Star Promise (8 page)

Ryan looked utterly confused but I wasn’t going to spell it out for him. There was no need to give him a reason why I’d just changed my mind about leaving Bridget in his care.

He eventually figured it out. “Oh my God,” he growled, hurling the remote on the couch. “You think I’m watching porn?”

I shushed him but it was too late. He’d just increased his niece’s vocabulary.

“What’s porn?” asked Bridget.

I glared at my brother, furious. “Nothing, baby,” I told her.

Ryan had the nerve to smirk. “Good parenting, idiot.”

“Good uncl-ing, freak.”

The juvenile exchange was cut short when the only grownup in the room ordered us to stop. “I’ll tell Mamie and you’ll both be in trouble,” Bridget threatened.

I wasn’t prepared to let it go. I reached under the cushion and grabbed the evidence. The
Dirty Dancing
DVD cover in my hand was not what I was expecting. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Ryan whipped it out of my hand. “It’s not mine.”

“If you say so, princess.”

Ryan couldn’t even muster a reply. More proof that he’d been bashed over the head with the love stick. The career bachelor had been reduced to watching chick flicks in his spare time. Whether he’d admit it or not, he was whipped. And whether I’d admit it or not, I was happy for him.

My office was far nicer than I deserved, considering the lack of aptitude I showed when it came to working there. Sitting at the massive oak desk reminded me of a king holding court, but the moment was always fleeting. I was merely a prince. The real king’s court was much more impressive.

My father insisted on monthly staff meetings. Everyone would file into the boardroom at eleven and spend twenty minutes waiting for him to arrive. Being purposefully late was tactical and obnoxious, but no one said so out loud. They were too busy making sure they had their game faces on in case he called on them to speak.

I wasn’t quite so diligent. I used the spare time to text my wife or check my emails, which is exactly what I was doing when Ryan called me.

My phone sounded embarrassingly loud in the quiet room, and all twenty people sitting around the table stared at me. Fearing that their glares might burn a hole in my skull, I left the room to answer it.

“Please tell me you’re not calling me to pick Bridget up,” I said, wandering toward the viewing window at the end of the corridor. “I can’t leave the office yet.”

Ryan didn’t need me to collect her. He needed cleaning instructions. My errant child had made the most of the few minutes Ryan spent in the shower by giving herself a makeover – less than twenty-four hours after promising me that her face painting career was over.

“She’s covered in Bente’s lipstick,” he told me.

I should’ve been angry, or at the very least annoyed, but the panic in Ryan’s voice amused me. “Lipstick?” I asked. “Did she steal it from your purse while you were watching
Dirty Dancing
?”

“She’s your kid, Adam. I’m perfectly happy to leave it on her.”

I didn’t doubt him for a second. “Well, how bad is it?”

He likened her appearance to Sebastian from
The Little Mermaid
. We both knew Sebastian the crab well.
The Little Mermaid
was Bridget’s favourite film, and we’d been forced to sit through it a million times. “She could now get a job as his stunt double.”

It must’ve been bad. I thought back to the day before when I’d tried smudging the red ink off Treasure, and then imagined Ryan doing the same thing to Bridget. “What goes on must come off right?” I asked encouragingly. I wasn’t exactly an expert when it came to makeup removal, and red lipstick seemed pretty heavy duty. “Look for anything that says ‘remover’ or ‘antidote’ or ‘face cleaner’,” I suggested. “It’ll be there somewhere.”

After complaining about the amount of crap now residing in his bathroom cabinet, he made the mistake of asking Bridget to look. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that she’d use the opportunity to scope out her next arts and crafts project. I absently gazed out the window at the bustling city below while I waited for him to speak again.

“Eye makeup remover,” he said finally.

“Good enough,” I replied.

Ryan vowed to give it a shot and ended the call. I slipped my phone back into my pocket and continued the mindless window gazing as if I had nowhere else to be.

It didn’t last long. My father called out from the boardroom. “When you’re ready, Adam. We don’t have all day.”

I made my way back without a word. If I’d answered him, there was a danger I might’ve spoken truthfully: I wasn’t ready. I would much rather have been at home with my little girl Sebastian.

Bridget wasn’t up to the half-hour walk home from Ryan’s apartment, which was a shame because we had a lot to talk about.

“We went to the park and my legs are tired,” she complained. “I did lots of flying.”

