29. Maeve
MAEVE
If I think too much about what’s happening, I know I’ll completely freak out.
Luckily, I think I’m still just sick enough that I can’t think properly. My head still feels heavy and groggy, and I’m struggling not to fall asleep again.
But seriously, if you’d told me just last month—or even last week—that I would be soaking in a tub while my gorgeous, billionaire, emotionally unavailable boss washed my hair, I’d have told you that you were in need of therapy.
Ford just held my hair back while I threw up, and now he’s helping me bathe. I’m half-wondering if this is all a fever-induced hallucination.
Still, I really did need this bath. And the scalp massage is doing wonders for my headache. I still feel kind of gross and sick, but throwing up really did help settle my stomach. I think after this bath, if I just sleep for the rest of the day, I’ll be fine tomorrow.
I look around at this beautiful bathroom with its marble surfaces and gold fixtures. The whole house is stunning. “What was it like, growing up here?” I ask.
“Most of it was really great. My parents wanted to make sure we were happy and well taken care of, and that meant we usually were. If there was a sport we wanted to try or a place we wanted to visit or a toy we wanted, then sure, why not? We were kids—they wanted us to actually enjoy childhood.”
“It sounds lovely.” And the complete opposite of my childhood.
“It usually was. But sometimes it created problems. My dad thinks that being happy means material success, which is why he didn’t like it when I struck out on my own. He worried I wouldn’t make it. And I think he thought it was… disloyal.”
I suppose that makes sense. “Is that why you two are… I mean, Lydia talked a bit about it. She really admires you and looks up to you for building your business from nothing. She wants to strike out on her own too, with her art.”
“I’m glad to hear it. If that’s what will make her happy, she deserves to pursue it.”
“But your father won’t be happy about that either.”
Ford sighs and rinses off his hands in the bath water, then leans against the side of the tub.
“Dad thinks we need to be responsible. But he didn’t really set us up to understand responsibility.
He’s disappointed in Liam for not making a success of anything and just partying constantly, when he and my mom are the ones who spoiled Liam rotten in the first place.
He doesn’t want Lydia to do art because he thinks it’s not lucrative or stable, but they’re the ones who indulged her every whim as a kid and made sure she always had something to fall back on. ”
“That makes it even more impressive that you went out and made something of yourself,” I tell him. “You’re not just coasting on your parents’ money.”
Like Liam.
“I want to be like that,” I add before I can stop myself. “I want to achieve something meaningful, build something that matters, be accomplished in my own right.”
Ford smiles at me with genuine warmth. “I have complete faith you’ll succeed, Spitfire.”
“Your family’s been very kind to me, welcoming me into their home. I know they’re not perfect, obviously, but I just wanted to say—thank you, I guess. They’ve been wonderful. And I know with Liam here it must be awkward, but… they’re not making a big deal of it.”
“Thanks. They are good people, including Dad. He’s not mean or anything, he just doesn’t always understand things. It comes from a place of genuine worry.”
“I understand that kind of concern. I wish my parents had worried about me even a fraction of that much. But they only ever cared about themselves.” I can’t quite keep the bitter edge out of my voice.
“You sound a little jealous.”
“I am,” I admit with a laugh. “I’m sorry.
I don’t mean to be. I’m so happy that you had all this, had this family.
It’s just reminding me of everything I didn’t have.
I didn’t have siblings, although I always wanted them.
I guess I thought if I had them, they would love me and I would love them, and it would take some of the sting out of our parents not loving us. ”
I sigh. “I think that’s why I stayed with Liam as long as I did. I just wanted to feel wanted, you know? For all the good that did me.”
Ford’s brows draw together. “You are wanted, Maeve.”
I’m startled by the conviction in his voice. I don’t know what to say to that.
Ford doesn’t elaborate. We just sit there in comfortable silence for a while. It’s not awkward—it’s actually pretty nice.
He gets up and helps me out of the tub before the water gets too cold. He even dries my hair for me, then helps me back into my robe before scooping me up and carrying me back to bed.
My eyelids feel incredibly heavy, and I’m asleep the second my head hits the pillow.
When I wake up the next morning, I’m feeling ten times better.
I stretch out in bed with a smile on my face. I was right—it was just a twenty-four-hour bug. I’m sure all the stress and confusion and excitement of the last few days helped trigger it. All I needed was rest and fluids.
