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“Boss? What’s the move? What can I do?”
“Let it go for now,” I decide, waving off the situation. “Just keep an eye out. I’ll be doing the same. The girl doesn’t have any sort of record or any obvious ties to any of the other families, but let’s monitor her communications just in case.”
The truth is, she’s interesting. She didn’t do the whole bowing and scraping thing when she came in. She was nervous, but she pretended not to be. She’s obviously hiding something, lying through her teeth—that story about having a single mother and helping raise her three siblings was just that. A story. Something vague and impossible to prove, which she picked up in a movie or on TV. I should’ve asked her for their names just to watch her stumble and sputter.
Not that it really matters. She could have raised a thousand kids and be fucking terrible at it. It’s Ophilia’s reaction that matters, and she didn’t take to a single one of the other applicants the way she did to Sarah.
It’s unusual for me to leave my office in the middle of the day, but that’s what I do since what matters more than work just now is making sure my little girl is all right. And if there’s one lesson I learned, it’s how what really matters should never be ignored. That’s the worst mistake a man can make, especially one whose rivals tend to express their unhappiness with weapons rather than words.
My shoes tap against the floor as I walk down the hall, and the sound has an almost magical effect. It makes the staff scurry around, either hurrying to remove themselves from my presence or hurrying to make themselves look like they’re working hard. It’s a smaller crew than the one I grew up with—with only Ophilia and myself to look after. I don’t require a household full of staff the way my father did in his day. It’s better this way. The more people around you, the more risk of there being a traitor in the mix.
My father learned that one the hard way. I don’t intend to make the same mistake.
It isn’t my father or his untimely death or the loss I’ve known in my three decades of life that’s at the forefront of my mind as I travel the length of the hall to where Ophilia’s bedroom sits. As much as I would like to have her near me all the time, she doesn’t need to be within earshot of the conversations that take place in my office. I want her as far away from all of that as possible. I want to keep her innocent as long as possible. I want her to have a childhood. And someone young, fresh, and bright like Sarah could be what she needs.
What we both need. I shake my head a little at my dark, needful thoughts before coming to a stop just before reaching the open doorway. I can’t quite place the perfume Sarah wears; it’s something light, floral, and generic but also pleasant. I smell it now, wafting gently from the inside of the room, and need stirs again in my core. When was the last time I let myself bury my face in a woman’s hair? To let go for once? Not since I lost Nina.
“You are a lucky little girl to have such a beautiful playhouse.” Sincerity rings out in Sarah’s voice. “Do you ever have friends come over to play with you?”
“Not really.” If that bothers my daughter, she doesn’t show it. I suppose it wouldn’t bother her since this is how her life has always been. It isn’t that I deliberately keep her sheltered from the world. But I have to be careful. I can’t allow any random stranger off the street into my home.
“Sometimes it’s fun to play alone,” Sarah muses. I can’t tell what they’re doing in there, but it involves a lot of activity. “That way, you can do just what you want. You don’t have to take turns doing what somebody else wants.”
“How old are you?” I have to stifle a laugh at Ophilia’s frank question.
“I’m nineteen.”
“Is that old?”
Sarah’s laughter drowns out my own. “Not very old. But I guess to you, it seems that way.”
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
I hold my breath, waiting for the answer. What is wrong with me? I met the girl fifteen minutes ago, and suddenly, everything hinges on her response.
“No, I don’t.” Sarah giggles. “What do you know about boyfriends and stuff like that? You’ve got lots of time before you have to think about it.” Never. She will never think about it. I’ll kill any boy that even looks at her.
“Are you gonna live here with us?”
The child knows how to bounce from one topic to the other without hardly taking a breath, but Sarah follows along without skipping a beat. “It looks that way. I think I’m going to be your nanny. We’ll get to play like this every day. Would you like that?”
“Yeah! Sometimes, I miss not having anybody to play with.”
Such an innocent, honest statement from such an innocent, honest girl. It has the power to steal the breath from my lungs. I want to go in there and apologize and offer her the entire world so long as she’ll be happy.
“Don’t worry. And you know, I understand how you feel. Not having anybody to play with. I used to feel that way a lot when I was little.”
“Do you have a lot of friends?”
“Not really.”
“Do you have brothers and sisters?”
It’s the way she pauses that confirms for me that I was right—her hesitation. “Yes, I do,” she finally murmurs. “Anyway, I want to know more about you. What’s your favorite color?”
“Pink,” my daughter proudly tells her.
“You know, that was going to be my guess.” Because the playhouse, the curtains, and the very dress Ophilia wears right now feature her favorite color. “And what’s your favorite food?”
