Daddy Secrets

by Mia Carson

  “I’ll send a package of all that is required to ensure your home is well within the parameters for becoming a guardian,” she assured him. “Two weeks should be plenty of time. Are you home most of the time?”

  He glared inwardly at her but kept his face even as he responded. “Most days, yes, though I can’t exactly drive and my chauffeur quit a month ago…or two.”

  “Perhaps consider a live-in nanny? At least until you’re in a better physical state.”

  “A nanny?” Stan knew what nannies were like. His parents had had one for him and his sisters when they were toddlers. She had been a grouchy old woman with a bad attitude and always smelled of sour milk. She did what she was supposed to, but he shuddered to think of hiring such a woman for a son who already hated the father who hadn’t been in his life yet. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said simply.

  “That’s all I can ask. I’ll send a lab tech over in the morning to collect the DNA, and you will be required to take a drug test as well.”

  “I do take pain meds, is that a problem?” he asked, hoping they wouldn’t be. Why? This could be your way out. You can’t take care of a kid, you moron. You can’t even take care of yourself.

  “Fill out the form she gives you so they know it when it shows up. I’ll fetch Louis, get him out of your hair for now, and you can get started on planning your new lives together,” she said happily and marched away.

  Stan spun around in his chair. The mess of his life surrounded him—literally—and he was bringing a ten-year-old kid into it. What the hell was he thinking? It was the middle of summer, but school would start soon, which meant helping with homework and parent-teacher conferences and having people see him in public in a damn wheelchair. He hadn’t left the house except for once a month to check in at the company he ran with his dad, Sampson Wellington. Other than that, he stayed at home and ran things from his home office, where no one stared at him or gave him pitying looks he couldn’t stand.

  “Say goodbye to your dad, Louis,” Mrs. Applebaum said, the boy behind her and Stephanie bringing up the rear.

  Louis stopped in front of Stan and reluctantly threw out his hand. “Bye… I’m not calling you Dad,” he added as soon as Stan took his small hand.

  He gave it one shake and looked the boy square in the eyes, seeing that the same stubbornness which ran in his family continued in this kid. “I don’t expect you to—not yet, at least. How about Stan?”

  Louis screwed up his face to the side and smirked. “Stan? Okay then, Stan.”

  “Louis, show some respect,” Mrs. Applebaum whispered behind him.

  “No, it’s fine. I think we’ll get along better than we both think. See you in two weeks, kid.”

  They left, and as soon Stephanie shut the door behind them, she turned around and glared at Stanford. “If you think I’m cleaning this whole damn house by myself, you’re dead wrong, mister.”

  “I’ll help you, I promise,” he insisted. “But I’m not sure where to start and I think we need to hire a nanny.”

  “We? What’s this ‘we’ you speak of?” she mocked.

  Stanford picked at the leather on the chair arm. “I know I’ve been an ass, and I’m sorry, but I need your help. Please.” She crossed her arms firmly over her chest, tapping her foot hard on the stone floor. “Help me find a nanny and get this place cleaned up and you can quit, and I’ll even throw in a nice leaving bonus for you,” he said, hoping she realized this was as close to begging as he would come. “Please, Stephanie, as a friend?”

  Groaning and cursing, she gave in. “Fine, fine, but we do this my way, understand me?”

  “I don’t have much of a choice at this point. I can’t do it myself.”

  “No, you damn well can’t. I’m going to get us some iced tea and we can start right here.”

  She turned sharply on her heel and clicked down the hall, leaving Stan to roll himself into the front sitting room. Several broken trinkets lay scattered around amongst the mess of pillows and cushions, random items he’d dug through after the accident. This room bore the brunt of his anger those first few weeks when he took a baseball bat and shattered everything in reach. Stephanie cleaned some of the mess then, but when he only destroyed the new items she moved into the room, she gave up and let him have his destruction.

