Babysitter for the Single Dad Page 3

  “Sorry, I guess you want to see the rest of the house and your room first.”

  “Quick tour and then that drink?”

  “Right then.”

  I shouldn’t be as proud of my house as I am. It’s just money that bought it, but I am. Mainly because I grew up in a house with hardly enough room to squeeze everyone in. Because of my work, I’ve been able to buy houses for my family. Not huge places on the Majorcan coast like this, but nice, and where they want to live—my dad back in Denver, my sister just outside Dublin with her Irish husband.

  Bridget likes the guest room overlooking the garden and swimming pool when she comes to stay, but it’s not my favorite. Jenna’s smile says it all when I show her the best guest room and tell her that it’s hers. “This is perfect,” she says.

  I had Ben put her bag in the room with a balcony overlooking the sea, and I don’t tell her this right away, but it’s the one nearest to mine. I must be crazy putting her so close after what happened with Ruth, but for some reason I want to impress Jenna, and I feel like she deserves that view.

  I show her my daughter’s room on the other side of the hall. She calls it adorable. I guess it is. I gave a decorator free rein with that one last year, when I didn’t have a clue. All I knew was that a baby needs a crib and diapers and somewhere to change them. Sum total of my nursery room knowledge. I never even played a dad on TV.

  When I told Ruth that, she said it was because I don’t look like a dad. But I really feel like one now. Having a daughter makes me relax and think about her needs, and not the crazy world of acting all the time.

  A quick look around the other four guest bedrooms, a nod towards the staff quarters, and a glance at the study, dining room, garden, and pool, and and we are done with the tour. The only room I didn’t show Jenna was mine. She didn’t ask. Maybe that’s a good thing. She’s more professional than I am.

  “Now for that drink,” I say. “There’ll be a jug of something delicious in the fridge if Mrs. Martinez has anything to do with it.” I have a look. “Yes, some kind of fruity concoction, or there’s iced tea or Pepsi.”

  “Fruity concoction sounds good.” Jenna smiles. I love that smile. I have to stop this.

  “Take a seat on the terrace, and I’ll bring it out.”

  The terrace is enclosed with waist-high glass panels to keep my daughter safe. The one-way glass means that the boundaries disappear and all you see is the beach and the sea, but because we are slightly elevated, we have some privacy.

  “Wow,” Jenna says as I hand her the drink. “What a great place to live.”

  “I just wish I could be here more often.”

  “You don’t like acting?”

  “I do, but I end up staying all over the place.” And usually not enjoying those places much, though I don’t tell her that. Most people think an actor’s life is exotic and fun. Not the case. There’s more to it than celebrity parties, and even they get old fast. But it’s not all gloom and doom either.

  “You’re looking to take your daughter with you.”

  “Yes, while she’s still small, for the longer assignments, at least. I have a few weeks off, though. You won’t have to face flying for a while.”

  “Do you need me right now, then, while you’re here?”

  “Yes. I like to go out sometimes, and I need someone I trust so I can leave my daughter here.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Jenna

  I sip my drink and try to keep a neutral face at the thought of him going out. Of course he does. There’s no way a guy like him sits at home night after night with his baby daughter. How does he even have a baby? I’m still itching to know, but also afraid of the answer. What is the story here? Will it make me think less of him? I don’t know why that matters. He’s my boss, I can’t think of him as anything but my employer.

  He lies back and puts his face to the sun.

  “Pity my daughter wasn’t here. But it’s good to get a chance to relax a bit. There’s not much time for that when Tinkerbell’s around.”

  “Tinkerbell?” Me and my big mouth again. Celebrities always call their kids weird names. I shouldn’t have said it like that.

  “Actually, it’s Sophie,” Elliott says, laughing. “Tinkerbell is just my pet name for her. Though she would have been called something like that for sure if her mother had had her way. It was lucky she wasn’t in Peter Pan that year, or I wouldn’t have put it past her.”

  “Who is Sophie’s mother? I didn’t see anything about that.”

