This hadn’t been part of the plan. It was supposed to be the three of them together all evening. She must have ordered the pizza half an hour ago, after she’d excused herself to deal with a call.

But her strategy was smart. With their get-acquainted session tanking, Erica had switched tactics to try and improve the outcome.

Probably very similar to her modus operandi in the corporate world.

He gave a tiny nod to indicate he was on board with her plan.

Hannah stood too, panic etched on her features, posture stiff. “I’m not hungry. Can I go with you, Aunt Erica?”

“It’s business related, dear—but I won’t be gone long.” She redirected her attention to him. “Help yourself to drinks and whatever else you need. Someone from the desk will deliver the pizza.” She disappeared into the kitchen for a few moments, reappeared with her purse. “I’ll see you both in an hour or so.”

With that, she crossed to the foyer and slipped out the door.

Silence descended.

Hannah edged behind her chair, giving him a wary once-over.

He tried not to let her caution hurt. Tried to put himself in her place. A grieving little girl, thrust upon an aunt she hardly knew, about to be passed off to a father she’d never met who was going to hustle her away to live in a place she’d never been.

That had to be super traumatic.

While there wasn’t much he could do to alleviate her grief over the death of her mom, surely he could find a way to allay her fears. To communicate that he would do his best to welcome her into his life and his heart. That she didn’t have to be scared, because he would do everything he could to—

“You don’t have to take me.” She spoke from behind the chair, her fingers gripping the back. “I could stay with Aunt Erica. She said I could. The first day, when she came down after . . . after my mom died.” Her voice choked.

But that was before Erica knew there was a father waiting in the wings—which changed everything.

The bell rang.

Perfect timing. This would buy him a few minutes to figure out how to address her comment.

“That must be our pizza. Let me get it, then we’ll talk. Okay?”

No response.

He walked over to the door, pulled out his wallet, and twisted the knob. A twentysomething guy wearing dark slacks and a light blue dress shirt held out a pizza box. “I ran into Ms. West in the elevator. She said you were waiting for this.”

“Thanks.” Jack took it and flipped open his wallet.

“No tipping allowed for staff, sir. We’re happy to deliver. Enjoy.” He retreated down the hall.