Fucking Atlas.
“That was my brother,” I barked, steering Jessa toward the entrance. She ducked her head against my chest, and I felt her trembling harder. “Back off, please.”
McDaniels held the door wide for us, always alert for my comings and goings, and we slipped inside. The elevator stood open, security already clearing the way. I pulled Jessa in, and the doors slid shut. She sagged against the wall, coughing.
I stood in front of her, one hand braced on the wall. Fury—with protectiveness, and possessiveness—surged through me. “I’m sorry about the photographers.”
“It’s fine.”
There was that word again.
“It’s not fine,” I argued. “And neither is this.” I gestured at her, at the duffel bag, at the situation spiraling beyond my control. “You should’ve told me.”
“Why?” She met my eyes, defiant even through the fever. “So you could swoop in and fix it? I’ve been taking care of myself my whole life, Griffin. I don’t need—” She laughed and the elevator dinged.
“What you need is rest in a warm home. Let’s get you inside,” I said, cutting off whatever protest she was building. “We’ll argue later.”
I got her into the guest room at the far end of the hall—two doors down from my master bedroom, and even that might not be enough to keep me from her after hours. Spacious, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, I set her duffel onthe bed and shifted the blinds down lower to darken the room a little so she could sleep.
“You’ve got your own bathroom through there. A closet here.” I opened the doors, and then turned down the bed linens.
She stepped inside the closet, eyes widening. It was bigger than most studio apartments in Queens—custom shelving, soft lighting, more space than anyone needed for a week’s worth of clothes. I caught the way her gaze darted around, taking it all in. I hadn’t even given a thought to what she might be going through coming here from her small town. Fuck, why’d I have to be such a self-centered, entitled prick?
She toured the bathroom next. Dual rainfall shower heads. A soaking tub. Marble counters with double sinks.
She stared for a long moment, then turned to me. “This is a lot to take in.”
“It’s only a bathroom.”
“This guest suite is bigger than my home in Holly Creek, where five of us live.” She coughed into her elbow, and the sound rattled in her chest. “Griffin, I can’t stay?—”
“You can, and you will. Er, because Theo needs you, of course. You’ve quickly made it to the top of the list of all the nannies he’s ever had. I think you may even be his favorite of all my employees, knocking Brock off easily.” I crossed my arms. “Get some rest. I’ll have food and medicine sent over and call my doctor. Can you listen for the deliveries and the doctor to arrive? Maybe I should set you up on the couch instead so you’ll hear the door?”
“I don’t need a house call from your personal physician.” Her laugh was weak, edged with disbelief. “I’m not dying. It’s just a little bug. I’ll rest and be fine.”
Whoever created the word fine should be flogged.
“Humor me.”
She met my eyes, and for a second, a familiar heat flickered between us—the same from that night at the lake, banked but not entirely gone.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked.
Because the thought of her sleeping in that car made me want to punch myself. Because Theo lit up when she was around. Because I hadn’t stopped thinking about her since August.
“Because you work for me,” I said instead. “And I take care of what’s mine.”
Her breath hitched, but she didn’t argue.
I pointed to the bed. “Rest. And do me a favor. Keep your phone handy and reply to my texts.”
She pulled off my trench and handed it back. Then took out her phone from her pocket—an ancient flip one, for Christ’s sake. “I would, but it runs out of power too often; the battery is so old. The other night I used up all its juice and my measly data plan sending you those photos, and?—”
“I’ve heard enough. I’ll have a new phone under my plan delivered, too. Can’t have an employee of mine without one.”
“Employee… right.” She sunk onto the bed and removed her thin coat. No matter how sick she was, I fought the urge to undress her the rest of the way, and slide under the covers to keep her warm next to my body. “I’d better rest now.”
“You do that. I’ll check on you later.” My mind swirled around everything I’d learned about her today. I should probably cancel the private investigator. This was the full picture... wasn’t it? She was broke, far from home, and too determined and prideful to make it on her own to say anything.
