“I PREFER THIS TILE PATTERN,” Alice Grinwell said firmly. “With the slate.”
Wyatt counted to ten. Mrs. Grinwell was building her third house with him in ten years. She’d also referred more than a dozen wealthy clients to him. Unfortunately she was one of those people who had more money than sense. In her mind, her life’s work was building and decorating beautiful houses. Her husband supported her activities.
Complicating what should have been a dream job was the fact that she changed her mind constantly. Every house took twice as long as it should have and cost three times as much. Not that Mrs. Grinwell cared.
“I want it to look like this,” she said pointing at the picture in the magazine showing the fireplace of a custom home up in Bellingham.
He had to admit the work was beautiful, but his tile guys had thrown up their hands, not sure how they would get the same look. Which meant he was going to have to hire the person who did it in the first place and pay for her to come down and work at Mrs. Grinwell’s place.
It wasn’t the cost-his client would cover that. It was the time and effort and the fact that he was still pissed at himself for how he’d handled things with Claire and angry with her for not recognizing the disaster that would follow her being pregnant.
“I’ll make it happen,” he said firmly. “I don’t know how long this will delay things, but I’ll get back to you as soon as I get the details worked out.”
Mrs. Grinwell smiled. “You’re always a pleasure to work with, Mr. Knight. I appreciate that.”
“Thank you.”
They talked about a few other details, then his client left. As she walked to her Mercedes, he stared after her, wondering what she would think if he asked her what it was like to be rich.
She probably wouldn’t know how to answer the question and in reality, he wasn’t sure he cared. He had his own business, he was comfortable. He supported himself, his daughter, provided employment for a couple dozen guys. He contributed.
Unlike Claire, he hadn’t personally made over two million last year.
He told himself that her money was the least of his problems. But it still fried him and he couldn’t figure out why. He’d always thought of himself as a man who was comfortable in his own skin. He respected women. Other people’s success didn’t change how he felt about himself. So what was the deal?
Was it because they’d gone out? Did he expect to make more than any woman he dated? Was he that backward emotionally? Or was it something more subtle? If it was, he was in trouble. Getting in touch with his inner anything wasn’t his strongest skill set.
“Screw it,” he muttered and turned back to the blueprints of the house and the magazine pictures that had created the current hell of his day. He would figure it out later, or not at all. Claire wasn’t likely to be pregnant. Once they knew for sure, he could let it go. Move on. Find someone easier to deal with. Or maybe swear off women for a while.
CLAIRE HELD OPEN the back door while Nicole carefully maneuvered on crutches.
“I can’t believe I’m going to have to recover from another surgery,” her sister grumbled as she made her way to the sofa and collapsed. “I was doing so well getting over the first one. Now look at me.”
Claire did her best not to wince. They’d both been fighting, they’d both fallen. It was just bad luck that Nicole was the one who’d been injured. Still, she felt horrible to know her sister had more pain to go through.
Nicole looked up and wrinkled her nose. “Don’t you dare apologize again.”
“I won’t.”
“If you try, I’ll scream. It’s a scary, shrill sound and you won’t like it.”
That made Claire smile. “I won’t apologize for anything ever again.”
“Let’s not get too wild.” Nicole sighed. “What a mess. Could my life get worse?”
“That’s the wrong question,” Claire told her. “Don’t tempt fate. Although I wouldn’t play the lotto if I were you. It doesn’t seem to be the right time.”
“I know.” Nicole slowly, carefully lifted her bandaged leg up onto the coffee table. “Another scar.”
“But this one will look like a sports injury or something. That will be cool. Men love women with scars.”
Nicole shook her head. “No more men for me. I’m done with those games.”
Claire hoped her sister was caught up in dealing with Drew and didn’t actually mean that. Nicole deserved to be worshipped by some great guy. Actually, they all deserved it.
“Do you want help upstairs?” Claire asked.
“I want to recover right here. The view will be different. Besides, I don’t think I could make it up the stairs.”
“I could help,” Claire told her, trying not to sound doubtful. She had a sudden image of the two of them tumbling to the ground.
“Let’s not.” She looked at Claire. “I’m sorry you’re stuck here.”
Claire sat in the chair across from the sofa. “I’m not stuck and I’m happy to help. This is why I came here in the first place.”
“At some point you have to return to your regularly scheduled life.”
“Maybe.” Probably. “But not this week. You’re stuck with me.”
“I’d be lost without you,” Nicole said, then sniffed. “Damn. I am so not going to cry. We had our emotionally touching moment in the hospital.”
Claire smiled. “We can have more than one.”
“No, because I don’t want to cry again.”
“I can handle it. Are you saying you can’t?” Claire remembered Nicole being unable to resist a challenge. She doubted that had changed.
“You’re baiting me.”
