He thought she was a nanny? Did he think he’d hired her to take care of his baby? Her niece? Her own little namesake? She blinked, focusing on his broad back as she absorbed this turn of events.
He reached another door and shifted to look back. His brows dipped ominously when he saw she hadn’t ventured beyond the foyer. “Miss Quinn, if you’re having second thoughts about this job, say so. I don’t have time to read your mind.”
His admonition jarred her out of her stupor. Miss Quinn? So that was the nanny’s name. Hadn’t he said he was planning to leave for the Hamptons? An hour ago! No doubt he needed a nanny to keep the “little nuisance” out of his way while he hosted wild parties on his private beach.
A stab of renewed disgust made her recoil. Oh, no, she vowed, little Christina Lauren won’t be tainted by the immoral lifestyle of this beast—not if she had her way!
The words of the lawyer she’d consulted came back, cracking like a whip in her brain. “Miss Smith, if Mr. Delacourte is not inclined to give over custody, no court in the land is likely to take his child away from him. He’s the CEO of the multibillion dollar Delacourte Industries, a highly respected man. The only way you could get custodianship of your niece would be to uncover damning evidence against him. Prove he is an unfit parent.”
Icy dread twisted in her stomach. What if he said no to her request, and tossed her out on her ear! She couldn’t stand the thought, couldn’t bear to go back to Oklahoma without Christina. Just imagining it shattered her.
On the other hand, there was no question that Dade Delacourte was a lecher. Poor Millie was a living example of his reckless lust. All Lauren would need to get proof of his utter lack of suitability to bring up an innocent little girl was to spend a few days in close proximity with the man. That would provide her with all the proof she would need. But how—
The two sentences he’d shouted at her came roaring back. You’re the nanny the agency sent. Come see to the child.
Her brain exploded with a profound insight. A nanny would spend time in close proximity with him—under the same roof! Here was her chance! Providence had dropped it right in her lap! Did she dare refuse?
“Well?” he growled, and she jumped.
“I—I’m coming—sir.” If proof of Mr. Delacourte’s unfitness is what it will take to get my niece, then I’ll get it, or my name isn’t Lauren Smith! Which, ironically, right now it wasn’t. Since she planned to make every effort to insure that Mr. Delacourte believed she was Miss Something Quinn.
Trying not to think about how foolhardy this slap-dash scheme might be, Lauren put one foot in front of the other, increasing her pace, scurrying down the long hallway toward the man she most despised in the world.
She sent up a prayer that Miss Quinn wouldn’t show up now to blow her cover. Since the woman was this late, and since Mr. Delacourte didn’t exactly live in an out-of-the-way hovel, it seemed that for whatever reason, Miss Quinn—the thoughtful, marvelous no-show Miss Quinn—wasn’t coming.
Mr. Delacourte turned the knob and looked inside. “Opal, Miss Quinn is here. Once she sees to the child’s last-minute needs, show them to the car.”
When Lauren joined Mr. Delacourte at the nursery entrance, he faced her. “Most of the baby’s things are already in the limo, and she’s been fed.”
Before Lauren could respond, he was striding away. “We’re leaving in fifteen minutes.”
He disappeared behind another door, but Lauren continued to gape after him. “Yes, Your Majesty,” she muttered, her hostility for the egotistical tyrant bubbling to the surface.
“Miss?”
The female voice startled Lauren, and she spun around. The nursery, furnished with a crib, built-ins and a changing table, held all the whimsy of a hospital room. Everything was white, except the inside of the crib. Its head and footboards were painted in a vivid palate of pastels. A mobile of dangling miniature teddy bears hung above the mattress, its sheets adorned with cartoon characters. The crib was a colorful oasis amid a scrubbed wilderness of white.
A rosy-cheeked woman in gray smiled when Lauren’s glance met hers. The middle-aged maid cuddled a frilly, pink bundle to her breast. One tiny hand reached up and grasped the woman’s chin, causing her to chuckle. “Tina, sugar-baby, meet your new nanny.”
Lauren’s heart did a flip-flop. Tina! Her niece was right there in the same room, not ten feet away! It was a miracle. This morning she’d stepped off the plane from Tulsa, and gone directly to Delacourte Industry headquarters. She’d been refused an appointment, stiffly informed the CEO would be away for a month. Her hopes had plummeted into the black depths of gloom. This rash cab ride to his Manhattan apartment had been an act of desperation. She’d had no idea—not even the flicker of a dream—that…
She shook herself. Why was she standing there like a frozen fish stick? With a fledgling smile she fairly floated across the room to gaze down at her niece. Lauren’s parents were dead and Millie had disappeared into the world of wanna-be movie stars. So, it was imperative to Lauren not to lose Christina.
As she stared at the tiny face, the tingle of threatening tears made her blink. “Such an angel,” she murmured. Her joy so overwhelmed her, it took monumental effort to keep from sobbing.
“She’s so sweet.” The maid handed Lauren the swaddled child. “Hardly ever cries. Sally, the other nanny, said caring for this sugar-baby was the most enjoyable job she’s ever had. But you know hormones.”
Lauren only half listened, her heart spilling over with a love that was almost maternal. She gently held Tina in her arms, taking in every detail, from the pale, blond wisps of her hair to her precious, heart-shaped mouth. Something in the maid’s chatter caught her attention and she looked up. “Hormones?”
Opal tittered. “No matter how much Sally loved and doted on little Tina, her hormones won out. She ran off with the night doorman sometime before dawn this morning. Said in her note she couldn’t bear to be separated from the guy for a whole month.” Opal shook her head, smoothing a strand of graying hair into her chignon. “Why do so many women turn into drooling idiots when it comes to a smooth-talking man?”
Lauren found the statement ironic. Opal was talking about the night doorman, but she could have been referring to Mr. Delacourte’s effect on Millie. “Whatever the reason, there’s a lot of that going around,” Lauren said with a sad shake of her head.
Opal laughed and nodded. “Ain’t it the truth! Ain’t it the truth.” She gave Tina a pat on her chubby cheek. “You have yourself a great time out there on the beach, little one.” Looking at Lauren, she waved toward a stuffed, leather bag. “I think I’ve got everything in there she’ll need for the trip—bottles, diapers and such. You’d best check her to see if she needs changing before you go.”
She lay a hand on the crib headboard, drawing Lauren’s gaze to it again. Upon closer inspection she noticed the painting was more than mere swirls of color, but seemed truly like art. “Who painted the crib?” she asked, surprised to hear herself speaking aloud.
Opal gave the crib a quick glance, then looked back at Lauren. “Oh, Benny did that while Tina was still sleeping in her bassinet. Benny’s Cook’s assistant, and quite a budding artist.” She laughed. “The whole staff’s so crazy about Tina. Poor dear child hardly gets any time to sleep, with somebody
