More Than Anything (Broken Pieces #1)(60)

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” he eventually said, in response to her original question. “Tell them I’ll be around to pick it up in ten minutes.”

The food wasn’t done by the time he got there, so he popped into the back office to see how Greyson was coping with his babysitting duties.

As it turned out, the answer to that question was not very well. At all.

Harris stood in the doorway, his eyes wide and his jaw slack as he watched, completely unnoticed, as Greyson paced up and down the tiny office. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, the top button of his shirt undone, and he had a towel thrown over one shoulder. The towel seemed to serve no purpose at all, since it was the other shoulder that was covered in spit-up.

In his arms he held his squirming, screaming, clearly unhappy nearly five-month-old daughter. He was attempting to rock her, but her tiny body was tense, and she refused to be soothed.

“What the hell?”

Greyson didn’t hear him. His desperate eyes were fixed on Clara’s angry face, and he was pleading with her to stop crying.

“It’s okay, darling. It’s all right. Don’t cry. Please don’t cry. Daddy’s here.”

“Greyson!” Harris raised his voice, and his brother’s eyes flew up to meet his. It seemed to take him a second to register Harris’s presence.

“Harris! Oh, thank God you’re here.” Greyson’s voice was urgent, with naked relief in his eyes. Harris had never seen his suave brother this harried before, not even during those dark days immediately after Libby had left. And that was saying a lot. “She won’t stop crying. I think she’s sick. Do you think she’s sick?”

Harris stepped forward and took Clara from Greyson, cradling her in the crook of his arm and resting the back of his hand on her forehead.

“She doesn’t feel feverish.” Clara stopped screeching, one plump fist crept into her mouth, and she suckled, her big eyes fixed on Harris’s face.

“Oh my God, she hates me.” The comically dramatic exclamation from Greyson would have made Harris laugh if his poor brother didn’t look genuinely gutted by the possibility.

“She doesn’t hate you,” Harris dismissed calmly. “You were tense and panicking. She probably picked up on that.”

“I can’t do this. You have to help me.” This time Harris did laugh. “No way. You seemed confident you could handle this. So handle it. Libby is literally a stone’s throw away if you need her. You’ll manage.”

“No. Damn it. She’ll never let me near Clara again if she thinks I can’t cope.”

“Greyson, you’re able to run a multimillion-dollar organization without blinking an eyelid—you can handle one tiny female.”

“No, I can’t!” His voice was frantic. “You know I can’t. She fucking up and left me before I had a chance to even recognize what an idiot I was. She defies handling.”

“I . . . uh . . . I meant the baby,” Harris pointed out, very determinedly keeping his grin at bay. It was really hilarious seeing Greyson this frazzled.

“Oh.”

“Now, take your daughter. I have a date to get back to. Call Libby if you run into trouble; she won’t think less of you. It’ll show that you’re more concerned for Clara than you are about your ego.”

He dropped a kiss on his sweetly cooing niece’s soft head and gently placed her back into her father’s less-than-capable arms. The crying started up again as he was leaving the office.

“Harris!” Greyson’s voice was sharp and fraught, and Harris just chuckled as he gently shut the door behind him.





Chapter Ten

“Lamb shanks braised in red wine and served on a bed of creamy mashed potatoes for milady’s gastronomic pleasure,” Harris said as he placed the foam containers on the kitchen table with a flourish.

“Awesome! I’m starving.”

“Got any wine?”

“In the cabinet above the fridge. Glasses in the cupboard next to that one. I’ll get the plates.”

They bustled around efficiently and a mere few minutes later were seated at the kitchen table, staring down at their delicious-looking meal in anticipation.

“My mother would have a heart attack if she were to see us having a meal at the kitchen table,” Harris said with a chuckle. Tina laughed.

“My mother would, too, but most of her horror would be reserved for the portion size. ‘Don’t tell me you’re going to eat all of that, Martine!’”

Harris shuddered.

“God, you sound just like her! Never do that again!”

“I would hope I sound just like her—I’ve heard that phrase enough times in my life to parrot it with absolute ease.”

Harris shook his head in disgust.

“Fuck that! Dig in,” he said with relish. Tina grinned and happily obliged. While they ate, Harris told her about Greyson’s babysitting woes. He had her in stitches by the time they got to the part where Greyson had pleaded with him to stay. He paused in his story, just to watch her laugh.

She was absolutely gorgeous. Then again, she was always gorgeous, but the radiance that shone through when she laughed was fucking blinding.

Her amusement faded as she became aware of his intense stare.