Page 17 of Broken SEAL'S Secret Baby
“Yes,” I say. “I saw a drip coffee maker on the counter. We just need to find the filters.”
A quick inspection reveals the coffee filters next to the paper towels, an assortment of boxed tea bags, loose tea, and tea strainers. There are also two whistling tea kettles and four tea sets.
“Who drinks tea?” I ask. Then wished I had not, for Mr. Emory winces as if I’d kicked him in the delicates.
“My wife used to have tea parties with Cece,” he says. “There is a set for each of Cece’s birthdays. I suppose I should get rid of them.”
“No, don’t,” I say quickly. “We can pack them away if you wish, but I think Cece would like to have them when she gets older.”
Mr. Emory leans against the door frame of the pantry. “I suppose you are right. There are some non-caffeinated fruit and flower teas in there that Em would get just for Cece. We should at least keep those out, and a tea strainer and cup.”
“I like tea sometimes,” I say. “Maybe we could get a pot that wouldn’t remind Cece of her mother. Or maybe she would like to keep one set out to use.”
“I’ll think about it,” he says. Then he moves away from the door and looks out the kitchen window. “Maybe we should ask her,” he adds.
This is a side of Charles Emory I’d never seen before. His motto had been more like “Often wrong, but never in doubt.” This man is far less certain of himself. This morning, I can almost feel sympathy for him. He is certainly out of his depth and has no servants and no wife to guide him through troubled domestic waters.
I gather up the filters and pre-ground coffee and soonhave the drip percolator going. While it is chugging away, I rummage in the refrigerator, find a large box of frozen waffles, and pop four of them in the large toaster that stands on the counter beside the coffee maker.
After opening and closing a few cupboards, I find a large mug labeled “Boss Fuel,” fill it and set it on the table along with a condiment holder containing sugar packets, creamer packets, and napkins. I follow that up with a plate containing two waffles.
“What do you take on your waffles?” I ask.
“Nothing,” he replies. “I like them plain.”
I find a smaller, plain coffee mug that I fill for myself. I sit down at the table with the other two waffles.
“Now, tell me what really caused you to get me up before sunrise,” I say.
“I’m going to need your help,” he explains. “I hired you because I need to call employees and clients to talk with them about how the lockdown is affecting them. It upsets Cece to hear me talking with them.”
“I get that part,” I say. “But why so early? Cece isn’t even up yet.”
He runs his hand through his hair. The longish part on top is sticking straight up like a cartoon character. I bite my bottom lip to keep from laughing. He is going to have a hard time combing it into order.
“Welllll,” he draws the word out, “As you can see, I’m not very handy in the kitchen. Someone will need to prepare meals, do laundry, and take care of the general cleaning.”
“Whoa, there, cowboy,” I protest. “I signed on to look after your daughter, not to run your household. Even if I wanted to, I’ve got one week of my last semester before starting my practicum still to finish. I need to reserve some time to attend classes online and to complete my coursework.”
He looks bleak and a little desperate, but I don’t like the way things are shaping up here. It is just like James to strand me without taking time to make sure it all works out. Being a housekeeper and maid in addition to taking care of Cece isn’t something I had anticipated.
He takes a big swallow of his coffee and seems to think about what I had just said. I brace myself for the worse.
But he surprises me. “All right. Let’s start this over. James didn’t mention that you were still taking classes, just that you needed a job and a place to stay that had good Internet.”
“James doesn’t approve of my major. He thinks early childhood psychology is a waste of time.”
“Child psychology? How could he . . . ?” My new employer is diplomatic enough not to say “that idiot” but I can hear it in his tone. Maybe he had grown up a little since he’d dissed on Greg all those years ago. “I think I just lucked out in my choice of workers. Losing her mom is hard on Cece, and I’d thought about hiring a counselor. . . .”
“Cece is a resilient, intelligent little girl,” I say, trying to make my voice warm and comforting. No matter what I thought of him, this is a man shoved into the deep end of parenting. “Of course, she misses her mother. But time and distraction will take care of most of her needs. I think I can talk my instructors into letting me listen to recorded lectures and attend class asynchronously. But I still have to do the work and complete it on time to get credit. It can take several hours a day – at least for the next week.”
Charles taps one long finger on the table, his brows drawn together in thought. “I understand. But I have a multibillion-dollar corporation to run. I can’t spare the time to cook, clean, and take care of the pets.”
Now it is my turn to think. He does have a point. If he had been able to take care of Cece and do his job at the same time, he wouldn’t have called James in the first place. And hehad to be desperate, given our past history, to ask me to come look after his daughter.
“How about this,” I say, “Let’s compromise. You pay me a little extra for the added duties. But let’s limit them to preparing simple meals, keeping Cece’s areas, my room, and the living room clean, and looking after the pets — providing the dog walker doesn’t show.”
“I forgot about him,” Mr. Emory admits. “He called while you were getting dressed. But I don’t want you or Cece out of the penthouse. It’s too risky. People are going to start acting crazy, and I’ve gotten several threatening letters.”