  “It didn’t reach the gossip columns. Her mother is Angelica. Angelica Sage.”

  As if there is any other Angelica. I was right the first time. He is so out of my league. I am not even in the same ball game. That’s all right, then. I can rest easy and put those errant thoughts about him right out of my mind.

  I try to conjure up my inner Katie with her celebrity knowledge, but I don’t think I heard of any big romance between Elliott and Angelica. I wish my friend was here. She would be loving this whole thing, and she would know everything about it, at least the part of it that gets reported. I don’t even have that to go on.

  I want to ask more questions about his relationship with Angelica, but I don’t dare, and he’s not forthcoming with any information. She’s probably off filming somewhere. Or having bits of herself enhanced. I remember Katie going on about Angelica having another boob job when she’d already had her chest expanded. I try not to think about my adequate, but definitely not over-endowed, chest. Angelica will probably show up sooner or later and overshadow me in more ways than one.

  Just then the door opens and a woman with a normal sized chest, at least looking that way in her t-shirt and skirt, comes in with a little girl in a stroller and a couple of shopping bags. Even I know this is not Angelica.

  Elliott gets up and gives her a big hug. He looks at me. “Jenna, meet my big sister, Bridget.”

  “Hey, you, less of the big,” she says and laughs. “Hi Jenna. Lucky you, working for my pain of a little brother.”

  But I can tell she doesn’t mean it from the way she smiles and the soft tone of her voice.

  “And here is the little moppet,” Elliott says. “Sophie, meet your new nanny.” Sophie holds out her chubby little arms to Elliott to get out of the stroller, and he unfastens it with practiced ease, lifts her out and gives her a big hug. Is he a hands-on dad then? “Daddy missed you,” he says. “This is Jenna, your new nanny.”

  “Je-nna,” she says and giggles, then nuzzles her face into her father’s neck.

  I try not to melt at the sight.

  “I don’t know about you, Jenna, but I’m desperate to cool off with a swim,” Bridget says.

  Cooling off is a very good idea. I feel like I’m about to combust, and it’s nothing to do with the sun.

  I look at Elliott. “Shouldn’t I be starting work? Do you have things you want to do?”

  “You can start tomorrow,” he says. “But a swim seems like a very good idea. Pool or beach?”

  “Beach,” Bridget says. “We love the beach, don’t we Sophie?”

  “Definitely the beach,” I say. There’s nothing like swimming in the sea. This job is going to have its perks, despite having to fly and the need to keep myself in check with Elliott.

  CHAPTER 10

  Elliott

  I usually swim first thing in the morning when I’m here in Palma. The beach is empty then. Or I stick to the pool. I’m not the biggest target for the paparazzi, but you never know when they will pop their ugly mugs up and spoil my day.

  If Bridget wonders why I’m suddenly keen to go to the beach in the middle of the day, I’d tell her it has nothing to do with Jenna and the need to see her in a bikini. Nothing at all. But of course I’d be lying there. Like Pinocchio.

  But first, I take a moment to get rid of the beard, and I let the girls go down to the sand ahead of me. It’s good to see my usual face in the mirror. Will Jenna like me better without the red facial hair? Why do I even
care? She’s so out of bounds after the Ruth fiasco.

  As I walk down to where the girls are on the beach, I see Sophie first. She’s wearing a new swimsuit her aunty must have bought her, and she’s carrying a little bucket covered in pictures of starfish and a bright pink shovel. She drops them and giggles, offering up handfuls of sand, first to Bridget and then shyly to Jenna, and they hold out their hands to receive the grains of sand.

  I love this—miles away from the sometimes glossy, sometimes gritty world of movies. Who even needs that?

  “Better without the beard, don’t you think, Jenna?” Bridget says, when I get close.

  “Much better. I thought it was part of his disguise on the way here.” Jenna laughs.

  Bridget checks I’m okay looking after Sophie while the girls have a swim, and Jenna peels off her beach dress, revealing a simple red bikini that leaves me speechless. But it’s not really the bikini that takes my breath away. It’s all Jenna—soft and perfect, nothing like the angular co-stars in my movies with their unnaturally thin bodies. She’s all woman—all-natural woman.

