Chapter 20
CARI
“Close the door behind you,” Jett orders.
Ouch.
I face him, already knowing that this isn't good.
“When were you going to tell me about what happened at Abigail's?” He starts pacing around with his hands in his pockets, his brow furrowed.
“I didn't have time to think about that,” I reply, truthfully. As I watch him, I start wondering who called him. As far as I was concerned, I was trying to cheer Brooke up. Her well-being was my main concern, then we put up the tent and then he called her down to dinner. I didn’t have time to tell him. Yet . “I would have told you, eventually,” I say, feeling as if I'm to blame, when I'm clearly not. I hate that he makes me feel like this.
“But you didn’t. Instead, I found out because Abigail called me.” He walks over to a wooden desk near the center of the room. A green banker's lamp stands on one side, but with his rolled-up sleeves, his bare forearms steal my attention. He presses his hands on the desk, flexing. All I see are his thick veins. It’s enough to kickstart my fantasies.
I drag my gaze back up to his eyes, forcing myself to focus.
“Abigail said you were out of order. You have been described as being accusatory, rude, and defiant.”
Trust her to call Jett to whine. “I’m not surprised,” I retort.
“Neither am I.”
“She and her daughter accused Brooke of breaking her doll—”
He cuts me off. “She didn't say anything about that.”
“What?” I gasp. “She didn't?” I search his face for clues. “Why did she call you, then?”
“Because you obviously made an impression,” he answers, dryly.
“This isn't about the broken doll?”
“What broken doll?” he growls.
I sink back, wondering what game Abigail is playing. “She knows who broke it,” I say, feeling smug.
“I don't know what you're talking about, but you can't be rude and shoot your mouth off when you're here.” I listen to him, frowning in disbelief. “Here, you must talk to people with respect. Abigail alleges that you were rude to her and her daughter, and that your behavior was threatening.”
“But she didn't mention anything about the doll?”
“I heard nothing about a doll! She said the girls had a disagreement.”
I chortle. “Jett. You've only heard half the story, and without the context—”
“You do not know these people, Cari—”
“I know enough about them.”
“There you go again! You cannot lose your temper, or insult them, no matter what the disagreement is about.”
“You only have half the story.”
“Cari.” Here it comes. This man is pissed and gritting his teeth together. “You were a guest at their house. You are here as a nanny. You have no right to talk to Abigail like that.”
“Her daughter made Brooke cry!” I raise my voice.
He stops and blinks. “What?” His eyes narrow to slits. It’s the first inkling I have that he's realized there's more to the situation than he's been led to believe.
I slap a hand to my forehead. “She really thought she could complain to you about me and I wouldn't say a word in my defense? Of course, I’m going to tell you what really happened. How incredibly stupid,” I mutter. I have a feeling that the doll problem has solved itself, because Abigail’s found out the truth. And it probably doesn't paint her in a good light. “Do you know what happened? Why I told Abigail that she and her daughter needed to apologize to Brooke?”
“You said that?”
“I sure did,” I say proudly. “I told her that she and her daughter needed to apologize to Brooke for making such unjust accusations without a shred of evidence.”
He takes in a breath. A popped vein throbs along his forehead.
“Her daughter alleges that Brooke broke her prized designer doll.” I go on to tell him everything. “But Brooke didn't. I was with her the whole time. And when they accused Brooke in front of everyone, Brooke started to cry. I wasn't having any of their blatant lies and accusations,” I roar, outraged as I relive that moment.
His cell phone rings, he answers it. I walk around the library and start looking at the bookshelves.
“Oh, hi. Yes. Yes. Oh. Is that what happened? I see. You're sure?”
I turn around and gape at him. He scrubs his hand over his face. “Proof, huh. No, Brooke is ... she's been excited about a tent, apparently. She and Cari put it up after they got back from Abigail’s. Yes, Cari. Oh.” He looks at me. “That's not quite the word I would use to describe her, but she does grow on people.”