“Uh-huh.”
Nicole clenched her teeth. “I can handle it better than you. Bring it on. I’m really glad you’re here. No one ever takes care of me.”
“I’ll always be here when you need me.”
Nicole’s eyes filled with tears. She brushed them away. “Dammit, Claire.”
Claire smiled, feeling a little smug. “It’s okay. I can deal with your emotional outburst.”
Nicole glared at her. “I should throw something at you.”
“But you won’t. What can I get you?”
Nicole sniffed, wiped her eyes, then cleared her throat. “Pizza and painkillers. In that order.”
“Shall we argue about mushrooms on the pizza now or later?”
Nicole laughed. “Let’s argue now.”
WYATT FLIPPED OVER the waffle maker and set the automatic timer. While Amy poured her own juice, he set out syrup, then turned over the vegetarian breakfast sausages she liked so much.
He’d tried to explain that most humans enjoyed the real thing, not some tofu-spiced scary vegetarian fake sausage, but his daughter could be stubborn. He knew she got that from him so it was hard to mind too much.
“I’m excited about my spelling test,” Amy signed when he glanced at her. “I know all the words.”
“You practiced a lot. And last night you got all of them.”
She nodded several times, her ponytail bouncing with the movement. That morning she’d picked out a blue sweater to wear with black jeans and boots. She was growing up so fast. It was just a matter of time until she was rolling her eyes at him and sighing heavily all the time. But for now, she was still his little girl.
The waffle maker dinged. He opened the top and used a fork to lift up the perfectly cooked waffle. After setting it on the plate, next to the veggi-sausage, he passed it across the counter to the breakfast bar where she’d already settled.
“Thanks, Dad,” she signed.
“You’re welcome,” he signed back.
She took a bite and chewed. When she’d swallowed, she said. “I want a cochlear implant.”
He stared at her. “What?” He shook his head. “I understood the words.” A cochlear implant?
He knew what most parents of deaf kids knew about the surgery. That it wasn’t a substitute for hearing, that it was very successful for what it was, that technology was always changing and that once done, it couldn’t be undone.
He and Amy had only talked about it a few times, mostly when one of her friends had it done. He’d explained why he thought it was a better idea to wait until she was older. Maybe there would be another leap in technology.
“Why now?” he asked.
“I want to hear Claire’s pretty music,” she said, then switched to signing, which was faster for her. “I didn’t mind not hearing before because there wasn’t anything I wanted to hear that much. But I want to hear her play.”
Claire had done this? He’d talked to her about the surgery and had explained why it wasn’t a good idea and she’d talked to Amy anyway?
“Daddy, are you mad?” Amy asked.
He was beyond mad, but not at his daughter. “I’m surprised,” he signed. “We talked about waiting. I think we should wait.”
“It’s my hearing,” she signed back. “It should be my decision.”
Which didn’t sound like Amy, so she’d either gotten the comeback from one of her friends or from Claire.
“You’re eight. You don’t get to decide about surgery.”
“You don’t understand, Daddy. You can’t.”
Ouch. Now she was shutting him out?
He wanted to tell her that he was the adult and he could make any decision he wanted. But to what end? If Amy was serious about the implant, for whatever reason, they would have to deal with it. But fighting wasn’t going to help.
He gave himself the standard “I am the parent,” lecture, the one that reminded him to stay in control of his emotions, then said, “Amy, you have to eat your breakfast and go to school. I need to think about this. Let’s talk later.”
She scowled, then nodded slowly.
Not much of a victory, but then he felt like putting his fist through a wall. Not actually a mature decision.
He dropped off his daughter, then called his office to say he would be late. It took him less than twenty minutes to get to Nicole’s house, during which he allowed his temper to grow until it was nearly spilling out of the car.
He walked up to the front door and rang the bell. Claire answered.
“We need to talk,” he said, pushing past her into the house. “Now.”
“Yes, of course it’s not too early,” she told him. “Thanks for asking. And how are you?”
He recognized that he’d barged in, but he didn’t care. “Sleeping with me doesn’t give you the right to mess with my daughter’s head. It doesn’t give you access to either of our lives. Is that clear?”
“Perfectly, but I have no idea what you’re talking about. And while we’re on the subject, you asked me to look after your daughter, which I was doing as a favor. I believe that means you handed me access to her life, if not yours. Now what is your problem?”
She sounded so innocent, he thought, hating how he was aware of the fact that she was in pajamas and not wearing a bra. It seemed that certain parts of his psyche didn’t care about anything but getting naked.
“Amy wants a cochlear implant because she wants to hear your music. She never wanted one before. It’s pretty sick to use a kid to make yourself feel better.”
Claire felt the earth shift beneath her feet and wondered if it was an earthquake.