  He moved his chair to the couch, and using his arms, wincing at the pain shooting up his legs, he hoisted himself over to the cushion and dragged a box towards him. The day was already long and it would only get longer.

  Chapter 3

  Remy stepped back, wiping sweat from her forehead with her forearm, and admired the sculpted piece before her. She turned her head this way and that, pinching her tongue between her teeth as she wondered if it needed any more done to it.

  “That’s quite a piece,” her mom, Abbey said, as she entered the old shed they let Remy use as an art studio. “You always amaze me with what you come up with.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” Remy held up her hand to gauge the size of the figure’s face and huffed. “It still needs work, though. Something’s off about the face and I can’t figure out what.”

  “It looks fine to me.”

  “Really? And what is it supposed to be?” she asked, smiling as Abbey fumbled for an answer.

  “An interpretation of you, maybe?”

  Remy’s laughter echoed around the studio. “Not even close, but I’ll take it anyway.”

  “You’re not even going to tell me the right answer?”

  Remy shrugged and ran her fingers over the wet clay, gently smoothing out the cheekbone more and pressing in around the eyes. She usually worked with paints and canvases, but lately, clay called out to her and she was teaching herself to sculpt the human form. Her art always took an interesting turn, tending towards the darker aspect, though she never really understood why. Her childhood had been a happy one as far as she could remember, and everyone told her she was so bubbly. Until they saw her art. Then they questioned whether they knew Remy at all.

  “Nope, because even I don’t know. Maybe I should stick with paint.”

  “You should do what your heart tells you to do, which is why I still don’t understand why you wasted time with a hospitality degree,” Abbey mused, plopping down in the hammock seat hanging from the studio ceiling. “I know your dad said pick something that would make you money, but I wish you’d stuck with art.”

  Remy lifted the large plastic to cover her piece so it wouldn’t dry out until she decided to work on it later. “Where’s this coming from? I thought you were on board with what he wanted.”

  “Eh, I changed my mind. You’re happy when you’re sculpting and painting and whatever else you make in here,” she added, and Remy turned to see her staring at the massive set of wires she’d started working on last night. “What is that going to be?”

  “I haven’t decided yet.” She washed her hands in the utility sink and dried them on a stained towel, a rainbow of colors from all the paints she had used the last two weeks she was home. “If you didn’t come here to tell me I need to find another job and move out, why are you in here?”

  Abbey grinned mischievously, reminding Remy where that side of her personality came from. “Oh, I am, but I’m trying to be subtle about it. You’re twenty-five and you have plenty of money saved up. Go start your life away from your parents. Please.”

  “Kicking me out,” Remy sighed. “Damn, Mom, that’s harsh.”

  Abbey tucked her daughter’s chestnut hair behind her ears. “No, I’m simply worried about you holing yourself up in here. I know you were close to those three families, and with Mr. Bayard dying… I want you to find your next adventure.”

  Remy leaned into her mom’s hand. “If you’d given me another hour, I would’ve given you the good news, but I guess I’ll tell you now.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I have a phone interview in twenty minutes for a new job—a nanny position, live-in.”

  “Around here still?
”

  “A little outside of Hartford, but yes, still close to home without being at home, so you and Dad can stop worrying about me,” she promised. “Maybe once I see how this next job goes, I’ll actually move out on my own—officially.”

  Abby hugged her close, kissing the top of her head. “That’s all we want for you.”

  “I know, and a husband and kids,” she added, laughing with her mom. “Sorry you got stuck with the slow kid.”

  Abbey shrugged. “I’ll live. Besides, I don’t think I’m ready for someone to call me grandma yet.”

  Remy had to agree. Her mom fell pregnant with her when she was sixteen. Abbey and George had had a whirlwind romance as teenagers, and when Remy came along, George stayed by her side through it all. Times were tough, they said, in the beginning, and a few times, Abbey said they were both ready to give up on each other. Their parents had been unsupportive of their decisions, but somehow, they made it through. Now, George was the owner of one of the best restaurants in town, and Abbey ran the local greenhouse, growing fresh produce for the restaurant. They were a great team, and Remy never dreamed of having any other parents.

