Falling For Her Manny Page 14

  “Wow.” Frietz raised his brows in surprise. “How’s business?”

  Ah, the wealthy’s discreet way of gauging what his net worth was. “Business has never been better, actually. I started the company when I was nineteen, and every year, we’ve doubled our profits.”

  “Good for you,” the man said as a waiter placed the next course in front of them.

  “Watercress chestnut soup,” the waiter announced, just as Blake’s own bowl appeared.

  Haven’t they ever heard of chicken noodle? The rich even make soup pretentious.

  “And what about your parents?” Frietz asked. “What do they do?”

  In other words, does he know them? Because if he doesn’t, they’re nothing and no one.

  “I wouldn’t know,” Blake said, and before he could get the rest out, Mr. Garwood interrupted.

  “Blake’s parents were supposedly addicts. Left him at the police station. He’s lived in foster homes his whole life. He opened a business, and now, it seems, he’s clawing his way up the social ladder.”

  Blake’s head whipped around to Mr. Garwood. His jaw locked, mouth pressed into a firm line as he stared at the man who he hoped to become his father-in-law one day, a man he disliked, yet still entertained because he had little choice. A man who knew how to throw silent barbs. His words were innocent, but Blake was no dummy. Just now, Mr. Garwood had oh-so-subtly implied Blake’s interest in Jen was because of their wealth and social status.

  Even now, in front of all these people, nothing fazed the stone-faced Mr. Garwood. He took a sip of his soup, meeting Blake’s gaze in challenge as if he hadn’t just dug under his skin. Beside him, Blake felt Jen go rigid, but she remained quiet. She stared down at her soup, swirling it with her spoon as if a witch hunt weren’t happening right beside her.

  “So, you’re a real self-made man,” Frietz said as he ate his soup. Either he was completely oblivious to the tension at the table, or he was entirely aware and enjoyed it.

  “Blake’s actually moonlighting right now,” Mr. Garwood added with the barest hint of a grin.

  Blake ground his teeth until he thought they might pop. Here we go...

  “Really?” the man’s eyes lit up. “Doing what?”

  “He’s a manny,” Mr. Garwood said with humor in his voice.

  Across the table, Mrs. Garwood let out a soft chuckle and admonished him. “Oh, Tim. Stop teasing.”

  Sure, teasing. Is that what she called it?

  A soft round of snickers floated across the table. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the way Jen shifted in her seat, and he didn’t dare glance over to see if she looked embarrassed.

  “So the bike business is doing good, huh?” Frietz smiled.

  Blake set his spoon down, letting it rattle in the dish. “Actually, it’s funny Mr. Garwood brought all of this up, seeing as how my reason for watching someone else’s children is on account of him. I’m spending my days as a nanny to a set of triplets because, as it turns out, the Garwoods have some reservations about me being a good husband and father since I was orphaned. They thought I needed to prove myself since I don’t have a recognizable name like Bloomberg, Vanderbilt, Gates, Frietz, or Garwood to back me up.”

  The older woman at the end of the table, once again, piped up. “Well, for the record, any man willing to go to such lengths for my daughter’s hand would surely get it. It’s very honorable of you.”

  Blake offered her a genuine smile. She had probably been the only cordial one to him all night. “Or maybe they just wanted a laugh.” Blake turned toward Mr. Garwood, his smile tight. “I don’t know. Which is it Tim?” he asked, forgoing his last name for the first time he could remember.

  The corners of Mr. Garwood’s lips curled as Blake met his gaze dead-on. His round face turned to stone, and out of the corner of Blake’s eye, he noted the faces around him. Most were frozen in shocked silence, save for the woman who had spoken up for him twice, who continued eating her soup.

  Anger boiled Blake’s blood as the air around them snapped like a whip. Mr. Garwood said nothing as they stared each other down.

  Blake hated that he let Jen’s father get to him. He should’ve just smiled like he always did and placated him. After all, this is just who he was. He thought he was better than everyone else, and he always would. A leopard never changed his spots. It didn’t matter how much Blake proved his love for Jen or bent over backwards to impress him. Mr. Garwood was most certainly a leopard.

