Page 16 of Imperfect Arrangement
Have you really managed to forget Miss Pershing, Teager, or are you pretending?
“I heard Donna put up another ad for a new nanny,” Archer says. “The last one didn’t even make it a week.” He might like to act all detached, but I know my family—he’s genuinely worried, like all of us, that we can’t find a nanny who truly gets Quill. Someone who’s focused on her, not me, and who can help her come out of this cocoon my daughter has spun around herself.
Less than a year ago, a caseworker strolled into my office, holding the hand of a little girl who looked like she’d rather be anywhere else. The woman was in her mid-forties, dressed in a polka-dot dress, said I was Quill’s dad and her last living relative. Her mom had died in a car accident three years before, and Quill had been living with her grandpa until he’d passed recently.
The caseworker handed me a picture of a woman, and it took me a minute to piece it all together. A few years ago, we’d met in a club while I was celebrating Archer and Rowan’s birthday. We hit it off immediately, and since she was just passing through town, it seemed like the perfect arrangement—two nights, no strings, no expectations. Exactly the kind of setup I liked. We said goodbye, both knowing we wouldn’t see each other again.
I never imagined in my wildest dreams the proof of those two nights would show up in the form of a little girl who’s the spitting image of her mother. And there’s a damn good reason why I never expected it.
But seeing Quill nervously clinging to the caseworker, her wide eyes scanning the room like she was ready to bolt, was like looking into a mirror of my own childhood. I’ll never forget that moment or how it hit me. If Dad hadn’t walked into our lives back then, I might have ended up a very different man.
And I decided in that very instant that Quill might not know it yet, but she’d never be alone. Not now, not ever.
* * *
“What are you doing tomorrow, Daisy?”I ask my sister-in-law, trying to keep my voice steady even though my stomach’s doing Olympic-level somersaults.
I force my eyes to focus on the cupcakes in the middle of the table, the colorful frosting swirled to perfection and drowning under a mountain of sprinkles. Without even tasting, I know they’re loaded with enough sugar to power a city. And yet, my health-nut cousins are going to annihilate the entire tray since their beloved niece helped make them.
“Why do you want to know that?”
Of course Charles would reply on behalf of his wife. It’s as if she wasn’t his secretary but he was hers.
Before I can answer him, Archer chimes in with a grin. “Ladies and gentlemen, here’s your modern husband. So controlling.”
“I’m not controlling, jackass. It’s called being caring.” Charles flips Archer off before turning to Daisy. “Ain’t I, sweetheart?”
“Absolutely,” she says, shooting him a look that’s all too sweet. “But did you need something, Ray?” Daisy asks, her smile warm and patient.
My heart’s pounding so hard it’s embarrassing.
Relax, Raymond. You’re not doing anything wrong. You’re just being a dad who wants the best for his daughter.
Still, it feels like the whole universe is holding its breath, waiting to see if I’ll mess this up. I clear my throat and try to steady myself.
“We recently made some changes at The Ritz in St. Peppers, including a new spa team. They’re supposed to be the best in the business.” The Ritz was my first big step into the hotel world, and it still holds a special place in my heart.
Daisy’s eyes light up. “Wow. That sounds fancy. I miss spa days.”
“Glad to hear it.” I keep my focus on Daisy, avoiding the curious and borderline suspicious look Charles is giving me.
I’ve always hated lying, and while I’m not exactly doing that here, omitting certain details leaves me drowning in guilt. “Would you like to take Quill with you and give me your feedback on the services?”
Guess Charles has finally consumed his quota of being a silent spectator. “You’re seriously telling us that you made changes to one of your top hotels and didn’t hire professionals to review it?”
I wipe my sweaty palms on my Tom Ford pants, hoping to dispel the clamminess. “We did. But I thought it’d be nice to get feedback from family too.”
As I feel the anxiety peaking, Daisy claps her hands.
“That sounds amazing! I’d love to take Quill for a girls’ day. What do you say, kiddo?” Daisy beams at Quill.
My daughter grins wide in return and pushes her little hands forward twice, signing, “Awesome.”
“Great, I’ll send you the passes right now,” I say, pulling out my phone, eager to get rid of the guilt twisting my gut like a pretzel. I hit send on the email I drafted earlier.
“Um, Ray?” Daisy looks up from her phone, her brows knitting together. “I think there’s a mistake. You sent five passes, not two.”
Silence falls over the table, and I can practically feel the weight of my cousins’ stares boring into me.
