The Millionaire Affair(2)

"Maybe I'm more maternal than you think," she quipped. He thought of  Angel's struggle to get pregnant and felt the pang of loss for his only  sister. She would make an excellent mother, and they all knew it. Never  one to welcome pity, she shifted subjects before he could respond.  "First of all, I took off work the first week he was here. After that,  he had a routine and I was able to work some in between."         

     



 

"And you had Richie." Her husband. Landon had himself, and the team of  designers he'd assigned to the account, who were having a conference  call without him with their client and the owner of Windy City potato  chips, Otto Williams, this very minute. "I can't take off this week."

"Yeah, well our billionaire cousin used to say the same thing. Funny how  after Shane found Crickitt, he found time for a vacation."

At the mention of his cousin, he thought back to Shane and Crickitt's  summer wedding last year. Shane was a lucky bastard. He'd managed to  meet Crickitt, who was not only considerate and kind, but also  understood him. Landon had yet to find a woman who possessed one of  those qualities, let alone all three.

That thought brought forth one involving his ex-girlfriend-technically  ex-fiancée-Lissa, and his eyebrows scrunched together. They were better  off apart, especially since their relationship had been an empty husk  for years-way before she'd locked lips with actor Carson Robbins on the  temporarily-famous YouTube video that had gone viral. Carson Robbins,  Landon thought with a chuff, his pride stinging despite his efforts to  keep from it. Why she had left him for that no-talent ass clown, he had  no idea. The mind boggled.

A remote-controlled monster truck sped down the hall, narrowly missing  Landon's toes before crashing into the baseboard. The recently  installed, special-order, Macassar Ebony baseboards. He pulled in a deep  breath. The slapping sound of tennis shoes on the wooden floor followed  the path of the car as Lyon blew past. "Careful, buddy!" he called to  his nephew. Then to Angel he repeated, a little desperately, "I can't  take off this week."

The truck slammed into his ankle and he bit back a curse. "Lyon!" His  nephew's eyes grew wide and Landon promptly slapped a patient smile on  his face despite the pain in his foot. "Not in the house, okay, buddy?"

"Okay, Uncle Landon," he said, lifting the car and stamping in the other direction again.

Landon limped into the sanctuary of the carpeted living room. "Help me, Angel, you're my only hope."

She laughed, at his expense, but he was beyond caring. The mighty Lyon  Downey had defeated him. "Well, you can't ask Evan to leave his  immersion workshop."

"Give me a little credit." He knew what this workshop meant to his  youngest brother. Evan hadn't done much for himself since his wife died  and he'd become a single dad. His MO up until six months ago had been  caring for Lyon and making as much money as possible at his tattoo shop.  Then he'd started painting on the side, for fun, or so he'd told  everyone. But it wasn't Evan's dark, broody cartoon-style works that had  captured Landon's attention. It was the light back in his brother's  eyes. Evan had finally started living again instead of just surviving.

Next thing he knew, Evan was calling to let him know a friend of Angel's  had a friend in the children's book publishing industry.

"He needs to create five more paintings this week for his agent," Angel said, still arguing her point.

"I know that."

"He could be a real illustrator, Landon. You have to find another way.  Ever since Rae died, he's been marginalizing the things he wants. It's  about time-"

"Angel." She stopped speaking. "I'm not going to ask Evan to bail me out."

"Okay. I'm sorry. I just …  I want him to succeed."

He smiled. Although a few years younger than him, Angel had always acted  the part of mother hen to her brothers-Landon included. She'd gotten  worse since Mom died. But Angel wasn't the only one who wanted the best  for Ev. Landon wanted him to succeed, too. His brother's tattoo shop was  profitable, successful, and, until the artwork of his heart had gotten  attention in the literary world, all he'd wanted to do. Now his  paintings were all he could talk about. Landon wouldn't deny him this  opportunity. No way.

