Chapter Two #2
I straighten my shoulders. “I’m the nanny.”
“Really,” she says with a disbelieving snort.
“Mia? Who’s at the door?” Before I can reply, Austin comes up behind me, his big, warm body solid behind me. “Kayla? What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Daddy, who’s here? Are we having company? Can I say hi?” Bailey’s little voice sounds from behind us, and Austin stiffens.
“Is that my Bailey?” Kayla asks, taking a step forward.
“Get Bailey out of here now,” Austin says harshly in my ear.
His body language, his tone of voice vibrates with barely leashed anger he obviously doesn’t want his daughter to hear or see. No more than he wants to see his ex-wife.
I swing around him, scoop Bailey into my arms, and bring her back into the kitchen with her grandparents.
I mouth who the visitor is to Austin’s parents, and we help me keep Bailey busy. I need the same distraction. I only wish I could be a fly on the wall to hear what is going on between Austin and his ex-wife outside.
* * *
Austin
I stare at my ex, furious that she’s shown up on my doorstep without warning. Asking to see the little girl she mistreated is just ammunition to make me even angrier.
I pull the door closed behind me so Bailey can’t hear and face Kayla on the front porch. First impressions matter, and one look at her in a skanky dress and heels tells me she isn’t here to kneel down and hug the child she hasn’t seen in two years.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, folding my arms across my chest.
“I think that’s obvious. I want to see my daughter.” But there is nothing maternal in her voice or her demeanor. There is calculating going on behind those eyes. I am sure of it.
“Try again.” I block the door with my body, lest she get some bright idea about trying to push past me.
She didn’t want to be Bailey’s mother to begin with. Having a baby, then a toddler was too much work, too hard when she’d rather be partying and spending money.
She steps closer, the cloying scent of her perfume too familiar and unwelcome. “Come on, Austin. Let me come in. We have a lot of catching up to do.” She follows up her words by trailing her fingers up my chest in a fake seduction attempt neither of us is really buying.
Yep. She wants something.
“Where’s Marco?” I ask of the man she left me for, a bottom-feeder who is only too happy to live off the settlement I gave her when we divorced.
She pulls off her sunglasses and meets my stare. “We broke up.”
I narrow my gaze. “Don’t tell me you ran through the settlement money.”
“It wasn’t enough, and you know it,” she says, pouting like a child.
“It was plenty when you grabbed it in exchange for custody. Which I have. Sole custody,” I remind her. “So don’t expect to come sniffing around Bailey now. She’s happier without you.” Because her mother can’t be bothered to pay enough attention to her to keep her safe. I cringe at the reminder.
She shakes her head. “Don’t fool yourself.
Courts take pity on mothers. Especially ones who were coerced into giving up custody in the first place by their ex-husband.
The situation wasn’t at all fair and I’ll have no problem telling my story in court.
” She blinks up at me, the fake tears in her eyes a definite threat.
“What do you want?” I ask past gritted teeth. Although I already know.
She wants more money to go away and leave Bailey alone.
“Pay me,” she says, confirming my hunch. “You owe me for screwing up my body to give birth in the first place.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. There is no way in hell I’ll let her near my child.
The problem with paying her is if I give in now, there will be no end to her blackmail in the future.
Every time she runs low on cash, she’ll return with the same threat of taking me to court to regain her parental rights with a bullshit sob story.
She is a very good actress. Good enough to convince a judge she is a loving mother who had her child wrongfully taken away in the first place.
Didn’t I fall for her claims of love, of having gotten pregnant by accident, of us being in it together…
until she was ready to admit to the truth?
Pins in my condoms worked wonders. Kayla is a classic walking, talking cliché, and I fell for every one of her tricks.
I school my face into a bored mask, refusing to show her how much her threat rattles me. “I’m not paying you, Kayla. You got your settlement.” But I need time to think of a better plan.
She shakes her head and smiles. “You will. You’ll walk back inside, take one look at the little girl who looks just like you, and you’ll do anything to keep her away from me. I can wait for you to come around.” She pats my cheek and I flinch at her unwanted touch.
“Go away.”
She treats me to a patronizing wink. “Just don’t take too long. I might get bored and go talk to a lawyer and tell him your girlfriend is a little young. As well as everything else I mentioned.” She pivots on her heel and strides away.
I don’t bother correcting her that Mia is the nanny. “Bitch,” I mutter under my breath. I stand outside for another solid five minutes, breathing in the cool air. I need the time to calm the fuck down before heading inside and facing my daughter.
* * *
Mia
Nobody talks about Bailey’s mother’s visit, at least not that I hear.
The adults are careful of her little, always attentive ears.
She is immediately distracted by dessert after her sandwich and she never even asks who was at the door earlier.
But Austin is stressed and on edge for the rest of the afternoon.
I take the girls outside to play on the big wooden swing set in the yard, and I am certain Austin uses the time to fill his parents in on whatever went on with his ex. My heart goes out to him because he’s definitely been anxious and off ever since.
Luckily, Bailey falls asleep early and easily thanks to the morning walking around the zoo and the afternoon outside. I have a small television in my room and am going to watch TV, but I want a cup of tea first, so I head to the kitchen, surprised to find Austin sitting in the dark.
“Do you mind?” I ask softly, my hand on the light switch.
“Go ahead.”
I turn on the overheads.
He sits in one of the kitchen chairs, looking rumpled and sexy, his hair standing on end from his hand running through it, a pair of track pants on his hips, and no shirt covering his upper body.
My gaze locks on the sexy tattoo trailing up one arm, from his wrist up to, and over, his shoulder, his bare, muscular chest causing flutters in my belly.
“I was just going to get tea. Can I make you some?” I ask. “I picked up some chamomile. It might help you relax.” I guess the reason he sits in the kitchen is stress over today’s mess with his ex.
“Why not? Nothing else is helping.”
I pull two mugs from the counter. One of the things I appreciate about this job is the easy instant hot water attached to the sink. No taking time to boil water for a cup of hot tea.
“Sugar or milk?” I ask him.
“Plain. Like my coffee.”
I add water, drop the teabags in the cups, and put sugar in mine only. “I’m a good listener,” I offer, placing his mug in front of him on the table. “And unloading might help your blood pressure a lot more than the tea.”
I wait for him to meet my gaze and nod before joining him, settling into the chair beside his.
“I’m not really sure where to begin.”
I shrug. “Try the beginning. I find it’s the simplest place.”
A reluctant smile tugs at his mouth. He is so serious and intense, I brace myself and wait for him to find the words to explain.
“I wasn’t in love with Kayla,” he says at last. “We’d barely been dating a month, but she got pregnant. I thought since we were in it together, I should step up and do the right thing,” he says.
I let my tea sit and cool off while I listen, more interested than I should be about his history, for personal reasons more than professional curiosity. I care about him and his daughter. “Sounds admirable,” I say.
He scrubs a hand over his face, rubbing his eyes.
“Maybe. But the thing is, we weren’t in it together.
She got pregnant on purpose and didn’t tell me until after we were married and things went to hell.
I guess she thought my job was exciting and I had money to keep her happy.
” He snorts at that. “There was nothing happy about her.”
I wince, shocked any woman would trap a man—outside a television soap opera, that is. “Why wasn’t she at least satisfied if she’d gotten what she wanted from you?” I ask, wondering about the ex-Mrs. Rhodes, who I dislike more with everything I learn about her.