Chapter 27 Tate
TATE
“They’re paper?” I exclaim, taking the giant bouquet from Sullivan.
He stands beside his car, hands pushed casually into his pant pockets as he regards me carefully, gauging my reaction to the roses.
“And they’re made from music sheets.” I touch a petal, gently peeling it back so I can read it. “This is the song you were playing the night we—”
“The night we?” He arches a brow, and I shake my head, heat pinching at my cheeks.
“The other night,” I finish, checking another flower. “Are these… can you play all of them?”
“By memory.”
“Wow.”
I sneak a look at him and he’s watching me intently.
“Do you like them?”
“Are you kidding? I love them! No one’s ever given me something like this before.”
If I didn’t know better, I’d say his shoulders loosen in relief. But this is Sullivan Beaufort. Nothing flusters him.
“They’re one way of showing you I meant it when I said I wish to make it up to you.”
He gestures inside the backseat of the car, holding the door open for me. Cliff is sitting in the driver’s seat, and I smile at the fact Sullivan must have insisted on greeting me after work and opening the door for me himself.
I hand the paper roses to Sullivan so that I can climb inside.
“Hi Cliff,” I greet. “Oh, and hello, little rabbit.”
Molly grins from her car seat before I hold my arms out and take the flowers that Sullivan passes back to me.
He’s climbing in through the opposite door and into the backseat as I bop the ears on Molly’s onesie.
“I like this one. I think it’s my favorite,” I tell her.
Her little face turns serious, and she nods. “It a nice one.”
The way she takes her time over the word ‘nice’, making sure to pronounce it properly makes my heart melt. I’ve missed her this past couple of days.
Sullivan’s blue eyes capture mine over the top of the cream furry ears, and they crease at the corners as he listens to Molly.
I’ve missed him too.
Ashley wasn’t sure when I told her I was giving working for him another go. She said I should make him grovel until his knees bleed. But I don’t need fancy displays of him pouring his heart out to me.
I just want his honesty.
And the wild look in his eyes as he threw the contents of his desk off so he could help me when I hurt myself told me a lot more than extravagant gifts could.
He cares.
He even sucked my wound without a thought, getting my blood in his mouth. But seeing the edge of despair that was entwined with his actions pained me a billion times more than any cut could.
He was scared.
The way he yelled for the ambulance… I hate that something about that situation stirred up memories for him. Memories of people getting hurt. Memories of not having control.
I drop my attention back to the bouquet, smiling as I search through the petals, discovering note after note of beautiful, classical tunes.
This is Sullivan’s way of sharing a part of himself with me without actually needing to speak.
Maybe he finds words hard.
But these roses are something I am more than willing to listen to.
“You got a new sofa?” I say to Molly as I hold her hand and walk inside their home the following evening.
Last night I played with her while Sullivan worked. After, he made dinner for the three of us. That in itself was a surprise. But then I saw he made lasagna, one of my favorite dishes, which I’m sure I told Molly about once while he was busy working across the room.
Joan is back at work now. But Sullivan asked if I minded if he gave her the afternoons off when I’m helping with Molly. He said he likes that Molly gets to learn how to cook with me. Although last night it was him showing her how to layer the pasta sheets and spreading the sauce in-between.
I just got to sit and enjoy watching them.
My eyes slide over the new giant gray sectional sofa. Something else new. Yesterday it was a sculpture of a musical cleft, occupying the space on the table where the broken vase used to be. Today it’s a new sofa, even though their last one looked like new.
Molly runs over to the new sofa and climbs onto it.
“Did you feel like a change?” I ask Sullivan as he walks in behind us both, loosening his tie and undoing the top button of his shirt.
He swallows, making the five o’clock shadow dusting his throat move against his collar.
“The old one was itchy.”
I frown. His old sofa was beautiful. And comfy.
“But it was velvet.”
He shrugs. “I didn’t like it.”
Pulling something from his pocket, he walks over to me.
“Memorize this number, then throw this away.” He hands me a piece of paper with eight digits on it.
“What is it?”
“The alarm code. Now, come over here.”
He’s walked over to the security panel and is tapping something into it.
“Tate?” He looks back at me, hitching a brow.
I move to join him. “I don’t understand.”
“Thumb?”
He takes my hand when I don’t move. His brows flatten and he pauses, studying my fingertip that’s healing well enough. A quiet grumble leaves his throat, like the sight of the damaged skin bothers him. Then he gently places my thumb against the screen on the panel.
“What are you doing?”
“Scanning your thumbprint.” He’s focused on the lit-up panel as he keeps my hand held in place.
“Why?”
