“And?”
“And it’s weird, alright?” I adjusted my grip on the box. “Having her here. Taking over everything.”
We maneuvered the box up the stairs, awkwardly angling it around the corner.
“She seems to know what she’s doing.”
“That’s the problem.” I pushed the box into Violet’s room. “She walks in and suddenly she’s running the show. Ordering stuff, rearranging my house, calling my friends.”
Liam dropped his end of the box with a thud. “Would you rather be doing it alone?”
I had no idea what I was doing. No clue how to care for a baby or what she needed. But admitting that felt like surrendering.
“It’s not about that,” I said finally. “She’s taking control without asking.”
He leaned against the wall, studying me. “You like being in control.”
“In my own bloody house? Seems reasonable.”
“But you need to think about what Hazel needs now.” His usual joking tone had faded. “And maybe Carter’s daughter isn’t so bad at figuring out what a baby needs.”
I ran a hand through my hair, frustration building in my chest. “She intimidates me, alright?”
His eyebrows shot up. “The great Griffin Michaels, intimidated by a woman? Alert the press.”
“Not just any woman. Julian Carter’s daughter.” I lowered my voice, though she wasn’t even in the house. “She’s smart. Capable. Doesn’t take any of my shit. And unfortunately, she’s Julian’s pride and joy.” I shoved the empty box aside. “Which means anything I say to her is going to be discussed over Sunday roast with the boss. She won’t even mean to burn me; she just thinks the sun shines out of his ass.”
“This is ridiculous,” I muttered, after stabbing my finger for the third time. “Who designed this thing? A sadist?”
Violet glanced over from where she was organizing baby clothes. “Need help?”
“No.” I jammed the pieces together with more force than necessary. “I can handle it.”
Liam snorted.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He focused intently on the changing table, which was slowly taking shape under his hands. “Just enjoying watching the mighty Griffin Michaels defeated by baby furniture.”
“I’m not defeated. I’m—” The metal rod I’d been fighting with suddenly snapped into place. “Ha! Got it.”
Violet looked up, her expression softening. “Well done.”
“See? Piece of cake,” I said, more confident now.
“Great. Now you only have seven more steps to go.”
My triumph deflated. “Seven?”
“And then there’s the mobile.” She pointed to a smaller box. “That’s separate.”
I groaned, but returned to the task with renewed determination. I wouldn’t be beaten by a bassinet, of all things.
Liam finished the changing table first, stepping back to admire his handiwork. “Not bad, if I do say so myself.”
Violet inspected it critically. “You’ve put the shelving unit on backward.”
“What?” Liam circled the table, frowning. “No, I followed the—oh. Right.”
