I regret opening my mouth as they scan over my pink shirt before flicking away. It’s a couple of seconds, but I feel the depth of his scrutiny all the way to my bones.
I choose to embrace the silence for the rest of the drive.
Sullivan’s low voice rumbles from the hallway, and is joined by another man’s, his father, I presume, along with a happy shriek of, ‘Daddy!’. He instructed me to wait in his giant living area while he went to answer the door, saying it would be Molly returning.
I can’t wait to see her. Her presence will help blow some of the awkwardness away that’s been making it hard to breathe since I stepped foot inside the multi-million-dollar penthouse. I’m so out of place here. Those thick, dark brows of Sullivan’shad lowered, matching his terse expression as I’d hovered inside the front door, clutching my purse like it could offer support, and gazed around at the monochrome elegance, telling him what a nice living room he has.
I didn’t know that was just the entryway. Who has sofas, giant artwork, and flower displays in their hallway?
The moment I walked into his actual living space, I squeaked embarrassingly at the sight of a sparkling grand piano set up in front of floor-to-ceiling windows with the city stretching into the distance behind. It’s the first time I’ve noticed Sullivan look at me with something akin to interest in his eyes before he was summoned by a knock at the door.
Placing my purse on a side table, I wander over to the piano and gaze at it longingly. I bet it plays beautifully. More in tune than the old battered one in my building’s basement. I run my finger along the sleek maple wood. It’s as black as a well of thick ink. Glossy. Divine. My fingers tingle at the idea of sitting on the upholstered stool and playing it.
Sullivan clears his throat, announcing that I’m no longer alone. Molly is in his arms, and the sight of her sweet little face pressed against the front of his shirt as she clings to him makes my ovaries feel fit to bursting.
“Hello, Molly.” I give her a little wave and turn my back on the piano, relieved I don’t have to explain to Sullivan why I was touching it. Something tells me he might not take kindly to people interfering with his things.
“Do you remember me?” I ask, walking over slowly.
She nods, burying her cheek into Sullivan’s shirt.
“She’s tired. My father’s fiancée took her swimming, and she woke up early from her nap,” Sullivan explains, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her dark curls, the move so natural, like he does it without even thinking.
My eyes roam over him, dressed in his power suit, cradling Molly to his chest like she’s the most precious thing in theworld. I’ve witnessed first-hand the way he behaves dressed like this. When he’s in his billionaire CEO persona. But here, in his own home, with his tired daughter in his arms, something else flows from him.
Love.
So much love that it tears at my heart and makes my eyes mist. Because as beautiful as it is, there’s something achingly tragic too. Why I get that impression, I don’t know.
Sullivan’s gaze meets mine and the softness vanishes.
“Molly,” he says, his voice business-like as he looks at me. “Tate’s going to be spending more time with you. Helping when Daddy has to work. Like Arabella.”
Molly lifts her head at the information, and gifts me with a smile, showing off two perfect rows of milk teeth between her round cheeks. I smile back as her shyness ebbs away and the Molly I met yesterday emerges.
“You see my room?” she says.
“I’d love to. If that’s okay with your daddy?”
Sullivan gives a terse nod. “I’ll give you a tour.”
I follow him through the living and dining area to a giant kitchen filled with top of the range gadgets and sparkling marble worktops. It has a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows like the living area, making it feel like you’re miles above the city below.
“You can help yourself to anything you like. If there’s something you need, my housekeeper, Joan, can get it for you. That iPad,” he gestures to the device on the large island, “is hers. You can leave messages for her on it. She comes every morning, so you probably won’t see her because you’ll be…” His eyes drop over my uniform and his nostrils flare. “…You’ll be at work.”
I wait until he turns and strides down a hallway lined with doors before I check my shirt for a stain, or for whatever it isthat keeps stealing his attention. But there’s nothing except Caffeine Couture’s logo stitched onto the pink fabric.
Multiple bedrooms, a home gym, cinema room, and office—all get shown to me. I’m grateful to stop and catch my breath as we stop in a bright, fun room that’s decorated like a jungle with a princess carriage bed inside it.
Sullivan puts Molly down and she runs over to a toy basket before returning with a baby doll in her arms.
“Hold baby,” she instructs, thrusting the doll into my stomach.
“She has quite the collection,” Sullivan says.
He’s leaning against the doorframe, hands in his pant pockets. Tenderness softens the line of his mouth as his attention remains on Molly, who’s picked up another baby doll and is cradling it against her, shushing it and rubbing its back.
“You sure do. A fine collection,” I say to Molly as I take in the baby cot and stroller with more dollies inside. In the center of the room is the bed. The pillows are barely visible beneath the mound of stuffed animals on it.
