sure the lighting will be on my good side?” Barry Perkins asked. He took a comb out of his pocket, perfected already perfect blond hair, then flashed her a gleaming smile. “Because my fans will expect that, of course.”
“Of course.” Vanity, thy name is Barry Perkins. Ellie glanced down at her notepad, to jot a note about “good side,” then felt her face heat. Instead of finding notes about the soccer player, her pad was covered with doodles of the letter “D.”
She had Dalton on the mind. Not a good thing. Especially because the man annoyed her to the -nth degree. How anyone could be so grumpy, she had no idea. It certainly explained why she’d never seen him before. He defined the word “hermit.”
She glanced at the picture of Sabrina on her desk. Was he holding Sabrina right now? Was her daughter laughing? Or crying? Or sleeping peacefully? Ellie’s gaze darted to the phone, and she had to curl her fist tight around her pen to resist the urge to call Dalton and check up on the baby.
“You’ll have filtered water in my dressing room, right? Along with dark chocolates, with raspberry centers? Make sure there aren’t any strawberry or, God help me—” he pressed a hand to his forehead “—any coconut ones. Raspberry only.”
Ellie forced a patient smile to her face. “Certainly.”
Scheduling bottled waters and personalized chocolates for male divas wasn’t the life she had envisioned when she’d found out she was pregnant, and getting used to it had been a hundred times harder than Ellie had expected. She hadn’t, in fact, expected to be working at all for the first year or two after Sabrina had been born. Cameron was supposed to be the breadwinner. She was supposed to be able to stay home with Bri, put her career on a temporary hold, and then get back into the swing of things.
Then Cameron had died, and Ellie had been thrust into the role of breadwinner, dual parent, homeowner, everything, all at once. The plan had gone horribly awry, and when she was here at her office at Channel 77, she simply couldn’t think about Sabrina, because when she thought about all she was missing, it drove her insane.
And down the road, the thought of not seeing those first teeth, first steps, first words—
Forget it. Ellie was either going to have to hook up full-time video surveillance or find some kind of work-at-home job. The separation would surely kill her otherwise.
“I’ll have my manager fax a list of my other requirements.” The soccer player rose, then straightened his shirt, smoothing out invisible wrinkles. “I look forward to being the featured guest on your show.”
If Ellie told him he was a five-minute segment following a former President, the soccer star would undoubtedly bolt—along with his supply of raspberry chocolates. He’d probably throw a major temper tantrum, which would take time Ellie didn’t have. She wanted to get out of here on time—so she could get back to Sabrina. And if she was lucky, Lincoln would keep his afternoon golf date with the head of the TV station, and Ellie might even be able to sneak out early.
So instead she worked up another smile, shook the soccer player’s hand, and walked him to the door. As soon as he left, and the female buzz in the office had died to manageable decibels, Ellie picked up her office phone and dialed Dalton’s house.
So much for keeping her focus on her job. Maybe that video surveillance thing wasn’t such a far-fetched idea after all.
“Hello?” He answered on the third ring. Barked, really.
“It’s Ellie. Ellie Miller. You’re watching my daughter?”
“You think I have so many kids over here I’d be confused over which one belongs to who?”
“You are watching my daughter, aren’t you?”
“Not really.”
“What?”
“Calm down. She’s sleeping. That does not require me to stare at her, watching each and every breath.”
Ellie wanted to argue back that it darn well did, but she knew better. Even she didn’t watch every one of Sabrina’s breaths, though there had been many times when Sabrina had been first born, especially in those last few precious days of maternity leave, that she had noted every blink, every movement, wanting to commit every second to memory. Even now, she felt as if she was missing so many millions of moments, ones she’d never be able to recoup. The familiar ache deepened. The walls closed in around her. The room had never felt more like a cage. “Then what are you doing?”
“Do you want all the details? Including any bathroom breaks? Or just the overall minute-by-minute?”
“Just the overall.”
“She ate. I changed her diaper. She fell asleep. After she crawled all over my house. You should have warned me.”
“Warned you?”
“Yeah, that the kid moves. I didn’t know she was mobile. It was like following the Road Runner.”
“I missed the first time she crawled,” Ellie said softly. “Mrs. Winterberry called me and described every second of it. But it wasn’t the same.”
“Oh.” Dalton paused a second. “Sorry to hear that. Well, she crawled around a lot. Got her knees all dirty. Guess I need to get my cleaning lady in here more.”
“Then what?”
He thought a second. “Then she fell asleep. So I went to work. You called. Interrupted my work. Now, can I get back to—”
“Did you burp her? Rock her? Make sure she has her pacifier? And her special blanket? If she wakes up and doesn’t have those things, she’ll get upset.” Worry crowded Ellie’s shoulders. She should never have left Sabrina with Dalton. He didn’t know her daughter. Sabrina’s likes and dislikes. How she preferred to sleep, with her blanket tucked under one arm, her pacifier nearby, but not in her mouth. Her favorite toy always around when she was on the floor—a vinyl mouse that squeaked when Sabrina squeezed it.
What if the baby got upset? Missed her mother? There were a million details to watch, and if Dalton missed one, Sabrina would cry, and the guilt would just kill Ellie.
Ellie should be there. “When was the last time you checked on her? Made sure she was okay?”
“Boy, you are tense, aren’t you? I’ve been around kids before. She’ll be fine.”
But something wavered in his voice, and doubt rocketed through Ellie’s gut. Mrs. Winterberry had assured her Dalton had plenty of experience with children.
Then why did he sound unsure? As if he doubted he’d know what to do, should his stare- into-her-eyes technique fail?
Had Ellie asked enough questions? Had she interviewed him thoroughly? Or left too fast this afternoon?
“Are you positive you don’t want me to—”
“Ellie,” Lincoln said, popping his head into her office, “meeting in three minutes.”
“Dalton, can I call you back in a second?” When he agreed, she hung up and turned her attention to her boss.
