Spellbound By The Single Dad. Lynne MarshallЧитать онлайн книгу.
“Of course I would, but I have other responsibilities too.”
“You told Katherine to take on a helper because the situation had changed,” she said as politely as she could. She knew she was treading on dangerous ground, questioning her employer, but she had to say something for Bonnie’s sake. “Shouldn’t the same principle apply to you, so you can balance your obligations to the business with those to Bonnie?”
He reached into his pocket, brought out a roll of masking tape and began to tape around the edges of the window. “Part of the role of a father is to ensure his children have everything they need in life. I know what it’s like to start out poor, and I won’t let that happen to my daughter. So sometimes, yes, I need to work harder and longer so I can make sure she has every opportunity in life that I can create for her.”
Taking her cue from him, Jenna kept working as she spoke, despite wanting to watch his expression. “You know, my parents prioritized their work over spending time with their children.” Their work had been royal duties, but the principle was the same. “Bonnie doesn’t care if her sheets are 1,500-thread count cotton or 300-thread count. She doesn’t care whether she gets to use a designer diaper. She just wants the thing taken off after she’s made a mess. Bonnie cares about you being there, about being held, loved, fed.”
She could feel his gaze land on her. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t that what I employed you for?”
“Yes and no.” She moved to the next wall and kept painting. The fact they weren’t looking at each other was probably making this personal topic easier to discuss. “Nannies aren’t for life, and after I’m gone, Bonnie will only have you. You will be the constant in her life, the one whose love and attention she’ll crave.”
The silence on the other side of the room made her risk a quick glance at him. She caught him letting out a long breath and rubbing the back of his neck with his spare hand.
She winced, but she’d come this far, so she may as well finish what she’d started. The roller tray was nearly empty, so she tipped more paint from the can as she spoke. “You want to know what I think?”
“Shoot,” he said wearily.
“I think it would be easy to hide in science,” she said, choosing her words with care. “Babies and love are unpredictable and messy. Science is logical. In some ways, science would be simpler than real life.”
“Science has rules. It has order.” His voice was grave with the weight of conviction. “Science is measurable. Science doesn’t lie.”
The silence in the room was heavy, as if they both realized the depth of this accidental revelation. Part of her wanted to leave him alone, not to push on something so personal. The other part couldn’t let this little window into a man who fascinated her go.
“People lie?” she asked softly.
She sneaked a glance and saw him shrug. “They’ve been known to.”
“Like Rebecca not telling you she was pregnant?”
“That’s one example,” he acknowledged, his voice even. Then he shifted position to paint around the windowsill as if this wasn’t a big deal.
Jenna hesitated, again torn between wanting to let him talk and not pushing. Finally, she decided to leave the decision to him. “Liam, you don’t have to tell me anything. I’m just your daughter’s nanny. But if you want to tell me, I’d be interested in listening.”
He didn’t say anything for long moments, then cleared his throat. “When I was eleven, we moved from the Midwest out here to California. I’d been in elementary school and started here in my first year of middle school. My parents thought I’d be fine—all the kids my age were in a new school, so we were all in the same boat.”
“But you were in a different boat altogether,” she guessed.
“I was,” he acknowledged ruefully. “The kids I used to be friends with had helped out on their parents’ farms after school, like we did. The kids in the new school had no responsibilities and were obsessed with labels and other status symbols.”
Her heart broke a little for that boy who was a complete fish out of water, but she tried to keep the sympathy from her voice, knowing he wouldn’t want it. “It sounds like you would have had culture shock.”
“Perhaps I did.” He added more masking tape further along the edge and went back to painting. “Then the flower farm started doing well, and our parents moved the three of us to prestigious private schools.”
She grimaced, imaging what was to come. “Which was worse.”
“Absolutely,” he said on a humorless laugh. “Full of rich kids who were spoiled brats. Bragging and exaggerating were normal parts of conversations, and they were always playing power games. Everything came with a price. Nothing was as it seemed.”
She’d met kids like that when she was young—they’d say they wanted to be her friend, but it was all about her title, not the person she was. “Self-centered and not afraid who knew it.”
“That’s about it.” His voice wasn’t bitter or accusing, simply matter-of-fact. “For a country boy, it was all so foreign. My brothers and I were unfashionably family-oriented.”
“Yet, now you’re probably richer than many of them,” she said, knowing she was pointing out the obvious.
“There’s a difference between self-made wealth and inherited wealth. People who are born to wealth and privilege are a different species.”
Her heart clenched and sank. “And those born to wealth and privilege are a species you have no time for,” she clarified, but his tone had been clear enough.
“It’s a culture of one-upmanship. It’s dishonest.”
If he knew the truth about her, she’d only reinforce his theory—she had been born to wealth and privilege and her life now—even her own name—was a lie. And it mattered. For some reason Liam Hawke’s opinion of her mattered way more than it should. A tight band seemed to clamp around her chest, making it difficult to draw in breath.
“You know,” she said, putting down her roller, “it’s quite late. I’ll finish this tomorrow. Thanks for your help.”
She heard a muffled groan and turned. He stretched up into standing and rubbed a hand over his eyes. If he knew she was another one of the people who lied to him, there would be disgust in his gaze. Disgust at her. How would she be able to stand that? She looked back to the roller tray.
“Jenna,” he said softly.
Even knowing what he’d think of her if he knew the truth, she couldn’t help turning back to him when he said her name.
“I shouldn’t have laid all that on you. I’m sorry.” He reached a hand out to rest on her shoulder. “It’s my crap, not yours and now I’ve made you uncomfortable.”
His nearness made her pulse race, and her shoulder tingled where his hand rested. The contrast between that excitement and the heaviness in her chest about her deception was almost too much to bear.
“No, you didn’t say anything wrong. I’m just tired. Probably too many paint fumes.”
“Here, I’ll help you clean up,” he said, turning and picking up the brushes.
Five more minutes this close to him was out of the question. She had to get some space or risk losing control, pushing him against that wall and kissing him with all the crazy, confused desire inside her. Or she might even break down and confess the secret she’d been keeping. Then he’d see her as the same as all the other people who’d lied to him. Either option was unthinkable.
She pasted on a fake smile that she knew didn’t reach her eyes.
“It will only take me a minute. Really,” she said, with as much conviction as she could muster. “I’ll see you