Broken Daddy: A Single Dad & Nanny Romance

by Blake North

  I still couldn’t quite believe he had set me up like this. I could have forgiven him, except for the fact that his family hated me. He hadn’t only set me up as a Jezebel in the press, but in the eyes of his family. And I could handle hate from a distance, but not close to home.

  I wouldn’t let him keep on hurting me, though. I thought about it logically. Yes, he had set me up But so what? There were lots of people called Hayley Morris, I was sure. Why did that Hayley Morris even have to be me? Most of my work was done remotely anyways. How would anyone even know it was me; if they even cared?

  I knew then that it wasn’t that. It was the fact that I loved Beckett, and having to pose as his wife without really being that; having to love him and never be accepted, was really hurtful to me.

  I hadn’t left because I hated him, or I was angry. I had left because I loved him and because my presence in his home was hurting him, and me.

  I stood and went through to the kitchen. I switched on all the lights, opened some windows, swept the floor. Then I went and made dinner. I was, I realized, absolutely starving. When I finished it was nine thirty.

  I sat down to a solitary supper in the dark, feeling better as the hot meal restored strength to my body. I would fight.

  In my heart, I knew that my reputation being ruined was the least of it. I had faced that thought and decided it didn’t matter soon after he discussed it with me. Yes, I could overcome that. But it was absolutely not the point. The thing that made me so terribly, exhaustively sad, was the fact that I would never see Beckett Sand again.

  I finished my dinner and cleared the dishes to the sink, rinsing them meticulously as I stacked them aside.

  “Think about it,” I told myself aloud. “You’re out of the public eye. You won’t have to see another press photographer or do another report again.”

  I smiled, though it was a smile flavored with sadness. I would never have to do any of those things again, it was true. But I couldn’t help the fact that I missed something about that life.

  Oddly enough, the bells and whistles—the silk sheets, the soft carpets, the fancy taps in the bathroom—I didn’t miss any of these things. I was glad to be in my own home, in some way safer here than I was in an environment that felt so strangely foreign to me.

  The only thing I missed about it—the only thing I would ever miss about any of it—was Beckett Sand.

  I tried to distract myself by watching some videos, then, an hour or so later, tired and drained, I dragged myself to bed.

  As I slipped under the cold sheets I felt my heart contract. It had been just hours before that I had lain with him in a bed, his arms around me. Now I was alone. He was far away from me.

  I wonder how he will take it; my disappearance?

  My thought as I fell slowly asleep for the second time that day, was the same as it had been earlier. He will get over it.

  So, I thought, would I. Sometime in the future; some time that was, categorically, not tonight.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO – BECKETT

  I woke up feeling terrible. I had fallen asleep on the couch, my neck contorted, my back cramped, watching the path up to the house. I groaned and stood, trying to stretch out the pain in my back. I heard someone walking.

  “Coffee, Mr. Sand?”

  I sighed. “Thanks, Mrs. Delange.”

  She didn’t say a word about my being on the couch. She was far too professional for that. And besides, she was used to me falling asleep in my office. This was the first time I had fallen asleep in the sitting-room. But, then again, there was a first time for everything.

  This is the first time I’ve faced something like this.

  I still couldn’t quite believe what I was facing. I still couldn’t quite believe that Hayley had run away.

  My initial terror—that she had been taken from the house by force—had quickly subsided, settled both by my own intuition telling me that she had decided to leave, and my brief talk with my driver, who had confirmed that he had taken Mrs. Sand to the hotel in town.

  He had looked at me like he expected to be shot for treason and then looked away, focused on the garden bordering the drive. I had said nothing. I knew, then, when he said that, that she’d gone. She had left me and gone home.

  Beckett Sand, you’re an utter ass.

  I knew I was. I knew I had dealt with the whole situation really, really badly. I had put both Hayley and Estella in an untenable situation, then offended Hayley and upset my daughter and hadn’t made peace with either of them. I had played with fire while doused in gasoline and then wondered why I’d been burned.

