Her Billionaire Boss, page 5
Laila stepped into the dining room warily. Ever the gracious hostess, his mother leaped to her feet. “He’s a braw wee lad,” she cooed. “Go on and serve yourself, dearie, and I’ll look after him,” she insisted, holding out her hands. Laila passed Grayson over, and the baby stared up in wonder at the new face above him. “Please ignore my husband’s foul mood,” she told Laila, trying to sound cheerful, though Marc could hear the strain underscoring her voice. “He’s always a bear before his coffee.”
“I’ve had plenty of coffee.” Marc’s father waved his hand to dismiss his wife’s excuses. “My brain is workin’ jes’ fine, and that’s why I’m wanting to know your plan, Marcus.”
“My plan?” Marc asked. Unlike his father, he must not have had had enough coffee yet, because he had no idea what his father was talking about.
“Tell me ye have one, at least.”
“For what?”
“For the bairn!” his father exploded. He turned away, red-faced and began coughing again, a rough, gravely sound that made everyone else around the table wince.
“Would you like some water?” Laila asked in a voice barely above a whisper.
His father waved her away. He glared at Marc, unable to talk anymore. But he did not need to. His furious look said all he wanted to say.
Marc lifted his chin. It was going to come out eventually anyway. He may as well come clean. “My lawyer is looking into Grayson’s living relatives. I instructed him to find anyone who is able and willing to take the lad.”
Before he could explain his reasons, how he wanted Grayson to have the kind of life that all children should have—with a yard and a dog and a family that loved him, the kind of life he wouldn’t have if he stayed in Marc’s care—his father started laughing.
It was a slow, deep, mocking laugh. His father threw his head back to let out the loud guffaws that quickly turned into another coughing fit.
“Is there something funny about this that I’ve missed?” Marc asked coldly once his father could speak again.
“Ach, it’s just like uni, innit!” his father crowed. “That poor girl all over again. Shoulda known better than to think that you might have learned, might have grown up. Never were one for taking responsibility, were you, lad? No, you just look for some way to dodge your mistakes—always with an eye on the easy way out. History repeating isself, all over again.”
Marc could feel Laila’s questioning stare, but he was unable to meet her eyes, because his blood had turned to ice. He felt, rather than saw his mother flinch.
Slowly, Marc rose from the table. If he spoke, he was going to say something he’d regret, he knew this. Without a word, he turned and headed straight for his private deck and shut the door behind him.
His father would never let it go. Never believe that it wasn’t his fault, what had happened with the girl back when he was a college student. It seemed to disgust his father on some intrinsic level that Marc had managed to shirk a responsibility that he never wanted in the first place. It had been over a decade, and yet his da still wanted to punish him for something that was no one’s fault.
A soft, hesitant knock sounded at his door. His mother, probably. The resurgence of this old argument hurt her almost as it hurt him, and he knew this. She probably wanted to plead with him to come back and make nice with his father. He opened the door, ready to tell her it wasn’t going to happen, and saw Laila standing there instead.
“Hi,” she said, shifting Grayson where he sat perched on her hip and giving him a soft, tentative smile. “I just…well, I wanted to check on you. See if you were okay. I’m…not really sure what happened back there, but it sounded pretty rough.”
Heat crawled up his neck. He’d been so caught up in his father’s angry words, in his own visceral response to them, that he’d managed to completely forget that it hadn’t just been him and his parents in the room—Laila had seen all of that, had heard every word. All of the ugliness that he hadn’t realized he considered her a respite from. And even though she didn’t know the details, the small bit she’d heard was enough to make his skin crawl with shame.
He squared his shoulders, raising his chin. This wasn’t a pose she had taught him—it was one that he had learned all on his own. The one that said he was strong and capable and that nothing would break him down. It was a pose he’d perfected over the years, in the face of his father’s disdain for his life and his choices. He allowed nothing to break through it—not even the harshest of his father’s rants.
