Maid for the Millionaire

Maid for the Millionaire by Susan Meier Page B

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Authors: Susan Meier
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you’re sorry for an accident?”
    He smiled ruefully. “I guess that’s the rub. I feel guilty about something that wasn’t my fault. Something I can’t change. Something I couldn’t have fixed no matter how old, or smart or experienced I was.”
    â€œThat’s probably what’s driving the fixer in you crazy.”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œIt’s not your fault. You can’t be sorry.” She shook her head. “No. You can be sorry your brother is gone. You can be sorry for the loss. But you can’t take the blame for an accident.”
    â€œI know.” He rubbed his hand along the back of his neck. “That was weird.”
    â€œTalking about it?”
    â€œNo, admitting out loud for the first time that it wasn’t my fault. That I can’t take the blame.” He shook his head. “Wow. It’s like it’s the first time that’s really sunk in.”
    He smiled at her, a relieved smile so genuine that sheknew she’d done the right thing in encouraging him to talk.
    The silence in the room nudged her again, hinting that she could now tell him about their baby, but something about the relieved expression on his face stopped her. He’d just absolved himself from a burden of guilt he never should have taken up. What if she told him about her miscarriage and instead of being sad, he got angry with himself all over again?
    She swallowed, as repressed memories of the days before she left him popped up in her brain. All these years, she’d thought she’d kept her secret to protect herself. Now, she remembered that she’d also kept it to protect him. He had a talent for absorbing blame that wasn’t really his.
    If she told him now, with the conversation about his brother still lingering in the air, he could tumble right back to the place he’d just escaped. Surely he deserved a few days of peace? And surely in those days she could think of a way to tell him that would help him to accept, as she had, that there was no one to blame.
    â€œWe’re just about finished here.” She ambled to the dining room table again and brought back salt-and-pepper shakers. “I’ll wash the tablecloth and wait for the dishwasher, but you don’t have to hang around. I brought a book to read while I wait. Why don’t you go do whatever you’d normally do?”
    â€œI should pack the contracts we signed tonight in my briefcase.”
    â€œOkay. You go do that.” She smiled at him. “I’ll see you Friday morning.”
    He turned in the doorway. “I’m not supposed to be here when you come to the house, remember?”
    She held his gaze. “I could come early enough to get a cup of coffee.”
    Surprise flitted across his face. “Really?” Then he grimaced. “I’m leaving town tomorrow morning. I won’t be back until Friday night. But I’ll see you on Saturday.”
    Another weekend of working with him without being able to tell him might be for the best. A little distance between tonight’s acceptance that he couldn’t take blame for his brother’s accident and the revelation of a tragedy he didn’t even know had happened wouldn’t be a bad thing.
    â€œOkay.”
    He turned to leave again then paused, as if he didn’t want to leave her, and she realized she’d given him the wrong impression when she’d suggested they have coffee Friday morning. She’d suggested it to give herself a chance to tell him her secret, not because she wanted to spend time with him. But he didn’t know that.
    She turned away, a silent encouragement for him to move on. When she turned around again, he was gone.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    T HE FOLLOWING S ATURDAY , Cain was on the roof of Amanda’s house with a small crew of his best, most discreet workers. Even before Cain arrived, Liz had taken Amanda and her children to breakfast, then shopping, then to

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