“Quinn, I didn’t-”
“Go to Memphis, Mr. Wolfe. They’re all waiting on you to fix things there,” I snarl before hurrying out of his room and slamming the door shut.
I don’t bother explaining my tears to the children. Sometimes, children just have to be reminded that adults have feelings, too.
They follow me to my quarters. The dog does as well. Jill holds my hand. Her sad little eyes staring up at me, breaking my heart. I can hear the front door open and close from up here. Ryder glances sadly outside for a bit but then he’s trying to cheer me up. I love him for trying and do my best to put on a brave front for them the rest of the night.
I distract them with games, crafts and stories until bedtime. I tuck them both in, kissing each brow. This is my job. I’m the nanny who cares for the busy CEO’s children. I also love them with all my heart.
I can’t lose these kids.
Even if their father might’ve just lost me.
When I wake up in the wee hours, feeling nauseous, there’s a dozen messages from Theo on my phone. I can’t read them. I’m too hurt, too brittle.
The panic I kept at bay the past several days finally descends and I sob pathetically while hunched over the toilet. But once that’s done, I wash my face and stand up again.
I trusted Theo but Theo doesn’t trust easily. Maybe he’ll never trust me. So, while I don’t want to do this alone, maybe I’ll have to. And, my baby needs me too much for me to just give up.
38-Theo
“You made headlines,” Claire tells me during our morning video call while holding up an array of newspapers from theTribuneto theWall Street Journal.
My eye snags on the photo of me the Trib used. It’s from the night of the awards banquet. I can see a glimpse of Quinn’s sexy red dress where she was pressed near me despite the photo being cropped. The night we changed our relationship and applied the term casual. Fuck.
They’re heralding me as America’s New Media Titan. Meanwhile, despite preparing for this role for years, I’m sitting in a Memphis hotel suite on my second official day as CEO of Wolfe Media surrounded by the aftermath of Mother Nature’s brutal power feeling helpless. And like shit.
“Lots of mentions in online pubs, too. Not just the ones we own.”
“Yeehaw,” I deadpan in reply.
Over the camera, I watch Claire choke on a bite of her morning muffin. “Did you just say ‘yeehaw,’ sir?”
“I’m in Tennessee. It felt appropriate… Never mind. Stop laughing before you choke again, Claire. I’ll check in later.”
The hotel phone rings a moment later. “Mr. Wolfe? Your car’s waiting downstairs,” the concierge calls to tell me.
I thank him and hang up. Show time. This was why I flew down last night. So, why am I wondering what I’m doing here and if I’ve royally fucked up? And why won’t she answer my messages?
On my way to shake hands and make everything better in Memphis, Oliver calls me back.
Look, I’ve got some trust issues. Between Tom and Sanders and especially Nadine, I’ve had my share of reminders this past year of how people are usually out for themselves and will pull all sorts of stunts to get what they want. If you add in old abandonment fears related to the father who jetted off on us when I was little and the crushing loss of my wife at thirty-three, it’s not so shocking to learn I don’t handle the unexpected well, is it?
Pregnant. Holy shit.
And, how did you react?I cover my face, ashamed to recall.
It’s not that I distrust Quinn but, when I’m rattled, my first impulse is to reach for a shield. I had worked myself into a bad state over the weekend after she’d slipped off in the predawn hours of Saturday. I was worrying over what the potential job at the school might mean for us going forward and wondering why she was keeping it from me. She doesn’t want to be my nanny anymore? Fine. But is it because she wants more out of this relationship the way I do or because she’s looking to move on? I know, or think I know the answer, but the mind loves to torment us sometimes.
So then, when she laid the real news on me, it was the absolute last thing I was anticipating. A father again. At thirty-eight. I hadn’t considered it. I hadn’t considered a lot of things.
“You do know I’m not a psychiatrist, right?” Oliver asks over the phone.
“Can you just answer my question?”
“Do you mean the one where you asked a medical doctor if .04 millimeters of latex is a rock-solid guarantee against pregnancy?” No one does sarcasm quite like my half-brother. “Or are you referring to the one where, when your woman dropped the baby bombshell, you freaked out and proceeded to act like a complete jackass but do I think she’ll forgive you?”
Did I react well to Quinn’s news? No.