“Hey,” Brogan called as he rounded the corner, and my mind finally realigned with my body. I muted my phone but didn’t take the video off the screen. “How are my girls?”
His words stung, especially when his tone was so damn different from what I’d just heard on the interview he did not two hours ago.
“Skye is good,” I said on autopilot. “She had a bath, and she’s sleeping.”
Brogan tilted his head, noticing my tone, and sank onto the couch next to me. “What’s wrong?” he asked, and I just stared at him for a few breaths. I couldn’t get my thoughts straight, my feelings, everything just…hurt. “Is this about me proposing?” he asked, reaching for me, but I backed up, rising from the couch. “Because you know I’m not going to rush you—”
“Why did you really propose, Brogan?” I asked, my phone shaking in my hand as I stood there looking down at him.
He looked utterly confused, and anger helped ease some of the heartbreak in my chest. How could he play me for a fool like this?
“You know why,” he said, his tone suddenly shifting like he was defusing a bomb.
Maybe he was because I couldn’t stop the onslaught of emotions storming inside me. “Because I’m all you’ve got for Skye?” I snapped, and the words stung on their way out.
Brogan narrowed his gaze, going wholly still on the couch. “You’re joking, right?”
“Does it look like I’m laughing?”
He visibly swallowed, then took a deep breath. “If I haven’t shown you enough how much you mean to me then—”
I turned the volume up on my phone, turning the screen toward him.
“She’s just the nanny,” spilled from the speaker, and he scowled at himself on the screen before he quickly stood up.
I backed up a few steps as he approached me, and he dropped his arms, defeated. “Fiona,” he said, saying my name like a plea. “I said that to protect you.”
“Protect me?” I snapped, closing the video and shoving the phone in my pocket. “How? By ripping my heart out?” I shook my head, my entire body shaking now. “If that’s all I ever was,” I said, angry tears clogging my throat. “Just this convenient thing who happened to be really great with your daughter, then that’s all you needed to say. You didn’t have to make me feel…make me fall for you.”
He flinched like I’d slapped him. “You know better,” he growled, and I glared up at him.
“Do I?” I clapped back. “I mean, honestly, it’s been months. That’s. It.” I stomped from the room, heading to mine to grab my bag. I had to get out of here. I had to run, to escape the sounds of she’s just the nanny repeating over and over in my head. I shoved some clothes into my bag, my chest cracking as I did.
“You know me better than people I’ve known for years,” he said, voice rough as he followed me from my room and back downstairs toward the entryway. He stood in front of the door, blocking my exit. “I’ve shared pieces of myself with you that I’ve never shown anyone, Fiona. So don’t come at me with this bullshit. You know I love you. And yeah, it may be fast, but I don’t like waiting on things once I’ve made up my mind. You’re it for me. I want you for the long haul. You’re the one who’s terrified of commitment.” He glanced at me, pain and anger churning in his eyes. “Look. It has you running scared.”
Tears rolled down my cheeks, and I swiped them away. “You telling the world I’m nothing more than your employee has me running,” I snapped, and he raked his palms over his face.
“If you give me permission, I’ll tell the entire world right now that you’re mine. I’ll hold a fucking press conference. But you haven’t said yes to me, Fiona. You’re terrified, and I get it. I’m here. I was protecting you by not labeling you. The paparazzi are relentless. They’d dig up your past and haul it out for everyone to see. I thought I was making the best choice—”
“By saying I’m just the nanny,” I cut him off, shaking my head. “And really, isn’t that what I am? What I’ve always been? I came in and saved the day when you needed help. I love your daughter like she’s my own, take care of her like it too. And hey, I’m not bad in bed either, so why not try and lock me down—”
“I’m not trying to lock you down,” he growled over me. “I just…” He breathed out deeply, searching for the right words.
But honestly, what right words were there to say? He clearly couldn’t deny the truth I’d just laid down. Our relationship was solely built on the job, the convenience, and his no-effort response to an interview question just fucking proved that.
And yet, I waited. I stood there, tears on my cheeks, and watched him. Waited for him to say all the right things, to choke out the words I needed to hear in order for me to drop my bag and race into his arms. Because I was just a glutton for punishment, I guess. I wanted to stand there and bleed until he told me that he loved me for so many more reasons than how convenient I was or how good I was with Skye.
“Fiona,” he said, his voice almost a whisper.
And cold fear and reality drenched me with the way he floundered for something to say.
Because he didn’t have anything else to add.
He didn’t have the right words.
And despite how desperately I wanted to fall into his arms and have him tell me this was just a stupid misunderstanding, he wasn’t reaching for me.
“Brogan, I—”
A knock on the door cut me off, and I sucked in a breath. I hurried to wipe the tears off my face, so not wanting Maxim or Sterling or whoever might be on the other side of that door to see me fucking crumbling.
“Ignore it,” he said, but I pushed him out of the way.
“I was leaving anyway,” I said, utterly broken and needing nothing more than to get some space to clear my head and heal my heart—even if I didn’t think that was possible. I swung the door open, prepared to say a quick bye to Maxim or whatever Reaper was there and rush to my car.
But I stopped dead in my tracks at the sight of the woman standing on Brogan’s front porch.
Tall, leggy, and with blue eyes I completely and utterly recognized.
Skye’s mother.
17
Brogan
“Ignore it,” I said, but she brushed right by me, anyway.
This. Was. Not. Happening.
I didn’t give a fuck who had just knocked at the door. How could Fiona question my feelings? I was the one who’d gotten my mother’s ring. I was the one who’d had it sized for her so I could ask her to marry me. I was the one who’d said, “I love you,” first. I’d been the one to take the first step every damned time, and now she was running away because I was trying to give her privacy in the press?
“I was leaving anyway,” she said, her back ramrod stiff as she strode for the door.
Dumbfounded. I was completely and totally dumbfounded. And she thought this was all about being convenient because she was Skye’s nanny? Fuck that. It happened in spite of the fact that she was Skye’s nanny, and if she didn’t already understand that then—