Kane stared at the bathtub like it was a bomb he needed to defuse.
He'd negotiated billion-dollar deals. He'd stood in boardrooms full of sharks and came out on top every time. He'd built an empire from nothing and crushed everyone who stood in his way.
But he had absolutely no idea how to give a three-year-old a bath.
"Okay," he said, more to himself than to Noa. "Water. The bath needs water."
He turned on the faucet. Water gushed out, loud and splashy. Noa jumped and hid behind his leg.
"It's just water," Kane said.
"It's LOUD water!" Noa peeked around his knee at the tub. "Is it angry?"
"Water doesn't get angry."
"That water sounds angry."
Kane sighed. He adjusted the faucet until the water came out softer. "Better?"
Noa crept closer. She stuck one finger under the stream. "It's wet!"
"That's what water does."
"And cold!"
Kane jerked the handle the other way. Steam started rising from the water. "Now it's hot."
"Too hot!" Noa yanked her finger back.
Kane adjusted it again. And again. And again. Finding the right temperature was apparently harder than negotiating with the Japanese investors last month.
Finally, the water was not-too-cold and not-too-hot. Just right. Like in that story about the bears. Kane had never read that story, but his nanny had told it to him when he was small. Before his father had fired her for being "too soft."
The tub started filling up. Noa watched it with big eyes.
"Okay," Kane said. "Get in."
Noa looked at him. "With my dress?"
"No. Take it off first."
"Oh." Noa grabbed the bottom of her gray dress and tried to pull it up. She got it over her head, but then her arms got stuck. She stood there, wiggling, the dress covering her face, arms trapped. "Help! Help! The dress is eating me!"
Kane pulled the dress off her. Underneath, she wore underwear that might have been white once but was now gray. And that was it. No undershirt. No nothing.
He could count every single one of her ribs.
The anger came back, hot and sharp. Kane pushed it down. Getting angry wouldn't help right now. Right now, this tiny skeleton of a child needed to get clean.
"In you go," he said.
Noa looked at the tub. It had filled up quite a bit now. The water rippled and steamed.
She took a step forward. Then stopped.
"What if I fall in and drown?"
"The water's not that deep."
"What if there's a shark?"
"There are no sharks in bathtubs."
"What if there's a really small shark?"
"Noa. Get in the tub."
"But—"
Kane picked her up and placed her in the water.
Noa shrieked. "COLD! HOT! WET! TOO MUCH!"
"It's fine. You're fine."
"I'M MELTING! LIKE THE WICKED WITCH!"
"You're not melting."
Noa looked down at herself, checking. She was indeed not melting. The water came up to her belly button. She touched it with one finger. Then splashed it. A tiny splash.
"Oh," she said. "It's actually kind of nice."
"That's what I said."
"No, you said 'get in the tub.' That's different."
Kane grabbed a bottle from the counter. Shampoo. Expensive shampoo that cost more than most people's weekly groceries. He squeezed some into his hand.
"Tip your head back."
"Why?"
"So I can wash your hair."
"Oh. Okay." Noa tipped her head back. Way back. So far back she almost fell over.
Kane caught her. "Not that far."
"How far then?"
"Just... a little."
"How much is a little?"
"This much." Kane adjusted her head to the right angle. Then he rubbed the shampoo into her hair.
Except it didn't really rub. Her hair was so tangled and matted that the shampoo just kind of sat on top, not going anywhere.
Kane frowned. He tried again, working the shampoo in with his fingers. He found a knot. Then another knot. Then what felt like a whole nest of knots.
"When was the last time someone brushed your hair?"
"What's brushed?"
Of course.
Kane worked in silence, trying to be gentle but also trying to actually get the shampoo through the tangles. It wasn't going well.
"Ow," Noa said.
"Sorry."
"Ow ow."
"I'm trying to be careful."
"OW OW OW!"
"I barely touched it!"
"You're pulling!"
"Because it's tangled!"
"Then stop pulling!"
