Page 150 of The Nanny and the Hothead
It wasn’t okay. It was far from okay because it impacted her. It was in her nature to be quiet. But this silence was different. He closed his eyes and blew out a slow breath, knowing what he had to do, what he had to share with her. He needed her to see it—to view his worst moment, so she could understand. “I want to show you something. Something very few people have seen.” He retrieved his cell, tapped the phone’s text icon, then scrolled to the video Ines had sent him the day she and Madelyn had entered his office. The footage she’d busted her ass to keep out of the public’s eye. He handed Charlotte his phone, and she accepted it into her trembling hands.
“What is this?” she rasped.
A muscle ticked in his jaw as pain laced with humiliation flooded his system. But he had to show her. “It’s the worst of me. Hit play.”
Her finger hovered over the screen, but before she tapped the icon, she paused. He couldn’t read her—he couldn’t decipher what was going on inside her head. But he had to share this. She had to see it.
“Go ahead,” he coaxed. “Watch it. It’s not long.”
She tapped play. “It’s you,” she said, her eyes glued to the screen. “You’re…oh, my God, Mitch, you’re…”
“Out of control in a blind rage,” he finished. It was years ago, but he remembered that moment like it was yesterday. The mess. The destruction. The absolute disarray. It was as if a wrecking ball had done its worst to the TV set. Prepped with fresh vegetables, bursts of red, green, orange, and yellow littered the floor as he flung pots and pans across the set. It was a godsend that he hadn’t taken out his knives and a miracle that none of the crew had been injured. But he hadn’t seen them. He could only see red and hear Holly’s words.
Oscar is your son, Mitch.
With that news, it was as if the scales had been tipped, and the demons he’d kept at bay had broken free.
And these demons were vicious and hellbent on his destruction.
“That recording is what blackballed me in the culinary world. Ines kept it from getting out, but word got around that I was a loose cannon. That minute of footage captured what happened thirty seconds after I got off the phone with Holly.”
“When you learned that you were Oscar’s father,” she supplied.
“Yes,” he whispered. His chest tightened as shame set in. “What kind of person acts like that when they learn they have a son?”
Her eyes welled with tears. “I didn’t see a man in a blind rage in that video.”
“You didn’t?” he asked, his voice cracking.
She shook her head. “I saw a man in pain. A man enduring terrible agony. A man who didn’t know what to do or who to turn to.”
He hung his head. “It was like descending into hell. My whole world spiraled out of control. I had to create chaos to combat the clawing voices in my head. The only thing I could do at that moment was tear down the set, tear down everything that used to bring me joy. I blamed it for bringing me nothing but pain. The TV chef gig had turned into a prison that shackled me to the past. But I’m not that man anymore. And it’s because of you.”
“Mitch,” she whispered, a gut-wrenching sadness coating the word as she brushed a tear from her cheek.
“I didn’t mean to make you cry, Charlotte. I showed you that video because I wanted you to know what you’ve done for me. What you do for me every single day. I’m better with you.” He scanned the contents of her tote and saw the glint of orange from Oscar’s ceramic heart. He pulled it from the bag and placed it in her hand. “Oscar and I are both better with you.”
She closed her hand around the heart, then peered out the window as another tear trailed down her cheek. “I could do with a little fresh air. Do you mind if I take a short walk?”
He stroked her cheek. “Do you want me to go with you?”
She focused on the cabin. “Why don’t you bring our bags inside? I won’t be long. It’s got to be the emotion from the day catching up with me. I just need a few minutes.”
He nodded. “Take your time. There’s a dirt path that goes down to the creek. It’s a five-minute walk,” he said, watching her closely. Yes, he’d dropped some heavy stuff on her, but he’d swear there was something else weighing heavy on her heart.
As if she were sleepwalking, she opened the car door and started for the path. He watched her disappear past a line of leafy aspens, then blew out a slow breath. “Get the bags. Open the cabin. Work on the book’s ending,” he murmured to himself, relying on order and structure to shift his focus and calm the storm that raged inside of him. He grabbed Charlotte’s tote, then exited the car and got their overnight bags from the back. They’d packed light. They’d only planned to spend one night here before heading back to Denver. They had the last two food truck stops scheduled for the coming Tuesday and Thursday. He unlocked the door to the cabin, and the familiar creak of the hinges whined his arrival as a shiver passed through him. Staring into the main room, he half expected Holly to come out from the kitchen to greet him. He swallowed hard. “It’s a house,” he said when a series of pings emanated from Charlotte’s bag.
Shit! Camp!
Would he be like this every time one of their cells rang?
He reached in and accepted the call. “Hello?”
“Yes, is Charlotte Ames available?” came a woman’s voice in a crisp British accent.
He set down the bags, then entered the kitchen, searching for some paper and a pencil. “She’s not here. But I can take a message.”
“Brilliant! My name is Paige Carter. I’m calling from the Royal College of Art regarding the photography workshop.”