It took forever for her to pull the huge scarf out of the front pocket of her dress. It looked like a magic trick gone wrong. I took it from her, bundled it up and stuffed it into her backpack. “How about we walk some of the way and then pick up a cab?” I suggested.

Bridget wasn’t happy, but kept walking. The heavy pedestrian traffic made it slow going. I asked her what she’d been up to and she gave me the complete rundown of her time at the park, including a longwinded story about a squirrel that yelled at her. The lipstick saga never rated a mention, so it was left to me to bring it up.

“You promised me you wouldn’t draw on faces any more,” I reminded her.

“It was just my face,” she explained. “Nobody else’s.”

To Bridget, it was no big deal. I held her hand a little bit firmer as I prepared to inform her otherwise. “It was a really naughty thing to do,” I chided.

“I know,” she mumbled. “That’s what Ry said.”

I wasn’t particularly upset with her. I was frustrated because I had no idea how to deal with her, and it was happening more and more often. My way wasn’t working, so I changed tack and went the La La route.

“Crooked girls can’t fly straight,” I said casually. “You might want to think about that before you do something naughty again.”

Even without looking, I could feel the stare of her bright blue eyes. “Am I crooked, Daddy?”

“You tell me, Bridge,” I replied.

We walked in silence for a minute or two, but didn’t cover much ground. Bridget’s walk slowed to a crawl while she deliberated. She never did answer me. The only time she spoke was when she asked me to pick her up. Her arms linked around my neck, she buried her head in the curve of my shoulder and promptly fell asleep.

Adam’s plan of winging it was only good for one day. Neither of us was in a position to take any more time off, and we’d come up with no solution to our childcare problem over the weekend.

On Monday morning we resorted to playing scissors, paper, rock to decide who’d have the unenviable task of calling their boss.

I won because I always win.

“I’m sure you cheat,” grumbled Adam, reaching for his phone.

“I’ll call your dad if you want me to,” I bravely offered.

“Brilliant idea, Charlotte,” he mocked. “That’s bound to end well.”

Bridget wedged herself in between us. “I’ll call Papy,” she offered brightly. “He likes me.”

Adam must’ve really been fed up. He tapped his father’s name on the screen and handed the phone to Bridget. Despite the fact that it was on speaker, she held it to her ear. “Hello, Papy,” she greeted. “It’s Bridget Décarie.”

Jean-Luc’s chuckle filtered through the kitchen. “What can I do for you today, young lady?”

Bridget’s hand moved to her hip as she paced the kitchen, holding the phone to her ear. “I want you to look after me today,” she demanded. “My mum and dad have to go to work.”

A frantic silent conversation took place between Adam and I in the form of frowns and raised eyebrows. The king had never spent the day with her before, and it was unimaginable to think he’d start now. I held my breath, waiting for the crotchety tyrant to shoot Bridget down in flames.

“I would love to spend the day with you,” he replied, shocking me half to death.

“Can you please come and get me now?” she asked.

“Yes, of course,” replied Jean-Luc. “Let your mother know I’ll be there shortly.”

Bridget spun around to look at me. I confirmed that I’d heard his instruction with an awkward smile. The deal was complete, and she’d carried it out with the arrogance and panache of a true Décarie.

I wasn’t entirely convinced that Jean-Luc would show up. Adam didn’t hang around to find out. He was shrugging on his jacket before Bridget ended the call. “See you later,” he said, kissing me as he passed.

I grabbed his arm to slow him down. “Wait. What do I do if he doesn’t show up?”

He kissed me again. “He’ll be here.”

I grabbed him again. “And what do I do if he
does
show up?”

“Just play it cool.” He tucked my hair behind my ear. “And let Bridget do the talking.”

I could count the number of times that Jean-Luc had visited our apartment on one hand. It was always awkward and uncomfortable, and that morning was no different. Bridget met him at the door with her trademark leg hug. All Décarie men were used to it, and strangely, none of them seemed to mind having a small child crash into them.

“You’re here, Papy!” she squealed. “Mummy said you wouldn’t come.”

My mouth gaped open, which was as close as I came to defending myself. No words followed.

He smirked at me. “Did she now?”

I steered Bridget toward the hallway. “Go and get your bag, please.” It might not have been my smartest move. Bridget took off at warp speed and I was left with the king.