  I could forgive myself all of that if I thought I hadn’t hurt them in the process.

  I sighed. My coffee was set on the sideboard by Mrs. Delange, who hadn’t yet said anything, but her rigid posture and stiff face told me she, too blamed me for this.

  Hayley was right. All three of them can beat me in a battle of wills.

  I chuckled a little sadly. The coffee was sweet and strong and did something to restore my sense of perspective. By then it was utterly and completely ripped in shreds. Like my heart.

  Taking a shuddering breath, I stood and put my empty cup back where I’d found it. Of all the things I hadn’t done yesterday, that I could still do, I hadn’t talked to Estella.

  I checked my hair in the mirror by the doorway and went slowly upstairs.

  “Estella?”

  I knocked at the door of her dressing-room. It was eight in the morning and she was probably back from her run by now. Like me, she was an early riser.

  “Yes?”

  I felt my heart soar when I heard her voice. It sounded sharp, and I knew she was angry yet, but at least she was talking to me. I cleared my throat.

  “Is it okay if we talk now?” I asked.

  She appeared round the door. Her long pale hair hung in fresh-washed curls around her face, and she smelled of mint-scented shower-gel and toothpaste. I smiled at her.

  “What is it?” she asked. She still sounded suspicious, but she came out of the door to face me. I sighed.

  “I wanted to say sorry,” I said sincerely. “I know I put you in a bad position with this whole…this marriage thing,” I sighed. “I’m sorry.”

  She looked up at me with those beautiful, heart-melting blue eyes. “It’s okay, Dad,” she said softly. “I know you didn’t mean it. Thanks for…for that,” she added quietly.

  “For what, sweetness?”

  “For understanding. I’m sorry,” she said, sighing. “I know I was unreasonable. But that comment…on top of it all…it just got to me.” She hid her face in her hands.

  “I get it,” I said, giving her a smile. “You are a self-determining young lady. And I wouldn’t dream of trying to push you in any direction. Nor would anyone else,” I added, grinning.

  She shot me a look. “Now you’re teasing,” she accused me. “I’m not that scary. My temper’s like yours, Dad.”

  “Not scary at all,” I said, nodding demurely.

  She laughed. “Absolutely not. Quite so.”

  We both made our “pious” faces—cheeks sucked in, blank expressions. Then we collapsed in giggles.

  “I’m so sorry, Daddy,” she said, wrapping her arms around me in a big hug. “I know it was horrible of me to behave like that. But she got on my nerves.”

  “I understand,” I said. “I’m sorry I reacted like I did. I knew it was wrong of her to say that, even though I don’t think she meant it the way you took it. But I get why you felt like that.”

  “Thanks for understanding,” she said again. She sighed, then looked up at me. “Had breakfast yet?”

  “No,” I said.

  “I’ll come down with you. But…is she there?” she asked hesitantly. I could see in the way she hesitated in the doorway that she wasn’t ready to face Hayley just yet. I sighed: it was one good thing about her not being here at least.

  “No,” I said slowly. “She’s not.”

  I saw my daughter breat
he out, relaxing visibly. “Okay,” she said, looking brighter. “I’ll come down right now. Just let me dry my hair off a bit…it’s a bit cold still for sitting around with wet hair.”

  “Okay, sweetheart,” I said a little sadly. “I’ll head down.”

  “Do that,” she called through the door, voice muffled by the bathroom towel as she rubbed her hair vigorously with it.

  Downstairs at breakfast I waited while Mrs. Delange, stiff with righteous anger, brought our breakfast to the table. She didn’t say anything helpful or disparaging, but I could see her disapproval of me in every line of her. She evidently thought I should be out there, persuading Hayley to come back again.

  But what could I reasonably do?

  I knew where she was. I knew she was safe: I had sent Mr. Hudson, my chief of security personnel, to her house to check she was safely returned to it. I had texted her four times and had not a single reply yet. Besides stealing her against her will, what could I actually do?