  Blake’s phone bleeped in his pocket—a major faux pas to even have it turned on in the first place, but at the moment, he couldn’t care less. He was relieved for the interruption, so he did the unthinkable. Jaw locked, he plucked it out of the inner pocket of his suit coat and glanced at the screen, with Mr. Garwood’s gaze hot on the side of his face.

  He registered the name on the screen with a jolt of surprise. It was Mel.

  Clicking on the text, he quickly read:

  Mel: I hate to bother you. You’re probably busy. If you are, that is totally fine. But if you’re not, I’m desperate. Our toilet broke, and my landlord isn’t sending someone until Monday. I tried to fix it and couldn’t. Then Brady clogged it with Spider-Man. You wouldn’t believe how much three four-year-olds go to the bathroom! Our little shoebox is going to need to be fumigated! I can run the kids to the convenience store every time they have to go tomorrow if need be. It’s no big deal, but if I don’t have to...

  Blake grinned, perfectly able to imagine the wily Brady shoving Spider-Man into the bowels of the toilet “just to see what would happen.”

  “What are you smiling at?” Jen snapped beside him.

  Her tone brought him back to the present, and when he glanced over at her, he noted a flicker of irritation cross her face.

  “I’m sorry, but I need to go,” he said, scanning the faces at the table. “It’s an emergency.” Blake pushed back from the table, leaving his full bowl of pale green soup untouched.

  Jen spluttered next to him, and he almost felt bad until he remembered she was annoyed with him when she should’ve been defending him to her father, who apparently planned on using Blake for the evening entertainment.

  Blake hurried from the room, not caring whether people were appalled at his behavior or not. He might regret it tomorrow, but he was done caring for the moment. Besides, what did it matter anyway? The Garwoods hate him. They probably always would, and after tonight, it was clear he was the butt of the joke. They’ve probably been laughing these last few weeks, all at Blake’s expense. How thrilled they must’ve been when Blake actually took them up on their proposal and got a job working as a manny, as if that’s something to be ashamed of anyway. It was hard work. And worth something—shaping kids’ lives. If anyone knew how important role models were to children (or the lack thereof), it was him.

  The sound of clicking heels followed him over the marble slab floor. He knew that sound, the cadence of her stride, and he turned to face Jen in the foyer, only a couple yards from the door—from a breath of fresh air and freedom.

  “Is it Grant? I’ll come with you,” Jen said, her brow furrowed.

  Blake shook his head. “It’s not Grant. It’s...something at work.” Even as he said it, a little voice inside his head chastised him. It was a sneaky way to get around it. Not a lie, but not the truth. Yet, he imagined her reaction if he told her.

  “So you’re just going to leave? For work?” she asked, incredulous. “It’s Saturday. Can’t the guys get on without you?”

  “Were you not in there just now?” Blake said, motioning toward the dining room.

  Jen crossed her arms over her chest, emphasizing her curves in the sleek, black gown. “He was just joking, giving you a hard time. You know how he is.”

  “Oh come on.” Blake scoffed and ran a hand over his face. Was she really this clueless? “He hates me, and he was trying to make me feel small.”

  Jen frowned. “That’s not true. He wouldn’t—”

  “It’s ent
irely true. The least you could’ve done was stopped him or defended me and told everyone at the table how your dad practically demanded I prove myself or don’t marry you. Instead, he made it sound like I’m doing this as a side job because my business sucks.”

  “That’s not what he was doing.”

  “Okay.” Blake laughed and rolled his head on his neck. But he couldn’t let it go. “When are you going to wake up and see that they don’t accept me? And they probably never will.”

  She shook her head. “Even if that were true, as soon as we’re married, you can work for my father’s company. Then you wouldn’t have to worry about what he thinks of you or your business.”

  Blake flinched like he’d been slapped. He blinked over at her, shock and anger fighting for precedence. Surely she was joking.

  But she continued to stare at him, straight-faced and completely serious.

  Grant had been right, and Blake was too blind to see it. He said as much at the coffee shop the day Mel came barreling in there like a hurricane.