He wasted no time in putting me in my place. “I’m a man of my word, Charli,” he said pointedly. “If I say I’m going to do something, I do it.”

“That’s not entirely true,” I slyly replied. “What about that time you told me you were going to have me tried as a witch and burned at the stake? That never happened.”

He grinned, looking exactly like his sons. “I’m still working on it.”

Bridget reappeared and declared that she was good to go. I hugged her. “Have fun today, and be good, okay?”

Her head nodded so swiftly that her blonde pigtails whipped her face. “Come, my love,” urged Jean-Luc, nudging her toward the open door. “Press the elevator button. I’ll be there in a moment.”

“Was there something else?” I asked when she’d gone.

“I’m awaiting instructions,” he replied. “I’m assuming you have some.”

I wondered if there was any point in telling him what they were. I knew he’d probably ignore them, but I laid out my rules anyway. “Please don’t give her any money,” I said strongly. “She hasn’t spent a single cent that you’ve given her so far.”

His brown eyes widened in surprise. “Really?”

“None. I’m thinking of wallpapering her bedroom with it.”

Jean-Luc huffed out a sharp laugh. “I didn’t realise,” he said. “I won’t give her any more.”

“Thank you,” I replied. “I’d appreciate it.”

“Perhaps I could take her shopping,” he suggested. “I would like to see her spend it on something worthwhile.”

I couldn’t kill the smile that crossed my face, or the smartarse words that followed. “As opposed to seven hundred bucks worth of glitter and a cauldron?”

He dropped his head, smiling down at the floor. “And where might one buy a cauldron, Charlotte?”

“Bridget will show you,” I replied. “She gets discounts on her frequent shopper card.”

Despite my misgivings, I was happy that Bridget was spending the day with her grandfather. My concern was for him, not her. Jean-Luc wasn’t used to dealing with small children, least of all Bridget.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about her recently acquired shrewd streak. I couldn’t find it in me to be appalled. She reminded me too much of myself, and every crafty act she carried out sent me straight back to all the years my father had spent trying to pull me into line. Just thinking about it made me want to call and apologise.

I wasn’t intent on holding her feet to the fire like Adam was, but I certainly didn’t encourage bad behaviour. Her latest misdeed had been an ill-gained Hermes scarf that she’d swindled from Bente a few days earlier. I found it stuffed in her backpack, completely trashed thanks to the red lipstick all over it. I hadn’t been entirely sure who to direct my anger at. Bridget had wrecked it, but Ryan was the fool who’d given it to her in the first place. All I could do was replace it and apologise to Bente, which was how I spent my lunchbreak that day.

The rest passed in a blur. Most of the afternoon was spent dealing with pieces that had been delivered the day before. Three sold before they even went on display, and two buyers had shown interest in another. Bronson was over the moon. “Exceptional, darling.” He clapped his hands together. “Find me more art. Buy me more art. More, more, more.” He didn’t give me a chance to reply. He was out the door before he’d finished his theatrical ramble.

I closed up shop soon after, managing to make it out on time for once. I wasn’t the only punctual one. Adam beat me home, which had never happened before. He greeted me at the door with a huge hug that wasn’t the least bit romantic.

“What’s going on?” I wedged my elbows between us, trying to break free. Adam didn’t release me until he’d walked us out into the foyer and pulled the front door closed.

“You’re beautiful,” he declared, lurching forward to kiss me.

I held him back. “Adam, what have you done?”

His tight smile led me to think it was nothing good. I didn’t wait for him to string an answer together. I pushed past him and barged back into the apartment, stopping dead in my tracks at the edge of the living room.

“It’ll only take a few days,” he promised. “A week at the most.”

I barely heard him. I was focused on the shabby green dresser taking up valuable space in the living room. “You have ten seconds to explain.”

Adam couldn’t tell the time in less than ten seconds. His long explanation wasn’t that interesting. Bente’s ugly drawers weren’t to Ryan’s snobbish taste, and he wanted Adam to fix them. The part that interested me was the pure excitement in his voice as he laid out his plan for restoring them. “It’s Victorian – cherry wood, I think.” He ran his hand along the top of the dresser, chipping off flecks of green paint in his wake. “It’s solid and gorgeous – and they want me to paint it pink.” He screwed up his handsome face as if the whole notion was ridiculous. “It should be lacquered and left alone.”