“Come on. Let’s go down to my office and we’ll get the nursery furniture ordered.”
They headed downstairs and Aiden led them to the double French doors, into one of the coziest, most gorgeous rooms Sarah had ever seen. The office had a different feel to it than the rest of the house, warmer and more colorful. The walls were a deep navy, and an ornate Oriental carpet sat in the center of the room, topped with a pair of club chairs and a massive oak desk. Bookshelves lined two of the walls from floor to ceiling.
“More books? Even with the home library?”
Aiden shrugged and rounded to the chocolate-brown leather desk chair. “I like to read. It’s a nice escape.”
“Escape? From what?”
“Excuse me?”
“From where I sit, you have a pretty perfect life. You have this gorgeous home, a job that tons of people would kill for and you don’t seem to be hurting from the financial end of things. More than anything, you don’t seem to do anything you don’t want to do. At all. Ever.”
For a moment, he just glared, not saying a word. He wasn’t angry, nor was he pleased. “You say whatever you want to say, don’t you?”
“It’s not that bizarre a question. I’ve seen the pictures. Skydiving. Hiking the Andes. I’m just wondering what you need to escape from.”
“Stress,” he answered flatly, methodically spinning a pen on a pad of paper. She hadn’t noticed his hands much before now and she was kicking herself for not paying better attention. His fingers moved gracefully, demonstrating their ability to do things deftly, but they were manly, too—strong. Able.
“Stress.” Her stupid brain leaped ahead to methods of reducing stress and none of it had to do with reading. Again she was knee-deep in thoughts of what he looked like under that T-shirt.
“Yes.” He opened his laptop and placed his fingers on the keyboard, but stopped before typing. “I don’t even know where to start. Do I just search for baby crib?”
“Here. Let me do it.” She carried Oliver around behind Aiden’s desk and handed him the baby. Oliver settled in on Aiden’s lap, but reached for the pen.
“Can I let him have this?”
“No. He’ll put it in his mouth. You can run upstairs and grab a toy out of his room.”
Aiden raised an eyebrow as if she’d made the most ludicrous suggestion ever.
She shrugged and waved him off. “Gotta start being Daddy sometime. Now shoo. Let me see what I can find online.”
Aiden trekked out of the office with Oliver. Sarah rested her chin on her hand, watching as they made their way down the straight shot of the house, past the library and the kitchen, until they disappeared up the stairs. Aiden was so big, Oliver so tiny in his arms. She hoped to hell they would be okay on Sunday, after she left. She couldn’t bear the thought of anything else.
She pulled up a browser window and quickly found a furniture place offering next day delivery in Manhattan. That was the genius part of being in a big city. Virtually anything could be delivered at any time. Once she was done, a delivery truck would be set to arrive in front of Aiden’s building tomorrow morning. And she’d be one step closer to removing herself from Aiden’s and Oliver’s life.
Five
Aiden had learned one thing already—fatherhood was no walk in the park. He’d struggled through his first attempt at feeding Oliver his dinner. With no high chair, they’d had to improvise by wheeling Oliver’s stroller into the dining room. The baby rubbed his eyes and turned his head, refusing every spoonful Aiden offered. He had to hand it to Sarah, though—she only gave advice when asked. She’d otherwise sat by quietly and watched as a man capable of orchestrating billion-dollar deals and negotiating with cantankerous CEOs was unable to convince a fussy toddler to take a single bite of food. Frustrated, he’d finally asked her to do it. She took over, Oliver downing an entire jar of baby food with hardly a single complaint. Aiden walked away from the dinner table with a bruised ego. And baby food on his jeans.
He wasn’t sure what to make of bath time, either. But this time, Sarah took charge.
“This is the only tub you have in the house?”
Aiden failed to understand the question. The tub was perfect, in that it fit two people. For him, seduction was the only reason to get in a bathtub. “Yes. What’s wrong with it?”
“It’s huge.”
“Of course it is. It’s a two-person soaking tub.” He cleared his throat, waiting for her next comment.
“Well, you’re going to have to get in there with him. I refuse to bathe a child in the kitchen sink. It’s not sanitary.”