  “I’ve never agreed to take a job from your father. I love what I do,” Blake said, pointing at his chest and finding his voice. “And if you loved me, you’d know that there’s no way I’d give up my business. I’ve built B’s Bikes from the ground up. It’s my passion. It’s in my soul. Bikes are in my blood. It was my therapy when I was a fourteen-year-old kid with no direction and no one but my brother had time for me. Maybe it’s not some glamorous job on Wall Street, and I don’t own a giant hotel conglomerate like your family, but it’s mine.”

  “Blake.” She reached out, her expression and tone impatient like she was placating a child.

  “Someone who loved me would know it would kill me to give that up,” he said.

  Jen glanced at the ground and squeezed the bridge of her nose on a sigh. “I know. You’re right, and of course, I don’t want you to give it up. I never said that. I merely suggested...” She trailed off and stepped toward him, grasping his arms in her small hands, a pleading look in her eye. “You know I love you. I don’t even know why I said it. I just didn’t want you to be upset, and I don’t want you to leave.”

  His pulse pounded in his temples. “Because it looks bad for you? Or because you truly want me here?”

  Jen’s mouth opened, but she hesitated for the merest of moments before she said, “You know I want you here.”

  But her hesitation was telling. It spoke more than words.

  Do I? Blake wanted to ask. Did he know that she wanted him there? Would he ever be good enough? Because he didn’t feel like it. Tonight confirmed the way he felt since the moment he met her. Part of him wished he could be the kind of man she needed in that moment, one strong enough to go back in and face her father, or one who wouldn’t need to defend himself in the first place.

  But he wasn’t, so he said none of those things. Instead, he glanced down at Jen, at her chiseled cheekbones, her creamy skin, and bright blue eyes, and said, “I’m sorry, but if I go back in there, my storming away will just be one more thing for him to goad me with. I have to go.” He held up his phone—his excuse and took a step back.

  Jen’s shoulders slumped, and the hope in her eyes vanished. She let go of Blake’s arms, her face an unreadable mask as she smoothed a hand down her gown, inhaling a deep breath he knew was in preparation for facing them.

  And he felt a pang of guilt, but not strong enough to stop him from leaving. She’d have to face her father and all his guests alone. Blake could only imagine the conversation being whispered at the dining table at that very moment. He wondered what excuse Jen would make.

  He reached forward and brushed her cheek with his thumb. “I’ll call you later?”

  When she simply nodded, he turned and left, and all he felt was relief. And he wondered the entire way to Mel’s place what that meant, being happy to leave Jen’s side and go to Mel’s aide—a woman who barely knew him, yet needed him just the same.

  He told himself it was merely gratitude at the excuse to leave the dinner party, that it had nothing to do with Mel herself, and by the time he pulled up to her apartment building, he almost believed it.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  MEL

  The knock on the door came close to eight o’clock, and Mel practically cried with gratitude as she flung open the door. “Thank you so much. You have no idea how thankful I am. I’m so sorry you—”

  Her words died on her lips as she soaked in the sight of Blake—all dark and ruggedly handsome in a fitted black suit and red silk tie. His pink cheeks and ruffled dark hair told her he rode his motorcycle. He had the kind of hair a woman could run her hands through.

  Mel swallowed and covered her eyes as shame settled into her bones. “Oh my gosh. You were busy, and I interrupted you.”

  “I wasn’t.” His deep baritone rumbled through her.

  She waved a hand toward him. “No. You clearly were. You were obviously at some kind of event or somewhere important since you’re all dressed up, and I call you like a complete—”

  “Mel.” He took her hands away from her face, and dipped his head, forcing her to meet his eyes—eyes the same shade of rich, dark coffee. “It’s okay. Really.” He sighed and stepped back, releasing her hands and running a hand through his hair. “I was actually grateful for the interruption. If I didn’t want to come, I wouldn’t have. After all, you told me it wasn’t urgent.”

  Mel nodded. “You’re right. Of course.”

  “Mr. B!” All three kids screamed and ran from the bedroom, where they had been looking at picture books in an effort to get them ready for bed.

