The Love Hater: Chapter 9

I give the driver an awkward smile as he holds the rear door to the black town car open for me.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Miss Miller.”

I slide into the cool leather interior and cold blue eyes drop over my uniform. His nostrils flare as though it’s personally offended him, and he taps his fingers with impatience against his suit pants where his legs are spread wide. Arrogance clad in a deep blue designer suit.

“Should I put the privacy screen up, Mr. Beaufort?” his driver asks.

His detached assessment of me ceases and he meets his driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

“That won’t be necessary, Cliff. Miss Miller has accepted a job offer from me.”

“Ah. Congratulations, and welcome,” Cliff directs to me.

“Thank you,” I reply.

Sullivan’s eyes return to mine and he spreads his thighs wider. His broad chest expands as he takes in a slow breath, sinking back into the seat a little like he’s had a long day.

I wonder how many women he’s had in here. How many times Cliff has put that privacy screen up at his request. Whether he fucks them on the smooth leather seats, or gets them to suck him off, kneeling between those spread thighs.

The thought hits me out of nowhere and I shove it away before it’s written all over my face. I looked him up online last night after receiving his contract. It was the NDA part that made me do it. Made me wonder what he has to hide. Ashley said rich people are extra fussy about their privacy, and he probably didn’t want me selling stories about all of the women I might see him with. The press is speculating over the rumor of a hotel suite he has for the sole purpose of hookups with actresses and models.

“Tonight will require an hour of your time. My lawyer is coming over with some contracts that need my attention. My father is bringing Molly home, but he can’t stay. So I need you to keep her entertained while we go through them.”

“Okay.”

The back of the car falls silent, and I clasp my hands in my lap to stop myself from fidgeting. The quiet stretches on until my throat tickles with the need to break it.

“Thank you for laundering my apron. You didn’t have to do that,” I say.

Sullivan gives a brusque nod. “My housekeeper did it. It was covered in that cocoa you make smiley faces with.”

I open my mouth, then close it again, holding back my own smiley face.

I thought he shoved the lid on his coffee too fast to notice. But it just goes to show, the cocoa works. Customers notice it. They like it.

“Sometimes it’s two coffee beans, or our logo, or even the Empire State Building. That one’s tricky to do in a rush, but the tourists appreciate it,” I say. “Then of course, I do bunnies as well. Like⁠—”

“Bumper,” he clips, reaching up to loosen his tie with a frown.

“You remembered.” I grin, unable to help myself.

His eyes flick to me and a muscle in his jaw flexes like he’s realized he’s going to have to talk to me, after all.

“Cliff will take you home later.”

“It’s fine, I’ll take the subway.”

His brow flattens. “You’ll be driven home so I know that you’re safe,” he clips. “I won’t have any of my staff at risk if I’m the one requiring them to travel home late at night.”

“Oh, okay, then. Thank you, Cliff.” I catch the driver’s eye in the rearview mirror and his own crinkle kindly in response.

“It will be my pleasure, Miss Miller.”

“Thank you,” I add more quietly, glancing at Sullivan.

He gives me a curt nod before he reaches up to run a hand around the five o’clock shadow on his jaw. He exhales and pulls his buzzing phone from his jacket pocket. The frown marring his face transforms into a hint of a smile, and I sneak a look at the screen before he pockets his phone again. It’s a picture of Molly in a bathing suit wearing bright yellow floaties.

The protective streak he showed with insisting that Cliff drives me home must come from being a father. It’s exactly the sort of thing my dad would do.

Sullivan rolls his lips, a scowl settling on them as he trains his eyes on something out of his window.

Or maybe he just doesn’t want to get sued if something happens to me. ‘Employee of Billionaire mogul, Sullivan Beaufort, murdered on subway after dark,’ probably won’t be good for business. Although I’m sure there was something in that six-page contract I signed about waiving my rights to sue him. Giving up all my rights, actually. There’s probably even hidden small print saying I have to ask permission to pee when on his time.

“Do you ever drive yourself home?” I ask, unease making me itch to fill the silence again. Maybe I could ask Cliff to put the radio on in future if this is what it’s going to be like. He seems much friendlier than the brooding hulk of a man next to me.

“Rarely. My sister is the one who likes to drive herself around. This is more effective management of my time. I work on the ride so when I get home, I can eat dinner with Molly.”

Despite the brusqueness of his tone, his words bring warmth to my chest. He clearly adores his little girl, even though, I presume, a job like his requires a lot of his energy and time.

“But you’re not working now. You’re talking to me,” I point out, my gaze dropping to a zipped-up laptop bag in the footwell he hasn’t attempted to reach for.

“Hm.” He grunts as those cool blue eyes meet mine again.

I regret opening my mouth as they scan over my pink shirt before flicking away. It’s a couple of seconds, but I feel the depth of his scrutiny all the way to my bones.

I choose to embrace the silence for the rest of the drive.

Sullivan’s low voice rumbles from the hallway, and is joined by another man’s, his father, I presume, along with a happy shriek of, ‘Daddy!’. He instructed me to wait in his giant living area while he went to answer the door, saying it would be Molly returning.

