Chapter Four

Callie

I lie on the comfortable mattress, the window slightly open, listening to the sound of birds. It’s weird being so far outside the city. In the stockbroker’s townhouse, and especially in my apartment, I could always hear something. Cars honking their horns, people yelling at each other, the general mayhem of life.

Now, there’s less noise. I thought that would be a good thing, but it gives me more time alone with my thoughts. It lets me think about the ride into the city, transferring boxes of my stuff into Gray’s swanky pickup, and then the ride home. Gray didn’t say much. I spent the journey keeping Emery entertained with the license plate game.

In fact, Gray seemed sort of distant once we left Maplebrook. He turned from a polite, engaging man into somebody who seemed uninterested in me—almost bothered by me. It continued when we got home. He stopped looking at me when he talked to me.

I close my eyes, take a breath, and remind myself what this is about. I’m here to make money. I’m here to ensure a little girl gets the best care possible. In the nanny advert, Gray mentioned he was taking on a big project that starts after the weekend. It’ll be my job to keep Emery entertained for the rest of summer break, take her on playdates, and ensure she has enough books to read. Keep her bright, active imagination sparkling.

My cellphone rings. I sit up sharply, startled. It’s Dad. “Hey, Callie,” he says.

“Dad, are you okay?” I ask, my voice coming out a little panicked.

He laughs, but there’s a sad quality to it. “This isn’t about them.”

My blood turns cold at the mention of Them . They were the reason I had to work for the stockbroker, even when things got nasty.

“Oh.” I laugh shakily. “Sorry, Dad. It’s just… well, you know.”

“Yeah, I know. Of course, I do.”

“So, what’s up?” I ask.

“I was calling to check how the interview went.”

I wonder if this proves that I’m a selfish daughter or that I’m so used to Dad being inaccessible I just forgot to tell him. I called my friend, Katerina, and told her the news. But not my dad. “I got the job.”

“That’s excellent news,” he says. “I’m so proud of you. When do you start?”

“I’ve started,” I tell him. “In fact, I’ve already moved into the guesthouse.”

“Already?” He sounds doubtful, protective. It’s not like I can blame him. He knows about my last job.

“Dad, Mr. Aldridge is a good man. And Emery’s just as cute as a button. And this job pays very, very well. It’s not like I’m going to quit my entire career just because of one bad experience. I aced the interview. I think he was supposed to interview a bunch of other candidates, but when he saw me bonding with his little girl, I got fast-tracked.”

“I’m proud of you,” Dad says after a pause. “Really. That’s great.”

“Thank you. And don’t worry. I know how to take care of myself.”

“I know you do,” Dad replies. “Nobody could ever doubt that. You were the one who saved me . I just worry about you. It’s my job as your dad, you know.”

He says the last bit almost like he’s trying to persuade me, or himself, that he’s a good father. It would threaten to break my heart if I hadn’t become immune to thoughts of my life before. Of the fractures in my family and the pain I suffered growing up—the shame. But I don’t need to think about any of that now.

“I’ve got to go, Dad. I love you.”

“I love you too,” he replies.

None of that stuff matters. Just tomorrow. Just Emery. That’s the wonderful thing about my job. I never have to worry about me .

***

The next morning, there’s a knock at my door. I walk through the airy, sunny kitchen and down the hallway to find Emery standing with her hands clasped in front of her. The sun hasn’t risen yet. Her hair’s all tangled, her eyes wide and sleepless.

“Emery, is everything okay?”

“I can’t sleep, C-A-L-L-I-E.”

I smile. “You don’t have to spell my name every time.”

“Am I being an annoying little brat?”

I gasp. “Why would you say that?”

“The witch nanny said it to me once.”

I kneel down and gently touch Emery’s hand. “It wasn’t okay for her to say that. You’re not annoying. And you’re not a brat. Why don’t we go inside, and I’ll braid your hair, and maybe as I’m doing that, you can tell me one of your fascinating stories?”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Yippee!”

“Can you wait here while I get dressed?”

She gives me a once-over. “But you are dressed.”

I laughed. “I mean, change out of my PJs.”

“Why, Callie? Your PJs are the cutest.”

Children have a way of cutting right to the heart of an issue. When she says why , I realize I don’t have an answer. At least, it’s not one I can tell her. The truth is that I don’t want her dad to see me in an old T-shirt and pants that have seen better days.

“Thanks,” I say. “You’re right. I don’t need to wear a Cinderella dress, do I?”

“Whoa. Do you have one of those?”

“Maybe one day.” I slip on my sneakers, then take her hand. “You’ll have to show me the way.”

“Okay, follow me!”

