Breathing His Air (35 page)

Shaking herself out of her revere, she held a hand up, “It’s not Ms … ”

“My mistake. Mrs. Belle, then.”

She narrowed her eyes at the cool correction and straightened up to her full height. Not that made much difference as her gaze collided with the patterns of his tie laying crumpled against his chest. He might be Adonis material but he was still just a man.

“Actually, Mr. Theo’s dad, it’s neither Mrs. nor Belle. It’s Miss. Miss Rania George,” she said, her voice sharp, and her chin raised in defiance.

She was not prepared for the snort of derisive laughter that followed nor the way she was thrown off balance by said snort.

Damn the man. Stay focused
. This was how it always started, and reminding herself of how many times she had seen the result of acting on such feelings from her mother, she was determined to stop them.

“Apologies, Miss George. No insult meant. I just wanted to thank you for looking after my son during his hiatus from his nanny,” he said gravely. “Unfortunately, the nature of my work keeps me … ”

“From being an observant parent?”

“I beg your pardon?” The softly whispered question belied the dangerous narrowing of his eyes.

“Look, it may not be my place to say, Mr. Theo’s dad … ”

“Nick. Nicholas Trenton. That’s my name. Since you are so hot on having the correct name, maybe it would be a good idea for you to start using mine,” the hard voice interrupted her.

“Right, sure. Anyway, the fact is, letting your child wander around when it is pitch black outside on the streets at the age of eight is not appropriate.” Her hands spread wide to emphasize the absurdity of the situation.

“Firstly, Miss George, I did not let my son wander around at night and secondly, neither did I lose him. He ran away from the nanny that I hired to look after him.” His clipped tone did nothing to distract her from staring at the small dimple that appeared in his right cheek when he talked. “Furthermore, I clearly did know where my child was, as I am here now to pick him up.”

They looked around at the blond Houdini who had begun prodding at a heart-shaped chocolate. Her Valentine’s Day best seller.

Whipping her head back around to face him, she found his penetrating gaze fixed on her. She really should remember the staring technique next time she had problems with contractors. It was certainly making
her
legs feel funny.

“I thought his nanny told you where he was?” she reminded him, pleased to see him visibly stiffen at the connotation of that statement.

“She did, but he talks about this place all the time. I may have a job that keeps me away from home for long stretches, Miss George, but that doesn’t stop me from talking to my son.”

She could sense she’d touched a nerve. A nerve that he seemed to have previously berated himself for without her help and she suddenly felt herself softening toward him.

She gave herself a mental shake. Job or no job, the fact remained his son still appeared in front of her shop on a cold dark night
sans
adult. Why was she even getting involved; this was not her problem. A picture of his son came back to her, lower lip pouting and trembling, gradually beginning to merge with a mental image of herself at that age waiting yet again for her mother to come back from one of her trips.

“Yes, of course, your busy job. And your wife. Theo’s mum. Also in a busy job, I assume?” She couldn’t have stopped the sarcastic tone even if she’d tried. Clearly, she hadn’t outgrown her childhood flaw of sticking her nose in where it didn’t belong.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you to not to assume anything, Miss George? It makes an ass-of-u-and-me,” he mocked. His patrician features were as set and hard as the glacial blue of his eyes. “Theo’s mother is dead. She died when he was a baby; hence the nannies.”

Her mouth formed a silent “O” at the revelation.

“Cat got your tongue, Miss George? You didn’t strike me as the sort of person who is usually lost for words.” His cold tone shook her senses back to life. He was right, she had to admit. She wasn’t usually lost for words, but she was stumped for something to say after that.

Snaking her tongue out to moisten her suddenly dry lips, she paused as she saw his eyes flicker down and follow the movement. She felt herself grow hot under the stare, thankful that her olive skin tone meant she wasn’t an easy blusher.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Trenton.” Rania couldn’t help feeling annoyed at herself as she heard the stammer in her voice. “That would explain why Theo referred to his nanny as ‘that one.’ One of many, I as … guess,” she finished lamely, peeved at him for clearly biting back a smile at her almost-blunder.

