The Billionaire's Bedside Manner by Robyn Grady Page A

eyes sparkled as she came forward and kissed him, first on one cheek then the other. She turned to Bailey. “And you’ve brought a friend.”
    â€œMadame Nichole Garnier.” Mateo spoke in English, knowing Madame would follow suit. “This is Bailey Ross.”
    â€œMademoiselle Ross.”
    â€œCall me Bailey.”
    Madame held one of Bailey’s hands between the palms of her own. “And you must call me Nichole. I’m very happyyou are here.” Smiling, Madame held Bailey’s gaze a moment longer before releasing her hand and speaking again with Mateo. “The children have been eager for your arrival.” She pivoted around and beckoned a boy standing at the middle front of the group: six or seven years of age, dark hair and chocolate brown eyes fringed with thick lashes.
    Mateo’s chest swelled as he smiled.
    Remy.
    After Remy strode forward then pulled up before them, Nichole placed her hand on the boy’s crown. “You remember Remy, Monsieur.”
    Mateo hunkered down. He’d hoped that, since last time, someone might have seen the same special qualities and warmth he saw in this child. He’d hoped that Remy would have found two people who would love and adopt him. Still, in another sense, he’d looked forward to seeing him again. From the boy’s ear to ear grin, Remy hadn’t forgotten him either.
    â€œ Bonjour, Remy,” Mateo said.
    The boy’s mop of hair flopped over his eyes as he smiled and nodded several times. Then, without invitation, Remy reached and took Mateo’s hand and Mateo’s heart melted more as he was dragged off. He hated whenever he left, but he really ought to come more often.
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    Bailey looked on, feeling the connection, subtle yet at the same time unerringly strong. These two—Mateo and Remy—had a history. An ongoing solid relationship. When Natalie had suggested Mateo might bring home a child, was she speaking of anyone in particular? Did the Ramirezes know about this boy?
    His little hand folded in a much larger one, Remy drew Mateo nearer the other children, still lined up and standing straight as pins. Bailey fogged up watching the girls handover their flowers and the boys beam as they shook their benefactor’s hand.
    Exhaling happily, Nichole folded her arms.
    â€œWe so look forward to his visits.”
    â€œHow long has Mateo been coming back?”
    â€œThis will make eight years. Two years ago he helped with dormitory renovations. Last year he sponsored the installation of a computer network and fifty stations. This year I’d hoped to discuss excursions. Perhaps, even an extended stay in Paris for the older ones.”
    Bailey was certain he’d like that idea.
    Her gaze ran over the remarkable building that looked something like a smaller version of Notre Dame, without the gargoyles. How many stories those walls must hold.
    â€œHas this place changed much since Mateo’s time?” Bailey asked.
    â€œThe structure has been renovated many times over the centuries. Some of the furniture and facilities will have been upgraded since Mateo’s time, much of it via his own pocket.”
    Bailey studied the children again, well dressed, obviously well fed, not a one looking discontent. The word orphanage brought up such Dickensian images…never enough food, never enough care or love. But Bailey didn’t feel that here. She only felt hope and commitment.
    When Mateo had greeted each child, Remy still stood beside him, a mini-me shadow.
    â€œRemy seems quite attached to Mateo,” Bailey pointed out.
    â€œI think Mateo is quite attached to him. ” But then Nichole rubbed her arms as if she were suddenly cold. “Remy lost his mother when he was three,” she confided in a lowered voice. “His father dropped him here saying he would return when he could. Four years on…” She shrugged.
    No sign of him.
    Bailey’s chest tightened. At