At The Millionaire's Request. Teresa Southwick
a sweet-natured innocent like Sean he would never understand. But he’d fallen in love with his son at first sight and would do anything, pay anything, to bring him back. “Name your price.”
“It’s not about money, Gavin.”
“In what fantasyland? It’s always about money. Anyone could see I’m desperate. Why wouldn’t you manipulate the situation to get more out of me?”
“You couldn’t be more wrong.”
“Everyone has a price,” he snapped.
“That’s quite a cynical attitude you’ve got there.” She folded her arms over her chest as she observed him with her cool blue eyes.
“I earned it. School of hard knocks. You should know all about that,” he said, looking at her shiner.
“I’m going to make an educated guess.” Absently she touched her fingers to her cheekbone. “Your wife took you for a bundle. Frankly, instead of trying to tempt me with more money, you’d be better off channeling those bucks into better legal counsel. Next time get a prenuptial agreement.”
“There were no nuptials so an agreement was never an issue. But I don’t intend to let my guard down again.”
“That’s the first thing you’ve said that I can relate to.”
He had no interest in relating to her and didn’t give a damn whether or not she would trust again. That hinted at problems with her husband and the man was gone. The two of them wouldn’t get a chance to work out their issues. Gavin wasn’t unsympathetic. He simply didn’t have time to waste. All he wanted was to hire her for his son’s therapy.
He let out a long breath and willed himself to patience. “It doesn’t take a mental giant to see that you need the money. I have lots of it. I can pay you extremely well for your expertise.” God, it sounded like he was begging, but if that would change her mind, he’d do it. “Just say the word, M.J.”
“I can’t.”
Two words, yet it sounded as if her heart was being ripped out. She’d told him that Brian had taken her heart, but Gavin didn’t understand why that kept her from doing the job that, by all accounts, she was extremely good at.
“Why can’t you? I would think your loss would motivate you, that you’d want to help injured children.”
“You arrogant, pigheaded idiot. How dare you?” Anger flashed in her eyes and it was better than the sorrow. “What gives you the right to judge me?”
“I’m not judging—”
“The hell you aren’t.” She glared at him. “Not that it’s any of your business, but it’s too painful to be around young children.”
“So it’s self-protection?”
“Partly. But there’s a clinical basis for my decision.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s simple really. I hold back emotionally. It’s a response to pain, like pulling your hand away from fire. I can’t connect with kids anymore—” She swallowed hard. “Whatever made me a good SLP is broken.”
SLP. Speech language pathologist. Gavin had done his homework on the subject. And Sean’s doctor had said she was the best. He needed her.
Correction: Sean needed her.
Gavin had seen her in action with teenagers. She’d found something positive to say about the two antisocial rebels. Whatever made her good with kids might be damaged, but he’d bet it wasn’t broken.
But he noticed she was even more pale than that day in her classroom and more shaken up than she’d been after going a couple rounds with Evil E and hardware face. Her mouth trembled and her eyes were haunted, the bruise on her cheek standing out starkly against the fair skin. He’d stirred the pot of her feelings and should regret it, but guilt was a luxury he couldn’t afford. Still, desperate as he was, it was clear that he’d pushed hard enough.
For now.
“I’d like to see for myself whether or not you’ve lost your edge.” He slid his wallet from his back pocket and saw her gaze narrow as she frowned. After pulling out a business card, he dropped it on the oak table.
“Do me a favor. Just think about it.” He walked past her and started toward the doorway.
“Do you ever say please, Gavin?”
“If it would change your mind I’d say it in a second.”
“It wouldn’t,” she said. “I just wondered. Goodbye.”
For now, he thought again.
M.J. set her steaming mug of green tea on the kitchen table, then sat down, unable to suppress a tired sigh. “It’s good to be home.”
Her mother set out three floral placemats followed by plates, napkins and utensils. While Evelyn set the table, Aunt Lil stirred something on the stove.
“Rough day?” her mother asked.
“Yes.” M.J. saw the frown and regretted her honesty.
“You look tired, sweetie.” Evelyn’s mouth tightened with disapproval.
“I am.” And not all of it was about the energy drain of educating teenagers. Some of it had to do with not sleeping well, and that was Gavin Spencer’s fault.
How dare he dredge up all the painful memories? She’d worked hard the past two years, not to forget because that wouldn’t happen, but to make herself remember the good things. To keep Brian alive in her heart. But it wasn’t just about her memories. The dashing Mr. Spencer was disturbing, his intensity unsettling. He was alternately challenging and charming. But she refused to be charmed.
Her mother set a trivet in front of her on the table. “M.J., I don’t know why you refuse to take a less stressful, permanent position. It’s not like the school district has an abundance of teachers.”
“There’s a need for educators on every level,” M.J. admitted.
She remained on the substitute list because the per diem scale actually netted her more money. The downside was a different classroom every day. Except she was a permanent sub until the teacher she’d replaced returned from maternity leave.
“But sometimes I think the kids would learn just as well from a Sumo wrestler.” She remembered Gavin saying she needed pepper spray and self-defense lessons. Today she agreed with him.
“What did the little stinkers do this time?” her mother asked.
“The usual. Not turning off cell phones. Someone with a camera phone trying to take a picture underneath an unsuspecting girl’s skirt.”
“Today’s technological equivalent of sticking pigtails in the inkwell?” her mother asked wryly.
M.J. grinned. “Sort of. But what pushed me over the edge was the boy who jumped on his desk and let out a Tarzan yell during a test.”
“It’s too bad they won’t let you smack knuckles with a ruler anymore. There’s something to be said for corporal punishment and the old days.” Evelyn nodded sagely.
“Now we send them to the dean of discipline,” M.J. explained, feeling inadequate for not being able to deal with the situation. “But it’s not fair to the other students when a teacher can’t teach because one bozo disrupts the entire class.”
Evelyn frowned. “I suppose. But I can’t help wondering if you took a job in a different school things might be better.”
M.J. was grateful when she was spared the need to lie because Aunt Lil walked over with a big container of split pea soup. She was older than her sister, a shorter version with blond hair and hazel eyes. Both were technically spinsters since neither of them had ever married. But unlike Evelyn, Lillian