Apparently not, she thought, because Wyatt didn’t seem fazed. Although he was very comfortable thinking the worst of her.
“I doubt you’ll believe me,” she said, determined not to get angry, “but I never discussed cochlear implants with Amy at all. She never mentioned getting one, and I certainly didn’t. I didn’t know much about them until you and I discussed them on our date. What you decide should and shouldn’t be done medically to your daughter is your business. Having her hear my music in the traditional sense isn’t important to me.”
She planted her hands on her hips and raised her chin. “What I really don’t get is why I have to be the bad guy in this. I’m not Shanna nor am I any twisted view of a woman, as you see the gender. I am someone who has only cared about you and your daughter. I have taken care of her and genuinely like her. I will not have you make that into something ugly, because it isn’t. Amy’s a great kid.”
He started to speak, but she held up her hand. “I’m so not finished with you. I’m willing to admit that I didn’t tell you I was a virgin. Assuming that it’s still my body, I’m not even sure I owed you that information. But for the sake of your current rant, let’s assume I did. I have already apologized for that. And for the record, you were the one who started the whole ‘I want to have sex with you,’ thing. I simply took you up on your offer. So you should stop being pissed off at me because the real person you’re mad at is yourself. Amy is growing up and you’re starting to realize you won’t be able to control everything about her life. Big whoop. That’s part of being a parent. But you don’t want to accept that. You want someone to blame. Like me. Just like you blame me for not bothering to take one hundred percent of the responsibility about using birth control when we did it.”
She leaned in and pointed her finger at his chest. “Stop putting the blame on me. Accept your share of the responsibility and stop thinking the worst about me. I’m a good person, dammit, and you know that. I’ve been nothing but sweet to your daughter and you know that, too. Now get out of here.”
For a second she thought he wasn’t going to move. She waited for the verbal explosion to follow, but Wyatt simply muttered something under his breath and walked out of the house.
Claire stared after him until the door slammed, then she sank onto the small chair in the foyer. She felt as if she’d had a run-in with the energy vampire and he’d just about sucked the life out of her.
Her heart pounded in a way that should have made her worry about panicking, but she didn’t. She’d handled Wyatt, she could handle a stupid panic attack, too. She was done being afraid or judged based on half-truths and stories. She was going to stand up and be counted on her own merit. Just as soon as she had the strength.
Nicole clumped in from the kitchen. “Impressive,” she said. “You really took him on.”
“He annoyed me.”
“I got that. So did he. Men can be such idiots. I hate to put Wyatt in that category, but I sort of have to. Are you okay?”
Claire drew in a breath, then stood. “I’m fine. He’s not going to get me down. I’m stronger than he knows.”
“Apparently. You’re practically self-actualized. Soon you’ll be living on a higher plane.”
Claire grimaced. “I can’t wait.”
RATHER THAN GO INTO WORK and snap at people who hadn’t done anything wrong, Wyatt went home to cool down.
He stood in his study and wondered what was wrong with him. He was the guy who thought first and then reacted. He made it a rule never to say anything stupid enough to require an apology. He kept his life simple, his relationships straightforward. When it came to women, no one got close, no one got involved with his daughter and no one got to him.
Except Claire.
She pushed buttons he didn’t know he had. She made him crazy without even trying, which meant he didn’t want to be around when she decided to deliberately push him over the edge.
He crossed to the cabinet against the far wall, opened it, stared at the liquor there, then reminded himself it was barely after nine in the morning. A little early to start, even on a bad day.
He slammed the door shut and walked to his desk. Instead of sitting in the chair, he stared down at the surface, as if the answers were there. The hell of it was, he didn’t even know the question.
Did he really think Claire had been the one to bring up the cochlear implant with Amy? She was right-what did she care how Amy heard her music. The child already loved her playing. Claire had faults, but being a raging egomaniac wasn’t one of them. He’d trusted her with Amy but he wasn’t willing to trust her to be a decent person?
He’d been mad at her since they’d had sex, he reminded himself. Since finding out she was a virgin. So what about that got to him?
He ran through a dozen or so reasons. That not telling the truth was like lying, that he didn’t want the responsibility, that it was all too strange. But he knew he was bullshitting himself. The real reason was that Claire was unpredictable. She had been from the first second he’d seen her and nothing about that changed.
He didn’t like unpredictability, especially in women. If he didn’t know what was going to happen, then he couldn’t stay in control.
Was that what this was all about? Being in control?
Asking the question made him uncomfortable, which meant he was probably close to the truth.
His past had a lot to do with his need to be in control. He couldn’t risk caring and making another Shanna-like mistake. No male in his family had ever had a successful relationship. Why should he be any different?
None of which was Claire’s fault. He seemed to be on a roll, screwing up at every turn. He was going to have to do something to make that better.