The Bravos: Family Ties: The Bravo Family Way / Married in Haste / From Here to Paternity. Christine RimmerЧитать онлайн книгу.
she wasn’t going to do.
Was she?
Somehow, as the afternoon sailed by, it got harder and harder to remember all the reasons she’d taken a firm stance against opening a KinderWay at Fletcher Bravo’s resort.
“After you.” He pushed open the door to the director’s office for her.
She went in. Across from the door, a big window looked out on the play yard. She crossed to it. As she stared through the glass, it seemed she could almost hear childish laughter, see the happy kids swarming the slides, hanging all over the giant jungle gym and the big wooden play structure, spinning on the carousel, swinging on the swings, crawling through the tube tunnels that snaked around the sandbox….
“You approve?” Fletcher asked. She turned to face him. He stood several feet away, beside the wide, well-made desk. He put his lean hand on the desktop. “Italian walnut. Nice clean lines. I thought you might like it.”
She told him honestly, “It’s beautiful. Ideal. And I wouldn’t have believed it was possible. All this. So quickly …”
“Anything’s possible. With a good plan, the right people—”
She cut in. “—and enough money.”
He shrugged. “That goes without saying.”
“Well. I’m … amazed.”
He dropped his gaze and for a split second he almost seemed shy. “Good.”
And she was in big trouble here. In a moment she’d be saying yes to his offer. How could this have happened? “Fletcher, I really think—”
He cut her off for the first time that afternoon. “I’d like you to meet my daughter before you make your decision.”
But I’ve already made my decision, she thought. She didn’t say it, though. Somehow, right then, she just couldn’t. Right then, to say it would have been too cruel somehow.
Clearly this meant a great deal to him. Much more than she’d imagined the first time she’d met with him. During that other meeting—was it only last week?—she’d been certain that his commitment to KinderWay would never be more than temporary at best.
But this office, that play yard, the open, welcoming classrooms he’d just led her through …
He might have had it all built with remarkable speed, but none of it seemed temporary. Far from it.
She said, “The years go by fast. Your little girl will grow right up and out of here. What would happen to KinderWay then?”
“We’d have a contract. You’d be in charge here. I have a strong suspicion you’d make certain that the Bravo Group held up its end of our commitment to the program.”
She almost smiled. “No doubt about that.”
Those pale eyes gleamed. “So it wouldn’t be my commitment that mattered, would it?”
“When you put it that way, no. It wouldn’t.”
He ran his palm over the desktop again. “Do you want children of your own, Cleo?”
The question seemed far too personal. Still, she answered him truthfully. “Yes. I’d like about a dozen kids. But that’s probably going to be impractical, so I’ll settle for two or three.”
Something happened in his eyes. She wasn’t quite sure what. He said, “When you have kids, things change. You … see things differently. Before Ashlyn came to live with me, I hardly gave a thought to the child-care needs of the people who work for me. But now I find I don’t work at optimum level if I’m worried about Ashlyn. So I thought …” He let the sentence trail off as if he knew she could finish it for him.
She did. “If you worry about Ashlyn, your employees are probably concerned about their kids, too.”
“That’s right. So I did my homework. I dug up the results of several studies correlating dependable child-development programs with the parents’ job performance. I brought those results before the board. Since the board approves anything that will boost our bottom line, my plan got approval. Even better, the chairman of the board—”
“Your cousin, right? Jonas Bravo?”
“Yes. Jonas liked my proposal so much that he decided to set up a foundation to help fund it.”
“A not-for-profit?” Cleo folded her arms across her chest. “There are a lot of rules controlling a nonprofit business.”
“Relax. Jonas set up the foundation to fund the facility itself—meaning the physical plant, everything I’ve just shown you, the classrooms and the play yard and the landscaping. The KinderWay program, including the day-to-day operation of the school, which belongs to you, will be run as for-profit, just the way you run your other facility.”
She realized they were discussing this as if it were a done deal, as if she fully intended to hire a staff and run his preschool for him.
But it wouldn’t be his preschool, she found herself thinking. It would be hers. It would be KinderWay. Yes, taking on a project of this size would be a challenge. She’d have to be careful not to spread herself too thin.
Then again, to grow any business, the boss needed to learn how to delegate. And a lot of kids would benefit from the exceptional program she could provide here….
She let her arms drop to her sides. “We’re getting way ahead of ourselves.”
He looked at her, a long look, one that affected her in dangerous ways. At last he said, “Come on. Meet my daughter.” He took her arm. She felt the touch of his hand all through her, a shudder of awareness that centered down to a warmth deep within.
She didn’t pull away.
Fletcher lived in a penthouse suite on the top floor of Hotel Impresario’s central tower. The elevator let them off in a hallway paneled in a rich dark wood with a striking wood-inlaid stone floor. Overhead, an oval skylight let in the winter sun.
“This way,” Fletcher said.
A set of big double doors led into a private foyer. The foyer widened at the opposite end, opening onto a living room with floor-to-ceiling windows providing sweeping city views.
Fletcher took her hand again and wrapped it over his arm. She was far too conscious of the heat of his strong body so close, of the clean, expensive scent of him, of the hardness of his forearm beneath the fine fabric of his beautifully made suit jacket.
He led her away from the living room, through another opening to their right. They walked down a hallway, past a marble-walled kitchen on one side and an elegant dining room on the other, into a family room with walls upholstered in some warm reddish-brown fabric and comfortable-looking soft sofas and chairs.
A little girl sat cross-legged on the kilim rug in the middle of the room. She wore blue capris with pink piping at the hems and a lime-green T-shirt, also trimmed in pink. On her small feet were pink socks with green appliqués and pink Keds. A book lay open across her knees.
She looked up as they entered and regarded them with shining, oh-so-serious brown eyes. “Hi, Daddy.” She closed her book. “I was reading Livvy The Funny Little Bunny.”
A plump, friendly-looking blond girl rose from an easy chair not far from the child. “Hello, Mr. Bravo. We’ve just been reading a bit before Ashlyn goes down for her nap.”
Fletcher said, “Cleo, this is Olivia, Ashlyn’s nanny.” Cleo and the nanny smiled and nodded at each other.
Ashlyn jumped to her feet and held out her little hand. “And I’m Ashlyn. I’m almost five.”
Cleo took the small fingers in hers. She looked into those big brown eyes and she wanted to pull the child close, to press a kiss to the sleek crown of her head.
She