  I catch Bridget raising her eyebrows at my expression, and I turn to help Sophie build a sandcastle to avoid embarrassing myself further.

  When Bridget and Jenna come out of the sea, I can’t take my eyes off my nanny. She’s like a goddess from the deep, laughing at how exhilarating it is to swim after the stickiness of the journey. She talks to Bridget about life in London, places she’s been. When Bridget and Mike were first married, they lived in London. It turns out they didn’t live that far from Jenna, and Bridget and Jenna know the same stores, the same cafes.

  I leave Sophie with the girls, and it’s my turn to plunge into the waves. I swim on and on to get Jenna out of my mind, because no good can come of this. I’m pretty sure I didn’t encourage Ruth, but what if I did? What if it was me making her obsessive? Maybe I just can’t see it. I don’t need that again. Sophie doesn’t need that again. My arms cut through the waves until I’m free of any thoughts of Jenna, and it’s just me and the sea.

  But when I look over, thinking about getting out, Bridget is lying back relaxing. Jenna is playing with Sophie in the sand, and my heart lurches. So much for cooling off. I swim on.

  CHAPTER 11

  Jenna

  Sophie is the brightest little thing. She toddles around “helping” me with the sandcastle, but knocking as much sand off the pile as she adds. She’s so cute in her little pink swimsuit.

  Elliott swims for so long I almost forget about him. Almost, but not quite. There are certain expressions on Sophie’s face that remind me of him. And I can’t quite get out of my mind how he looked walking into the sea like a vision in blue swimming trunks.

  I don’t know how many times I’m going to have to remind myself he’s my boss. I’m starting to sympathize with Ruth, even if she went a bit far.

  “Don’t worry about Angelica, by the way,” Bridget says from her position in the sand. “She hardly ever shows up.”

  “I didn’t know they were together. I didn’t see anything about it, not that I’m very up to date on celebrity gossip.”

  “You wouldn’t have seen anything much. There was nothing to see. I guess it’s all right to tell you, as I know you signed the usual contract.”

  “Yes. The agency always makes us sign a confidentiality agreement.”

  “You wouldn’t have seen Elliott and Angelica together, because there was nothing to see. Neither of their agents wanted to link them together, so they didn’t make anything up either. That was unexpected, given Angelica’s usual antics, but she preferred to pretend there was some kind of mystery man involved. And the papers were full of pictures of her with a newborn. She loved that.

  “Apparently when she had Sophie, babies were the new black. You couldn’t move for celebrity mothers. Just like lap dogs were ‘in’ a while ago, and they all had pictures with a chihuahua or something in their oversized handbags. Once the pictures were taken, motherhood became all too boring for Angelica. Or at least, that’s the way it looked. She brought the baby and her nanny and left them here with Elliott.”

  “Angelica never comes to see Sophie?” I can’t believe any mother would do that.

  “She’s shown up twice with a photographer to get another round of pictures. Elliott refuses to be part of her charade, so there are no pictures of Elliott with Angelica and Sophie.”

  “But they are both her parents.” I don’t understand any of this.

  “Yes. Maybe I shouldn’t be telling you this, but it’s better if you know the situation you’re dealing with, and Elliott might not tell you. Sophie was only good thing to come out of the one night Elliott spent with Angelica, as far as I can gather.”

  “And Ruth? He said something about her being the nanny from hell.”

  “The original nanny was a bit older, and she was fine, but she decided that moving from place to place didn’t suit her. Angelica wasn’t going to have the baby come along when she was filming, so the nanny hadn’t expected that. She suggested to Elliott that he hire her niece.

  “When Ruth first arrived, she looked after Sophie well, I think. But she hadn’t been here long when she started to creep Elliott out. He could never get away from her and then, I believe, she started coming onto him at night.

