The Ties that Bind. Emilie Rose
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position.”
It was his turn to recoil. Sarah asked too much. Letting Graham—or anyone—into his life meant making himself vulnerable. Everyone he’d loved had died. His parents. His brother. Hank.
Kat would return, and when she did she’d take Graham back to Atlanta. Eventually she’d find someone else willing to give her the ring she craved, and then even if Pierce wanted time with the boy he would play hell trying to get visitation. He’d seen custody battles happen time and time again with friends and employees.
Keeping his emotional distance would be easier in the long run. When he had something to offer Kat’s son—like a job at Hollister Ltd., he’d teach Graham the business if the kid was interested. But until then, he wasn’t investing himself in a temporary guest.
Three
Four days on the job—two of which Anna hadn’t seen any sign of her boss.
The good news: he wasn’t trying to take advantage of her and hadn’t made even one untoward move. The bad news: he was completely ignoring his son.
Her anger on behalf of the adorable little boy reactivated her dormant resentment toward her son’s father and her own. Were all men self-absorbed idiots who procreated without thought of the life they were bringing into the world? Did they never consider the emotional needs of a child before unzipping their pants?
To give Hollister credit, he hadn’t spoiled his son with material possessions to make up for his neglect the way her father had. Sure, every request Anna had made had been met almost instantaneously, like her grocery list and the installation of the stair gates and the pool and hot tub alarms. But it wouldn’t kill Hollister to drop by the nursery and share a few minutes of his precious time with his son. The best gifts—like love and attention—were free.
She checked the boys again. Cody’s pink cheeks confirmed he’d finally succumbed to the nap he’d been fighting. She debated her options. Sitting in the nursery and updating her resume as she’d done during the boys’ previous naps didn’t appeal. The sun was shining and the temperature was warm but not too humid. She’d love to sit on the patio with a book. But in the rush she hadn’t packed any of the books she’d picked up at the swap shop.
Perhaps her boss had something she could read? There was only one way to find out. Dread slithered under her skin. She knew he’d be alone since she’d heard Sarah drive out ten minutes ago, and while Anna wasn’t keen on facing the lion in his den, she’d rather do that than stare at the ceiling for two hours. She clipped the baby monitor to her waistband and descended the stairs, heading toward Hollister’s office. She knocked on the closed door.
“In,” his deep voice rumbled through the wood.
She turned the knob and pushed. Hollister sat behind his desk, a pile of papers in front of him. His white polo shirt accentuated his tanned face, broad shoulders and chest muscles. His frown intimidated her, but she’d come this far, she might as well follow through despite her fluttery pulse and a strong urge to run.
“Hi. I’m sorry to bother you, but do you have any books I could borrow? The boys are napping and I—”
“Make it quick.” He pointed at a shelf behind the smaller desk on the opposite side of the room.
“Thanks.” She entered the study and his crisp, clean scent filled her nose. She could feel him watching her as she perused the titles—not in a sinister way, but in a way that made her cells tingle.
Most of the books were business related. She was about to abandon her search when she spotted a hardback thriller by one of her favorite authors. She grabbed it, eager to get started, but paused. “Have you read this yet?”
“No.”
“Oh.” She started pushing it back into its slot.
“Take it.”
“Are you sure?”
He jerked a sharp nod. “I don’t have time to read it.”
“Okay. Thanks.” In a hurry to make her escape, she debated fleeing, but she had a point to make if she could find the courage to voice it.
“I’m enjoying taking care of Graham. He’s a sweet little boy and so cuddly. You and his mother must be very proud—”
“Chatting me up is the wrong way to convince me you didn’t make overtures to that father at your last job.”
Indignation snapped her spine stiff. “I was merely trying to suggest you spare a few moments for your son.”
“He is not my son in any way other than biologically.”
The odd answer rattled her. “I don’t understand.”
“You don’t need to, Ms. Aronson, and if you value your job you will get out of my office. Now.”
When he put it that way…“Yessir.”
She turned, in a hurry to get away from the grouch. Her elbow caught on a bin of paperwork on the smaller desk. The basket tipped over, scattering sheets over the desktop and the floor. Some even floated under the furniture.
She winced. Way to go, Anna.
“I’m sorry. I’ll clean them up.” She dropped to her knees and started collecting the pages. Some were neatly typed and paper-clipped in bundles. Others were handwritten on notebook paper and barely legible, their folded top corners all that held them together. But it was the top line on each cover sheet that caught her attention.
The Sean Rivers Memorial Scholarship.
Then she spotted loafers planted in front of her. Loafers attached to long denim-clad legs, a leather belt and a white shirt. Her heart climbed to her throat. Hollister surprised her by squatting and helping rake up the remaining mess. Their fingers collided, and the heat of his touch jolted through her. She snatched her hand back.
What was that? It couldn’t be attraction. No way. Not to a workaholic.
Alarm? Yes, that’s all it was. A good ol’ case of uneasiness. She didn’t want to be accused of inviting illicit invitations again.
Her gaze shot to his. Only a narrow span of inches separated them. “You’d think after fifteen years of ballet lessons I’d have a little more grace.”
He all but ripped the forms from her hands and stood to tower over her. “Fifteen years and you didn’t pursue it?”
“No amount of enthusiasm or determination can overcome a total lack of rhythm. My dance instructor repeatedly encouraged me to find another hobby, but I had my reasons for sticking with it.”
He didn’t even crack a smile at her self-deprecating tale. She stretched to reach a page far under the desk. Curiosity got the better of her as she rose beside him. “Who is Sean Rivers?”
His perpetual scowl deepened. “My brother.”
“It says ‘Memorial Scholarship.’ Does that mean he’s—”
“Dead. Yes.” Clipped words, devoid of emotion.
Empathy welled inside her. “I’m sorry for your loss. As much as my sister irritates me sometimes I’d hate to lose her. And…all this?” She indicated the stacks.
“Not that it’s any of your business but Hollister Ltd. provides a college scholarship to a deserving student from the foster care system each year.”
The foster care system. And he’d been adopted. Had he and his brother spent time in the system?
She scanned the wire baskets and the stacks within reach of his desk. “You personally select the recipient?”
“Yes.”
“That’s what you’ve been working on?”
His jaw line went rigid. “Among other things.