  She didn’t want to have anything to do with me. Not that I blamed her. I’d treated her badly and I knew it. She had accepted me for who I was—the nice stuff and the decidedly unsavory stuff altogether—and I had told her things I never told anyone. She had accepted what I had done to her—setting her up as I’d done—without a backward look. She had been an angel and I had disregarded her.

  “Hey, Dad,” Estella’s voice said from the door. She looked at me. “Dad?”

  “Mm?” I asked. “What’s up, sweetie?”

  “Daddy, you look terrible,” she opined, coming to sit opposite me on a chair. “What’s happening?”

  I sighed. “It’s nothing sweetie, really. It’s just…” I paused. “Hayley left last night. She went back.”

  “What?” she stared at me. She had been buttering toast, but she let it fall to her plate, forgotten about. “She went back? Where?”

  “She went back to her home,” I explained slowly. “Hayley…she…she was angry with me,” I finished, not knowing what else to say that would not have been unfair. I could have said she had her own problems, but it wasn’t actually because of those that she left me, as justifiable as that would have been. She had left because of me. Because I hurt her.

  “So then she was angry with you,” Estella said crossly. “That didn’t mean she had to run off! Where’s she gone?”

  My daughter looked so thunderous that I was almost scared to tell her, in case she marched down there and confronted poor Hayley now. I smiled, feeling really moved. I had no idea how much she cared for me.

  “It’s okay, sweetie,” I said gently. “She’s gone home. In Montrose,” I said quickly.

  “Montrose?” Estella looked at me. “She lives there?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Well, it’s so close,” she said. “We could get her back! If you like,” she added firmly.

  I laughed. Trust her to see it purely as a matter of distance and time. “I love you, my daughter. I hope you know that.”

  She blinked at me. To my utter surprise, her blue eyes filled up with tears. She swallowed, clearing her throat. “Oh, Daddy,” she said, in a voice thick with feeling “Why’d you say that? I love you too,” she added as a casual afterthought. I smiled.

  “I said it because I really value how you want me to be happy,” I said, feeling my own throat close up at the thought of it. “I know having Hayley here wasn’t always nice for you…”

  “It was okay,” she interrupted. I smiled at her and continued.

  “I know it wasn’t always okay. But the fact that, because it might be important to me, you would be willing to get her back, means the world to me. Honestly, it does.” I swallowed hard.

  She smiled. “Oh, Daddy,” she said.

  I smiled back.

  We sat in silence for a while, eating our breakfast while I read the paper and she read the same news on her phone. Then, when she had finished eating, she looked up at me.

  “Well, then,” she said firmly. “What are we waiting for?”

  “What do you mean, sweetheart?” I asked, blinking, feeling puzzled.

  “Let’s go and get her back.”

  I smiled. I was touched. I wished it was all that easy. That I could just do that: take time off work, drive to her house; ask her to come back to me. But it wasn’t that easy.

  I was Beckett Sand and I couldn’t risk going anywhere near her without taking the whole press to her doorstep. And, even worse, I couldn’t risk going near her without taking the Hill Street gang, the drug cartel who was poisoning my life, to her door either. And I couldn’t do that to her. Not for anything.

  “I can’t, sweetie,” I said softly. “But I appreciate that you said that. Really, I do.”

  She smiled. “Oh, Dad.”

  “What?” I asked fondly.

  “You’re sweet. But I wish I could help. Really, I do.”

  “I know,” I said gently. “But there’s nothing either of us can do. All we can do, I guess, is wait.”

  We would have to wait. For Hayley to decide to forgive me and come back. If she ever forgave me for what I had done to her. All I could do is hope.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE – BECKETT

  I drove to work. I had left Estella in nominal charge of the house phone, just in case Hayley happened to contact me on that. Mrs. Delange was in charge of Mr. Hudson’s report backs. Now, aside from setting that up at home, my support network, there was nothing more I could do.

  Work passed slowly—too slowly, by my thinking. It dragged on and it all felt oddly meaningless. I recalled this feeling from the trouble with Lacey, which gave me hope that, eventually, all horrible things pass.