“Yes, my son has had a lot of nannies. Not because they weren’t any good, but he has a tendency to either run them off or run off from them.” At her raised eyebrow, he shifted from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable with what he was going to have to say next. “Ever seen
Mary Poppins
or
The Sound of Music
?” At her slow nod, he carried on, “The children in those films, the ones that always run away or put frogs in their nannies’ beds?” He stopped, drawing in a deep breath, “Well, that is my son.” His eyes softened as he stared past her shoulder at said offspring who was now sitting down on the floor, paper bag in hand, comic book in the other.

Remembering the compliant boy she had met earlier, Rania found it hard to merge that image with some hell-raiser who terrorized nannies, and then ran away for good measure. “I must admit, I’m surprised. That wasn’t the little boy I met earlier,” she mused to herself. Talking to herself; yet another bad habit she should stop, especially when she saw him nod in agreement.

“He really isn’t. Well, not usually.” His voice was gruff with emotion he couldn’t hide as he continued to stare at his son.

She squeaked in surprise as the cuckoo clock darted out of its hole to announce it was six
P.M.
So much for going home early. The unladylike noise brought his gaze back round to her, eyebrow arched at the odd sound.

Clearing her throat to belie how wrapped up she was in watching him, so much so she didn’t notice the clock till too late, she smoothed her hands down her flowery apron. “Just putting it out there. Do you remember the fathers in those films? They were too busy to spend time with their children, so the children misbehaved to get their attention.”

“Is that what you are saying Theo is doing, Miss George? He is misbehaving because I am neglecting him?” He shot back, the hard mask back in place once again.

“Well, if the cap fits and all that, Mr. Trenton,” she replied as she placed her hands on her hips, refusing to cower before the angry stare. A stare which she was sure usually got him his own way. Well, not in her shop.

• • •

Unbelievable! First she had the nerve to accuse him of losing his own son and now she was suggesting Theo behaved like this because he was neglecting him.

Running a hand through his hair, he stared down at the petite Attila-
cum
-lawyer-
cum
-sweet shop owner. The faded flowery apron did nothing to hide the curves beneath, as the caramel-brown eyes flashed angrily up at him. Even the plain braided dark brown hair didn’t detract from her unusual beauty, his eyes dropping to the Cupid’s bow mouth beneath a small upturned nose.

Jeez, what was he thinking … ?
He needed to get out more. Not that he hadn’t been on dates since Lila’s death, but nothing serious. At least not with the fickle women in his line of work and since those were the only ones he met, he was pretty much out of luck. More importantly, he had Theo to think about. Not to mention he never had the time. Time … the reason he was here. He had meant to be home earlier until he was called into a last-minute meeting with the Studio, maneuvering through the rush hour traffic to be met with a hysterical nanny and a missing son. The latter now happy as ever huddled on the floor, flicking through his favorite comic and sucking on a licorice stick. He frowned as a thought hit him. He never remembered seeing Theo this relaxed in any other adults’ company, not even his grandparents.

“And, furthermore, Mr. Trenton, I never used the word neglect. Ignored may be a better choice.”

Good God, she was still talking. He couldn’t recall anyone speaking to him like this in years. Seven years, to be exact. Ever since he’d got his lucky break when he directed his first feature film, the one that went on to earn him the “Best Director Award.” If he was honest with himself, normally the women of his acquaintance either kowtowed to his every utterance or stayed out of his way. None of them carried on like some avenging angel on his sons’ behalf. He observed her through lowered lashes, watching the way her hands shot out when she had a point to make, how despite towering over her, she was not fazed in the slightest. It was refreshing.

He held up a hand to stop the flow, enjoying how her eyes widened into deep golden pools at the surprising authoritative gesture. “Miss George, may I stop you there. I realize you have the worst kind of opinion of me right now and while I really don’t care, I don’t have time to argue with you as I need to get my son home and to bed.”

Turning around, he found the mini-Houdini had vanished from his spot on the floor, leaving behind a large black rucksack. He felt his throat close in panic and he whirled back to face her, ready to ask for her help yet again. Only to find the conjurer had magically appeared by her side, her hand resting delicately on his shoulder as she peered down to look at something in the comic he was showing her. The image of his son’s happy face as he smiled up at her felt like a punch to the solar plexus. Other than when he came to find him, how long had it been since Theo looked up at him with that sort of adoration?

