Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 57188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
The office.
It was such a bland statement, purposefully so, and everything in me wanted to push him, to ask who the meetings were with and if they were important to his business. But I didn’t. He would frown and then freeze up, and ultimately ignore the questions altogether.
“Cool,” I said in a chilly voice. “Have fun.”
His brows furrowed in confusion, but as expected, he shrugged off the uneasiness and smoothed his hands down the beautiful fabric. “I don’t know about fun,” he offered. “But let’s hope it will be productive and fruitful.”
“Good luck?” What the hell else was I meant to offer other than that? This wasn’t a normal relationship because it wasn’t a relationship, it was a situation-ship, one where we didn’t share personal details. Well, he didn’t. I was an open book.
“Thanks,” he murmured mostly to himself before he filled up a to go mug and left with hardly a goodbye to me or his niece.
“Uncle Brady is being weird,” Layla declared without looking up from her tablet.
“Adults are sometimes weird,” I offered diplomatically.
“You’re being weird too.” She frowned as she studied me a little too carefully.
“You’re weird,” I shot back with a teasing smile. “Drawing time starts in two minutes so we better get our supplies.” Distraction was a nanny’s best tool when it came to little girls who were far more perceptive than they should be.
We spent most of the day at a music shop where we practiced math skills and music with the guitar, piano, tambourine and the drums. It was a fund adventure, and by the end Layla had been absolutely enamored with the idea of playing an instrument.
“I’m going to learn to play three instruments,” she declared as we left the shop. “Is that a thing?”
I nodded. “Sure is. I play piano and violin very well, the drums and guitar not grea,t but well enough to impress.” My mother had insisted on the first two when I was about five years old and the other two came about as an act of teenage rebellion and self-discovery.
“I’ll ask Uncle Brady.” She beamed an excited smile and placed her hand in mine. “Look, Toni, ice cream!”
It was a gourmet ice cream shop where they made the flavors in house. “Let’s get some for dessert.”
She looked up with wide eyes. “And just a little for now? Please?” She pushed her bottom lip out and batted her eyelashes.
I laughed. “That might work on your uncle but I’m a professional.”
She giggled sweetly, smiling triumphantly when the middle-aged woman behind the counter offered up several samples without checking that it was all right. “I love this place!”
“I’ll bet,” I mumbled as we made our way to the car and back to the mansion that was starting to feel a lot like home. My feet froze as we stepped inside. The house smelled like food. Warm and delicious, and flavorful food.
“Who’s here?” Layla’s voice was shaky and her hand tightened in mine, which was the first sign that the little girl was uneasy.
“Only one way to find out.” I gave her a supportive squeeze and led the way towards the kitchen where Brady stood wearing an apron as he stood in front of the stove.
“Uncle Brady made dinner?” Layla’s confusion was palpable and the hurt on her face was perplexing. “What’s wrong?” She asked in a shrill, shaky voice.
Brady turned to his niece. “Nothing’s wrong. I finished work early and figured it was my turn to cook. I made lasagna and bought salad, fried ravioli with three dipping sauces and tiramisu.” He looked to me and then the little girl. “Layla what did I do?”
“Nothing,” she said barely above a whisper and dropped my hand before she fled the kitchen for the safety of her bedroom.
“What did I do?” His silver blue eyes were wide and stricken, worried he might’ve done something to hurt Layla. “Toni?”
I sighed and shook my head. “It’s not you, it’s the situation. She thought you were going to give her bad news.”
“What kind of bad news would I give her?”
I shrugged. “She lost her parents, Brady. That shakes a kid to their core and anything that comes close to that moment, it’s emotional.” The poor kid just needed a minute. “Her parents’ housekeeper had watched her make her favorite snack, and then told her that her parents were dead and not coming back.”
“I never cook,” he sighed and rubbed a hand over his face.
“Yeah. She might’ve assumed, you know…” I said vaguely, because I didn’t want to be the one to remind him of his behavior towards his niece.
“Assumed what?” he barked at me, his voice tight and angry.
“That you were gearing up to send her away,” I said in a flat tone.
“Dammit,” he growled and moved the sauce off the hot burner. “What more can I do?”