The Mummy Proposal

Brooke shook off the tantalizing fragrance of leather and spice. “That’s a tall order.”

He eyed her with lazy assurance. “I’m not worried. You have a reputation for providing your clients with the home environments they always dreamed of having, in record time.”

Brooke could not contest that. She was good at what she did. She worked hard to keep at a minimum the chaos and disarray that went along with redecorating. Usually, however, the homes were not nearly this large. A feeling of nervousness sifted through her. “It’s going to require a lot of time on your part, as well,” she warned.

He regarded her with maddening nonchalance. “I don’t move furniture.”

Famous last words, Brooke thought. No one got through a major upheaval of their personal belongings without eventually having to heft or slightly reposition something. It didn’t matter how many professionals were hired. At the end of the day, there was always something that wasn’t quite right. Something that begged the owner to reach out and touch and, in the process, claim it as his or her own. But figuring Nate wouldn’t understand the need to put his own signature on the place if it were truly to become his home, she let it go for now.

Giving him the smile she reserved for her most difficult and demanding clients, she tried again. “I meant you’re going to have to sit down with me—pronto—and talk about what kind of style you envision having here.”

Brooke turned as she saw Landry heading up the staircase.

Nate lifted a staying hand. “It’s okay. He’s going to have to explore the place sometime.”

Meanwhile, Brooke noted, the seventy-nine-year-old Jessalyn appeared to be drifting off to sleep …. “So when can we get together to do this?” she asked.

“How about tonight?”

If only that were possible, she mused, as anxious to get a head start on this task as he. “I have to pick up my son at summer camp.”

“Bring him, too. Say around seven? We’ll all have dinner. If you want, you could even move your things into the caretaker’s house at that time.”

Brooke had heard Nate moved fast. His indefatigable drive had turned his solo financial advising practice into a firm with six thousand top-notch certified financial planners, and a national reputation for excellence.

She gazed up at him. “I know you want to get this done,” she began.

“It’s important for Landry that this feel like a home instead of a museum,” Nate said.

Brooke couldn’t disagree with that. “But there’s such a thing as moving too fast. Decorating decisions made in haste are often repented in leisure.” And she had her own problems to triumph over, starting with her promise to reconfigure her priorities and bring balance back into her life.

Nate brushed off her concern with a shrug. “I’m counting on you to help me avoid that.”

The doorbell rang before she could answer him.

Nate moved to get it.

A stunning ebony-haired woman in a Marc Jacobs suit strode in, cell phone and briefcase in hand. She was in her mid-thirties, of Asian-American descent.

“Brooke Mitchell, my attorney, Mai Tanous. Mai, this is Brooke Mitchell.”

Mai nodded briefly in acknowledgment, then leaned toward Nate. “We need to talk.”

NATE HAD AN IDEA of what Mai was going to say. He also knew she would be much more circumspect if they weren’t alone. He motioned for Brooke to stay put, and regarded Mai steadily. “I presume you brought the papers?” he asked in a voice that tolerated no argument.

Mai cast an uncertain look at Brooke, as unwilling to talk business with an audience as Nate had presumed she would be. “Yes,” she said politely. “I did. But—”

He held up a hand, cutting off her protest. “Then let’s sign them so Jessalyn can go home. She’s exhausted.”

Exhaling in frustration, Mai frowned. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

He nodded. For a moment Mai seemed torn between doing her job and being his friend. Finally, she pivoted and headed for the library, where Jessalyn was seated. As Brooke and Nate entered the room, the elderly woman roused.

Mai extended a hand and introduced herself. “Mrs. Walker, are you sure you don’t want to have your own attorney present?”

Jessalyn waved off the suggestion. “I trust this man every bit as much as my late granddaughter did. If Nate says he’ll do right by Landry, then he will.”

“I would still feel better if we slowed down a bit,” Mai said. “Perhaps began the process with a simple visit.”

Nate gave his attorney a quelling glance. “I told you it wasn’t necessary,” he stated firmly. “Now, if you have the Power of Appointment papers …”

Her posture stiff, her expression deferential, Mai opened up her briefcase, extracted the documents. “Basically, this agreement states that Landry will live with Nate now. It gives Nate the power to take him to the doctor, and to school or camp while he is in Nate’s care. In the eyes of the law, however, Landry’s great-grandmother, Jessalyn Walker, will remain his legal custodian until the court transfers custodianship to Nate.”

“Why can’t we just make Nate Landry’s legal custodian now?” Jessalyn asked impatiently.

Mai regarded the elderly woman gently. “The court will need to be certain this arrangement is in the best interest of your great-grandson.”

Nate noticed Brooke visibly react to that admission.

“I don’t see why, since Nate has agreed to be the father that Landry needs.” Jessalyn appeared upset.

Mai knelt in front of her and took her hand. Looking her in the eye, then explained, “The authorities are still going to want home studies to be done by social workers, and reports given to the court, recommending placement. But that won’t happen until the petition for custodianship is filed with the court. And in fact—” the attorney gave her hand a final pat and stood, addressing all of them once again “—I would suggest that until Landry settles in a little bit and feels like this is something he wants, too, that we hold off on taking him before a judge. And instead just let him live here for a few weeks and get used to things, before we actually petition the court to begin the process to make it permanent.”

Although Brooke had said nothing during this whole exchange, Nate noticed that she seemed to agree with Mai on that. Probably because she was a mother herself and understood how unhappy Landry was right now ….

No one there seemed to have confidence that Nate could make the teen any happier. When it came right down to it, he wasn’t certain, either. His own familial background left a lot to be desired, in that regard.

Jessalyn studied Mai with faded blue eyes. “You’re worried what will happen if Landry decides he doesn’t want to live here with Nate, aren’t you?”

As direct as always, the lawyer nodded, her expression grim.

“Why don’t I check on Landry?” Brooke interjected helpfully.

Appreciating her discretion and sensitivity, Nate shot her a grateful glance. “Good idea.”

She slipped out. The mood in the room was somber as Jessalyn and Nate read and signed the legal documents Mai had drawn up. Finally, it was done. Everyone had a copy of the Power of Appointment to take with them.

“Obviously,” Nate told Jessalyn, “you are welcome to call or come by at any time to see Landry. And I’ll make certain he visits you at the retirement village, too.”

“Thank you,” Jessalyn said, her eyes moist. “And thank you for coming to our aid. Especially under the circumstances.” Her words were rife with meaning only Nate understood.

Reminded of the situation that had prompted him to cut ties with Seraphina and her grandmother, Nate bent and clasped the elderly woman’s frail shoulders in a brief hug. “I wish you’d come to me sooner,” he murmured in her ear.

Jessalyn looked at him. “You know why I didn’t,” she retorted, just as quietly.

Nate did. He exhaled deeply. Before he could reply, Brooke appeared in the doorway.

“A small problem,” she said with a rueful twist of her lips. “I can’t find Landry anywhere.”