  “The interview is soon,” Remy told her mom. “I have to go get ready.”

  “And I have to head to the greenhouse. The sprinkler system malfunctioned again. Tell me all about it when I get back.”

  “I will, promise,” Remy said and hurried out of the shed and up to her old bedroom.

  Though it was a phone interview, she freshened up and tugged on a clean pair of jeans and a blouse so she at least felt more professional. Usually, she did interviews in person, but the e-mail she received that morning from the temp agency said they were only doing phone interviews first. If they liked her, they would hire her on a trial basis, but they needed to find someone today. Remy asked why the rush, but the agency said they didn’t have that information.

  She held her phone in her hand and sat on the window ledge in her room, gazing out over the town. When she was little, she used to sit in this spot and stare up at the stars, wondering what great adventures her life would take her on when she was older. She might not have left the state, but she was happy with her life and how it turned out.

  For the most part, anyway. Her cheeks warmed remembering walking in on Callie and Matt going at it again yesterday morning. She told her friend she was stopping by to pick up some canvases she’d stored there, only to find them splayed out on the kitchen table. She closed the door quickly and left, texting her friend that she would get them later. But what she saw stirred some deep, hidden longing inside her to have a relationship. She dated here and there, but no one clicked with her quirky personality. She was either too bubbly, or they saw her artwork and assumed she was some goth chick who happened to like pink.

  The phone rang and she cleared her throat and sat up straighter before she answered. “Hello?”

  “Is this Ms. Remy Reagan?” a woman asked on the other end.

  “Yes, this is she.”

  “Oh, good. This is Stephanie Hollens from the Wellington estate. Is now a good time to speak with you about the nanny position?”

  “Yes, it’s a perfect time. I’m very much looking forward to working with a new family.”

  Stephanie laughed, the undertone was sarcastic, and Remy’s curiosity spiked as to what type of family she was possibly going to work for. “That’s good to hear. This family is a bit…different, I suppose you would say. I see here you worked with the Guttenbergs and the Trentons?”

  “Both at the same time. Great kids. I was in charge of their morning routines when their parents had to go into work early. I stayed at the house when they were out of town and worked with them after school and in the evenings when need be.”

  “They gave you wonderful recommendations, even offered you a chance to move with them out of state. May I ask why you decided to stay behind?”

  “Connecticut is my home,” she replied simply. “I love it here, and there are always families looking for a good nanny or someone to take care of an older relative.”

  “Ah, yes, the Bayard family. I am very sorry for your loss.”

  Remy choked back the pain of losing such a nice, gentle old man. “Thank you. His family was so close they practically were my family.”

  Stephanie asked a few more questions about what Remy would require if she moved in and explained what was expected of her if she accepted the position. She mentioned the trial basis but didn’t give any reason why they needed to hire someone today or why there was emphasis on the trial period being successful. Remy answered every question honestly, and when Stephanie finished telling her about the boy, Remy sensed she had the job.

  “Well, those are all the questions I needed to ask. Do you have a few more minutes?”

  “I believe so, yes,” Remy replied.

  “Good. Mr. Wellington is here and would like to speak with you briefly. I expect to see you first thing tomorrow morning—ten sharp. We’ll get you settled in and the real job will start Monday.”

  “Isn’t Louis there now?” Remy asked, confused.

  “I believe Mr. Wellington will explain. Hold on for a moment if you please.”

  Remy paced from the window to the door in her room, wondering what would need explaining. She hoped the parents weren’t divorced. She’d never worked with a family with that particular hurdle before, but she’d spoken with other nannies who said it was never pretty. The fighting over the kids and money was terrible to watch. Most nannies tried to avoid it, and Remy decided she would do the same if that’s what it came down to.