"Can you delegate a portion of your work and lessen the load?" she  asked, back on task. "You'll still be able to get things done …  just  maybe not as much as you're used to."

This account was too important to take his hands off it. But he wouldn't  miss an opportunity to tease her. What were big brothers for? "Sure.  You want to set a project aside and take the lead on Windy City? Maybe  today while you're in town?" She was scheduled to fly in this morning to  handle a pitch for Holstein Electronics. A pitch he needed her, as the  head of his art department, to nail. A pitch he'd never in a million  years ask her to skip.         

     



 

Predictably, she took him at his word. "You can't be serious!" Her voice  went an octave higher. "You asked me to bump up the Holstein account so  we can get the billboard design done by next Tuesday! I'll barely have  time to breathe between flights from Tennessee to Chicago and back."

"Exactly. And like you, the rest of my staff is buried. The delegation thing? Not going to happen."

Angel heaved a sigh, then blew out the word "okay" before falling silent  while she thought. A moment later, he heard her snap her fingers, a  sign she'd landed on an idea. "What about the day care in your  building?"

"What? No." He wouldn't abandon his nephew in a strange place, not even  the day care at work, which he knew was staffed with well-trained  professionals. Last night, Lyon had a nightmare because of the change of  scenery. Evan had warned Landon it might happen, but nothing had  prepared him for the helplessness of holding his nephew and being unable  to comfort him. He remembered Lyon's eyes, wide with terror and filled  with tears, his little heart racing against Landon's chest.

"No," he repeated firmly.

"Okay …  Well, what about a nanny?"

A plump, proper woman with a British accent popped into his mind and he made a face. "You can't be serious."

Angel's voice dipped conspiratorially. "What if she was someone you knew? Someone we all knew?"

He crossed an arm over his chest and narrowed his eyes at the lake view  outside. She was up to something. Plotting and scheming as per her  usual. "Spit it out, Angel."

"You remember my friend, Kimber Reynolds? She came down to visit me last  month and I mentioned she owns a vintage clothing store in Chicago."

"The girl who stayed at Mom and Dad's house one summer when we were  kids." The same summer his college girlfriend had given him the worst  news of his life.

"Yes!" Angel said with game-show-host enthusiasm. She sounded proud he  recalled who Kimber was. "While she was here she'd mentioned she could  use some extra money. And since she lives not all that far from you … "

Kimber. He remembered bits and pieces about the girl who'd lingered in  his peripheral for an entire summer. He remembered she had red hair,  liked to read, and drank Mountain Dew. She'd offered to help him with  his creative writing paper, the makeup assignment to save him from  failing his college class after Rachel's pregnancy time bomb. He  recalled balking at first-what help could a sophomore be to a college  senior?-but Kimber had insisted, and then surprised him. She was smart.  Turned out she'd had some helpful advice.

" …  sure she would be willing to help you out," Angel was saying.

He blinked out of his daze and tuned his sister back in.

"Want me to use my three and a half minutes between stops to pay her a visit while I'm in town?"

He started to ask about Kimber's credentials, then something Angel said  earlier crawled out of his subconscious. "Wait, did you say ‘live-in'?"

"Of course." He pictured her shrugging. "You'll need someone to bathe  Lyon and feed him dinner at night in case you need to work late at the  office. And in the morning, you won't want to wait for her to arrive.  What if she catches a late train? Then your progress will be impeded."

She was being a smartass, but she had a point. If Kimber were here with  Lyon taking care of the day-to-day, Landon could focus on work and be  home in time to play with Lyon or tuck him in. But a woman living in his  penthouse? Not that his place was small. At six thousand square feet,  it'd easily hold the three of them. Before Lissa had moved out following  the video debacle, she and Landon could go hours without so much as  running into one another. But living with a stranger?

"I don't know, Ang. Has Kimber …  done this sort of thing before?" Cared  for the nephew of a bachelor workaholic millionaire whose fiancée dumped  him for a D-list actor?