‘I realise that,’ he said, the flicker of acknowledgement oddly gratifying. ‘But I’m not particularly good with children.’
She had gathered that much already but, before she could point out that he could learn, the way she had, he added, ‘And I have no aptitude or desire to learn.’
The statement was so unequivocal she felt desperately sorry for him. But instead of saying the first thing that came into her head—that Nico had already made an attachment to him, and that his life would be so much richer with this little boy in it—she stopped herself. It wasn’t her job to tell this man what his relationship with his nephew should or could be. And she’d certainly be much better off not having to deal with him on a regular basis.
‘Okay,’ she murmured. ‘If that’s what you want.’
‘Mr Blackstone, the sale on the property you selected is complete,’ the woman standing next to him, who had been tapping on her smartphone throughout their conversation, piped up.
Blackstone nodded. ‘Good work, Lisa.’
‘Not that good, Mr Blackstone,’ Lisa said, still clicking. ‘I’m afraid they wouldn’t settle for anything less than twenty-eight point five.’
Twenty-eight point five what? Bronte thought, wondering why Blackstone was making property deals in the midst of a children’s hospital. Wasn’t that taking multi-tasking a bit too far?
‘Not a problem,’ Lukas replied. ‘Twenty-eight point five million sterling isn’t bad for a house in that location.’
Bronte simply blinked, feeling as if she’d just jumped back into the alternate reality she’d been ushered into twelve hours ago when she’d found herself aboard Lukas Blackstone’s private jet climbing into the night sky over JFK.
Twenty-eight point five million pounds? What kind of house was he buying?
It didn’t take her long to find out when he continued talking to Lisa, who Bronte had realised must be another of his many personal assistants.
‘Arrange to move Ms O’Hara and the boy’s possessions in as soon as possible. Hire the staff. And then handle the other details.’
‘Excuse me, but where is Ms O’Hara moving to?’ Bronte asked. ‘And what staff?’
‘I’ve purchased you and Nico a property in Regent’s Park,’ Lukas said with about as much inflection as if he’d just informed her he’d bought her a caramel latte. ‘Lisa is my executive assistant in the London office of Blackstone’s,’ he continued. ‘She’ll make all the necessary arrangements to see you settled in there tonight. Hire the necessary staff. So it’s ready for the boy when he’s well enough to leave the hospital.’
‘But we already have a home in Hackney,’ Bronte said. Maybe their tiny basement flat wasn’t exactly salubrious but it was all she could afford on her salary.
‘It’s no longer suitable,’ he said, as if that answered anything.
‘Why not?’ she replied, trying to stay calm and stop the panic from fuelling her temper. Maybe she should be grateful for his generosity but what gave him the right to swoop in and take over their lives?
Instead of giving her an answer, he spoke to the two men in dark suits who had accompanied him onto the ward and remained silent and watchful throughout the conversation. ‘This is Nico, gentlemen.’ He indicated the boy. ‘He’s a Blackstone. I expect him to be guarded with your lives. There is never to be less than two guards on him at all times. Understood?’
Both men nodded.
‘Wait a minute.’ Bronte grasped Lukas’s arm, immediately withdrawing her touch when he swung round to trap her in that dark gaze. ‘Who are these men?’ she asked. ‘I don’t know them from Adam, and neither does Nico. I haven’t agreed to them guarding him,’ Bronte finished, her voice rising despite her best efforts to remain calm.
‘My team have already cleared their presence here with the consultant and the ward staff. They’re part of a six-man team of bodyguards who will be guarding my nephew from now on.’
My nephew? So what does that make me?
‘Well, I haven’t agreed to their presence and he was my nephew first,’ she hissed, hating Lukas Blackstone for making her sound ridiculous. Nico’s welfare wasn’t something to have a catfight over, but she wasn’t about to have her and Nico’s life disrupted by this man’s arrogant decision to take charge after spending exactly ten minutes at Nico’s bedside.
Instead of replying, Lukas closed strong fingers round her upper arm and led her towards the exit. ‘Let’s take this outside before we wake any of the patients.’
His grip wasn’t painful, but it was so firm and unyielding she had no choice but to keep pace with his long strides as he led her out of the ward and into an empty waiting room like an unruly child. The zip and zing of sensation shooting up her arm only added to the galling feeling of impotence and the wave of temper which was fast becoming unstoppable.
‘Get the ball rolling on the relocation, Lisa.’ He spoke to the assistant, who trotted along beside them both—the two of them ignoring Bronte’s struggles to free herself from his unyielding grip. ‘I want it completed as soon as we leave here tonight. And then arrange my nephew’s move to the private hospital in Chelsea for tomorrow morning.’
The personal assistant bowed—as if he were some sort of feudal lord—then scurried off, leaving them alone in the waiting room.
As he closed the door, Bronte yanked her arm free and scrambled back. Rubbing her biceps where his touch still burned, she tried to gather her wits about her, and stop the renewed wave of panic from consuming her temper.
She’d wanted to be grateful, to be helpful, to let him know how much his contribution, his willingness to help Nico in his hour of need meant to them both. But this didn’t feel helpful: it felt overwhelming. And oppressive. And controlling.