She smiled down at Theo. The movement transformed her whole face, making her seem carefree. Nothing like the force of nature from a few moments before. Using the opportunity, he gazed quickly around the small village shop. The rich smell of sweets in the air, the sight of jars and plastic bottles of candies filling his view everywhere he looked.

Behind them, he was able to glimpse those bits of the shop she clearly did not want people to notice. The corners, darkened with damp. Large jars covering the worst of the peeling paint and wallpaper. The weathered wood of the counter. Not the most thriving of businesses he’d seen despite the obvious love and care she put into it. Hearing a burst of childish giggles he looked back to see his son laughing at something she had said. When was the last time he’d heard his son laugh with such abandon? Too long, clearly.

“Yes and my daddy made this.” The simple statement jerked him out of his musings as he watched Theo point to a miniaturized movie poster on the back of his comic.

“Your daddy made the comic?” she asked, her eyes wide, trying for all appearances to look suitably impressed. She didn’t fool him for a second. She wasn’t that good an actress, and in his job, he’d seen the best of the best.

“No, silly. He directed it. He’s a director,” Theo finished, throwing a proud smile in his direction. He couldn’t help but smile back. He knew he hadn’t always been around for his son as much as he wanted to, but he knew that Theo was proud of him and of what he did. Especially when he made a film based on a comic.

He bit back a smile as she frowned at the new information and gently holding the magazine, peered closer at the smaller writing on the poster where his name was displayed in miniaturized capitals.

“So I see. I’m impressed, Theo,” she nodded, smiling. Though from the way her hand gripped her apron, Nick was sure it was more forced then he would have liked. Not that he cared about her opinion of him.

“But that’s not my favorite hero. I’ve got another comic in my bag with him in it. Hang on,” he said turning toward the back of the shop where he had left it.

She looked back at him, the indecision of what to do next clear in her eyes. He was used to people being tongue-tied around him when they knew who he was and what he did for a living, but he had hoped she would be different. Expected her to be.

“So, a director. I actually saw that film, I thought it was good.” He couldn’t help but smile wryly at the flatly delivered almost compliment. Clearly, the tongue-tied moment was long gone. “Strange. I always imagined directors as old men with beards and flat caps with interestingly tied cravats.” He couldn’t rein in his laughter at that. She really was something else.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I got lucky in the business quite early on. I am thirty-four if that helps, so I’m no spring chicken.” Pausing, he could see her weigh up this new piece of information, her head tilted to one side like an inquisitive bird. “What about you?”

“Me? What about me? You do know it’s not very gentlemanly to ask a lady her age?”

The mild reproof was at odds with the dancing of her eyes.

“Possibly, but I’m no gentlemen so you may as well confess. I always pictured a sweet shop owner as an old dear with flowery apron and a blue rinse.”

She smiled, the small nose crinkling up with the movement. “Well I’m halfway there,” she said, pointing at the apron around her waist. “But I’ve still a bit to go before the blue rinse. I’m twenty-eight. No spring chicken myself but still a way to go till I reach thirty-four!” The good-natured insult made him smile in response.

He could tell the moment a cloud entered her thoughts, the expressive eyes darkening like a twilight sky.

“Now that I know what you do for a living, I can see how the nature of your job, as you put it, prevents you from being at home much. It’s a pretty impressive job.”

• • •

Rania could see the comment had hit home and hard. A director! A flippin’ film director, no less! Did someone up there have it in for her? Maybe her mother was laughing in heaven right now at the situation Rania found herself in. Why couldn’t Theo’s dad have been anything else? A shop assistant or a banker. Pick anyone other than someone in the film industry. Was it the fate of the George women to be thrown near men from that world?

She stopped herself short.
No
. She didn’t go out of her way to be near that world. Her mother, with grand dreams of becoming an actress may have had a different idea. In fact, that was how she came into the world; as a clearly much-loved, much-wanted casting couch baby. Except after all was said and done, her mother hadn’t gotten the part despite what her big director father had apparently told her. All Rania knew about him was he was half Lebanese, half American, which explained her dark coloring compared to her mother’s English rose fairness.