  “Ms. Reagan?” a man’s deep voice said through the line. “I’m Stanford Wellington. Pleasure to meet you.”

  “You as well,” she replied.

  “Before you decide to accept this job offer, I want to be sure you understood the current situation.”

  “Of course,” she said slowly, unsure.

  “My situation is a little odd. I have recently been informed that I have a son of ten years who, until two weeks ago, I knew nothing about,” he started. “His mother died recently and named me as guardian. Louis will come to stay with me for a period of six months, during which time I must show that I am capable of taking him in permanently.”

  Remy’s feet paused and her mouth fell open as his words raced around her mind. “That’s definitely not what I expected you to say,” she said without thinking.

  Mr. Wellington’s laughter was deep and exhausted. “Two weeks ago, I said the same thing when this boy walked into my life. I’m still working at getting over the shock. I need someone who can help me transition from my current situation to one with a child.”

  “I will do my best, Mr. Wellington,” she said confidently. “Whatever you need.”

  “Good, I’m very glad to hear it. Stephanie said we will see you tomorrow morning?”

  “Ten o’clock sharp,” she repeated the time.

  “Good. Until then, Ms. Reagan. Enjoy the rest of your Friday.”

  He hung up before she could say anything else, staring at the phone in her hand. “Until then.”

  She pondered this man’s predicament, sitting in her room and wondering what mess she was walking into. This was worse than divorced parents. This was a father trying to figure out how to be one with a son he hadn’t known about until two weeks ago. Louis had to be going through a pretty hard time, losing his mom and going to live with a dad he probably assumed didn’t want him to begin with. Remy passed by the mirror over her dresser and stared at the uncertainty in her eyes.

  “You can do this,” she told herself firmly. “It’s just like any other nanny job. You be there for the kid and you help where you can. Don’t get involved in anything else.”

  How she would do that and not get involved, she had no idea.

  Later that night, when she sat down with her parents to share her new job starting that following morning, the looks on their faces said it all.

  “Are you sure you want to walk into this situatio
n?” George asked before taking a large bite of his steak. “I mean, you have no idea what that kid’s been through, or what type of man this Wellington guy is.”

  “He sounded like a nice guy who was a little out of sorts,” Remy said, pushing her salad around on her plate. “I couldn’t say no.”

  “But living there? You’re going to be around this guy twenty-four seven, alone in a mansion.”

  “His son will be there, too, remember?”

  “It doesn’t make me feel any better. You still have that pepper spray I bought you, right?”

  Remy rolled her eyes as Abbey laughed quietly. “Dad, I think you’re overreacting just a tad.”

  “No, I am not. You’ll be living with a rich bachelor who probably has women over twenty-four-seven and might even expect…well, you know,” he grunted.

  “No, I don’t,” Remy said, watching her dad struggle to say what was on his mind.

  “Yes, you do. You know perfectly well what I mean.”

  “George, just say it,” Abbey ordered, her eyes glittering with laughter. His lips were pressed firmly shut until Abbey flicked a piece of lettuce at his face.

  “Oh, all right, he might want special favors.”

  “Favors, Dad?” Remy asked, knowing full well what this was leading to but loving watching her dad’s face turn three shades of red.

  “Sex. He might want sex,” he hissed quickly. “I can’t believe I said that.”

  Remy and Abbey erupted in fits of giggles as he grumbled down at his plate.

  “Dad, I think I can handle myself. It’s called saying no or quitting. I’ll be fine, promise.”

  He harrumphed but dropped it. Abbey asked her if she had everything she needed packed and ready to go and where they needed to drop her off.

  “Actually, they’re sending a car,” she said. “Stephanie sent me a text after my interview.”

  “Sending a car,” George uttered. “Lord, you will be living it up.”

  “The other families were wealthy, too,” she pointed out.

  “They never sent a car for you, though. You sure he even has a kid?”