Chapter 27

I hate to point out the obvious—that I’m a temporary fixture.

But I do concede, if only to myself, that I’m going to be here for a while. This is going to be my home, until all is said and done with my contract.

So rather than split hairs on where I belong, I merely say, “You do realize you have a gift.” This isn’t the first meal he’s made that has sent me to the moon and beyond.

Interestingly, I suddenly realize…

“You taught Nick to cook, didn’t you?”

Grayson sips his sparkling water, averting his eyes for a moment.

A telling sign.

It takes some gumption, it seems, for him to glance back at me.

“Bailey, I chose to instruct him in numerous ways after his mother passed. There were plenty other staff members to assist him, yes. But he was so amazingly curious about everything that I felt compelled to be the one to teach him as much as I possibly could, in whatever subject I excelled at. And learn alongside him in the ones I wasn’t strongly knowledgeable of.”

I leave my spoon on the plate beneath my bowl and shift in my seat to face my butler…who’s also become my friend. A mentor, even. A father-figure.

I’d had the ideation previously that Nick was more of a son to Grayson than an employer; or the prince/now king.

He’s definitely a family man. A devoted one. And I’m fortunate to share this time with Grayson.

Pertaining to Nick, I softly muse, “You must be really proud of him.”

“There are no words,” he vehemently, though in a similarly low voice, tells me.

This chokes me up. But I’m beyond a sobfest right now, given the one I'd caved to. Yet somehow… My eyes actually do mist.

I say, “You’re going to leave this place and return to your country to help raise this child, once she’s born.”

I don’t need to pose it as a question. I have no doubt that’s his intention.

However, Grayson throws me for a loop.

He pins me with an unwavering gaze and shockingly replies, “Bailey, I’ve made arrangements to stay on here for the unforeseeable future.”

I don’t know what to make of this.

“But after the baby’s born—”

“Do you really think this house and everything in it,” he quickly interjects, “everything Nick has purchased for you, simply goes away?”

“That’s the agreement,” I contend.

“Hmm.” He gives a slight shake of his head and then he stares at me again. “Bailey. Nick would never, ever, take any of this away from you. It’s yours. All yours. All of it. Not just the restaurant.” His brow raises, pointedly. “All of it,” he reiterates, more emphatically. “You keep the beach house and the clothes and the jewelry. The security guards and the butler. All paid for. Whatever you want.”

Oh. Dear. God.

Whatever I want?

The tears flood my eyes again.

Honestly, I thought I’d dried the ducts and could proclaim a drought.

Not so.

“Jesus, Grayson…”

“He will always want you to have the best of everything, Bailey Storm.”

I gape.

Then clamp my mouth shut.

Only to open it unexpectedly and oh, for all that’s holy, I can’t stop myself from blurting: “But that’s him, Grayson!”

I reel from the easy, innate, soul-deep admission.

But do I stop myself from revealing anything further?

Of course not.

“He’s the best of everything,” I declare as tears tumble down my cheeks. “For me!”

Grayson sits back. Grins.

And counters with, “What, exactly, do you plan on doing about that?”

~ * * * ~

It’s later in the evening, when we’ve finished lunch and I’ve evaded his question, that I join Grayson in the kitchen.

I plop into a stool at the island and say, “You’re aware that I requested Nick leave the premises, right?”

“Nick’s dinner plans were not well received,” he remarks.

“It’s not that they weren’t appreciated,” I comment. For some reason, it’s critical I convey this, so he knows I’m not being finicky or arbitrarily rude. “It’s just… Sometimes I look around and I’m flabbergasted I exist in all this grandeur. And then when Nick adds ‘grand gestures’ to that grandeur… It’s too much. Like… Sometimes I wonder how I got here. I mean, I know how I got here.” I groan. I’m not explaining this correctly.

Grayson’s too astute to require me to.

He gives a slight nod and replies, “You’re not just speaking of the house.”

No, I am not.

Apparently, the house and its contents are mine. A “bonus” I certainly was not expecting. But that’s a brain hurdle for another day.

Right now… Grayson and I are circling around a more personal matter.

I’m just not sure I can get into all of this—everything related to Nick—with him.

Except that Grayson has observed plenty. Has deduced even more. It’s actually his job to be cognizant of what goes on under this roof. He’s the one managing all the pieces, since I’d inevitably decided we didn’t need an additional house manager when he was so efficient.

Truthfully, there’s no reason to not be fully transparent with him. He’s seen me soaring when Nick is here—and he’s seen me crashing and burning when Nick’s gone. Especially this time.

It was bad enough when Nick flew off of his own accord because he had business and his father to attend to.

But for me to have shoved him out the door… That’s a tenuous thread I fear tugging on.

Regardless, I feel the need to justify my actions.

I heave another harsh breath and tell Grayson, “I was never looking for more than what Nick and I agreed upon. It was very specific. Clean and tidy, cut and dried. Until… It wasn’t. And the thing of it is, I can’t even really say for sure if it would have ended differently if we’d taken the clinical approach. He confessed to being attracted to me from a photo. And the second I saw him…”

My heart wrenches. More tears prick my eyes. Turns out, I’m a bottomless well.

