a corner and she had nowhere to go. “Look, this is an unusual situation for us both. Once you’re back in Santa Monica you’ll be back to your usual whirl of work, travel and women—no doubt in that order—and Casey will be tucked away to be someone else’s problem.”
* * *
“Wow, why don’t you tell me how you really feel?” Piers said, feeling a wave of defensiveness swell through his whole body.
Her blunt assessment of his priorities angered him, he admitted, but he couldn’t deny she’d hit the nail very squarely on the head.
“So you don’t think I’ll be a suitable parent to Casey?” he pressed, fighting to hold on to his temper.
“To be honest, I think it would be a huge leap for you to learn to balance your existing lifestyle with caring for a child. Of course, it all seems so easy when you’re here. There’s nothing else for you to do all day other than look after him. But what about when you’re in negotiations in your next takeover and you’re working eighteen-hour days and he’s had his immunizations and he’s running a low fever and he wants you? What about when you’re attending a theater premiere in New York and he wakes with colic or he’s teething and grumpy and inconsolable? What about—”
“Okay, okay, you’ve made your point. I’m going to need help.”
“You really haven’t thought this through, Piers. It’s going to take more than help,” Faye argued, putting air quotes around the last word. “There’s more to raising a child than feeding it and changing a diaper, and you can’t just expect to be there when it suits you and leave him to others when it doesn’t. It’s just not right or fair.”
Piers wanted to argue with her, to shout her accusations down. But there was a ring of truth in her words that pricked his conscience and reminded him that the very upbringing he’d endured was likely the kind of upbringing he’d end up giving to Casey.
For all that he wanted to raise Quin’s son as his own, and give him all the love that he and his brother had missed out on growing up, how could he continue to do what he did—live the life he led—and still give Casey the nurturing he would need? The little boy was only three and a half months old. There was a lifetime of commitment ahead. Could he really do that? Be the person Casey needed? Be everything his own parents had never been?
His mom and dad had loved the attention that being parents of twins had brought them, but they’d left the basics of child rearing to a team of nannies and staff, and as soon as he and his brother were old enough they’d been shipped to boarding school. At least they’d always had each other. Who would Casey have?
Piers felt a massive leaden weight of responsibility settle heavily on his shoulders. “You’re right.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I said, you’re right.” He turned the stem of his wineglass between his fingers and watched the ruby liquid inside the bowl spin around the sides of the glass. “I haven’t thought this through.”
“What will you do then? Surrender Casey to child services?”
“Absolutely not. He’s my responsibility. I will make sure he doesn’t want for anything and if I make a few mistakes along the way then I’m sure you’ll be there to remind me how things should be done.”
“Me?” she squeaked.
“Yes, you. You’re not planning to leave my employ anytime soon are you?”
The question hung on the air between them.
“Leave? No, why should I? But I’m not a nanny. I’m your assistant.”
“And as such you can guide me in making sure I don’t work longer than I ought to and you can help me ensure that I employ the right people to help me care for Casey.”
He looked into Faye’s blue-gray eyes, noticing for the first time the tiny silver striations that marked her irises. Realizing, too, that the thick black fringe of her eyelashes were her own and not the product of artifice created by some cosmetic manufacturer.
Tension built in his gut. He needed her and it was daunting to admit it. She’d become such an integral part of his working life that he now found it difficult to imagine his days without her keeping his course running smooth. She did such an incredible job in the office, the idea of having her extend her reach even deeper into his personal sphere, as well, was enticing. But could he convince her to do it? Could he show her that he was serious about being a suitable parent for Casey and that he was equally serious about her, too?
She got up from her chair, walked over to where she’d left her trusty tablet on the countertop and made a notation.
“I’ll get on it when I get back. If I ever get out of here, that is.”
Piers surprised himself by laughing at her hangdog expression and bleak tone.
“It’s no laughing matter,” she stressed.
“Hey, we’re hardly suffering, are we? We’re warm and dry. We have food and my wine cellar at our disposal—”
“And we’re running out of diapers, or hadn’t you noticed? I took the liberty of checking Meredith’s linen supply. If we can’t get out of here by late tomorrow, we’re going to have to start using cloth napkins. It’s going to create a lot of laundry.”
“We’ll manage,” he said grimly, irked by her not so subtle reminder that he really didn’t have the first idea of what was needed to care for Casey.
But he had her and she very obviously did.
Again he wondered where she’d gotten her knowledge from. Her CV had said she was from Michigan but she’d attended college in California and had worked in and around Santa Monica since graduation. She had no family that he knew of, and had never worked in child care. All the dots had connected. There were no significant gaps in between her education and work histories. So where had she learned so much about babies?
The following evening, Piers was playing with the baby on a blanket on the floor when he took a call on his cell phone. It was a contractor with very good news. The road up the mountain would be cleared in the morning and a crew would remove the fallen tree. Piers had taken a walk to look at it a couple of days ago, while Casey had slept back at the house under Faye’s supervision. Seeing her SUV crunched up against the solid tree trunk had made him sick to his stomach. The outcome could have been so very different for her and the thought of losing her sent a spear of dread right through him.
“Good news,” he said as Faye came through to the main room with a basket of laundry tucked under one arm.
The sheer domesticity of the picture she made brought a smile to his face.
“Oh? What is it? By the way, here’s your laundry,” she said, dumping the contents of the basket on the sofa. “You do know how to fold it, don’t you?”
The domestic picture blurred a little.
“How hard can it be, right?” Piers said, reaching for one of his Christmas
