Why?
DEENA
Scroll up a couple of messages if you need a refresher.
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. No one else spoke to me like this.No one resisted the way she did. And I couldn’t help thinking she was being illogical. I’d pay her whatever she wanted. She was good at what she did, and I respected that. Taking on the role of my executive assistant would be a walk in the park for a woman like her. I could deal with the attitude if it meant never having a missed connection for an important business trip.
That’s not the only reason you want her, my consciousness whispered, but I didn’t listen. I ignored the throbbing low in my gut at the memory of her voice and the twitch that moved my fingers when I thought about picking up the phone to call her.
I put my phone away, but sleep was a long time coming.
Dawn brokeover the horizon without fanfare, finding me already sitting at the desk in my home office, finishing my second cup of coffee. I’d rewritten half my team’s emails for upcoming proposals and double-checked every calendar entry my new temp assistant had organized for the week. The words “terminal micromanagement syndrome” floated through my head, spoken in a smoky, teasing voice that I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about ever since I first heard it.
Deena infuriated me. The way she took charge of situations made me deeply uncomfortable. I wasn’t used to giving up control, especially in my own company.
And yet I couldn’t stop thinking about her.
“Uncle Cal?”
I glanced up to see a small head peeking around the side of the doorway, blond hair tied in two French braids with blue bows holding the ends together. Pushing back from my desk, I brushed aside the twist of anxiety that never failed to appear when my five-year-old niece was around. She was so small and vulnerable,and I was…me. I wasn’t qualified to look after her, even for a moment. “What’s up, Lila?”
“Mommy said I could have pancakes this morning.”
“Pancakes are for special occasions.” I stood and circled my desk.
“She said you’d say that and to tell you every day is special.”
That was a gut punch if I’d ever heard one, and my sister Erica knew it. I huffed, tugging the end of one of her braids before scooping her up into my arms. “Come on, kiddo. Let’s see if we have what we need.”
“Yay!” She wrapped her legs around my waist and leaned her head on my shoulder, tapping her fingers on my biceps as I walked.
A moment later, one of the three nannies I’d hired when Erica and Lila came to stay with me rushed around the corner. She crashed to a stop, her eyes wide. “Mr. Frost, I’m so sorry. I turned my back for a second?—”
“Don’t worry about it, Mary,” I said. “I’ve got her.”
The nanny nodded and stepped aside as I walked by. We went down the stairs and along the hallway toward the kitchen before Lila said, “Mommy said you make the best pancakes.”
“Your mommy said a lot of things this morning.” I entered the penthouse’s kitchen and arched my brows at Erica, who sat on one of the barstools lining the near side of the island.
She smiled at me, angelic. My sister’s fingers touched the edge of her head scarf, a nervous tic that had shown up as soon as the chemotherapy started taking her hair. “She likes a lot of chocolate chips in hers. And I know you’ve got the real maple syrup in the cupboard, so we’ll have some of that too.”
“Sir?” My chef, Xavier, stepped out of the butler’s pantry, a reusable grocery bag folded under his arm. “Would you like me to get the pancakes started?”
“I’ll make them,” I said.
He nodded and ducked out of the room, and I opened the pantry to grab the flour and baking powder. I glanced over my shoulder at Erica, who arched a brow, and I turned back around to get the chocolate chips.
“She needs more than carbs and sugar, Erica. She needs nutrients. So do you.”
“If you make me another one of your green smoothies, I’ll dump it over your head.”
Huffing at the flat look she gave me, I relented, knowing her treatment made everything taste wrong. Lila clambered up onto one of the barstools, and I circled the island to set up next to her. From the fridge, I grabbed milk and eggs. “Crack these in here,” I said, gesturing to the eggs and the bowl.
Lila’s tongue stuck out at the corner as she did what I asked, dropping half the shell in with her first egg and a few shards with the second.
“Oops,” she said.
“No problem,” I said, and fished out the shell pieces before measuring out the flour and baking soda. I asked Lila to dump them in a second bowl while I whisked the eggs.
