The night was not kind to Stan, and he woke cringing from the pain radiating up his stiff legs and struggled to take the two steps to fall into his chair. He wheeled himself into the bathroom, swallowed two pain pills, and waited impatiently for them to kick in. The pain grew steadily worse, and he cursed his damaged legs, wishing again that the accident had never happened and landed him in this mess.

Though the boating accident had nothing to do with what faced him tomorrow.

He hated using the damn chair but needed to get upstairs and see how much work needed to be done before Louis, his son, came to live with him. Going upstairs meant he might bump into Remy, and after their conversation last night, he doubted she would want anything to do with him. Not that he could blame her. He’d been a downright asshole to her and all she did was try to help. Help him get back to his feet, but Stan needed so much more help than simply being able to walk again on his own.

He nearly took her up on the offer to talk to her about what bothered him so much, but this was his burden of guilt to carry. That guilt had grown to include ten years of time not spent getting to know the little boy arriving at his house tomorrow morning. A little boy who already hated his guts because he thought Stan hadn’t wanted him.

Getting dressed was a chore, but this morning, he struggled to slip his legs into his jeans and after fighting with the denim, gave up on socks or his boots. He wasn’t leaving the house today. He tugged on a black t-shirt, ruffled his hands through his hair to fix it, and wheeled out of his bedroom. The house was quiet, but the strong, luring scent of fresh-brewed coffee drew him away from the stairs towards the kitchen.

“Morning,” he said as he entered and spotted Remy leaning against the counter.

She blew steam from her coffee before taking a long sip, staring at him the whole time with a glimmer of mischief in those brown depths. “Morning, Mr. Wellington.”

Stan’s lips thinned as he moved closer to the counter. “You can go back to calling me Stan.”

“You sure about that? I wouldn’t want to upset your sensitive nature.”

“Sensitive nature? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that if you’re going to have a ten-year-old kid living with you, you’re going to have to grow a tougher skin, and fast,” she informed him. She reached up and pulled out a second coffee mug, filled it, and set it on the counter. “Sugar, cream?’

“Sugar, please, and you don’t have to do that. I can manage on my own.”

She didn’t seem to hear or didn’t care and dumped a spoonful of sugar in his coffee. “Here. Enjoy your coffee.”

He took the mug carefully and held it between his palms. “Thanks for the coffee—and dinner last night. You’re quite the cook.”

“I get by well enough.”

Silence descended on the kitchen, and Stan opened his mouth several times to try and start the conversation again, but he was at a loss as to what to say. This woman—gorgeous woman— literally picked him up off the floor last night and was quick to put him in his place, even as she offered to help him. Remy Reagan was certainly not the nanny he expected, and after only a day, she was growing on him. She drank her coffee and poured a second cup.

“How much coffee do you usually drink in the morning?” he asked as a way to hear her speak.

“Is my caffeine consumption something I should have put on my resume?”

His lips tugged up in a smirk. “No, I’m thinking I need to stock up on coffee while you’re living here with us.”

She stared at him, dead serious before a laugh escaped her lips. “Smartass.”

He drank half his mug and set it on the counter. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to see how bad the upstairs is and make an urgent call for a housekeeper.”

“Ah, I’m not sure you have to worry about that,” she said quickly, rushing to block him from leaving the kitchen. “Really. You should just stay down here, drink your coffee, and…you know, I’ll make breakfast or something.”

Stan tried to wheel his chair forward, but she didn’t move. “I’m not hungry.”

“Well, you should be. Breakfast is important, and with Louis coming here to live, you’ll need to get in the habit of having it with him. That’s very important.”

“You said important twice,” he pointed out.

“So? Grammar Nazi now, too?”

“Remy, I really need to see the upstairs of my house. Please move.”

She bit her tongue between her teeth and pressed her hands on either side of the doorframe. “Fine, but you’re going to be pissed and I’m not sure I’m in a mood to deal with you being in a pissy mood for a second day in a row.”

She moved out of the way, and Stan studied her face through narrowed eyes. “What did you do?”

“What you told me not to,” she said in a rush.

He paused at the bottom of the stairs. “You did what?”

“I did what you told me not to,” she said more slowly, stretching out each word as she wrung her hands. “I couldn’t help it. You hired me to be a nanny and I did what any good nanny would do, so deal with it and save your anger for other things I’ll do that you told me not to,” she rambled.

Stan’s annoyance grew. Everyone he’d hired before did what he said. Except Remy. “This is going to be a regular occurrence, isn’t it?”

