‘Oh, right.’ Her face fell. ‘Of course. Well, if there’s anything else you need. Anything at all, day or night… please call me and I’ll personally take care of it.’ She tilted her head and wrapped a strand of hair around her finger. ‘I’m Sally.’
‘Noted,’ I said flatly. From the way she was staring, I assumed that when she offered to help, she wasn’t referring to the professional concierge services.
Hard pass.
I had no intention of getting involved with a woman who worked in my apartment building. And definitely not one who was employed by my father.
I was about to close the door, but then I remembered something.
‘Actually, Sally, there is something you can help me with.’
‘Anything!’ She beamed and her eyes widened.
‘Is Harvey working this morning?’
‘The doorman?’ She frowned.
‘Yes.’
‘No, he’s not here until this afternoon.’
‘That’s what I thought. Could you give him this?’ I opened the cupboard in the hallway, pulled out a gift-wrapped box, then handed it to her.
‘Let him know it’s for little Freddy—his son. Tell him I wish him all the best. Just in case I don’t get to see him today and tell him myself.’
During one of our chats last week, Harvey had mentioned that Freddy was going in for an operation tomorrow to have his appendix removed and was scared, so I’d got him a cuddly toy to keep him company whilst he was staying in the hospital.
‘Oh. That’s all you want me to do?’ Sally’s face fell.
‘Please. Thank you. I really must go. Good day.’ I closed the door before she could offer me more of her services.
‘Who was that?’ Father asked as I returned to the gym.
‘Just a woman from the concierge delivering my dry cleaning.’
I wasn’t going to tell him I’d given one of his staff a gift for their son. He’d tell me that it was inappropriate. Father didn’t do anything to help people unless it benefitted him.
Recently I’d suggested the company set up an ongoing donation to the housing and homelessness charity Shelter. I’d had a monthly direct debit set up for years but wanted to do more. It always felt wrong that we sold properties worth millions to the rich whilst some people couldn’t afford to put a roof over their heads. But of course Father declined.
‘Sounded like she was interested in giving you more than just your dry cleaning. You need to be careful of those types of women. They’ll deliberately trap you to get your money. That’s why it’s important to only associate yourself with women of the right calibre. Speaking of which, have you set up that meeting with Penelope?’
‘It’s on my list.’ I groaned inwardly.
He called it a meeting, but it was a date. Penelope was the daughter of one of the richest men in London, which in Father’s eyes automatically made her my perfect match. Whether we had anything in common was irrelevant.
‘Time is of the essence, Theodore! You’re already thirty-three. You need to get married and have a son soon so that by the time he’s gone to Oxford, then done a stint at Harvard Business School, he’ll still have time to learn the ropes and be ready to take over. The longer you leave it, the later you’ll have to retire, and whilst you could continue running the business in your eighties, it’ll be best all round if your son could run it for you.’
I blew out an exasperated breath. I didn’t even know why I was surprised that although it hadn’t been conceived yet, my unborn child already had its whole life mapped out.
Then I reminded myself that it was just the Eaves way. As the first-born son, it’d been the same for me.
I was tempted to ask why my child had to be a boy and not a girl when a woman could run the business just as well but decided against it. Before we debated the gender of the heir to the Eaves empire, I needed to find a woman who’d be willing to have sex and a baby with me.
Well, the finding the woman part had already been organised.
My stomach clenched.
I’d hoped I’d get to find my own wife and choose who became the mother of my children. But Father had chosen Penelope. And as he liked to frequently remind me, he called the shots.