But faced with Laila, with the soft concern in her eyes, he felt that mask starting to crack. And that simply Was Not Allowed. That kind of vulnerability was one of the only luxuries he couldn’t afford.
“If I need you,” he said icily, “then I will send for you. Till then, keep an eye on the wee lad since that’s what I am paying you for.”
Her smile froze into a grimace before it slowly melted from her face. She looked down quickly, but not before he saw the tears glistening in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, and hurried away.
At first, he was glad to see her go. With her gone, he could let go of the tight grip on his emotions, could allow himself to fall apart a little, thinking back to those university memories that his father had stirred up.
He hadn’t really known Jocelyn all that well—she was just someone in his macroeconomics class. A shy girl who used to send interested looks his way. Then he’d run into her at a party, and one thing had led to another. They hadn’t been dating. It had only been that one time. They’d even used a condom, though they’d both been pretty drunk, so he couldn’t really claim he’d been all that careful when putting it on. Maybe it had torn; maybe it had been defective; maybe he was just in that tiny unlucky percentage of people that ads referred to when they said condoms were ninety-eight percent effective in preventing pregnancy.
He could still remember the panicked expression on her face when she’d tracked him down to tell him the news. Actually tracked him down, in the university library, since they hadn’t known each other well enough for her to have his phone number. Feeling frightened and out of his depth, he’d called his parents and poured everything out to them, hoping for advice and some emotional support. Instead, he’d gotten the lecture to end all lectures from his father, about responsibility, and being a man, and dealing with the consequences of his actions. It wasn’t as if he’d intended to ignore his responsibilities to Jocelyn or the babe, he’d just been scared and hadn’t known how to react right away—but his father refused to see that, seeming to see the uncertainty as proof that Marc lacked the maturity to deal with the mess he’d gotten himself into.
And then Jocelyn had miscarried. And Marc had…well, he’d been relieved. He would have done his best by his child if the baby had been born, but at that point, he was a penniless student with the barest shapes of an idea that would eventually become a multi-billion-dollar company. He wasn’t ready for fatherhood; wasn’t ready to commit to something with Jocelyn, who he barely knew; wasn’t ready for his whole world to reshape itself around caring for someone else when he was still a feckless lad who was only just figuring out how to take care of himself.
But he’d made the mistake of saying something along those lines to his da, and things had never been right between them again. Their relationship had never been as easy and comfortable as the one between him and his mum—Da had always seemed to want him to grow up a little too quickly—but after that, it seemed that nothing he could do could convince his father to respect him as a man. To Kenneth, Marc would always be that university lad who dodged responsibility, always be the one who took the easy way out.
The stubborn old git refused to see that Marc was doing the right thing this time: the responsible thing for Grayson, that would result in the child having the best possible life. That life wasn’t with Marc, it couldn’t be. He might be a grown man now, but that still didn’t mean he was fit to raise a bairn. After the way he’d just snapped at Laila, he wasn’t sure he was fit to deal with anyone at all.
“Ah, shite.” Marc smacked his palm to his face, remembering how he’d taken his turbulent feelings out on her, the person who least deserved to feel the sting of his vile, bloody temper. He was an eejit of epic proportions. His whole body was heavy with regret.
A profound and heavy silence seemed to fill the room. He realized he couldn’t hear anything. No footsteps in the hallway, no shouts from his wee cousins, not even the noise of the ship’s engines seemed to break through the muffled quiet. He was all alone, he realized, because he’d shut everyone out. He was isolated, and it was his own damn fault.
7
She had no right to cry, so these stupid burning tears could just go right back to wherever they’d come from, thank you very much.
Laila swiped angrily at her eyes. It wasn’t fair that she was a crier. She hated that every emotion that was stronger than slight contentment—anger, frustration, even deep happiness or joy—brought on the waterworks. Tears of humiliation were by far the worst of the lot. Especially humiliation she should have been able to avoid.