She grinned widely in answer. “You might as well get used to it.”

He muttered under his breath and moved to the electric chair lift. Hating her watching him, he locked his wheelchair in place and biting his cheek in pain, his arms trembled as he pushed his body up and out of his chair. Remy stood by his side, holding her hands out as if to catch him.

“I told you last night and I will tell you again, I can—”

“Yes, I know you can do it, but I’m here just in case. Get used to it.”

He managed to get into the lift and pressed the button to move his body up the one flight of stairs. She walked along with him, and he bit back the words he wanted to tell her to make her go away so she didn’t have to see this. He chanced a look at her face and was still surprised to see her watching him with a curious glance instead of pity in her eyes. He was so used to pity from everyone it was refreshing to be around someone who didn’t treat him like an invalid. Even when she was there to help him, she didn’t make him feel inferior.

When the chair reached the second story, he looked around for the wheelchair he kept on the second floor, but it was at the other end of the hall. Without having to ask, Remy went to grab it and pushed it to him. He mumbled his thanks and hefted his weight into it. Remy fell farther and farther behind as he wheeled down the hall and stopped outside the guest bathroom. It was spotless, and the items Stephanie purchased last week to turn the bathroom into one fit for a ten-year-old kid were all hung up and laid out. He moved quicker to reach Louis’ bedroom, and when the door swung inward, all he could do was stare. The room was completely put together, and the reality of what was about to happen tomorrow hit Stan hard. His son was moving in and this would be his room.

“You did all of this? When?” he asked quietly.

Remy leaned in the doorway. “Yesterday afternoon and last night. I couldn’t sleep.”

“I know the feeling. Why?”

“I told you yesterday, I’m a package deal and you’ll have to get used to it. I’ve dealt with tougher clients than you.”

“Hmm, I doubt it,” he whispered.

“You’ve met your match, Mr. Wellington—and speaking of match, I have some errands to run.”

“What do you have to do?”

She beamed as she backed out of the room. “Something you’ll thank me for later. Do you need help getting back downstairs?”

Stan frowned. “No, I can manage.”

“If you’re sure,” she said. “I wanted to make sure. I’ll be back soon.”

She bounced out the door and he heard a car honk in front of the house. Wheeling towards the window, he watched her slip into a bright convertible with another woman driving. They laughed together before the woman turned her car around on the drive and left through the front gate. Stan breathed out heavily through his nose, wondering what the weird tug in his gut was. Remy was the first person in a long time he felt normal around, but he couldn’t worry about his own issues. He needed to figure out how he could connect with his son. He wasn’t good with kids. None of his friends had kids, and there were no nieces or nephews to hang around with. He was starting from scratch.

“Damn, Lara,” he whispered to the room. “Why couldn’t you have told me?”

His annoyance at Remy taking care of the room and bathroom for Louis faded. Maybe he didn’t need to hire any more staff yet. Too many people in the house might overwhelm Louis. Stan knew it would drive him insane after a while.

After a few more moments, he returned to the main floor to busy himself with confirming the kitchen was well stocked before going out to the workshop to keep his mind occupied for the rest of the day. The doorbell rang halfway to the kitchen, and he grunted, turning himself around and calling out that he would be right there. When he opened the front door, though, he wished he had simply ignored it and kept on going.

“Stan! You look good today,” a curly, red-headed woman said cheerfully.

“Melody, what are you doing here?” Stan asked, not even trying to smile or be polite.

“Coming to check in on you, of course. I brought you some dinner for later—enough for two,” she said, holding up the casserole dish with a wink.

“I have plenty of food, you know.”

“I heard your cook quit weeks ago and your housekeeper yesterday. I was worried about you trying to take care of yourself alone in this great big house.”

“I’m not an invalid, Melody. I’m recovering from injuries.” He waited for her to take the hint that he was annoyed and leave on her own, but she simply walked past him and into the house. Glaring at her back, he closed the door and followed her into the kitchen, keeping a close eye on her the entire time she placed the casserole in the fridge. “Thank you very much. I’ll be sure to let you know how it is when I get around to eating it.”

She tapped her nails loudly on the counter, the sound harsh against his ears. “How hard are you going to make a woman work for a dinner invitation?”

“I beg your pardon?” he asked quickly, startled by the sudden change of subject.

“You heard me, so don’t sit there and play coy,” she purred, sauntering closer to him. “You hide up here in this house all alone. That’s not the life for a man such yourself, brimming with so much…life.” Her eyes widened on the words as she leaned on the arms of his chair. He backed away quickly and she stumbled, catching herself before she fell into his lap. “Don’t be shy with me. We’ve known each other for years, after all.”