I say, “We fell into sync—there was nothing forced between us. Ever. It was so simple. So perfect,” I absently muse.

“Then why push him away, Bailey?” Grayson quietly asks as he delivers a box of tissues to me.

I press one to my nose for a spell. Try to get my bearings. Then I wonder aloud, “How could I not push him away? Getting romantically involved with the man was not in the contract, Grayson. Getting all twisted up in emotions—both astonishing and agonizing—was not in the contract.”

“Sometimes life can’t be dictated—or contained by—a contract, Bailey Storm.”

He doesn’t profess this condescendingly. He’s quite adamant. And I believe he understands my plight. The whole messy, sordid crux of it.

Problem is… “We don’t live in the same world.”

“What’s so different between the two of you?” he carefully challenges. “You share similar values. You have similar interests—cooking, for one. Eating, certainly.” He chuckles to help lighten the gloomy mood. “You both want to achieve something great. You’re both reserved with your feelings. He maintains a very tight inner circle. You’ve developed one as well, with the people surrounding you. And if I may be so bold as to say… You care deeply for each other.”

Oh, fuck.

I’m going to tailspin into another ugly cry.

My teeth sink into my lower lip to keep it from trembling. And because the biting sting helps to avert emotion so that I don’t crumble. But I know I visibly am.

Grayson confirms this as he diplomatically adds, “That’s precisely the response I was anticipating. Because it’s a true reaction. A real one.”

“It’s also impossible,” I aver, my voice quavering. “California is my home. Evidently,” I continue on a sharp sniffle, “this beach house is my home. The restaurant is also my home, Grayson. It’s my brainchild. It’s my dream, now realized. And Nick… He has his own dream. That is something we do not share. The most important something.”

Grayson turns his back on me for a moment. He crosses to the nearly industrial-sized, paneled fridge and pulls out a pie.

Not any old pie, mind you. A fancy French silk one that he garnishes with chocolate shavings I’m certain come from some quaint Belgium village. I almost melt off my stool, knowing it’s all going to be decadently rich and creamy. It definitely smells divine.

He busies himself gathering the serving utensils, plates, and forks. Meanwhile, I recognize he’s contemplative while doing all of this. He’s giving serious thought as to how he’s going to single-handedly resolve circumstances that are beyond both Nick’s and my control.

Not for the first time, I wish my dad could’ve met this man, and vice versa. They would have been friends. At the very least, I wish my father knew Grayson is currently looking out for me—and plans to do so, indefinitely.

There’s another big cry coming my way over these ruminations. And the reality of the situation.

Later.

For now, I stay the course.

Most specifically, I reel Grayson in a tad, so he’s not too mired in mine and Nick’s drama. Yes, I think he chooses to be. But I suspect he’s been through the wringer with his daughter’s past issues, and I don’t want him so ensnared here that he suffers right along with us.

I tell him, “You’re a saint for all you do, Grayson. Take solace in the fact that my rainbow does have a pot of gold at the end. Maybe it’s not the be-all, end-all booty, but there’s no denying I got what I asked for. So please don’t worry so much about me. I’ll be fine.”

~ * * * ~

As it turns out… That becomes my catchphrase.

Of course, I have an immediate appointment with Dr. Shaw and Lavinia. They give me a thorough exam and I inform them that all sonograms are to be delivered directly to Nick, silently implying I don’t want to see them.

This piques Dr. Shaw’s curiosity.

I say, “Obviously, you’ll alert me to anything being off so that we can fix it. But he deserves a picture with his updates and assurance from you that all’s well.”

“Are you not in communication with him while he’s in Europe?” she queries, a bit delicately.

“There’s no need to be. You’re the one who can relay all the medical information. Claire, Grayson, and my bodyguard take care of everything else.”

I get dressed and am heading toward the door when Dr. Shaw says, “Bailey, your mental health during this time is as crucial as your physical wellbeing.”

“I’m fine,” I tell her.

She takes a few steps toward me and gently places a hand on my forearm. “Do you regret getting pregnant?”

I assume this is part of the legal obligations we’re both under—she needs to know these things?

Regardless, I don’t consider it to be her business.

And yet…

Oh, and yet…

I look her directly in the eye and make a declaration that is meant not only to put her mind at ease about whether I would actually terminate this pregnancy, but also to provide her the full transparency I’m adopting with my “inner circle.” Because, aside from providing baby and health news for Nick’s benefit, she is under a patient-confidentiality agreement with me.

“Dr. Shaw,” I steadily contend, “I do not regret being pregnant. There is absolutely no threat there, no cause for concern. I want to give this baby to Nick.”

She stares at me with a hint of scrutiny. Or just outright confusion. “I understand you’re just getting acclimated to this news, Bailey. It can be traumatizing to suddenly learn you’re going to give birth…and knowing you won’t be keeping—”

“She’s absolutely going to the perfect parent,” I adamantly state. “I couldn’t even dream up a better parent for her.”

That is my solemn, genuine admission.

So I turn to go.  

“Then, what is it, Bailey?”

Her tone is gentle, caring.

That instantly grips my soul. So that I glimpse at her over my shoulder and say, “What I regret, Dr. Shaw…” I sigh despondently, yet resolutely, “is falling in love with him.”

Now I leave.