How amazing it is to not feel nauseous! And to not ache all over! I’m never taking good health for granted again. I make myself that promise after every time I get sick.
Of course, all the other times I’ve been sick, I haven’t had such attentive caregivers. Or any caregivers at all, actually.
Sitting up, the extra blankets Ford brought me slide off.
All the dishes have been cleared away at some point, although I vaguely remember seeing a pile of bowls on the nightstand yesterday.
I can’t believe they remembered exactly what I like to eat when I’m sick.
It’s always been too much work to skip going into the office when I’ve been ill before, so I would just splurge and order the soups I wanted to sip at my desk while bundled up and taking as much medicine as I could without making myself loopy.
Miso soup is a perfect variation on chicken noodle—both clear and hearty—and the spicy Thai soup clears out your sinuses like nobody’s business.
All three of them took such incredible care of me. I don’t know what to make of it.
Well, now that I’m feeling better, I don’t want to miss out on anything. Especially not the meeting with Silver Start. I would never forgive myself if Ford brought me all the way out here and orchestrated this whole charade only for me to be sick at the crucial moment.
A shower helps me finish feeling like a real human being, and I strip the bed so I can take the sheets down to laundry. I’m sure Elaine has staff who handle this, and I don’t know where the spare linens are kept, but I want to do what I can.
Finally, I make it to the kitchen for actual food. I can’t believe how wonderful it feels to have an appetite again. I feel like I want to eat everything in sight.
Ford and Gabriel are at the breakfast nook table, papers and laptops spread out between them, talking quietly and typing. Hayden’s at the stove, and there are empty egg cartons, a bottle of rum, various spices, and other ingredients scattered across the counter.
That brings me up short. “Good… morning? What are you doing?”
“You must be feeling better,” Gabriel says with a genuine grin. “You have more color than yesterday, petit oiseau doux. ”
“We’re eating breakfast,” Ford says dryly.
“I meant Hayden.” I walk over to see what he’s up to. “I didn’t know you could cook.”
“I can do a lot of things. Just because I don’t need to do them doesn’t mean I can’t.”
“What are you making, then?” I think I can guess from the ingredients, but I’d like to be sure.
“Eggnog.”
That’s what I suspected. “But you don’t like eggnog.”
“I’ve had a change of heart. Now I like it.”
I frown at Hayden. He has to be lying, but I can’t figure out why he would.
“Here.” Hayden gestures to several glasses, each filled with eggnog. I can see slight differences in the color of the various batches. “Try them.”
“If this is your attempt to poison me, you’re being really obvious about it, doing it with witnesses,” I joke, trying to cover the flutter in my stomach.
Hayden just nudges me with his elbow. “Go on.”
I try each of the eggnogs in turn. I can feel Hayden’s gaze on me, watching my every reaction.
It’s hard to concentrate when he’s looking at me like this.
Hayden has always seemed to have an uncanny ability to read me, and I’m used to his attention, but always as my boss, never like this.
This feels like something new and different, and I don’t know where I stand with him now.
Not after what happened the other night.
I savor each drink, rolling the liquid over my tongue, really thinking about the flavor and texture before I swallow. Finally, I tap one of the glasses. “I think this one is the best. I like it. Nice and spicy, but balanced, not overwhelming.”
“You sound like a judge on a cooking show,” Ford comments, but his tone is fond and amused.
Hayden looks satisfied as he takes the glass from me. “Good to know.”
His gaze is still on me, that look of pleasure in his eyes, and I don’t know what to do with the attention. He can claim he likes eggnog now all he wants, but he’s not the one who tried the different versions. He had me do it. And now he’s pleased that I liked one of them.
It has to mean something, doesn’t it? Or am I reading way too much into this?
“Oh, you’re up!” Elaine says, making me jump as she bustles into the kitchen.
She pulls me into a warm hug and kisses my cheek. “I’m so glad to see that you’re feeling better, dear. You are feeling better, aren’t you? Do you need anything?”
“I’m feeling much better, I promise. I was just going to have some breakfast.”
“Oh, perfect timing. And just in time, too. There are quite a few holiday parties happening, and the first one is tonight. The Clairmont family is hosting. They always go overboard. I think it’s because they’re British and they’re trying to prove they’re more sophisticated than us Americans…”