe here, so his services are no longer required, right?”

  “Is that why you came?” Miles asked tightly, and Vicki’s eyes widened and then shimmered.

  Shit. She looked wounded, and he felt like an arse. Especially when Charity made a soft, disapproving sound in the back of her throat.

  “I came because I missed you. And because I wanted to see for myself that you were okay. Excuse me, I’ll show Mum around.”

  “Vic…” he began. But she had linked elbows with their mother, picked Stormy up, and led the older woman out of the kitchen toward the family suites. “Damn it. She took my dog!”

  He was fucking everything up today. He squeezed the nape of his neck before rounding on the tall bodyguard.

  “Why didn’t you inform me of her plans to come here?”

  “Well heck, sir,” the man spoke for the first time since he had entered the kitchen. A lazy, slow Texan drawl. “My job is to keep her safe. Not keep you conversant of her every movement. I’m a close protection officer. Not a spy.”

  Fair point.

  “Well, one of you could have warned me. George, you must have known since at least yesterday.”

  “Your sister wanted to surprise you. Far be it from me to spoil the surprise.”

  Miles bit back an expletive and glared at them both for a long moment before shaking his head.

  “George, please show Chambers to Hugh’s room.” George saluted, and the two men quickly exited the room.

  “I hate when he does that. And he knows it,” Miles muttered. But as soon as he realized that he and Charity were alone in the kitchen, dread bubbled to the surface. He gritted his teeth and slowly turned to face her. She was watching him curiously, her head canted to the side as if she were trying to figure him out.

  “So why not tell him not to do it?” she asked.

  “Because he gets such a fucking kick out it.”

  Her lips quirked but her eyes were immeasurably sad.

  “Miles, I can stay and…”

  “No.”

  “But—”

  “Charity, if you stay, it won’t be as the housekeeper.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that I would want you to share meals with us, go on outings with us. I’d want you to get to know my mother and sister on a personal level. I don’t want you picking up after us. Cleaning up…organizing our lives. Fucking getting emergency whatever-the-hells at all hours of the day or night. You would be staying as my partner, my lover…the woman I—”

  He swallowed the words. He couldn’t say them. She needed to make a clean getaway. And telling her how he felt would place an unfair emotional burden on her.

  The woman he what? Charity longed for him to complete that sentence. She couldn’t remember anything she had craved more than to hear the rest of what she was certain he had been about to say. But she knew the words were better left unspoken.

  For the sake of her sanity…and his.

  “Be nicer to your sister,” she advised softly. “Don’t push them away, Miles. They love you.”

  “What do you care? Why are you telling me this?” he asked bitterly, then immediately felt petty.

  “We’re still friends, aren’t we? That was our deal, right? Friends…possibly lovers. But always friends.”

  “Charity,” his voice was hoarse with suppressed emotion, and his eyes glittered when he forced himself to look at her. “I don’t know how to be your friend.”

  “You’ve been my friend all along, Miles. And I…thank you for that.”

  “Don’t. Just…” He swallowed loudly, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion. “You don’t have to thank me for anything, Charity. Ever. Okay? That infers a debt that simply isn’t owed.”

  Her lips quivered, and she brought them under strict control, drawing them between her teeth to prevent the movement.

  “I have to get breakfast started,” she said, hoping the change in subject would bring everything back into perspective. But the man was ever unpredictable, and she stared at him in astonishment, when he lifted her spare frilly pinafore apron from a hook next to the back door and tied it around his waist. He looked ridiculously adorable. “Whoa…what are you doing?”

  “I said we would be fixing breakfast, and I meant it. You no longer work for me. But if you insist on doing things like cooking and cleaning during your last few days here, I’m for damned sure going to help you with everything.”

  “You’re the strangest millionaire I know.” She huffed, infuriated and—damn him—hopelessly charmed by his insistence on helping her.

  “Know a lot of millionaires, do you?” he asked, with a sardonic twist of his lips. He didn’t wait for her reply, instead he rubbed his palms together and gave her a manic grin. “Let’s get cracking, Mrs. Cole…you know how my sister gets when she’s hangry.”

  Relieved that he seemed in better spirts, Charity tentatively returned the smile. “By the way, I think your mother and George are totally crushing on each other.”

  He shuddered and shook his head. “There’s a thought I do not want to entertain right now. My Mum a
lways had a soft spot for the scoundrels.”

  “Scoundrels?” she repeated gleefully. This man constantly gave her reason to smile. Even with their situation so irredeemably tragic. “Have you shifted your focus from fantasy novels to historical romances?”

  “The description is apropos, and you know it.”

  “And are you going to warn said scoundrel away from your mummy?” she asked, on a teasing note.

  He snorted. “Far be it from me to dictate my mother’s love life. She can take care of herself. If she likes George, and he likes her, I’m guessing there’ll be a holiday romance blooming in no time, and I’m just going to have to deal with it. Besides, George may be a scoundrel, but he’s also a gentleman. He won’t hurt her.”

  “You’re a great guy, you know that?”

  He looked pained by her words and shadows drifted back into his eyes. “Sometimes I wish I weren’t. Sometimes I wish I were an arsehole who made unreasonable demands and selfishly took what he wanted. Being a great guy doesn’t always work out so well.” The bitterness in his voice was palpable, it tainted the air, and she could practically taste it on her tongue.

  “Being that guy would make you miserable, Miles. It’s not in your DNA to make others unhappy.”

  “Stop making me sound like a fucking saint, Charity. I’m not. I don’t know how to deal with any of this. I’m trying to do the right thing. I’m trying to be graceful about losing you and I…” He shook his head. “I fucking hate it! I hate every moment of this. It’s like a painful, lingering death.”

  He ran a shaky hand through his already disheveled hair and inhaled deeply. Once. Twice…a third time.

  It reminded her of her counting.

  A coping mechanism she hadn’t needed in weeks thanks to Miles. He centered her. Grounded her. Made her feel safe.

  And all she had done in return was turn him into this wreck of a man standing before her.

  And if that wasn’t definitive proof that she was doing the right thing in leaving, then she didn’t know what was. She wasn’t good for him. He had to constantly monitor his words, his reactions, in case it brought out the crazy in her. How was that fair?