Page 7 of Up for Heir (Westerly Billionaire 2)
If possible, Mrs. Westerly looked even less happy. “As little as he said about me.”
She’d still been trying to wrap her head around the fact that Mrs. Westerly was Spencer’s grandmother. Could something that significant have happened by accident? “Did you know about my relationship with Spencer before you hired me?”
“I found out about it after you had applied. Do you think I would move you into my home without looking into your background?”
Hailey had shivered at that. She knew and she hired me. “But it didn’t have anything to do with why I was hired, did it?”
“Did dating my grandson leave you with a particular skill you think I require in a personal assistant?”
“Of course not,” Hailey had responded, feeling foolish. I’m being stupid. It was a long time ago. A coincidence.
“Then it’s of no consequence to me, is it? Unless, of course, you have feelings toward him that would make either of you uncomfortable should you meet up as a result of your employment here.”
“No feelings.” Relief had flooded in. Of course. She wants to make sure it won’t be an issue.
“Good, then you shouldn’t mind telling me how it ended between the two of you.”
It had been tempting to say that her personal life was none of her business, but something told her Mrs. Westerly wouldn’t accept such an answer. And it’s not like I have many options. “My father died just before my sophomore year. It was a tough time for me, and my relationship with Spencer didn’t survive it.”
“So it wasn’t because you were dating someone else.”
Hailey gasped. “Of course not. I left school to move in with my brother.” Hold it together. Maybe she just wants to know how I’d feel about seeing him again.
An emotion that might have been compassion darkened Mrs. Westerly’s eyes. “Ryan was the brother you recently lost?”
“Yes,” Hailey had said tightly.
“That must have been devastating.” The sincerity in Mrs. Westerly’s voice had rung true. “I would trade everything I have and every last breath for one more day with my late husband, Oliver.”
Hailey had nodded. On the surface she and Mrs. Westerly had nothing in common, but that afternoon they had connected on an elemental level. Michael had said she was lonely. She’d practically admitted she was afraid to die alone. No matter how strong she looked on the outside, Mrs. Westerly was scared. She just wasn’t letting it stop her. She’s a survivor.
Like me.
It was easier to like her after that. Hailey and Skye had stayed for dinner that first night, and it had actually gone well. Mrs. Westerly definitely had strong opinions and a strict view of how things should be, but there was also a kindness to her.
The rest of the week flew by, a blur of settling Skye into a new schedule with Mrs. Tillsbury, spending most of the day with Mrs. Westerly, then having dinner each night at the main house.
Skye loved visiting with Mrs. Westerly. The staff waited on her as if she were royalty. Her needs were anticipated and fulfilled so seamlessly that Hailey worried it would spoil her. It was difficult to be anything but grateful, though, because Skye looked happier each day.
Even Mrs. Tillsbury had commented on how well Skye seemed to have adjusted to the change. Her therapist said the same. No, Skye wasn’t talking yet, but there was a light in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. Hailey didn’t want to get too hopeful, but the move was beginning to feel like the right choice.
Even if the nature of her job left Hailey feeling conflicted.
There were virtually no duties required of Hailey outside of spending time at the main house and listening to Mrs. Westerly reminisce about her early life. She really was looking for a companion. An only child, Mrs. Westerly had spent a lot of time on her own or with her nannies, but she always dreamed of having a large family of her own. She’d only been able to have one child and although he lived close by, she didn’t see him often.
There was a palpable sadness in Mrs. Westerly, a feeling that her life had not turned out the way she’d imagined it would. Hailey understood that feeling all too well. She understood loneliness as well.
I wish I could refuse to take money for visiting with her. She shouldn’t have to pay anyone to sit with her. I need the money, though—so does Skye. Compassion and pride will have to take a backseat to survival.
“Is everything all right?” the driver asked, likely because she had yet to step away from the vehicle.
“Yes, just trying to remember the office number.”
“Two thirty-three, I believe.”
“Oh yes,” Hailey said and pretended to be relieved he knew. She turned to thank him, but her attention was drawn to a silhouette of a man in a dark suit, standing at his office window several floors up. His features were impossible to distinguish from a distance, but for a heartbeat she would have sworn he was watching her. They connected for a moment in a way that shook her.
Inexplicably, she thought of Spencer. Was he in a similar office somewhere, looking out, thinking of her?
Yeah, right.
According to Mrs. Westerly, he lived in the area and was running a successful tech company now. He was also too busy to visit his grandmother.
