At The Millionaire's Request

She didn’t miss the flash of disappointment on the child’s face before Gavin put his hand at the small of her back and urged her from the room. She accompanied him down a hall and into an office that was as elegant as it was masculine. The walls were oak-paneled, with a matching desk dominating the center of the hunter-green carpet. One wall was entirely windows with French doors looking out on the ocean.

Two leather wing chairs were in front of the desk and he indicated she should sit.

Gavin took off his suit coat and draped it across the high back of the desk chair. He sat across from her, loosened his red tie and rolled up the long sleeves of his white dress shirt to just below the elbows. As if that wasn’t masculine enough, she noticed that his jaw was dark with five o’clock shadow. It gave him a dangerous look that set off a fluttering sensation in her stomach. Again her survival instincts were telling her to run, but this time for a different reason.

“So,” Gavin said, folding his hands on the desk. “Thanks for coming. Can I ask what changed your mind?”

She wanted to tell him he was free to ask, but she didn’t have to answer. Except, given her firm, outspoken objection to his offer, it was a fair question. That didn’t mean he was entitled to the whole truth. “Let’s just call it a moment of weakness.”

He studied her for several seconds, then shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter. The point is you’re here. And I’m grateful.”

Don’t be, she wanted to say. “Sean’s injury was to the left side of his brain,” she said, getting straight to the point. They had no reason to do small talk.

“Yes. How did you know?”

“That’s where language function is controlled.”

Gavin nodded and his expression was grim. “He used to be a chatterbox.”

“With TBI, or traumatic brain injury,” she added, although probably he’d heard the term more than he wanted, “the jolt to the head disrupts brain function and it isn’t just language that’s affected.”

“The doctor told me.”

“Did he also make you aware that reading, social skills such as impulse control, gauging consequences for a behavior and acting out because of frustration can also be affected by the injury?”

He nodded. “Medically, Sean’s come as far as he can.”

“Do you have a prognosis?”

“The neurologist feels that with cognitive and physical therapy, Sean has a good chance to regain brain function lost due to the trauma.”

“Good. I’ll need to do a series of tests on Sean to see where he is, then work up a treatment plan.”

“Okay.”

She knew a therapist was the driving force in treatment. But, like a general, she needed to martial all the forces at her disposal. She needed to know who she could count on. “Gavin, clearly you’re dedicated to Sean’s care. What about Sean’s mother? Will she—”

“She won’t be involved,” he snapped. M.J. almost shivered at the ice-cold tone of his voice. “You should know that TBI kids typically progress faster when both parents become involved in the process.”

“Sean’s mother doesn’t have any contact with him.”

“I see.”

“I doubt it.” His gaze narrowed.

True. If she still had her son, nothing and no one could keep her from him.

“You’re right,” she agreed. “I don’t see. But I can make a guess that she’s the woman who worked you into that cynical attitude of yours and is responsible for you keeping your guard up.”

“You’d be correct.” A muscle jumped in his jaw. “All you need to know is that Sean is better off without her.”

M.J. couldn’t help being curious. He’d never married Sean’s mother and he was raising the boy by himself. He believed money could buy everything and everyone. It didn’t require ugly details to see that the woman had really done a number on him. Sympathy started to stir inside M.J. and she shut it down. He was a client, her employer. As one parent to another, she sympathized with what he was going through, but she didn’t want to feel anything for him as a man.

“What about grandparents?” she asked.

Gavin shook his head. “My father passed away about two years ago.”

M.J. waited for more, but he didn’t say anything about extended family on his mother’s side. When curiosity stirred again, she ignored it. “Who takes care of him when you’re at work?”

“Henderson and Lenore. They’ve been with me since before Sean was born.”

“So they’re like family?”

“Yes. They’re devoted to my son.”

“Good.” She met his gaze. “But you’re the most important person in his world.”

“And I’ll do whatever it takes. You can count on me.”

She nodded. “Does Sean speak at all?”

“Not much,” he said ruefully. “A word here and there, but not complete sentences.” Worry etched lines in his handsome face. “He was perfect before the accident.”

“He’s a beautiful child,” she said softly. Something stirred inside her and again she shut it down.

Gavin met her gaze, his own stark with a father’s pain. “I want him back the way he was.”

M.J. nodded her understanding. Any parent in his position would feel the same. Now wasn’t the time to tell him Sean’s accident had changed him forever. No one could go through what he had and be the same as he was. The question was how much brain function could be regained.

To accomplish the best case scenario, M.J. needed to establish a bond with the child. How was she going to do that when every instinct urged her to shut down? To disengage from him? Once, she would have hugged Sean when introduced. Touched him. Shaken his little hand. Now she wouldn’t. She couldn’t.

She hoped Gavin hadn’t made a mistake hiring her and that she hadn’t made a colossal error in judgment by accepting the job.

She stood and slipped her hands into the pockets of her sweater. “I’ll do my best to help Sean.”

That was also the truth. Although it wasn’t much, she’d give everything she had left. But that didn’t include her heart. Not for the child. Or his father.

It had been four weeks since M.J. had first come to Cliff House. Gavin had cut short a meeting at work so that he could be here before she left today. Standing in the shadows just outside the room, he could observe, but the two didn’t notice him.

He was frustrated as he watched her on the family room floor playing with Sean. They were doing a dinosaur puzzle and hadn’t noticed him yet. First she had the boy trace the space where the piece fit, then run his finger around the piece itself before fitting the irregular cardboard into the right place.

“Good job.” She smiled at the boy.

What the heck did this have to do with helping Sean to speak again?

“Now,” she said. “Brush your finger over the next space like I showed you. Do the same with the piece that goes there, then put it where it belongs.”

Concentration furrowed Sean’s forehead as he complied with the first directive. Then he blinked at M.J., confusion in his eyes.