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“I-I-I don’t know what that means.” Frantic headshakes are accompanied by a second uncomfortable swallow. “I don’t wanna know what that means. However, I will most certainly take you to your guesthouse just as soon as-”
“No.”
More bewilderment pierces his expression prior to him looking back at the camera. “What do you mean no?”
“I’ll sleep in the fucking car,” Brynley aggressively announces. “It was pretty much my plan for the night anyway.”
New, unusual waves of displeasure roll through me yet instead of addressing them or their cause, I keep my focus on the subject at hand. “She’s not staying in one of the guesthouses.”
His head tilts to one side in question.
“She’ll be staying in the main manor with me.”
The corner of his lip instantly curls upward. “With you?”
“As in the manor I occupy, not as in the room with me.”
“Just near you?”
“Why?” the spirited vixen viciously snips. “Why do I need to stay anywhere near you, Mr. Wilcox?”
“Wes.”
“Don’t trust someone like me to wander around your property? Afraid I might steal something when you’re not watching? Auction it off to pay a few overdue bills?” My mouth moves to object but is denied the opportunity. “Look, I don’t want your fucking stuff. I just want my mom.”
Unfamiliar pangs pound inside my chest temporarily swelling my vocal cords shut.
Maybe I should relocate her to the hospital.
Give Brynley what it is she desperately wants.
What it seems everyone desperately wants.
What’s probably best for Lauren rather than me and my privacy.
I lower my jaw, preparing to make that call, only to discover I can’t.
I won’t.
Hamilton is one of the best fucking doctors in the country, and I trust his expertise.
Hell, that’s why Brynley’s even here to begin with.
His recommendation.
If he decides Lauren needs to be moved, we’ll move her.
Until then?
She stays put.
Which means her daughter stays put.
Which means making a few minor adjustments to my daily life.
“Show her to one of the guestrooms on the first floor,” I instruct at the same time I reach over for the office phone. “I’ll have housekeeping meet you there for assistance.”
J.T.’s reluctance isn’t surprising. “You sure?”