She shook her head and looked away from the man in the window. Same old Spencer.
At least he got his cake.
An hour later, with a small, gift-wrapped package in hand, Hailey opened the door of the main house herself for the first time since she’d been there. Normally, Michael magically appeared to welcome her. His absence was unsettling. Before stepping into the house, she glanced back at the guesthouse. Mrs. Tillsbury’s car was still parked in front, which meant Skye was occupied with her lessons. Hailey checked her phone. No message. If something was wrong, someone would have texted her. She took a few deep breaths.
I refuse to panic every time something is out of the ordinary. Things haven’t been easy this year, but that doesn’t mean they can’t get better. One foot in front of the other. One positive action followed by another. That’s how you survive. Right, Ryan? Hailey closed the door behind her with a shaking hand. And things turn around.
I just need to believe they can.
The sound of someone racing toward her brought Hailey to full alert again. Michael came to a stop beside her, looking flustered. “Mrs. Westerly means well.”
“Means well?”
Before Michael had a chance to answer, Mrs. Westerly’s voice carried from the library into the foyer. “Your Latin is rudimentary. Your Spanish is not much better, and dare I say your English could use a good polishing as well. Tell me you at least play an instrument. How do you expect to cultivate a love of learning in Skye when you yourself are ignorant? By the look on your face, I’ve insulted you. Feel free to refute my assessment, but do try to express yourself with some degree of refinement.”
Oh no. No. No. No.
“Or stomp away. Go on, then. That’s all the evidence I require that you are ill qualified.”
Mrs. Tillsbury burst out of the library, showing relief when she spotted Hailey. “Thank God you’re here.” She came to a skidding stop next to Michael. “I should have asked you if it was okay to bring Skye to the main house, but she seemed excited by the invitation. Your employer, however, is nasty. I have never been so insulted in my life. If I were you, I would keep your niece as far away from that—that horrible woman as you can.”
The sense of mortification Hailey had felt when she’d heard how Mrs. Westerly was speaking to the tutor quickly gave way to defensive anger. “Your concern for Skye’s welfare is painfully obvious given your departure without her.”
Michael coughed back what sounded like a laugh.
“I was coming out here to call you,” the woman said in a huff, then waved her hand around aggressively. “You know, I agreed to drive the extra dista
nce because I felt sorry for your niece, but she needs more help than I can give her.”
“That is obvious as well,” Hailey said tightly. “We won’t be requiring your services after today.”
“Trust me, I had no intention of returning,” the woman said in an unpleasant tone, and walked out.
Michael stayed beside Hailey rather than rushing over to open the door for her. As soon as Mrs. Tillsbury was out the door, Hailey took a step toward the library.
“Wait,” Michael said.
Hailey did only because she needed a moment to choose her words. Without turning toward Michael, Hailey asked, “What was she thinking?” Hailey shook her head. “Mrs. Tillsbury wasn’t perfect, but Skye was making progress. She liked her. It’s not just about finding a replacement. If the loss of Mrs. Tillsbury sets Skye back . . .” Hailey blinked back tears and raised her chin. “I don’t know what will happen.”
“Mrs. Westerly only gets involved when she cares.”
Whipping her head around to meet Michael’s gaze, Hailey said, “I understand that, but we have to be careful. It’s about what’s best for Skye. How do I make her see that? God, what if I can’t make this work?”
Michael walked with her to the door of the library, but stopped her just before they stepped inside. In a low voice, he said, “Don’t rush to any decisions. Give her a chance.”
Hailey shook her head, but Mrs. Westerly was speaking again, and she listened without moving.
“My mother believed that every lady should know at least two languages besides English,” Mrs. Westerly said. “I learned French and Spanish. Which would you want to learn, Skye? I’d love to hear you try French. There’s no better excuse to spend a month at my home in Marseille than saying you need to work on your accent. We’d include a trip to Paris and la tour Eiffel. I haven’t been there since I lost Oliver. It would be good to see it again.” There was a pause and then Mrs. Westerly added, “Of course, you can’t have any accent unless you speak. Try this: Je parle français. ‘I speak French.’ Come on, we’ll make it fun. I’ll ask you what you speak and you answer ‘Je parle français.’ Just like that. Ready? Even better, I’ll ask you in French. It’ll be just like we’re having our first conversation but in a whole new language. Quelle langue parlez-vous? Now you answer, ‘Je parle français.’”
