nothing further, sir,” she said tonelessly, staring at the mantel, “I’ll retire for the evening.”
Rick had been staring into the fire, wondering how to fix things. It was always this way when he had the kids for the weekend. When was it finally going to feel natural? When was he going to enjoy having them here? When… when were they going to learn to like him?
There was a certain amount of pain in admitting to himself that his kids didn’t much like him. He supposed on some deeper level, they might love him. After all—they were supposed to, weren’t they? Those were the rules.
But did they want to spend time with him? Nah. Not really.
“No more than I want to spend time with them,” he admitted to himself softly. “Damn it, Claire, why did you do this to us?”
Unfair, and he knew it. But he couldn’t hold back the resentment. It seemed that nothing had gone right since Claire grabbed the kids and headed for Louisiana. His wife had left him. When he’d read the note she’d left behind, he’d gone out to find a rock to sit on and stare at the ocean, and he stayed there for hours, unable to think, unable to move. The shock and pain of what she’d done nearly did him in.
That move had started it all and it still made him angry to think of it. If she’d only waited, if she’d only talk to him, let him know what was bothering her…. But no. She’d just left him. She’d taken a hammer to his heart and he wasn’t sure it would ever be whole again.
And in the middle of remembering that, he heard his “butler” signing off for the night.
He looked up, ready to tell her to have a good night's sleep—and then he frowned. He really didn’t want to be alone tonight and she looked so very good to him right now.
“Rather early, isn’t it?” he murmured.
He saw her quick impulse to counter his statement, and then the way she stopped herself as she remembered she was trying to make a good impression in order to keep the job. That made him smile.
“Tell you what,” he said, straightening a bit. “Sit down and talk to me for a few minutes. That way I can get to know you better.”
She hesitated, her eyes quickly growing stormy. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” she said warily.
He frowned. “Good or not, it’s my idea,” he said, an edge in his voice. “I’d like to talk to you. Sit down.”
She stood in front of him, looking into his eyes. They seemed to smolder in the muted lamplight of the room. She thought she knew why he wanted her to stay, and she also knew it would be completely insane to let things go in that direction.
Unable to tear her gaze from his, she slowly shook her head. “I don’t think I should, Mr. Carrington. It wouldn't be right.” She tried to smile. “It's not part of my job description.”
He stared at her for a long moment and she wondered if he was going to say something cutting, or show anger. Her heart beat like a drum and she waited. Was he going to yell? Insult her? Tell her she was fired?
And then, he was rising and she took a step back. Taking hold of her arm, he made sure she didn’t take another one.
“I'll put it in the contract if you like,” he offered. “At exactly nine o'clock every night, you stop being a butler and go back to being a woman. Would that help?”
She blinked quickly, struggling for an argument. She was sure that he knew very well she'd been feeling far too much a woman all day long. “I... I'm really very tired, Mr. Carrington,” she said, grasping at straws. “I think I ought to get to bed.”
He nodded sympathetically. “You've been here—what? —about ten hours now?”
“No,” she corrected. “You've been here ten hours. I've been here since six this morning. That makes almost sixteen, according to my calculations.”
His fingers tightened on her arm. “Ah yes,” he said lightly. “A butler's work is never done.”
“Exactly.”
He stared at her for
Rick had been staring into the fire, wondering how to fix things. It was always this way when he had the kids for the weekend. When was it finally going to feel natural? When was he going to enjoy having them here? When… when were they going to learn to like him?
There was a certain amount of pain in admitting to himself that his kids didn’t much like him. He supposed on some deeper level, they might love him. After all—they were supposed to, weren’t they? Those were the rules.
But did they want to spend time with him? Nah. Not really.
“No more than I want to spend time with them,” he admitted to himself softly. “Damn it, Claire, why did you do this to us?”
Unfair, and he knew it. But he couldn’t hold back the resentment. It seemed that nothing had gone right since Claire grabbed the kids and headed for Louisiana. His wife had left him. When he’d read the note she’d left behind, he’d gone out to find a rock to sit on and stare at the ocean, and he stayed there for hours, unable to think, unable to move. The shock and pain of what she’d done nearly did him in.
That move had started it all and it still made him angry to think of it. If she’d only waited, if she’d only talk to him, let him know what was bothering her…. But no. She’d just left him. She’d taken a hammer to his heart and he wasn’t sure it would ever be whole again.
And in the middle of remembering that, he heard his “butler” signing off for the night.
He looked up, ready to tell her to have a good night's sleep—and then he frowned. He really didn’t want to be alone tonight and she looked so very good to him right now.
“Rather early, isn’t it?” he murmured.
He saw her quick impulse to counter his statement, and then the way she stopped herself as she remembered she was trying to make a good impression in order to keep the job. That made him smile.
“Tell you what,” he said, straightening a bit. “Sit down and talk to me for a few minutes. That way I can get to know you better.”
She hesitated, her eyes quickly growing stormy. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” she said warily.
He frowned. “Good or not, it’s my idea,” he said, an edge in his voice. “I’d like to talk to you. Sit down.”
She stood in front of him, looking into his eyes. They seemed to smolder in the muted lamplight of the room. She thought she knew why he wanted her to stay, and she also knew it would be completely insane to let things go in that direction.
Unable to tear her gaze from his, she slowly shook her head. “I don’t think I should, Mr. Carrington. It wouldn't be right.” She tried to smile. “It's not part of my job description.”
He stared at her for a long moment and she wondered if he was going to say something cutting, or show anger. Her heart beat like a drum and she waited. Was he going to yell? Insult her? Tell her she was fired?
And then, he was rising and she took a step back. Taking hold of her arm, he made sure she didn’t take another one.
“I'll put it in the contract if you like,” he offered. “At exactly nine o'clock every night, you stop being a butler and go back to being a woman. Would that help?”
She blinked quickly, struggling for an argument. She was sure that he knew very well she'd been feeling far too much a woman all day long. “I... I'm really very tired, Mr. Carrington,” she said, grasping at straws. “I think I ought to get to bed.”
He nodded sympathetically. “You've been here—what? —about ten hours now?”
“No,” she corrected. “You've been here ten hours. I've been here since six this morning. That makes almost sixteen, according to my calculations.”
His fingers tightened on her arm. “Ah yes,” he said lightly. “A butler's work is never done.”
“Exactly.”
He stared at her for
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