The Nanny Proposition(12)

“I assume you’ve also put in a long day already. Speaking of your job,” he said mildly, “where exactly is my daughter?”

Jenna rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand, leaving another adorable smear of yellow. “Sleeping in Meg’s room. I moved Meg’s crib into my room until I’ve finished in here and Bonnie can move back in.”

“Okay. I’ll do a quick check on her, then change into some old clothes and be back.”

He slipped out and into the room next door and saw the perfect little face of his child. She still made his breath catch in wonder every time he saw her.

She was a miracle, and she was his. Would he ever feel worthy of her?

* * *

Jenna sighed heavily after Liam left the room. Spending time with him on a joint project sounded like sweet torture. It was hard enough being with him late at night when she fed Bonnie, but at least they had the baby to focus on and clearly defined roles. She was the nanny, awake for a night feeding.

Though, truth be told, she was often at sea in Liam’s house. When she’d lived in the palace, she also had a clearly defined role—she was the daughter of the queen and she had access to certain areas, knew who worked where and how things should be. When she’d lived in Dylan’s apartment as his housekeeper, she’d had her own space downstairs and clearly defined boundaries—she cleaned Dylan’s living areas but she didn’t spend time in them, and her own rooms were hers and private.

Yet here in this house, she was sharing Liam’s personal space, despite barely knowing him, despite being his employee. Liam had encouraged her to make herself at home, but that wasn’t realistic.

Could that be why she reacted to her boss as a man? The boundaries of home and work were so confused that the boundaries between the man who signed her paychecks and the man who filled out a button-down shirt like no one’s business were destined to be equally as confused.

Liam strode back into the room wearing an old T-shirt that fit him perfectly and a pair of blue jeans that had become soft with washing and hung low on his hips, molding over his thighs. A low, insistent pulse beat through her body. It seemed that it wasn’t just when he was wearing button-down shirts that he affected her....

“Where would you like me to start?” he asked, his voice deep and rich.

She swallowed, trying to get her voice to work. “Maybe on the edges. As you pointed out, I’m not particularly good at them.”

“No one’s perfect at something the first time they try it, Jenna. It takes practice.” He rested his hands on his hips as he assessed the spots he’d be working on. “You’ve done a good job for your first time.”

“That’s kind of you to say,” she said, feeling a blush creeping up her cheeks.

He picked up a paintbrush and dipped it in the sunshine yellow paint. “Just truth. I’m a simple black-and-white, facts-and-figures kinda guy.”

She wondered if he truly believed that or if it was a throwaway line. He’d said it in all seriousness, but surely the man who’d created the Midnight Lily and taken the photographs that adorned the bedroom walls couldn’t see himself as only a “facts-and-figures kinda guy”? She had so many questions about Liam Hawke.

They painted in silence for a few minutes before she found the courage to pose one of them. One she owed it to Bonnie to ask. “Can I ask you something personal?”

“You can ask,” he said, his voice teasing as he crouched to reach a corner. “However, I’ll reserve the right not to answer.”

She paused with her roller midair, trying to get the words right. “You work such long hours. Wouldn’t you prefer to spend more time with Bonnie?”

He shrugged and kept painting. “Of course I would, but I have other responsibilities too.”

“You told Katherine to take on a helper because the situation had changed,” she said as politely as she could. She knew she was treading on dangerous ground, questioning her employer, but she had to say something for Bonnie’s sake. “Shouldn’t the same principle apply to you, so you can balance your obligations to the business with those to Bonnie?”

He reached into his pocket, brought out a roll of masking tape and began to tape around the edges of the window. “Part of the role of a father is to ensure his children have everything they need in life. I know what it’s like to start out poor, and I won’t let that happen to my daughter. So sometimes, yes, I need to work harder and longer so I can make sure she has every opportunity in life that I can create for her.”

Taking her cue from him, Jenna kept working as she spoke, despite wanting to watch his expression. “You know, my parents prioritized their work over spending time with their children.” Their work had been royal duties, but the principle was the same. “Bonnie doesn’t care if her sheets are 1,500-thread count cotton or 300-thread count. She doesn’t care whether she gets to use a designer diaper. She just wants the thing taken off after she’s made a mess. Bonnie cares about you being there, about being held, loved, fed.”

She could feel his gaze land on her. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t that what I employed you for?”

“Yes and no.” She moved to the next wall and kept painting. The fact they weren’t looking at each other was probably making this personal topic easier to discuss. “Nannies aren’t for life, and after I’m gone, Bonnie will only have you. You will be the constant in her life, the one whose love and attention she’ll crave.”

The silence on the other side of the room made her risk a quick glance at him. She caught him letting out a long breath and rubbing the back of his neck with his spare hand.

She winced, but she’d come this far, so she may as well finish what she’d started. The roller tray was nearly empty, so she tipped more paint from the can as she spoke. “You want to know what I think?”

“Shoot,” he said wearily.

“I think it would be easy to hide in science,” she said, choosing her words with care. “Babies and love are unpredictable and messy. Science is logical. In some ways, science would be simpler than real life.”

“Science has rules. It has order.” His voice was grave with the weight of conviction. “Science is measurable. Science doesn’t lie.”

The silence in the room was heavy, as if they both realized the depth of this accidental revelation. Part of her wanted to leave him alone, not to push on something so personal. The other part couldn’t let this little window into a man who fascinated her go.

“People lie?” she asked softly.

She sneaked a glance and saw him shrug. “They’ve been known to.”

“Like Rebecca not telling you she was pregnant?”

“That’s one example,” he acknowledged, his voice even. Then he shifted position to paint around the windowsill as if this wasn’t a big deal.

Jenna hesitated, again torn between wanting to let him talk and not pushing. Finally, she decided to leave the decision to him. “Liam, you don’t have to tell me anything. I’m just your daughter’s nanny. But if you want to tell me, I’d be interested in listening.”

He didn’t say anything for long moments, then cleared his throat. “When I was eleven, we moved from the Midwest out here to California. I’d been in elementary school and started here in my first year of middle school. My parents thought I’d be fine—all the kids my age were in a new school, so we were all in the same boat.”

“But you were in a different boat altogether,” she guessed.

“I was,” he acknowledged ruefully. “The kids I used to be friends with had helped out on their parents’ farms after school, like we did. The kids in the new school had no responsibilities and were obsessed with labels and other status symbols.”

Her heart broke a little for that boy who was a complete fish out of water, but she tried to keep the sympathy from her voice, knowing he wouldn’t want it. “It sounds like you would have had culture shock.”

“Perhaps I did.” He added more masking tape further along the edge and went back to painting. “Then the flower farm started doing well, and our parents moved the three of us to prestigious private schools.”

She grimaced, imaging what was to come. “Which was worse.”

“Absolutely,” he said on a humorless laugh. “Full of rich kids who were spoiled brats. Bragging and exaggerating were normal parts of conversations, and they were always playing power games. Everything came with a price. Nothing was as it seemed.”

She’d met kids like that when she was young—they’d say they wanted to be her friend, but it was all about her title, not the person she was. “Self-centered and not afraid who knew it.”

“That’s about it.” His voice wasn’t bitter or accusing, simply matter-of-fact. “For a country boy, it was all so foreign. My brothers and I were unfashionably family-oriented.”

“Yet, now you’re probably richer than many of them,” she said, knowing she was pointing out the obvious.

“There’s a difference between self-made wealth and inherited wealth. People who are born to wealth and privilege are a different species.”