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Damage control? Morgan felt as if she’d been doused in ice water, yet for all that she was steaming mad. Before she could muster a response, though, Britney was moving past her, high heels clicking purposefully on the marble floor before she disappeared through an arched doorway off the living room. Morgan was left with little choice but to trail behind her. After passing through the formal dining room, Morgan caught up with Britney in the kitchen.
“The pantry is fully stocked and so is the refrigerator.” The young woman opened the stainless-steel behemoth’s double doors, revealing shelves lined with staples including milk, juice, cheese, eggs and butter. The crispers were bursting with a mouth-watering assortment of fresh fruits and vegetables. “Mr. Caliborn said to help yourself and to make a list of anything else you need. He has a housekeeper who comes in twice a week to do the cleaning and laundry. Hilda also takes care of buying his groceries.”
So he’d mentioned in his note. But that brought up a most pertinent question. “Where will Mr. Caliborn be staying?”
“His parents are abroad for the summer. He’s moved to their residence in Lake Forest for the time being.” Britney cast Morgan a quelling look. “It means he’ll have a longer commute to work, but apparently he felt you would be more comfortable here than in a hotel.”
Some of Morgan’s anger dissipated. She would be more comfortable here. That went without saying, but Morgan didn’t want to displace Bryan from his home and disrupt his routine. She would call him after Britney left. Maybe they could come up with a different solution.
“Besides, the doorman here is vigilant in guarding Mr. Caliborn’s privacy, and as such he’ll be sure to keep any reporters from slipping up to see you.”
Ah, yes. Damage control.
Brice stirred in her arms then. She lifted him to her shoulder and pulled off the little cap he was wearing. Dropping a kiss on his crown, she murmured, “Hey, sleepyhead, are you finally waking up?”
Britney’s gaze shifted to the baby. She was a career woman, emphasis on career, but surely she wasn’t immune to the allure of a newborn. Rather than softening, however, her expression hardened. Apparently, she was.
Still, Morgan asked, “Would you like to have children someday?”
Britney wrinkled her nose. “God, no! Though I suppose accidentally getting pregnant can wind up being the ticket to the good life.”
Morgan felt sucker punched. “What do you mean by that?”
The other woman snorted. “Take a look around and you’ll figure it out.”
“You think I’m after money?”
“Yes,” Britney said baldly. “And I doubt I’m the only one to reach that conclusion. I suggest you don’t get too comfortable with the Caliborn lifestyle. Bryan’s noble sense of obligation aside, ultimately, you’re not his type.”
Two things occurred to Morgan then. First, Britney didn’t know that the baby was Dillon’s, and second, the young woman had a serious crush on her boss.
Well, Morgan wasn’t going to clarify the situation if Bryan hadn’t. Though she longed to assure Britney the brooding businessman wasn’t her type either, she kept her mouth closed.
“The bedrooms are this way.” Britney click-clacked out of the kitchen, once again leaving Morgan to follow in her wake. “The one at the end of the hall is Mr. Caliborn’s. You’ll be using the guest suite.”
Britney swung open the first door they came to, revealing a large and neatly furnished room. The queen-size bed was outfitted in a taupe duvet. The walls were a couple of shades darker in the same color. A crib, changing table and glider-rocker were set up against the far wall. The pastel-blue bumper pads and comforter provided the only color.
Before Morgan could ask about the nursery furniture, Britney said, “Mr. Caliborn ordered furnishings for the baby. They’re top-of-the-line, of course.”
“But I have a crib and changing table.” They’d belonged to her friend Jen, who had given them to Morgan as a shower gift. For the time being they were in storage with the rest of her belongings.
Britney shrugged. “Now you have two. You’ll find diapers, wipes and all that sort of thing in the drawers of the changing table.”
“He’s thought of everything,” Morgan murmured, finding it impossible not to be touched by his efforts, no matter what their motivation.
“Yes. He always does.” Britney glanced at her watch, clearly eager to be gone. “My cell phone number is programmed into the telephone. You may call me at any time.”
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