I can’t wait to see her. Her presence will help blow some of the awkwardness away that’s been making it hard to breathe since I stepped foot inside the multi-million-dollar penthouse. I’m so out of place here. Those thick, dark brows of Sullivan’s had lowered, matching his terse expression as I’d hovered inside the front door, clutching my purse like it could offer support, and gazed around at the monochrome elegance, telling him what a nice living room he has.

I didn’t know that was just the entryway. Who has sofas, giant artwork, and flower displays in their hallway?

The moment I walked into his actual living space, I squeaked embarrassingly at the sight of a sparkling grand piano set up in front of floor-to-ceiling windows with the city stretching into the distance behind. It’s the first time I’ve noticed Sullivan look at me with something akin to interest in his eyes before he was summoned by a knock at the door.

Placing my purse on a side table, I wander over to the piano and gaze at it longingly. I bet it plays beautifully. More in tune than the old battered one in my building’s basement. I run my finger along the sleek maple wood. It’s as black as a well of thick ink. Glossy. Divine. My fingers tingle at the idea of sitting on the upholstered stool and playing it.

Sullivan clears his throat, announcing that I’m no longer alone. Molly is in his arms, and the sight of her sweet little face pressed against the front of his shirt as she clings to him makes my ovaries feel fit to bursting.

“Hello, Molly.” I give her a little wave and turn my back on the piano, relieved I don’t have to explain to Sullivan why I was touching it. Something tells me he might not take kindly to people interfering with his things.

“Do you remember me?” I ask, walking over slowly.

She nods, burying her cheek into Sullivan’s shirt.

“She’s tired. My father’s fiancée took her swimming, and she woke up early from her nap,” Sullivan explains, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her dark curls, the move so natural, like he does it without even thinking.

My eyes roam over him, dressed in his power suit, cradling Molly to his chest like she’s the most precious thing in the world. I’ve witnessed first-hand the way he behaves dressed like this. When he’s in his billionaire CEO persona. But here, in his own home, with his tired daughter in his arms, something else flows from him.

Love.

So much love that it tears at my heart and makes my eyes mist. Because as beautiful as it is, there’s something achingly tragic too. Why I get that impression, I don’t know.

Sullivan’s gaze meets mine and the softness vanishes.

“Molly,” he says, his voice business-like as he looks at me. “Tate’s going to be spending more time with you. Helping when Daddy has to work. Like Arabella.”

Molly lifts her head at the information, and gifts me with a smile, showing off two perfect rows of milk teeth between her round cheeks. I smile back as her shyness ebbs away and the Molly I met yesterday emerges.

“You see my room?” she says.

“I’d love to. If that’s okay with your daddy?”

Sullivan gives a terse nod. “I’ll give you a tour.”

I follow him through the living and dining area to a giant kitchen filled with top of the range gadgets and sparkling marble worktops. It has a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows like the living area, making it feel like you’re miles above the city below.

“You can help yourself to anything you like. If there’s something you need, my housekeeper, Joan, can get it for you. That iPad,” he gestures to the device on the large island, “is hers. You can leave messages for her on it. She comes every morning, so you probably won’t see her because you’ll be…” His eyes drop over my uniform and his nostrils flare. “…You’ll be at work.”

I wait until he turns and strides down a hallway lined with doors before I check my shirt for a stain, or for whatever it is that keeps stealing his attention. But there’s nothing except Caffeine Couture’s logo stitched onto the pink fabric.

Multiple bedrooms, a home gym, cinema room, and office—all get shown to me. I’m grateful to stop and catch my breath as we stop in a bright, fun room that’s decorated like a jungle with a princess carriage bed inside it.

Sullivan puts Molly down and she runs over to a toy basket before returning with a baby doll in her arms.

“Hold baby,” she instructs, thrusting the doll into my stomach.

“She has quite the collection,” Sullivan says.

He’s leaning against the doorframe, hands in his pant pockets. Tenderness softens the line of his mouth as his attention remains on Molly, who’s picked up another baby doll and is cradling it against her, shushing it and rubbing its back.

“You sure do. A fine collection,” I say to Molly as I take in the baby cot and stroller with more dollies inside. In the center of the room is the bed. The pillows are barely visible beneath the mound of stuffed animals on it.

Sullivan’s phone buzzes and he pulls it out.

“My lawyer’s here,” he announces, falling into business mode. “I’d appreciate it if you and Molly stayed in the living area while I meet with him.”

“Of course,” I say, grinning at Molly as she takes my hand and tugs me from the room.

The man who Sullivan lets in appears in the living area a few moments later. He seems to be in his late thirties, and despite a designer suit that fits him almost as well as Sullivan’s does, his demeanor couldn’t be any more different.

“Hello.” He makes a beeline for me after greeting Molly and extends his hand with a friendly smile. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”

My cheeks heat as he closes both of his hands around mine and pumps it enthusiastically, his eyes roaming my face like he’s admiring every inch of it.