  I just wish she’d get in touch.

  I had brought my phone in my pocket, which was unusual for me. My usual practice was to leave it in my office until I went to lunch, then, when I came back, put it in my desk-drawer again until work ended. It was too much of a distraction to have it always on hand. But for the moment, I had to keep it close by. What if Hayley called me?

  With the weight of the phone pressing against my thigh, drawing my attention like a magnet draws iron, I sat through an endless meeting with my board-members. Finally, we all went to lunch together. I spent the time half-absent, fretting, thinking of Hayley, feeling utterly wretched.

  At the end of lunch, I was sitting, my fork absently turning lettuce on my place while I listened to Oscar Hugh, my chief investor, talk endlessly about the Far East. My phone made a message tone. Heart thudding, I took it to the window. Read the message.

  My blood went cold as I read on.

  Cover blown. That didn’t last long. Do better, or we’ll do better too. Count on it.

  I sighed. It was them. They were back. When I got back to my office, still shaky and nauseous, I found out why. Accidentally, I clicked on the browser-window that was open on the Chronicle’s front page. I read aloud one of the headings, my heart beating faster.

  “Where is Ms. Sand?”

  Desperately, I checked the headlines of the five most important local papers. They all carried a similar story somewhere on a prominent page. Mrs. Sand, the wife of the famous multimillionaire Beckett Sand, had run away. After three days.

  I sighed. This was terrible. It was awful. At least my investors had all been tactful enough to ignore it. They had probably been impressed by my stoicism—maybe scared by it, even. I would have been. I was.

  It wasn’t the scandal of it or the loss of my respectable stability, though those affected me. It was the fact that, yes, my cover was well and officially blown.

  We will do better: trust us.

  The thrust of the message cut into me like a knife. They meant that if I didn’t rectify the situation, re-establish the cover we had patched together over my payment deal, they would strike out at what I loved. And that meant Estella. Or, now, their new target. Hayley herself.

  I wanted to cry. I wanted to rage. I wanted to find whoever was doing this to me and finish them off, quickly and irrevocabl
y. But none of those reactions were accessible. I was in my office and no one—not even Mr. Hudson, who managed my security issues—could be relied on to find the gang.

  That was not just because they would have had trouble finding them. Hell, even I could have found them, since I knew more or less exactly where to look. It was because I couldn’t bring myself to ask.

  One whisper from one of Hudson’s men about the assignment they had been set, one leak to the press, and I was as good as ruined anyway. No, I realized. I had to do this alone. This was me against them. It had to be.

  I pressed the intercom to the office of my secretary.

  “Mrs. Douglas?”

  “Yes?” she called.

  “What’s my diary looking like this afternoon?”

  “Well,” she paused, reading off a sheet of paper in her hand, “you have a Skype conference with the Colorado lot, and then you have a welcome dinner at six-thirty…and I do want to send those reports off, if you’ve finished with them yet?” she said with a wistful sound to the statement.

  I sighed. “Yes,” I said truthfully. “I can send them to you today. Now, in fact. But listen: could you Skype with Len and tell him we’re going to have to reschedule? And make my excuses at the dinner this evening? Something’s come up.”

  “Yes, Mr. Sand,” she said firmly. I sighed with relief. She was absolutely precious, my secretary. No matter what she was facing, she was always calm, always easygoing. She didn’t ask why I couldn’t be there or try to guilt me into going to the dinner, which would probably have helped my relations with overseas investors. She just easily smoothed things over for me.

  “Thanks, Mrs. Douglas,” I said gratefully, and, switching off intercom, turned to my PC.

  I sent her the reports and my comments on them, then looked at the ceiling, feeling my heart pounding in my chest. I had now just granted myself a free afternoon. Which was good, because I had a massive problem to remedy. But I didn’t know how I should even start.

  I knew where to find the gang. At the docks they had a small office where the gang boss worked, ostensibly as a bulk cloth merchant, but really a front for the drug-dealing trade he did. I would head down there now and settle this with him.