She’d told herself not to develop a stupid crush on Marc. She knew, because she was a smart woman who understood these things, that her boss was just that. Her boss. Nothing more. They weren’t friends. They certainly weren’t anything more than friends. It was unprofessional to follow after him like that, as if it was in any way her place to check on him. She should have left well enough alone, but her bleeding heart had insisted on reaching out to him when he seemed so upset, and look what it had gotten her. She’d let her dumb crush run wild and now she was left feeling even dumber.
Grayson gave her a look of concern as she sniffed again. “I know.” She laughed, wiping at her nose with the heel of her hand since she had no tissues available—another dumb move. “This is usually your move, not mine. It must be pretty weird seeing a grown-up act like a baby.” She sniffled again and realized there was no hope for her hand. She needed a napkin.
She hurried back down to the dining room, hoping to snag one without catching anyone’s notice. She hovered in the doorway for a moment and noticed that Mathilda was missing from the little group of Campbells gathered around the table, but the rest of them had arrived while she’d been gone, and they seemed to be carrying on with their leisurely breakfast without too much of a fuss. Even Jeanie didn’t seem more than a little upset, and while Kenneth looked grumpy and disgruntled, that was mostly par for the course. He certainly didn’t seem to feel any guilt over whatever it was he’d said that had driven Marc from the room. Their ability to carry on like normal while Marc was clearly distressed caused a burst of loyal indignation in her chest that she immediately chastised herself for.
Do not have a crush on your boss, you goober.
She offered a shaky smile to the assembled Campbells, then ducked her head to scurry past them to the buffet table where the napkins were set up next to the cutlery.
But her hopes that no one would notice the state she was in were quickly dashed. “Oy, Laila, you all right, then?” Sutton leaned back in her chair and beckoned for Laila to come closer. “Something troubling you?”
Laila sighed and turned around. “It’s no big deal—I’m fine,” she said, dabbing at her nose.
“You’re clearly not,” Marc’s mother objected. “Come here and let’s have a look at you.”
All eyes were upon her. Laila felt like the walls were closing in on her. “Really, it’s nothing,” she said, with as much conviction as she could muster. “I just needed to blow my nose.”
“Rubbish. You look completely knackered.” Jeanie Campbell took her by the elbow and steered her over to the table. “Have a sit for a moment.”
The combination of sympathy and Jeanie’s motherly concern was too much to resist. To her horror, the tears that had been threatening to fall ever since she’d fled from Marc’s room finally broke free. And the harder she tried to hold them back, the faster they fell. She hurriedly dabbed at the ones on her right cheek, but the one on her left cheek splashed right down on Jeanie’s outstretched hand.
“Och,” she murmured. “That's right. Let it out.”
“I’m sorry,” Laila moaned. Her cheeks were on fire. “I guess. I guess I’m just a little overwhelmed?” It was true, though it wasn’t what she was upset about. She couldn’t exactly tell Jeanie that part.
Jeanie nodded. “Aye, it’s a hard thing, being with a wee bairn all day. I remember it well. It’ll drive you mad sometimes.” She clapped her hands together. “You need a break, love. Give me the lad. I’ll watch over him while you have yourself a nice nap. Sleep will cure anything, I truly believe that.”
Laila shook her head, thinking back to Marc’s words, his angry expression. Looking after Grayson was her job. It was all she was expected to do on this trip. What would Marc think if he found out she’d been shirking her duties—and unloading them on his mother, of all people? “Thank you, but I can’t ask you—”
“Ye dinna ask me,” Jeanie corrected imperiously. “I offered. And I also insist. Off with you now.”
With a strange mixture of relief and reluctance, Laila handed Grayson over. She thanked Jeanie profusely and hurried away.
“Take a nap!” Marc’s mother called after her, her advice heartily echoed by Sutton and Sandra as well.
Laila obediently returned to her room. But once she was inside the cabin, taking a nap was the last thing she could bring herself to do. Her room was small, much smaller than the others on the ship, and right now it felt even smaller. Closing the door made her feel panicky.
