Still, Anna believing he’d kidnapped the kid when he’d had to force Kat to list his name on the child’s birth certificate just in case of emergencies like this one struck him as ironic. Not that he’d ever expected to be called into duty. Kat had assured him she had foolproof child care set up. She’d been wrong. But no child carrying his blood would end up in the system.
“I am the boy’s legal guardian until his mother returns. Sarah has the documentation if you must see it.”
“What happened to his previous sitter?”
“She dumped the kid on child services when his mother was…detained.”
He’d deliberately neglected to reveal Kat’s identity to keep those who might be more interested in Kat’s fame than her son’s welfare from applying for the job. There had been too many stories in the news lately of employees selling their celebrity employer’s secrets to make a quick buck. His and Kat’s relationship—however strained it might be—was private. News of it leaking wouldn’t help his company’s image, which in turn might undermine his goals for Hollister Ltd.
Concern puckered Anna’s brow. “Poor Graham. Could we swing by his mom’s place and pick up a few things?”
“Kat lives in Atlanta.”
“Oh. Too far then. Would you mind if we borrowed some things from the kitchen?”
His irritation reached boiling point. Pierce slapped the top on his sandwich. “I don’t care how you entertain the kid. Just do it. And leave me out of it.”
Her face blanched, making her freckles stand out. He experienced a sudden craving for cinnamon toast—the way his mother used to make it twenty-something years ago. He used to lick the granules off—
He shook his head to banish the thought. But damned if the nanny’s freckles didn’t look like cinnamon sprinkled on bread.
“Yessir.”
Feeling as if he’d kicked a kitten, he grabbed his plate and a bottle of water and retreated to his office. He’d hired her to deal with the trivial child-care issues. He didn’t need her or her sleepy, sexy—no, not sexy—morning eyes condemning him. The kid would be better off if Pierce kept his distance.
He turned on the television to drown out the noise coming from the kitchen and tried to concentrate on CNN while he ate. He had a team of people feeding him regular updates on Kat’s situation, but occasionally he heard news on TV before he received a report.
His turkey pastrami and imported Swiss cheese sandwich tasted like cardboard. An identical sandwich yesterday had been delicious. He’d better check the expiration dates on the meat and cheese.
More likely it was the nanny—and her incessant questions—killing his appetite. He pushed his half-eaten meal to the side of his desk, exhaled then cracked his knuckles, determined to have a productive, interruption-free day.
The sooner he chose the scholarship recipient the sooner he could get back to his real goal of doubling Hollister Ltd.’s net worth before the company’s fiftieth anniversary next year. And to do that he needed single-minded dedication and no distractions.
But first the scholarship. He reached into the mail crate filled with unread applications, grabbed one and swiveled his chair to face the three mesh bins on his sideboard. The rejected applications stack towered over the short “maybe” stack. The “yes” bin remained empty. It should only take a few moments to decide into which category the one in his hand would go.
Every year more people needed a hand up. He couldn’t afford to help them all, so he searched for the one with the most potential and ambition. The one who’d fought hardest against the greatest odds to achieve the most.
He’d only read the applicant’s name when Sarah breezed into the room. “Ahh. My first full night’s sleep in a week. I feel human again and well enough to tackle composing the rejection letters. I felt guilty for not staying last night to help with the transition, but with my ulcer acting up, I needed the peace and quiet.”
“Not a problem.”
She dropped her purse on her smaller desk. “How did Anna and the boys make out last night?”
“I don’t know.”
“You didn’t ask her over breakfast?” she inquired as she grabbed a six-inch stack of applications from the rejection bin.
He nodded toward the sandwich. “I’m eating at my desk.”
Sarah’s red lips curved downward. “I have never spoken ill of your father before, but—”
“Don’t start now.”
“But,” she continued in a way no other employee would dare, “children are not meant to be dragged out only when it’s convenient.”
“Spoken from your vast experience.”
She winced and her expression turned somber. Pierce experienced a swift stab of regret. He was on a roll of hurting feelings this morning. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled-for.”
“But accurate. My husband and I weren’t able to have children—a fact that I regret more each day and one that makes me appreciate other people’s offspring—in small doses—all the more now that I’m pushing fifty and my friends are enjoying their grandchildren. Graham needs you, Pierce.”
She’d passed fifty a while back, but he let her fib go uncorrected. “He has his mother and a nanny you handpicked.”
“Don’t repeat your father’s mistakes. Spend time with your son. If you let him Graham will enrich your life in ways you can’t even begin to imagine.”
“He’s Kat’s son.”
“Yours and Katherine’s. It doesn’t matter that Katherine got pregnant behind your back. Graham is still your flesh and blood—as this current custody situation and the exorbitant child support you pay every month attests.”
“I’ll spend time with him when he’s old enough to intern at the company. Like Hank did with me.”
Sarah shook her head. “I became Hank’s executive assistant while he was still operating Hollister on a shoestring budget. When he began the paperwork to adopt you I had hoped a child would soften his hard edges, but he never changed his ways even after he brought you home.
“He worked just as late and he never took vacations. I tried to tell him children—especially an eight-year-old boy who’d recently lost his family—needed love and attention. And what did that damned fool do? He married a woman thirty years younger even though he was never going to love anyone other than that fickle hussy who’d dumped him and married his brother while Hank was deployed.”
Pierce frowned at the reminder. The year he’d turned thirteen he’d come home from school for the summer and been presented with a new “mommy.” He’d hoped that they’d be a real family and that he could live at home and attend a local school like a regular kid, but that hadn’t been the case. The woman, he couldn’t recall her name, hadn’t been interested in anything other than shopping and spending Hank’s money, and come fall Pierce had been sent back to boarding school. His new “mother” had been gone by the time he returned for Christmas break.
“At least the prenup kept her from robbing him blind.”
“You’re deliberately missing my point. More than once I asked Hank, ‘Why have a child if you’re not going to spend time with it?’”
“He needed an heir to keep his lazy, girlfriend-stealing brother from inheriting the company.” Pierce could practically hear Hank’s raspy voice snarling the words.
“That is not a good reason to bring a child into your home.” Sarah shook her head and settled in her chair, piling the