He's talking about me. I fold my arms and wonder who that was. It doesn’t sound like Abigail calling him with her forked devil's tail between her legs.
He gives a restrained laugh. “Thanks for letting me know, Celine. Yes, we'll have to meet if possible. Goodbye.”
Celine?
I wish I could talk to her.
Jett hangs up and lets out a long exhale, as if he's letting the tension seep out of his body.
“What did the lovely Celine have to say?” I ask.
“You met her?”
“She was at the lunch.”
He shrugs. “She wasn't there when it happened—”
“She had to get something for her daughter.”
“Right. Zara, her granddaughter, told her what happened, and how Brooke was upset and started crying. She claims that Madison was nasty to her—”
“She was. I told you that.”
“Right.” He scrubs his jaw, looking sheepish. “Celine remembers that they have cameras on in the house and she insisted they check the footage. Abigail wasn't too keen on it, but Celine put her foot down. Zara was upset that Brooke was crying.”
I love Celine. I want to hug her. I want to ask her to meet me for a coffee. “Go on,” I say, smiling because I know Celine would have had Brooke's back. Not that Jett didn't, but he was just played by a woman who wanted to make me look bad.
“The footage showed that it wasn't Brooke who broke the doll.”
I waggle my finger at him, my anger overflowing. I don't care if Jett Knight has to bear the brunt of my wrath. “I know the cameras didn't show Brooke breaking it. You know why? Because I trust your daughter, and I was with her the whole time. Moreover, even if I weren’t with her the whole time, I know Brooke would never do something like that. I don't even spend that much time with her, but I know she's a lovely little girl. Unlike Madison ...” My lips press together as I fight to keep my words to myself. I recall that conviction on her face, the accusation that came a little too easily.
“The video footage showed that Madison went into the room before you all went into the cinema, and she snapped the doll in half,” Jett says, wearily.
“I’m not in the least bit surprised,” I say with smug satisfaction. “I hope Madison will make a great big groveling apology to Brooke, and I hope you'll be man enough to sit Brooke down and tell her that you are sorry you didn't ask for her side of the story before siding with Abigail's mother. Oh, but Abigail’s mother didn’t call to tell you about that part of it. She called you to complain about me.”
The color drains from his face. “I'm sorry for accusing you of being rude to her.”
“You don't have to apologize to me, Mr. Knight. I'll always do the right thing by Brooke. I don't expect you to stand up for me, I am more than capable of standing up for myself, but I'd stand up for Brooke in a heartbeat.”
“I'm sorry.” He lets out another loud exhale again, and his shoulders sag. He pinches the bridge of his nose, and I notice the dark circles under his eyes. He looks tired. “I had meetings all day with my father, then various other CEOs. I wasn't thinking straight.”
“No, Jett. You weren't thinking at all, and this woman fed you facts out of context. The least you could have done was ask me what happened.”
“I'm sorry for not believing you.”
The long day, coupled with my anger at the injustice Brooke faced, and now with Abigail's call, have wiped me out. My filter is off. “It's funny how in New York, I don't hear that word from your mouth, and in Bermuda, you've said it to me twice in twenty-four hours. What's going on?”
He stares at me blankly. “I don't know myself.”
I turn to leave.
“Have dinner with us,” he says.
“Thank you, but no. I have friends to call.”
His face hardens. He didn’t like me saying that. I can read him like a book. “Celine thought you were refreshing,” he says, as I open the door.
“I think she’s lovely.” I walk into the hallway, ready to ascend the stairs, longing for the peace and quiet of my room, when Brooke runs towards us.
“Daddy says we’re all going on a trip tomorrow,” she chirps, clearly thrilled by the idea.
A rock lands heavy in my chest. “We’re doing what now?” I glance at Jett, who’s watching me with an unreadable expression.
“We’re going on a big boat! Just the three of us.”
I blink. “I don’t have to come if you’re going with your Daddy.”
Brooke’s face falls. “But I want you to come.”
I force a smile, trying to hide my unease. “Of course. We’ll have so much fun.”