  Peter reached Blake first, catching him around the knees with his little arms, followed by Brady, and Kinsley. All three squealed and hugged his legs tight like a tree.

  Mel laughed. “I guess they’re excited to see you.”

  Blake reached down and ruffled each of their heads before gently peeling them off his legs and crouching down to meet their eyes. “Hey, isn’t it your bedtime?” He narrowed his eyes, but his grin belied his stern tone.

  “No!” Brady crossed his arms over his chest, pouting, while Kinsley stared up at Blake like he was her knight in shining armor.

  I know the feeling, baby girl. I know the feeling.

  “We almost had a pet mouse,” Peter announced proudly.

  “Yeah, until Mom scared him.” Brady scowled.

  “Uh, yeah. Mr. Blake doesn’t want to hear about that. Why don’t we go and get your pajamas on?” Mel said.

  “But he just got here,” Kinsley whined.

  “How about if you guys are good for your mom, I’ll come tuck you in and read you a story after I finish fixing the toilet?” Blake said. When they said nothing, only looked at him with alternating expressions of skepticism, he added, “Come on. You know I do really good voices.”

  “Okay,” Peter said, his tiny shoulders slumping in defeat.

  “Can I pick the book?” Kinsley asked.

  “No. You always pick fairy books,” Brady argued.

  “Do not.”

  “Do too.”

  “Okay, guys.” Blake placed his hands on their backs and guided them toward the bedroom. “How about I pick the book. I’ll pick one you all like, I promise.”

  By the time he ushered them into the bedroom and told them to pick out a pair of pajamas, Mel’s throat had closed tight. This is what it would be like, she thought. To have a partner. Blake would make an amazing dad. The thought was so disconcerting, she turned her back to Blake as he reentered the living room.

  She cleared her throat, trying to compose her sudden rise of emotion. What was wrong with her?

  Blake doubled back toward the entryway, and for the first time, Mel noticed the plastic shopping bag sitting just outside. He snatched it up, then shut the door. “I know you said you had everything, but I stopped and bought supplies just in case,” he said with a shake of the bag, and Mel’s heart nearly burst.

  Who knew to win her over, all you had to do was fix a t
oilet?

  “That’s amazing. Thank you.” She turned and led him to the bathroom, her mouth moving a mile a minute, filling him in on her disastrous day starting with the mouse and the coffee pot. She felt awkward about the fact that, despite what he said, she clearly interrupted what was obviously a much more glamorous night, all for him to shove his hands down her toilet.

  Once inside the bathroom, she shifted on her feet. The space was already small, but with the two of them encased inside, it may as well have been a closet. Suddenly, the air felt thick and hot.

  She loosened the collar of her shirt, and the gesture caught Blake’s eye. With a grin, he said, “Why don’t you go ahead and take care of the kids, get them settled, and I’ll be out when I’m done. Sound good?” he asked as he snapped on a pair of rubber gloves.

  “Um, okay. Yeah.” Mel turned and bumped into the doorframe.

  “Ow.” Rubbing her head, she left to the sound of his soft chuckle, her cheeks burning.

  MEL NESTLED IN BETWEEN her three children. Kinsley lay on her lap, with Brady and Peter pressed into her sides. She could feel the soft rise and fall of their breath and knew they were growing tired, yet fighting sleep so they could see Blake.

  There was a soft rap at her bedroom door, followed by Blake peeking his head inside. “All clear,” he said. “Spider-Man is currently sanitizing in some bleach I found under the sink, and the toilet is as good as new.”

  Mel sighed in relief. “Thank you.”

  “Are you going to read to us now?” Kinsley asked, her voice soft as she rubbed her sleepy eyes.

  Blake smiled. “I promised, didn’t I?”

  Mel gently moved Kinsley off her lap and swung her legs over the side of the bed.

  “You can stay,” Blake said.

  “Yeah, Mom, stay.” Peter yawned.

  “Um.” Mel hesitated, then hooked a thumb toward the door. “That’s okay. I need to finish the dishes anyway, but I’ll be right outside,” she said, then hurried from the room.