“Jones, this is Tate. Tate, this is my lawyer, Jones,” Sullivan clips, moving to stand at my side, so close that the heat of his body rolls off him and seeps toward mine.

Jones grins. “Tate,” he repeats. “Lovely to meet you. How long have you two been dating?”

The choked sound that comes from Sullivan’s throat makes me snap my eyes to his face.

“We’re not dating,” he balks. “She’s here to help with Molly.”

“My mistake,” Jones says, not looking at all shocked by Sullivan’s reaction.

Meanwhile, I dampen down a surge of offense heating the blood in my veins, and picture punching him in his rude mouth. So I’m not an actress or a model. I don’t look smooth and polished like Cara, and all the other people he’s surrounded by in his fancy over-the-top offices. But he doesn’t need to be a jerk.

“Caffeine Couture,” Jones hums thoughtfully, reading the logo on my shirt. “That’s the place next door to the office on Fifth Avenue, right?”

“It is.” I smile back brightly for no other reason than Jones talking to me seems to be making Sullivan tenser.

“Hmm. I need a new place to grab a coffee when I’m in the area. I’ll have to swing by.”

“You should,” I tell him. “We make the best.”

“I’m sure you do.” He winks.

The sharp intake of breath next to me makes my smile stretch, which Jones seems to interpret as a response to his flirting.

“So nice to meet you, Tate,” he says, eyes dropping to the logo on my shirt again. “I’ll be sure to come in and taste that coffee of yours.”

“Contracts,” Sullivan barks, stepping forward and placing himself between Jones and I. He gestures to a large dining table on the other side of the expansive room. Jones walks ahead of him, placing his briefcase on the table and snapping open the locks on it.

“I won’t be long,” Sullivan says, lowering his voice as he looks at Molly, happily sitting on the thick cream rug, talking to one of her baby dolls.

“It’s fine. We’ll be okay.”

He frowns, and a fleeting look passes over his features, like he doesn’t want to leave, despite the fact he isn’t going into his home office, but has chosen to stay in the same room as us. Something I suspect he planned, not yet trusting me to be out of his sight with his daughter. But his protectiveness only makes me sympathize with him.

“We’ll be okay. I’ll look after her,” I soothe, placing my hand over the forearm of his jacket without thinking.

He stiffens, his eyes dropping to my hand. I whip it away and tuck it behind me like he might rip it off if I don’t.

“Sorry.” I swallow, not quite understanding why I’m apologizing, but knowing I must have crossed some invisible line judging from the way his eyes are trained on mine like fierce lasers.

“I won’t be long,” he repeats, before spinning on his heels and striding over to Jones.

Molly and I play with her dollies while the two men discuss the pages of paperwork covering the table. But the time passes quickly and they’re soon packing up.

Jones walks past with his briefcase.

“Bye, Molly. Nice to meet you, Tate,” he says, glancing at my shirt logo again. “I’ll come in for that coffee soon.”

“You should.” I smile.

I giggle internally as Sullivan sees him out. Ashley will love having a guy as flirty as Jones coming in. She’ll have him overflowing our tip jar without him even realizing what’s happening.

Sullivan storms back into the room, having removed his tie and jacket. The top two buttons of his shirt are undone, revealing a tense, flushed neck. He stops in front of Molly and me and stands with his hands on his hips.

“Uniform,” he grumbles. “Do you want me to provide one for you, or do you have something more suitable to wear while you’re working for me?”

“Um…” I hand my baby doll to Molly. “Can you please rock him to sleep for me? You’ve done such a good job with your baby. But he’s struggling to drift off,” I say softly.

“There, there, baby,” she coos, taking over beautifully as I stand to face Sullivan, keeping my voice a whisper.

“What do you mean? Do you want me to wear a uniform?”

“I don’t…” He purses his lips, hands still braced on his hips. “I don’t require you to wear a uniform. But you cannot wear that.” His eyes drag over my pink shirt and skirt again before he snaps them away, his jaw clenching.

I look down and finally understand what it is that’s bothering him. My cheeks heat as I adjust the straining material, trying to close the gaps between the buttons where the material gapes.

“It shrank when my dad washed it. I know…” I swallow down the humiliation. “I know my figure doesn’t exactly suit the style, but⁠—”

“The style is fine,” he barks, before his eyes flick up to the ceiling and he runs his tongue over his lips. “I just… I can’t have you wearing it.”

I nod, my cheeks burning. Ashley has a new one coming for me. One that will fit and not show every curve and bump.

“It’s…” Sullivan’s head drops down and his eyes snag on my shirt. He grimaces, like the sight angers him. “You wearing that… It’s… distracting.” A vein in his temple throbs and he breathes in deeply, like he’s trying to maintain control.

I frown. “Distracting?”

His pupils flare, and a flash of something that looks like heat, but can’t be, blazes through his eyes. It’s gone in an instant.

“Um… okay, sure. I’ll bring my own clothes next time.”

His shoulders relax and his jaw slackens. “Make sure you do.”