Chapter 9 Tate #2
I wait until he turns and strides down a hallway lined with doors before I check my shirt for a stain, or for whatever it is that keeps stealing his attention. But there’s nothing except Caffeine Couture’s logo stitched onto the pink fabric.
Multiple bedrooms, a home gym, cinema room, and office—all get shown to me. I’m grateful to stop and catch my breath as we stop in a bright, fun room that’s decorated like a jungle with a princess carriage bed inside it.
Sullivan puts Molly down and she runs over to a toy basket before returning with a baby doll in her arms.
“Hold baby,” she instructs, thrusting the doll into my stomach.
“She has quite the collection,” Sullivan says.
He’s leaning against the doorframe, hands in his pant pockets. Tenderness softens the line of his mouth as his attention remains on Molly, who’s picked up another baby doll and is cradling it against her, shushing it and rubbing its back.
“You sure do. A fine collection,” I say to Molly as I take in the baby cot and stroller with more dollies inside. In the center of the room is the bed. The pillows are barely visible beneath the mound of stuffed animals on it.
Sullivan’s phone buzzes and he pulls it out.
“My lawyer’s here,” he announces, falling into business mode. “I’d appreciate it if you and Molly stayed in the living area while I meet with him.”
“Of course,” I say, grinning at Molly as she takes my hand and tugs me from the room.
The man who Sullivan lets in appears in the living area a few moments later. He seems to be in his late thirties, and despite a designer suit that fits him almost as well as Sullivan’s does, his demeanor couldn’t be any more different.
“Hello.” He makes a beeline for me after greeting Molly and extends his hand with a friendly smile. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”
My cheeks heat as he closes both of his hands around mine and pumps it enthusiastically, his eyes roaming my face like he’s admiring every inch of it.
“Jones, this is Tate. Tate, this is my lawyer, Jones,” Sullivan clips, moving to stand at my side, so close that the heat of his body rolls off him and seeps toward mine.
Jones grins. “Tate,” he repeats. “Lovely to meet you. How long have you two been dating?”
The choked sound that comes from Sullivan’s throat makes me snap my eyes to his face.
“We’re not dating,” he balks. “She’s here to help with Molly.”
“My mistake,” Jones says, not looking at all shocked by Sullivan’s reaction.
Meanwhile, I dampen down a surge of offense heating the blood in my veins, and picture punching him in his rude mouth.
So I’m not an actress or a model. I don’t look smooth and polished like Cara, and all the other people he’s surrounded by in his fancy over-the-top offices. But he doesn’t need to be a jerk.
“Caffeine Couture,” Jones hums thoughtfully, reading the logo on my shirt. “That’s the place next door to the office on Fifth Avenue, right?”
“It is.” I smile back brightly for no other reason than Jones talking to me seems to be making Sullivan tenser.
“Hmm. I need a new place to grab a coffee when I’m in the area. I’ll have to swing by.”
“You should,” I tell him. “We make the best.”
“I’m sure you do.” He winks.
The sharp intake of breath next to me makes my smile stretch, which Jones seems to interpret as a response to his flirting.
“So nice to meet you, Tate,” he says, eyes dropping to the logo on my shirt again. “I’ll be sure to come in and taste that coffee of yours.”
“Contracts,” Sullivan barks, stepping forward and placing himself between Jones and I. He gestures to a large dining table on the other side of the expansive room. Jones walks ahead of him, placing his briefcase on the table and snapping open the locks on it.
“I won’t be long,” Sullivan says, lowering his voice as he looks at Molly, happily sitting on the thick cream rug, talking to one of her baby dolls.
“It’s fine. We’ll be okay.”
He frowns, and a fleeting look passes over his features, like he doesn’t want to leave, despite the fact he isn’t going into his home office, but has chosen to stay in the same room as us.
Something I suspect he planned, not yet trusting me to be out of his sight with his daughter.
But his protectiveness only makes me sympathize with him.
“We’ll be okay. I’ll look after her,” I soothe, placing my hand over the forearm of his jacket without thinking.
He stiffens, his eyes dropping to my hand. I whip it away and tuck it behind me like he might rip it off if I don’t.
“Sorry.” I swallow, not quite understanding why I’m apologizing, but knowing I must have crossed some invisible line judging from the way his eyes are trained on mine like fierce lasers.
“I won’t be long,” he repeats, before spinning on his heels and striding over to Jones.
Molly and I play with her dollies while the two men discuss the pages of paperwork covering the table. But the time passes quickly and they’re soon packing up.
Jones walks past with his briefcase.
“Bye, Molly. Nice to meet you, Tate,” he says, glancing at my shirt logo again. “I’ll come in for that coffee soon.”
“You should.” I smile.
I giggle internally as Sullivan sees him out. Ashley will love having a guy as flirty as Jones coming in. She’ll have him overflowing our tip jar without him even realizing what’s happening.
Sullivan storms back into the room, having removed his tie and jacket. The top two buttons of his shirt are undone, revealing a tense, flushed neck. He stops in front of Molly and me and stands with his hands on his hips.
“Uniform,” he grumbles. “Do you want me to provide one for you, or do you have something more suitable to wear while you’re working for me?”
“Um…” I hand my baby doll to Molly. “Can you please rock him to sleep for me? You’ve done such a good job with your baby. But he’s struggling to drift off,” I say softly.
“There, there, baby,” she coos, taking over beautifully as I stand to face Sullivan, keeping my voice a whisper.
“What do you mean? Do you want me to wear a uniform?”
“I don’t…” He purses his lips, hands still braced on his hips. “I don’t require you to wear a uniform. But you cannot wear that.” His eyes drag over my pink shirt and skirt again before he snaps them away, his jaw clenching.
I look down and finally understand what it is that’s bothering him. My cheeks heat as I adjust the straining material, trying to close the gaps between the buttons where the material gapes.
“It shrank when my dad washed it. I know…” I swallow down the humiliation. “I know my figure doesn’t exactly suit the style, but—”
“The style is fine,” he barks, before his eyes flick up to the ceiling and he runs his tongue over his lips. “I just… I can’t have you wearing it.”
I nod, my cheeks burning. Ashley has a new one coming for me. One that will fit and not show every curve and bump.
“It’s…” Sullivan’s head drops down and his eyes snag on my shirt. He grimaces, like the sight angers him. “You wearing that… It’s… distracting.” A vein in his temple throbs and he breathes in deeply, like he’s trying to maintain control.
I frown. “Distracting?”
His pupils flare, and a flash of something that looks like heat, but can’t be, blazes through his eyes. It’s gone in an instant.
“Um… okay, sure. I’ll bring my own clothes next time.”
His shoulders relax and his jaw slackens. “Make sure you do.”