I almost have to pinch myself as we approach the giant house. With the sky still dark and a few stars still showing, it looks almost Gothic. Emery traipses over to the house as though it’s the most regular thing in the world, which, to her, it is. She takes me into what I can only assume is the second living room, pointing at a vanity unit. “All my stuff is in there.”

“Let’s get started, then.”

She sits at the vanity unit. I begin brushing her hair, but after a few minutes, I realize she’s not going to make it for long. Her eyes start to close. When I stop, she murmurs, “I’m not sleepy.”

I laugh. “If you say so…”

But a minute later, she’s snoring. I look at myself over the top of her lolling head, a smile on my face. Then, gently, I lift her into my arms and leave the room, heading for the double staircase which overlooks the foyer. It seems grand to me. I can’t imagine walking these wide hallways as a kid, having them be my reality, feel normal.

I walk up and down the hallways, trying to be quiet. All the doors are closed. I can’t just go around opening and closing doors, hoping to find her bedroom. Emery murmurs and hugs closer to me, putting her face in my chest.

I almost scream when Gray speaks from behind me. “Are you lost?”

I turn, letting out a shaky laugh. “Jeez.” My heart starts beating crazy fast when I realize he’s just wearing a pair of shorts. It’s his house. It’s not even six am yet. Of course, he has every right to wear that, and that alone.

I stare for too long at the moonlight shafting in through the big windows, the steel coloring bouncing off his broad chest, the ridges of his abs clearly defined. It’s like he’s carved from stone. He looks down at himself as if only now realizing he’s half naked. When he looks up, he smirks, maybe to smooth over any awkwardness.

“I’ll show you to her room.”

“Yeah, sure. Um. Thanks,” I mutter.

Get it together, Callie.

He walks by me, making me so glad I’ve got his little girl in my arms. I’m not sure what I would do otherwise. That sounds ridiculous. It’s not as if I’m going to reach over and trail my hand down his back and squeeze his very firm, tight backside.

We turn a corner, and he gestures to the room at the end of the hall. “This wasn’t always her room,” he says. “But when she was old enough to have an opinion, she chose it for herself. She likes the fact it has a skylight. She likes to watch the stars before she falls asleep.”

I carry her into the center of the storybook bedroom—a large bed in the middle, a small library off to one side, a play kitchen in the corner, and an en-suite bathroom. She immediately curls up, then whispers, “Thank you, Callie.”

I smile. “I thought you were sleeping.”

“I am. You’re in my dream.”

I turn to find Gray leaning against the doorframe, watching us closely. His smile is enough to drive me wild. He looks proud. As I leave the room, he doesn’t move from his spot. It’s not creepy, but there’s definitely something going on here, or is there? Am I imagining it? Wishing for it? I can smell his manly muskiness as I get closer.

He follows me through the house. But I don’t feel like there’s any threat to me. Maybe it’s because I’ve been around creeps enough times to be able to tell the difference. Or perhaps I’m letting this lightheaded sensation get the better of me.

“Can’t sleep?” I ask.

“I was thinking about my upcoming project,” he murmurs. We’re standing at the top of the double staircase. He seems oddly comfortable around me, shirtless. It doesn’t seem like a big deal. Maybe it’s normal. If we were at the pool, he’d look exactly like he does now, and nobody would care.

“What is it?”

“A plaza. But they want ‘interesting modern art flourishes,’ so that will be the bulk of my work. Were you asleep when my little adventurer came knocking?”

“Half,” I say. “I don’t sleep very deeply.”

“Oh, why not?”

Suddenly, the question feels perverse. It feels like he’s crossing a line. It’s as if we’ve already crossed a dozen lines, but this is, by far, the worst. Because if I were to answer this question honestly, it would mean delving into my past, into all the warped crap. It would mean mentioning the cult. It would mean telling him why I stuck with the stockbroker for so long. It would mean explaining how I helped to free Dad—and that my mother hates me, thinks I’m a traitor, won’t speak to me. She chose the cult. It would imply telling him that when I close my eyes, I see the sickest crap, just vile things.

“I don’t know, Mr. Aldridge,” I say.

He frowns. His perceptive, broody eyes seem to look into me, not at me. It’s like he’s searching me. I wish I could say I dislike it and claim it’s off-putting and gross. It would make all of this easier. But I can’t.

“Maybe I should try and get some more sleep before Emery wakes up.”

“Sure,” he mutters.

I walk down the stairs. He doesn’t move. I’m sure he’s watching me. In the top corner, something glints. It’s one of the security cameras. He can watch me anytime he likes. He can sit in his office in the city, sipping a whiskey, watching me tens of miles away, watching my every little movement. My skin tingles. My mind flares with too many steamy possibilities.

Clenching my jaw, I push it all away, walking quickly across the back yard. I’m here to do a job, nothing else.