“What do you mean Molly owns it?”
“She has a portfolio of investments I’ve set up for her and will manage until she’s older. You told me your dryers were broken, and Cliff knew your address, so I looked it up, knowing if your landlord wasn’t maintaining the building, he’d maybe be open to selling.”
“You did all that for her?”
“Of course. She’s my daughter, and I want her to be financially stable outside of the family business.”
“That makes sense,” I say, like I have any idea what it’s like to run a multi-billion-dollar empire and buy buildings around the city like I’m collecting them on my Monopoly board.
“This neighborhood is a solid investment,” Sullivan adds patiently like he’s explaining something to Molly. “It’s just business, Tate. Don’t read anything into it.”
“I wasn’t.” I pull my eyes away from his and slide my key into the lock. This is what he sees when he looks at this place. Outdated locks. Something shabby and in need of a makeover.
I open the door and step inside, turning back to face him. He doesn’t try to follow me inside, and the tightness in my stomach eases with relief… and maybe a hint of disappointment.
“Thank you for fixing the dryers. My clothes won’t shrink now.”
I wish I could take the words back the moment they fly out of my mouth. I’m talking too much, back to being intimidated by him again. I’ve gone from being nervous around him, to angry at him, to enjoying his company, to admiring him for all he does for Molly, and back to being intimidated by him, all in the space of a week.
My head hurts.
“No, they won’t,” he says, frowning as his eyes drop down over me in my dress. “They’ll all fit perfectly.” His nostrils flare before he meets my eyes. “Good night, Tate.”
I stare after him as he strides off in his dark suit like he has somewhere important to be and I’ve taken up enough of his time.
“Good night, Sullivan,” I call.
But he’s already gone.
19
TATE
“Pan-da!”Molly grins as I place the plate in front of her.
“That’s right. Pandas.”
I’ve used some seaweed to make the black parts on little balls of white rice and served them to Molly with a side of cut up vegetable sticks for her lunch. I’ve watched her for Sullivan more than a few times over the past week. Usually after my shift ends, and at their place. It’s quickly becoming a routine that I ride home with him, then make dinner while he finishes up with work calls. Joan is still sick, and Arabella is still away. The doctors say whatever Joan has is viral and will go by itself, but she didn’t want to be around Molly until she was completely better.
Sullivan’s face when Joan called had me offering to help out more in the evenings as soon as he hung up. He looked so stressed. His phone had rung again with something work related before he could even answer me. He’d looked at Molly with guilt in his eyes, before pinching the bridge of his nose and answering the call. “Thank you, Tate,” he’d whispered.
But today we aren’t at his place, we’re at his office. And heonly needed me for an hour over lunch while he had a video meeting. Molly’s grandfather is coming to collect her for the afternoon.
The two of us sit together at the table, happily munching on matching panda themed lunches while Sullivan sits at the desk in his office on the other side of the hallway with a scowl on his face as he hosts a meeting through his computer screen.
He looks up as if sensing my eyes on him and I give him a little finger wave, tipping my head toward Molly who’s happily eating a cucumber stick that I arranged to look like bamboo for the panda on her plate. Sullivan told me he sometimes struggles to get her to sit still long enough to eat lunch. But if I can get her interest by making it look fun, then she’ll sit and devour the whole lot.
Sullivan’s lips lift into the smile he reserves especially for Molly as his eyes move to her. It’s gone before he looks back at me, but there’s still a touch of warmth in his eyes. One which I’m sure is gratitude. I’ve noticed it a few times since I came back to work for him. But he doesn’t need to be grateful. Looking after Molly is a joy. I love her company and curious little questions. The way she takes delight in such small things, like a ladybug that had found its way onto a plant in their living room last week. And how she always admires my bracelet and says, “Tate, momma, pretty,” after I told her it helps me remember my mom.
Whatever’s happening in the meeting Sullivan’s taking, he doesn’t look happy about it. He shakes his head with a firm bark of, “Not good enough”, that I hear through both glass walls, before shaking his head at whatever is said in response.
“Well done, Molly,” I say, seeing her empty plate. I take the lid off the pot I packed the pandas in. “Would you like another one?”
She nods with big, eager eyes, as I put another on her plate.
“I’ll have to remember that you like pandas, huh?” I say with a smile.
“Pan-das,” Molly repeats.