“Melody, I’m not sure what you think I’m telling you without actually saying anything,” he argued, backing up more, “but I am not looking for a relationship right now. With anyone.”

Pouting, she cocked her hip to the side and placed her hands on her hips. “Or maybe you just haven’t found the right woman. I’ll take care of you, make sure you don’t have to worry about anything.”

Stan stiffened and ground his teeth. “I am far from a child who needs to be taken care of, Melody. I am a grown man recovering from a very serious injury. I thank you for the meal and appreciate you stopping by, but I think it’s best if you leave. I have quite a long list of items to take care of before tomorrow morning.”

Melody’s face stiffened, and her smile twisted into a look of disgust. “Yes, I’ve heard a few rumors going around town about that.”

“What rumors?” Stan snapped. “What have you heard?’

“Just that some woman was here a few weeks ago with a little boy in tow. Who is he, Stan?”

“What business of it of yours?”

“I, for one, am your closest neighbor, and I thought we were friends,” she simpered.

“Friends don’t act the way you are right now in my kitchen. I asked you once and I will ask you again: please leave my house.”

Melody crossed her arms over her chest and flipped her hair back over her shoulder with a jerk of her head. “I’ll leave if you tell me who the boy is.”

Stan wanted more than anything for Remy to return and chase Melody out of the house. Maybe she would even think Remy was his girlfriend. A horrible idea popped into his head, but if Remy found out what he’d done, she would hate him. He would just have to make sure she didn’t find out.

“It turns out one of my girlfriends from college moved back into town and brought a surprise with her. A son,” he said. “Our son.”

Melody’s face was priceless. Her jaw dropped open and she gasped before she slapped a hand to her chest and sputtered, searching for words. “What…you—are you sure it’s even yours?”

“Yes, we’re sure. The DNA test proves it. She brought him here to finally meet me and we’re going to try and start our family together, see how it goes.”

“How could you let her walk back into your life like this?’

“Because she needed me and we parted on good terms,” he argued. “She’s a good person, and I think it’s high time I met my son.”

“She’s only after your money, that has to be it,” Melody said, the words filled with venom, but she said it more to herself than to him. “She wants what you have. Can’t you see that?”

Stan shook his head. “I’m afraid not. Now if you don’t mind, they’ll be back soon and I want to finish getting my son’s bedroom ready and making room in mine for Remy’s things.” He rolled towards her and ushered her to the front door, keeping her moving as he pushed his chair after her. “Goodbye, Melody. I’ll be sure to let them know our dinner tonight came from my favorite neighbor.”

“Stanford, as your friend, I really think you should reconsider this whole situation.”

“And I appreciate you looking out for me, but I can take care of myself, as vulnerable as you might think I am.” She kept talking, but Stan stopped listening and closed the door solidly in her face. Hanging his head with a sigh, he spun around in his chair and stared into the depths of a house that wouldn’t be empty much longer. “What the fuck did I just do?”

* * *

Remy piled the items from her cart on the counter, grinning widely at the three model ship kits she was getting for Louis along with the newest version of Battleship she could find, a few sets of Legos, and a set of books based on what was in the packet of information.

“You sure you’re buying enough?” Callie teased her as the cashier rang up her purchases.

“What? He’s ten and I don’t know what he’s bringing with him,” Remy said as she pulled out her debit card. “I can’t have him sitting around the house all day doing nothing.”

“You know, he’s probably just going to watch TV all day like most kids his age.”

“Oh, that reminds me, we have to make one more stop on the way back. Do you mind or do you need to get home and find a new spot in the apartment to have sex with Matt?” she asked, arching her eyebrow as Callie’s face flared red.

The cashier—an older woman with greying hair—smirked, obviously amused, but didn’t say anything.

“Look, how many times do I have to say I’m sorry for you walking in on that?”

“At least a hundred more,” she said, laughing. “You realize I’m never going to let you live this one down? How can I? I mean shit, Callie, do you two do anything else?”

The cashier chuckled as Callie buried her face in her hands with a groan. “Yes, we do, thanks.”

They finished the transaction and set the large bags of toys back in the cart. Spending the day with Callie was just what Remy needed to get her mind off the brooding man in a wheelchair at the Wellington mansion. Stan confused her more than anything, and when she left the house, her emotions were a such jumbled mess she couldn’t figure out where one thought ended and the next started. He shouldn’t be allowed to be that attractive while being an utter, arrogant asshole. She tried to look more into his accident, but beyond the articles in the paper, nothing else was mentioned about it. She wasn’t sure what his injuries were or why he wasn’t healed. What she did know was the accident had changed him from the partying-all-weekend bachelor to a man who drove away what she had a feeling was a very caring staff.