She needed space. Air. She felt trapped, and what was worse, she realized, was that she effectively was trapped. Even on a yacht as large as this one, there was nowhere she could go to truly put some distance between her and everyone else. For better or for worse, she was stuck here, with these people, with no way to escape from them.
This wouldn’t do. She was spiraling. She needed to clear her head, and only exercise could do that. She quickly switched out her sandals with a pair of sneakers and headed up to the main deck for some laps.
The stiff ocean breeze felt good on her skin. She turned her face up to the sun, ablaze in the endless blue sky, and turned in a slow circle.
Water. Everywhere she turned revealed the same monotonous view. She walked faster and faster, round and round the ship from aft to stern, but everywhere she looked she saw the exact same thing.
“No,” she moaned. She couldn’t catch her breath. With a strange detachment, she realized that though she’d never had a panic attack before, it sure felt like she was having one now. Tears slipped freely from her eyes now, and her heart thumped loudly in her ears. She’d been in bad situations before—too many to count, really. But this was the first time she’d been in a situation where there was actually no way out. It wasn’t that she thought Marc or any of the others would ever harm her, but the knowledge that she didn’t belong here and yet had no way to leave set her so fiercely on edge that she thought her heart might pound out of her chest.
New. She needed a new view that didn’t include the water stretching out endlessly beyond the railing. She needed to feel like she was in a new place and wasn’t trapped like a rat in a maze. She hurried inside and took the central staircase down two levels belowdecks. She had never been down here before, and her eyes felt immediate relief to get away from the light wood finishes, blue carpeting, and marble tile that had constituted her entire world for the past two days, up to this moment.
Down here, the dark wood and soft lighting was like a balm for her overloaded soul. She closed her eyes, letting the strangely chill air caress her overheated face. She trailed her fingers along the wall, soaking up the quiet, and the newness of her surroundings.
Her hand dropped, and she opened her eyes to realize she had run out of wall and reached a junction. Blindly, she turned to the right and stopped short.
In the dark of the alcove ahead of her, the faint overhead glow lit Mathilda’s cloud of blond curls. As Laila watched with her hand over her mouth, Marc’s cousin twined her arms tighter around the neck of the crewman who had carried her bags onto the transport vessel the morning she’d left New York. She searched her memory banks to access his name. Jackson! That was it.
No sooner had she identified him, then Jackson bent down low. He pressed a kiss to Mathilda’s lips. Even in this terrible lighting, Laila could tell it was a pretty damn good kiss. It was the kind of kiss she had enjoyed with Marc in one of her inopportune daydreams.
The thought made her shake her head, realizing all at once that she’d been standing here way too long. Mathilda was evidently pretty happy with the kiss, given that she had her leg wrapped around Jackson’s waist by now. Things were, in fact, getting pretty heated, and Laila was in danger of being the worst kind of peeping Tom. She backed away blindly, intending to give them some privacy, but missed the turn and backed straight into a mop propped against the far wall.
It crashed to the ground with a resounding clatter that echoed through the quiet space. Mathilda and Jackson sprang apart. “I’m so sorry!” Laila cried, and hurried to dash away.
“Laila!” Mathilda called out. Footsteps echoed behind her and Laila slowed, cheeks burning. Another humiliation to add to this morning’s total. She clenched her fists and turned around, awaiting that dressing down she knew she deserved for trespassing belowdecks and intruding on something that she clearly wasn’t meant to see.
Mathilda dashed up to her, eyes wild. “Bloody hell, Laila,” Marc’s cousin gasped. “I am so sorry for what you just saw.”
“Excuse me?” Laila could hardly contain her surprise. Where was the dressing down that she’d been expecting?
Mathilda darted a look over her shoulder. Then she leaned in, her voice so low Laila had to strain to hear her. “It’s, well, it’s just a quick snog. We are just flirting, Jackson and I.”
It looked like much more than just flirtation, unless of course Laila had been flirting wrong all these years, but she kept that thought to herself.
