Page 2 of The Forbidden Sitter
“No! Wait—give me one more minute—I’m terrible under pressure.” I pinched the bridge of my nose as I tried to inject some creativity into my businessbrain.
August wasn’t giving in and was not about to give me any more time. “Nope, no extra time, and we’re coming in on ten,nine…”
One word popped into my head, and I blurted it out, “Swank!”
I looked back and forth at my partners and was shocked to see smiles curling their lips. August nodded. “I likeit.”
Nixon chuckled. “Me too. Swank, it is, then.” He looked at August through the other screen. “Seems we’ve had a productive meeting, August. Time to get back to our real jobs. Catch you guys later in the week. Nixon, out.” The screen with his face on it wentblack.
August gave me a nod. “Back to work, buddy. Let’s get together on Friday evening for dinner anddrinks.”
“You got it.” I had to laugh as he ended the call. My friends knew I worked best under pressure, and they were, as always, expertmanipulators
Walking out of the conference room, I heard Janine arguing with another woman, “No, you may not go looking for Mr. Forester,Miss!”
“Out of my way, youmidget!”
I headed in the direction I heard the voices coming from and found my assistant trying her best to stop a tall, skinny redhead with a small boy at her side. He huddled against her leg, eyes wide with dismay at theshouting.
The irate woman’s dark-brown eyes caught mine. “Gannon Forester, there youare.”
“And you are?” I inquired, giving the boy what I hoped was a reassuring smile. Not that I knew the first thing about kids. Surprisingly, he ducked his head shyly and then looked back up, offering a sweet gap-toothedgrin.
The woman cleared her throat impatiently. “Cassandra Harrington. Surely you remember me.” Her thin lips pulled into a smile. “Club Acapulco on thestrip?”
Not aclue…
I had the feeling I didn’t want to talk to the woman in the hallway with so many people’s ears leaning our way. “Would you mind stepping into my office, Mrs.Harrington?”
“Miss. And that’s where I wanted to talk to you at in the first place, but this littletroll…”
I took her by the arm and ushered her and the little boy into my office. The way she shoved the kid forward, like he was a sack of flour, irked me for some reason. As I closed the door behind us, I rolled my eyes apologetically at Janine and she winked, ever-unperturbed. Her husband was a lucky man, and he knewit.
I turned back to Miss Harris and watched as her face twisted in what looked like disgust as she let the boy go and gave him a nudge—really more like a shove—away. “Stop clinging. Gannon, this is Braiden Michael Forester. Yourson.”
My brain froze. My eyes shot straight to the little boy. He hovered uncertainly between the woman—his mother, presumably, poor kid—and my desk, before picking up courage. Walking around my desk and briefly disappearing, his tiny body dwarfed by its huge breadth and height, he reappeared moments later climbed up in my office chair. Leaning back in it, he kicked his feet and spun in a circle. Something tugged at my heartstrings—and let me tell you, up until then, I didn’t know Ihadheartstrings.
“Gannon?” the harpy snapped. “Did you hearme?”
I refocused my attention from the boy onto Cassandra, even as he began to play with my stapler. My automatic instinct was to take it from him, so he didn’t staple his little fingers. Which was bizarre, because … since when did I have automatic instincts when it came to anything except women andbusiness?
Still buying time, I offered Braiden a box of paper clips in exchange for the high-powered electric stapler and liked when he didn’t fuss at all, switching gears seamlessly to playing with the colorful, little metalclips.
“Gannon!” Cassandra finallyexploded.
Yes, he was a really nicekid.
But he wasn’t mine. That, I knew for sure. I didn’t know this crazy bitch. “Look, lady,” I informed her coolly and calmly. “I don’t knowyou.”
“Oh, but you do.” Her snarl transformed into an equally unpleasant smirk, stretching her thin lips into a wide rictus. “You and I went back to my place after drinking too much at that club that night, a little under three years ago. I ended up pregnant, something I didn’t bother you with for nearly three years. Your son is two, just so you know. And I’ve done all of the mothering I care to. I want out. I’m not cut out to be amother.”
As she spat the words at me, I couldn’t help but marvel at how utterly unattractive she was in every way, way beyond just her witch-like exterior. Her voice was like nails on a chalkboard. I’d heard the expression, but had never actually seen it come to life until justnow.
For some reason, the bombshell she’d dropped kept getting replaced with other thoughts. Maybe I was avoiding it. Or maybe I just couldn’t believe I would’ve had anything to do with a shrew. I had a type when I looked for female company—a very, very specific type that was more personality-based than physically-based, honestly. Gorgeous was hot, but fun to spend a long evening with was even better—and she didn’t fit it in theslightest.
“I don’t know you,” I repeated. “And he’s notmine.”
Cassandra didn’t even notice that the kid was reaching for scissors, or if she did, she didn’t care. I cut him off at the pass and handed him a stack of Post-Itsinstead.