“Hey, are you listening to me?” Callie asked a few minutes later when they pulled out of the parking lot.

“Huh? Yeah, sorry. I’m totally listening,” she said, but Callie rolled her eyes. “Fine, what did you say?”

“I asked what was going on with you and that man of yours?”

Remy frowned. “Man of mine? I don’t have a man.”

“By the way you’re so distracted and fidgety, I say you do.”

Remy shook her head. “I don’t, I swear it. You’d be the first to know, and besides, I can’t get involved with Stanford Wellington.”

“Is he ugly or something? I heard he’s quite the looker.” She waggled her eyebrows as they came to a stop at a red light. “Come on, you’re young and single and still a virgin, last I checked. Why not have a fling with the single billionaire dad. Or is he gay?” she added in a whisper. “Because then I would understand the confusion.”

“No, he’s not gay.” Remy rubbed her forehead hard. “He’s just… picture Bruce Wayne but stuck in a wheelchair all day long.”

“He’s a cripple?”

“No, he was in a boating accident a year ago and hasn’t healed yet or something.”

“So he’s what, dark and brooding? I could handle dark and brooding,” Callie mused, speeding around cars and going well over the speed limit.

“Could you watch the lead foot there? I’d prefer not to get in a car crash today.”

Callie sighed but eased off the gas. “Worry wart. But really, what’s wrong with brooding? Brooding can be sexy, especially if he does the smolder look.”

“Smolder look?” Remy asked, staring at her friend. “What the hell is that?”

“You know,” Callie said and pursed her lips while she furrowed her brow and squinted her eyes until Remy lost it, giggling hysterically as her friend kept trying to remake the same face over and over. “That face.”

Remy held her head, her hair blowing in the wind as she stared at cars they passed. Stan didn’t have a smolder look. A scowl she worried would become permanent on his face, but not a smolder. She had only known him for a day—well, two—but she was pulled to him for some reason. Maybe she was hired as the nanny for more than just his son. Maybe there was something else pushing her into his life.

“Do you believe in fate?” she asked Callie as she parked the corvette outside the gaming store.

Callie turned off the car and erupted in a fit of giggles as they exited the vehicle. “What? You mean like from the movies? Oh, God, Remy, I knew we should’ve hung out more this summer. You spent too much time wrapped up with those kids and that old man.”

“Never mind, forget I asked.”

“What’s this about, Remy?” Callie asked and drew her friend to a stop.

She tossed her head back, watching the white fluffy clouds pass by overhead while the sun beat down on her face, warming her skin. “I feel like I’m supposed to be at his house, like this job wasn’t just a chance happening. I don’t know, I can’t explain it, so forget it. I sound like a damn crazy person.”

“You’re an artist. You always sound like a crazy person.”

Remy shoved her as they walked towards the entrance to the store. “I thought you liked my art.”

“I do, but I think it does tend to make you a little loopy,” she said, whistling as she twisted her hair around her ear in circles. “Some of that stuff you come up with is dark. Darker than I would ever expect from you.”

“You’re not worried about me, are you?”

Callie lifted her shoulders, let them drop, and bit her lip. “Most days, no, but you are a loner. You have me and…me.”

“But I’m not unhappy with my life,” Remy argued, stopping just short of the front doors. “I had a good childhood and have great parents, and love my jobs. Loners are hermits, they’re people like…like Stanford Wellington.”

“I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with you. But I worry sometimes that you’re missing out on living your own life because you do this.”

“Do what?”

“Get wrapped up in other people’s families and their lives, get so invested in their problems that you don’t slow down to take a look at where you are,” Callie said, exasperated.

Remy shifted on her feet as the hot breeze ruffled her hair. Was her friend right? Most of her days, even as a teenager, were spent babysitting or watching the neighbors’ pets and their houses. She volunteered a lot, but her parents taught her it was important to be helpful and give back. When she started being a full-time nanny and housekeeper, she couldn’t do her job very well if she blocked herself off emotionally from the people she worked for.

“I need to get back to the house soon,” she said quietly. “Why don’t you let me run in by myself, and I’ll be real quick.”

“Remy, wait,” Callie said and reached for her arm.

“No, really, it’s fine,” she insisted, faking a smile. “I’ll be right back.”

