‘Yes.’ He dipped his head forward. ‘Though I travel to Athens most days. We have headquarters there and I usually have meetings that require my personal attention.’
Amelia’s brow furrowed as she digested this. ‘So you won’t be here much?’
He fixed her with an enquiring gaze.
‘I mean long-term. With Cameron.’
Santos’s pace slowed to a stop. ‘You’re asking if I intend to neglect my son?’
Heat flowed in her cheeks. ‘I—’
‘You have a habit of seeing the worst in me, when it comes to him.’
‘Do I?’
‘You think I’ve moved him here and plan never to see him?’
‘If today is any indication.’
‘I work long hours.’ He expelled a breath so his nostrils flared. ‘Up until three months ago I had no idea I was a father. I am intending to make whatever changes are necessary to fit Cameron into my life but it will take time. Forgive me, Miss Ashford, for not having all the answers just yet.’
She felt a small shift of sympathy for him, but an even greater one for Cameron; after her own childhood she knew the facts Santos was failing to see. ‘So long as you love him, above anything and anyone else, you’ll work it out.’
The words seemed to lash Santos. He shifted a little, a physical reaction—a rejection?—and then began to walk once more, his stride longer this time, his face glowering.
‘This area is generally off-limits to my domestic staff.’ He didn’t look at her. ‘It will also be off-limits to Cameron and Talia. I work on sensitive projects. I require privacy and peace.’
Amelia’s stomach squeezed. He was changing the subject, but she didn’t want him to do that. She reached for his arm, ignoring the tingling wave that crashed through her at the small touch. ‘Santos?’
He stopped walking, turning to face her without meeting her eyes, his nostrils flaring as he expelled a deep breath.
‘You don’t agree with me?’
Now his eyes dragged to hers, slowly, something dark in their depths. ‘About...?’
But he understood. He was evading her question on purpose. ‘You don’t need to overthink things with Cameron. In time, and with an abundance of love, he’ll find his way to you.’
A muscle jerked low in his jaw. ‘And if I cannot give him those things?’
‘What do you mean?’ She lifted a brow, impatient for him to explain.
‘You think it’s so easy? You simply say “love the child” and it is done? A matter of months ago, I didn’t even know about him.’
Defence of Cameron raised her hackles. ‘So? That’s not his fault. You’re his father.’
‘Whatever that means.’ He spun round, walking once more, his stride long, not stopping until he reached an office door beside the one he’d indicated as his. ‘From time to time my assistant flies to the island to work with me—she uses this space. In her absence, consider it yours.’ It was a swift conversation change but she allowed it, seeing the futility in pushing him further at this point.
Amelia looked around the room—yet again, on a rather grand scale—and nodded. Two computer screens sat side by side on a large desk. Another desk, free of any clutter or technology, was set at a right angle to it, forming an L shape in which a comfortable looking black leather chair was anchored. A leather armchair sat across the room and the walls were lined with bookshelves.
‘I presume this will suffice?’
‘Yes,’ she agreed, noting the things it had and those it did not, while her mind analysed his throwaway comment ‘whatever that means’.
‘But it’s lacking something?’
Was she so transparent? ‘No, it will be fine.’
‘You’re easier to read than a book. What do you need?’