  “Don’t get me wrong; I hate to say it, he’s my brother and all, but Elliott is no angel. Anything but. If he had wanted her in his bed, I doubt he would have sent her away.”

  There’s a sound in the sand, and suddenly Elliott is there, his tall presence casting a shadow over the sun and dripping sea water onto our sand castle.

  “What are you two so intent in conversation about?”

  I don’t know what to say, but Bridget makes no bones about it. “I was filling Jenna in on Angelica and Ruth, in case you don’t.”

  “Now I’m really shuddering, and it’s not from the chill of coming out of the sea.” He laughs. “Witches, both of them. You don’t know the half of it.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Elliott

  I haven’t filled Bridget in on the latest details, and I’m not going to depress myself and go into it right now. It’s costing a fortune to have lawyers and investigators on the case, but it will be worth every penny if it means I get to keep Sophie without fear that Angelica will sweep in and decide to take her away.

  I dry myself with the towel.

  “You’re getting sand everywhere,” Bridget complains. “I’ll be happy to get back to Ireland.”

  “No beautiful Palma beach on your doorstep. No sun. No blue sky.”

  “No pesky brother.” But she smiles. I know she doesn’t mean it.

  I wrap the towel around my waist and sit down.

  Sophie is giggling, running grains of sand run through her pudgy hands, and she pats the sand castle. A carefully constructed turret falls off, and Jenna laughs. So far so good with Sophie’s new nanny. I just have to be sure to keep things strictly professional between us.

  Why didn’t I just let the girls go to the beach by themselves? I’ll have to be more careful and avoid all future sightings of Miss Matthews in her red bikini. But once seen, I’m not convinced I can easily forget.

  Sophie waddles over and sits on my lap for a cuddle, and I nuzzle her hair. It smells of sun and baby shampoo. I didn’t think fatherhood would suit me until I became an instant dad, and then I was lost. Now I can’t bear the thought that Sophie might be brought up by a mother like Angelica.

  Angelica would never be a real mother, taking time to play with her kid in the sand. Not in a million years. A day on the beach would mess with her hair. The sand might scuff her highly polished nails. Whatever possessed me to sleep with her? I don’t know. I guess whisky had a lot to do with it. And grief.

  I should have been like Bridget. We both lost our mother to cancer. She didn’t go around sleeping with a bunch of unsuitable people. At least, I’m pretty sure she didn’t.

  My mother would have loved Sophie, but not how she
was conceived. She would have seen right through Angelica. She would probably have approved of a natural girl like Jenna. Or is that wishful thinking? Because she wouldn’t have thought much of me rejecting one babysitter and bedding the next one like they were there for the taking.

  I can hear her now, telling me off, while showing her concern and care. Being a mother.

  “I’m going back to the house,” I say. “It’s time for Sophie’s nap, so I’ll take her. You two enjoy the beach a bit more.”

  I take my daughter by the hand so she can toddle up the sand more easily. Jenna watches us as we leave and waves bye to Sophie, who waves right back.

  CHAPTER 13

  Jenna

  It’s too quiet on the beach with Elliott and Sophie gone. I think Bridget feels it too. After half an hour of lying there, we decide we’ve had enough of the sun. Bridget says she has packing to do.

  I spent the whole time on the beach after Elliott left not being able to think of anything but him, how good he looked going into the water and coming out of it, and how he was with his baby daughter, holding her hand and taking her back to the house.

  Obsessed? Not much. Yet. But how can I help falling for him just a little bit (even a lot) the way he looks, the way he is with his daughter, his sister?

  But I can’t turn into another Ruth, another witch.

  We have a quiet night. The housekeeper has prepared supper for us, using the food Bridget bought on her walk, and we eat it on the terrace around the dining table under the stars. I am thankful Bridget is there, because now and again I sense Elliott’s eyes on me, but I’m probably imagining all kinds of things I should not be.

  It’s going to be worse when Bridget goes home. Maybe Elliott will eat out then, and he’s just staying home because of his sister. Maybe I will eat earlier with Sophie if he’s dining at home.