At The Millionaire's Request

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

“It’s okay, sweetie. Trace the space.” When he nodded, she smiled. “Good. Now what?”

The boy thought for a few moments, then put the puzzle piece in place.

“Way to go, kiddo. High five.” She held up her hand and Sean slapped it.

The boy grinned at her before rolling around on the floor.

“I think we need to get rid of the wiggles,” she said, standing.

She shook her hands using a wrist motion and Sean imitated. He copied when she stretched her neck then moved her head from side to side before bending to touch her toes. That gave Gavin a good view of her fanny, which was covered by the usual black pants. Since she’d been coming, he’d dropped by the therapy sessions a couple of times for a few minutes and this was the first he’d noticed that she had some pretty nice curves going on. Then she smiled at Sean and the expression transformed her.

She was prettier than Gavin realized. That didn’t make him happy.

When he moved to the center of the doorway, Sean immediately saw him and grinned, then raced across the room, but there was no shouted greeting. Gavin’s chest tightened. He longed to hear his son say, “Daddy.”

Gavin brushed his hand over his son’s hair as the boy caught his leg. When he looked at M.J., he saw that her smile had disappeared and found he missed it.

“Hey, buddy. How are you?” When the child pointed to the puzzle, then M.J., Gavin said, “I see. You’ve been playing with M.J.”

“He likes puzzles,” she said. “He’s good at them.”

“Of course he is. He’s a Spencer.” But being good at puzzles wasn’t the progress Gavin expected. He met her gaze. “I’d like to speak to you. Do you have a couple minutes?”

“Of course.”

After Sean was settled in the kitchen with Lenore, Gavin looked across his desk at M.J. She sat stiffly, her hands linked in her lap.

He was still remembering her smile and irritated because he did. “I’ll get right to the point. As far as I can see, there’s no change in my son’s condition.”

“I agree.”

That surprised him. He was accustomed to spin and excuses when the desired result wasn’t achieved. M.J. stared back at him without apology.

“I thought there would be noticeable progress. Can you explain why there isn’t?”

“Yes.” Her chin lifted slightly. “Because Sean is a little boy, not a business project. He’ll go at his own speed, not the timetable you mandate.”

“Based on your glowing references, I just thought—” He ran his fingers through his hair.

“You thought I could snap my fingers, wiggle my nose and he’d be cured?”

“Something like that,” he admitted.

“This isn’t about a cure. It’s about regaining the function that was lost.” Her tone was patient, soft, soothing. “It’s going to take a lot of work. And that will take time.”

Gavin had noticed the way she was with Sean today. She’d been playful, firm, determined and lively. There was a sweetness about her that seemed to come from within. It appeared genuine and unforced, a natural extension of herself—very real. And that smile. She was pretty when she smiled, and he wanted to think of her only as plain.

“How long?” He heard the edge to his voice and suspected it was fear. He was afraid his boy would never be okay. If only this were a disease and ten days of antibiotics the course of treatment. He wanted his son back now. At the very least, he wanted guarantees and a time frame.

“I don’t know.”

“You can’t make a guess based on experience? When my father was dying of cancer, the doctors gave me an estimate and it turned out to be almost to the day,” he snapped.

“That’s an entirely different situation. Medical doctors have studies and data and tests that help them make an educated guess. In situations like this, there can’t be a specific timetable. Every child is different. Every injury is different.”

“Can you give me a ballpark estimate?”

“No.” She met his gaze. “But I can tell you that it might go faster if you get involved in the therapy.”

“You mean, doing puzzles?”

“That was brain exercise and therapy for hand-eye coordination,” she said.

“It looked like playing to me.”

“If therapy techniques weren’t disguised as fun, how cooperative do you think Sean would be?”

“Obviously, I don’t know anything about speech language therapy. How much help could I be?”

“I can show you what to do. I distinctly remember that you promised to do whatever it takes to help your son. I believe you said I could count on you.” The tender tone was gone, replaced by toughness.

And she was right; he had promised. She met him toe-to-toe and wouldn’t blink. Part of him respected her for that. On the other hand, he didn’t as a rule notice when an employee’s smile made her pretty. That thought was followed by irrational anger, which didn’t bode well for tact.

“You’re the expert, Ms. Taylor. It’s why I pay you the big bucks.”

Any earlier traces of warmth and patience disappeared. “Is this third degree really about Sean?”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Are you implying that I’m dragging out a child’s therapy for financial gain?”

“Are you?”

“That would be unethical.” Her mouth tightened and anger flashed in her eyes, making them a darker shade of blue.

You’re beautiful when you’re angry. The thought jumped into his mind before he could stop it. In that moment, she was striking. Something inside him responded, stirred to life, and he regretted it instantly.

Again his temper took over. “This wouldn’t be the first time someone held a child’s life hostage.”

“What does that mean?” she demanded.

It meant he’d been stupid once. A woman had used his child to get to him and he wouldn’t let it happen a second time. M.J. seemed warm and real and sincere. But what if he was wrong again?

When he didn’t answer, she stood. “Gavin, you’ve made it clear that you believe everyone has a price. But I’m not everyone and you don’t know me.”

He was getting to know her, and he wasn’t sure yet if that was a problem. “What’s your point?”