For a long, brittle second, no one spoke.
Finally, Grant found his voice again. “Who… who are you? And why is my son—”
Lucas cut him off with a whimper. “Don’t go, Miss Naomi. Please don’t leave me.”
Naomi. The name hung in the air like a fragile bell.
Naomi took a shaky breath, trying to compose herself. “Mr. Ellison, I—I’m Naomi Carter. The agency sent me. Mrs. Whitmore—your housekeeper—she had to return home suddenly. They needed someone to fill in. I’ve only been here three weeks.”
Grant blinked. His personal assistant had mentioned nothing about this. He glanced at his son again, still clinging desperately to the young woman. His chest tightened.
“But why is he—why does he look so…” Grant swallowed hard. “…attached to you?”
Naomi’s lips trembled, but she held his gaze. “Because, sir, he hasn’t seen you. Not once. And I suppose he needed someone. I’ve tried—I’ve done my best to comfort him. But he misses you.”
