Page 4 of Broken SEAL'S Secret Baby
Did I mention that Grace is excitable? She has a hard time texting without capitals. And exclamation points.
Me:Why?
Grace:They’re closing down the campus! Everything is going online, and we’ve got to move out of the dorm!
Me: How soon?
Grace: Like, now! They gave everyone 48 hours, as of yesterday morning!
Me: Well, that bites. We are done with the funeral, so I’ll have James drive me over as soon as he gets back to the car. Do you need a ride?
Grace: No. My folks will be here at 4:00. I’m so glad you texted. I didn’t know what to do. They’re going to lock up at 8:00 PM tomorrow and no one will be allowed in.
I see my brother get off the elevator and approach the car.
Me:I’ll be there as quick as I can. I see James.
Grace:All right. Be careful.
I sign off and watch as my brother gets into the car. “Drop you off at the dorm?” he asks.
“No. Sorry. They’re closing the dorms. I need to pick up my stuff.”
James whips around and peers at me over the seat back. “You’re shittin’ me.”
My brother. The soul of politeness and good will. Maybe there is a reason he got along so well with Mr. Charles Emory, billionaire, former Navy SEAL, and all-around asshole.
“I wish. I need to go pick up my stuff. All my clothes, my laptop, and my books are there.”
“And then what?” he asks.
“And then I have no idea. Go throw your stuff out of my room at home? Rent a motel? You tell me.”
James sighs. “Right. Let’s go get your stuff, then we’ll figure it out.”
Chapter two
Charles
I hold Cece’s hand as we enter the penthouse apartment. She seems to have forgiven me. My baby girl was fond of playing the “you don’t love me” card when she didn’t get her own way.
Em and I had both spoiled her. She was the only cement that held us together in the last year or two. We’d had a whirlwind love affair that ended in a Vegas wedding just before I deployed, but we had grown so far apart, even before Cece’s birth. I was almost constantly on duty overseas.
Emily was the perfect military wife: devoted to her career, taking care of Cece, and keeping up my home so I’d have a place to return to. My leaves were brief, so we didn’t have to pretend very hard for Cece and Em’s parents. It got even easier after Em’s parents, who were missionaries, contracted viral hemorrhagic fever and died within hours of each other.
I guess you could say we had a hard-luck life in spite of having plenty of money. My parents were killed in an airplane crash not long after my first deployment. Probably just as well.
They would have been horrified that I had leftrunning the company to a hired CEO, but James did a good job for me. And the salary I paid him let him save his family’s farm.
Then I had my accident and been laid up for months. When I got home, Em decided it was her turn to travel. But we’d done our best to make sure that Cece always knew that she was loved. That part, at least, wasn’t hard at all.
As we enter, the vestibule is quiet, and so is the entry hall and living room. But there is a faint sound of voices from deeper in the apartment.
Cece tugs me farther through the house, through the living room, then the dining room, and into the kitchen where Manuela, our cook, and Sherry, our maid, sit at the kitchen table talking quietly while peeling vegetables. Both wear masks and gloves.
Manuela has always been scrupulous about sanitation. But since we had gotten word about Emily Jean and the strange new illness, she had been extra careful. Her salt and pepper dark hair is drawn back into a professional bun and covered with a hair net. As always, she looks professional and proper. She gives Cece an elbow hug as the little girl flings her arms around the cook’s plump waist.
“How are you, Mr. Emory?” she asks, her voice warm with sympathy.