“Because that’s how you’ll gain access through the front door and to our level in the elevator.”
“But I’m always with you and Molly. Why would I need to be added?”
“There might be an occasion where I need you and Molly to come home ahead of me. Or I might require you to come and collect something for Molly without me. There are any number of reasons I might want you here, Tate,” Sullivan says, his face the picture of intent concentration as he completes my security set-up on the panel.
“Sure, that makes sense.”
My stomach does a tiny victory leap. This must be huge for him. He watches me like a hawk when I’m with Molly. He doesn’t even leave the room. Even if he never asks me to use the scanner, the act of him adding me speaks volumes alone.
Ashley is going to flip out when I tell her.
“Do you have much work to do?” I ask once he’s finished.
“I always have work to do.” He exhales, meeting my eyes. “But no, it can wait.”
“Oh… okay. Should I get started on dinner, then?”
I look at him, growing hot under his intense gaze. He hasn’t mentioned our night together once in the past two days. I thought perhaps he’s changed his mind and decided me coming back to work for him would be where he drew the line. That we should only have a professional relationship.
That would be the sensible thing to do. The wise decision.
He was nothing but a gentleman last night. Working when we came in, while I played with Molly, until he declared he wished to make dinner for us all. I expected him to need to work tonight too. Otherwise, why am I here?
“I thought…” His eyes drop to my lips, and he runs his tongue along his own, the move so sexy that I can’t not stare. “Perhaps you’d like to bathe Molly with me first?”
“Really?” I snap out of my trance. “You want me to help?”
His eyes glitter. “I do. But be warned, she likes to splash.”
The smile remains glued to my face while I run the bath in Molly’s bathroom. He’s never asked me to help with bathtime before.
Sullivan helps Molly undress by pretending to be a tummy-loving monster whose sole purpose is to deliver noisy, wet raspberries to unguarded tummies.
Her high-pitched squeals of delight as he presses one after another to her little round belly make my heart feel like it’s about to fly out of my chest. It’s hard to believe the same ruthless, suited billionaire is the same doting father who is now kneeling on the bathroom floor in designer suit pants, and a shirt rolled up to his elbows.
He drops his hand past all of the bubbles and tests the water temperature, before depositing a still giggling Molly in.
“Toys, Daddy!”
“How could I forget?” He winks at her and reaches for a plastic tub on the floor.
“This one?” he asks, tossing a little yellow duck in so it disappears underneath the bubbles.
Molly giggles and pushes her hands through the foam to search for it, sending water sloshing up the sides of the bath.
“Or did you mean this one?” He sends a small plastic monkey somersaulting through the air and into the water.
Molly laughs with all the unbridled joy of an almost three-year-old as toy after toy are sent sailing into the water in a succession of splashes and plops.
“Daddy!” she shrieks, like she’s telling him off.
“Sorry, Sweetheart,” he says. “Too many? Hold on, I’ll take some out.”
Sullivan bends over the side of the tub and sticks his head in the bubbles and swivels his head side to side like he’s searching out the submerged toys.
Molly’s laugh erupts into more belly shaking as he lifts his face and it’s completely covered in bubbles.
He blows out through his mouth, sending a shot of white foam up into the air.
Molly swipes at his face with a tiny hand, displacing enough bubbles that he can see out of one eye. “Daddy!”
“A towel, if you’d be so kind please, Tate?” he says, holding out a hand behind him.
I laugh and grab one, pressing it into his palm. He moves it to his face like he’s about to wipe himself, then stops.
“Just one kiss first,” he declares.
Molly pushes at his face with a toothy grin, obviously having played this game before. I lean one elbow on the side of the tub as I watch her tip her head back with a gurgling laugh as he presses kiss after kiss to her neck and face, covering her in bubbles too.
A sweet and fuzzy feeling soaks through my body like a warm tide as I’m allowed to witness the moment between them, and the special bond they have.
Sullivan wipes Molly’s face for her before he does his own. Then he sets about expertly washing her dark curls for her as she sits happily.
I reach beneath the water and feel around.
“It’s like a treasure trove down here,” I exclaim, widening my eyes at Molly, which makes her grin.
I pull up the first thing—a small mermaid.
“Pretty,” Molly comments, fishing around, then brandishing her own discovery of a small frog playing a guitar.
“Ooh, and a talented musician,” I say, looking at the green toy.
“Pretty and talented,” Sullivan muses, his voice a deep husk that has me lifting my eyes to him.
He’s watching me, his dark hair curled a little around the front where it’s wet. A small patch of bubbles is still clinging to the top of his dark chest hair beneath his unbuttoned shirt.
“Very pretty and talented,” he repeats.