Page 39 of Obsessed Mr. O’Brian

Yet in less than twenty-four hours since I hired her, Millie managed to coax her into consuming calories on her own.

Her curiosity alone is cause for celebration, but for her to actually follow through, try again, and swallow, is light years beyond what I ever imagined.

Relief and gratitude fill my heart to overflowing. I meet Millie Grant’s eyes over the table, and even though we must look mad with our glasses in our hands and our straws still in our mouths, we share a moment too full of emotions for words. Her soft, triumphant smile embeds itself into my heart.

It doesn’t matter what difficulties life throws at me anymore. If I have Millie by my side, I can handle anything.

I’ll never be able to repay her for what she’s given me during the last day alone, much less for saving my life thirteen years ago.

It’s too soon to say it out loud, but I know without a doubt and to the very core of my being I love Millie Grant.

I love her. She’s my missing piece. My daughter’s guardian angel. My savior.

I promised her time to get to know Lola, and I intend to give her all the time in the world with my daughter, but I cannot wait a moment longer than necessary to make her mine as well.

I want to make Millie Grant my wife.

Chapter 13

Millie Grant

Even with the giddy excitement bubbling behind my sternum, I keep a watchful eye on Lola as we exit the bistro. She had more of the smoothie than I expected, and although the mango was a risk, it was the least problematic option on the menu.

The pride in her expression as her father carries her through the crowd makes it worth it. She overcame demons with every sip.

I suspect her aversion to food is because of abuse. My stomach twists at the thought of confronting Artur with my suspicion, but it’s for Lola’s health, so I’ll do it.

My stomach sours. He’ll probably get defensive and think I’m accusing him, but I know him too well. He’d never hurt Lola. He loves her with every fiber of his being.

Most rich families aren’t always aware of everything that goes on in their households since they tend to hire out certain jobs. Such as a nanny.

Tonight I’ll open my laptop and search through all the databases I have access to and learn as much as I can about Lola’s previous nanny. I don’t want to accuse another professional, but I’m fully aware not everyone has the children’s best interest at heart. After nannying for eleven years—eight of which I’ve been certified as a nurse nanny—I’ve seen countless women become bitter and disenchanted by our grueling career path.

I’m aware of only one other person who might have hurt Lola, and just thinking her name with this train of thought fills me with guilt. Regina couldn’t have hurt her own daughter.

With a thumb in her mouth and her other hand buried in the lapels of his blazer, Lola studies her surroundings as her father carries her down the sidewalk. I slow and follow them a few paces back, needing a moment to center myself.

When I met Artur’s gaze over our drinks, I saw forever. I wanted forever more than I’ve ever wanted anything before. I yearned for the moment to stretch on and on, day after day, month after month, year after year, until the end of time. I wanted the intimacy of dinners for three every night, the thrill of little wins every day, and the joy of life with the people I love most for eternity.

Love.

I’ve known since the moment I first started crushing on Artur in high school that he would be the only boy I’d ever truly love in my lifetime. My heart is still just as fantastical and whimsical as it was back then.

His interest in me doesn’t help.

Part of me wants to be bold and grab his muscular ass just to appease my curiosity. It looks so good in his jeans—and the blazer-jean combination really highlights his broad shoulders, perfect ass, and thick thighs—and by the appreciative glances he receives from almost every woman who walks by, I’m not the only one who thinks so.

Not brave enough to go quite so far as to grab his butt on a crowded sidewalk, I approach him on the side where Lola isn’t and pinch the side seam of his blazer between my fingers.

He grabs my wrist. My heart shoots into my throat. I meet his eyes. The hunger shining from his golden orbs threatens to drown me.

He slips my hand into his pocket.

Not his blazer pocket. The pocket of his jeans.

He stretches his arm behind me and wraps his fingers loosely around my forearm, avoiding my bruises but guiding me close to his side.

Electricity zings through my clit with every step. When my head spins, I scold myself for holding my breath and wiggle my fingers deeper into his pocket.