She found the latest gaming system, and with the help of the store clerk, picked out a few games that would be appropriate for a ten-year-old boy, trying the whole time not to let Callie’s words get to her too much. The words echoed through her mind, sounding very familiar to words her mom had told her not too long ago. She was twenty-five and needed to start her own life, take care of her own family.

But you have no family, she thought as the store clerk bagged up her items. You haven’t had a boyfriend last more than a few weeks and you have no idea what you even want to do with your life!

She carried the bags to the corvette where Callie leaned against the side. “All set,” Remy told her and placed the bags in the trunk with everything else.

“Want to get dinner or something?”

“No, I need to get this stuff set up for tomorrow and take care of a few other things I told Stan I would do for him,” she lied, not wanting to deal with Callie giving her that mixed look between annoyance and something that bordered on pity. Remy didn’t need her pity. She had a good life. She might not have a guy she had sex with twenty times a day on various pieces of furniture, but she had nothing to be upset about in her life.

Callie drove her back to the mansion, neither of them saying a word the entire drive. Remy picked the bags out of the trunk and waved to her friend. She dumped the packages on the front porch and dug around for the key she was given yesterday. It took three trips to get everything inside and finally close the front door. The house was quiet, so she assumed Stan was out in his workshop. She let him be, taking the toys up to Louis’ bedroom, all except the gaming console and video games. Those she moved to the sitting room towards the back of the house with the big, flat-screen TV mounted to the wall. She was so busy setting up the system and muttering obscenities under her breath when she couldn’t get it working, she didn’t hear Stan wheel into the room. She only noticed him sitting there when she stood in a rage, hauling back one of the controllers to chuck it across the room, and spotted him watching her, an amused smile twinkle in his eyes.

“You know, I don’t think throwing it across the room will make it work,” he suggested.

“Maybe not,” she agreed, lowering her hand, “but it’d sure make me feel better.”

“Rough day?”

“No…maybe…it doesn’t matter,” she rambled and plopped back down on the floor, crossing her legs as she did so. “I hope you don’t mind. I took the liberty of buying some things for Louis.”

“You bought this for him?” he asked, confused.

“Yeah, and some other stuff. It’s all upstairs already, though. Why, you don’t like video games?”

Stan held out his hand for the instruction manual and remotes. “I do. I just never thought to get them for a kid… my kid. Damn, I’m going to suck at this dad thing.”

“No, it’ll just take time.”

“I’ll pay you back for everything you bought today. Just give me the receipts.” He fiddled with the remotes and smirked when the TV turned on with the main menu screen for the console on it. “I think it’s all set now.”

“Thanks.” She turned the wireless controllers on and handed him one.

“What do you want me to do with this?”

“You can’t have games and not know how to play them,” she said. “So we’re going to play. I guess I should make food first. You hungry?”

“Actually, there’s a casserole in the fridge. Just throw it in the oven.”

Remy nodded slowly at the weird look of guilt on his face. “Where did the casserole come from?”

“A friendly neighbor dropped it off this afternoon.”

“Uh huh, and do they normally give you food?” she asked, giving him a crooked grin.

“Every now and then. I’m not going to turn down a casserole. It’s not like I can cook,” he said with a nervous laugh.

Remy walked past him to put it in the oven when his hand reached out and caught her arm, holding her by his side. “Stan?”

“Sorry—for earlier,” he said gruffly. “And for yesterday. I’m not much of a people person.”

“Apparently, neither am I,” she said quietly.

“Really? Who told you that?”

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it. I’ll go get that casserole going.” She glanced at his hand still holding her wrist and the way his thumb glided casually over her skin. Her toes curled against the hardwood floor and her breath quickened before he let her go, seeming as reluctant as she was for the contact to end. He cleared his throat loudly and rolled further into the room while she headed quickly for the kitchen and the wine cellar. A glass might help calm her racing heart and keep her focused on her job. She was the nanny, and the ten-year-old boy arriving tomorrow needed her to be strong, to be someone he could count on while he adjusted to this life with his dad. Any spark she thought she felt between her and Stan would have to wait.

Like everything else in your life has to wait, she thought bitterly as she reached the bottom of the cellar and sat down hard on the wooden steps. Like you will always put your life on hold.

Callie wasn’t right. She couldn’t be, but tonight was not the time for her to do some soul searching, especially without any of her typical mediums to let out whatever aggravation built up inside her. The wine would have to suffice for now. The wine and not touching Stan again unless she absolutely had to.