"I can't wash it without—" Kane stopped. He took a breath. He was arguing with a three-year-old. He was actually standing here, in his bathroom, arguing with a tiny child about hair washing.
This was ridiculous.
He grabbed his phone from his pocket and dialed.
"Vivian. Also bring a hairbrush. The kind for children. And detangler spray. Whatever that is, find it. Yes, I'm serious. Just bring it."
He hung up and looked at Noa's hair again. It looked like a bird had tried to build a nest in it and given up halfway through.
"We'll finish your hair later," he said. "Let's just get the dirt off for now."
He rinsed the shampoo out—or tried to. Most of it stayed stuck in the tangles. Then he grabbed a washcloth and soap.
"Arms up."
Noa raised her arms. Kane washed them, watching the dirt run off in gray streams. How long had it been since she'd been clean? Weeks? Months?
He washed her back. Her shoulders. Her neck. Everywhere the washcloth touched, dirt came off.
He found bruises. Old ones that had turned yellow. Newer ones that were still purple. One on her shoulder was hand-shaped.
Kane's grip on the washcloth tightened.
"Kane?" Noa's voice was small. "You're doing the angry face again."
"I'm not angry at you."
"I know. You're angry at the Mean Lady."
"Yes."
"She said I was bad. That's why she locked me up. Because bad kids need to be locked up."
Kane stopped washing. He looked at Noa—really looked at her. At her big gray eyes that were so much like his own. At her too-thin face. At the way she hunched her shoulders like she was trying to be smaller.
"You're not bad," he said. His voice came out rougher than he meant it to.
"But I broke rules. I went out of the storage room. I took the bread."
"Taking food when you're hungry isn't bad. It's survival."
"What's sir-vy-vul?"
"Staying alive."
"Oh." Noa thought about this. "The Mean Lady said I was a burden. What's a burden?"
"Someone who causes problems."
"So I AM bad!"
"No." Kane's voice was sharp. Firm. "The Mean Lady was wrong. Children aren't burdens. Children are—"
He stopped. What were children? He had no idea. He'd never spent time with children. He'd never wanted to. They were loud and messy and complicated.
But looking at Noa sitting in his bathtub, water dripping from her tangled hair, bruises covering her tiny body, eyes full of hope that someone would tell her she wasn't bad...
"Children are supposed to be taken care of," he finished. "They're supposed to be fed and kept safe and—" He gestured vaguely at the bathroom. "And given baths."
"Even me?"
"Especially you."
Noa smiled. It was a small smile, but it was real. "Okay."
Kane went back to washing. He did her legs. Her feet—they were so dirty the water turned black. Her toes were tiny. All of her was tiny. How did humans survive being this small? It seemed impossible.
"All done," he said finally. "Let's get you out."
He pulled the drain plug and lifted Noa out of the tub. She dripped everywhere. He grabbed a towel—a white fluffy towel that probably cost two hundred dollars—and wrapped her in it.
She looked like a burrito. A tiny, wet, shivering burrito.
"Cold," she said, teeth chattering.
Kane dried her off roughly, then wrapped her in the towel again. "Better?"
"Warmer."
"Good."
He looked around. He'd told Vivian to bring clothes, but she wasn't here yet. And he certainly didn't have anything in his penthouse that would fit a three-year-old.
"Wait here," he said. "Don't move."
"Okay!"
Kane went to his bedroom and grabbed one of his t-shirts. When he came back, Noa had not waited there. She had not stayed still.
She had somehow climbed onto the bathroom counter and was now standing on it, looking at herself in the mirror, still wrapped in the towel.
"I'm tall now!" she announced. "I'm a giant!"
"Get down before you fall."
"But I'm a GIANT!"
"You're a three-year-old on a counter. Get down."
"Catch me!"
Before Kane could stop her, Noa jumped.
She launched herself off the counter, towel flapping like a cape, arms spread wide, completely confident that someone would catch her.
Kane's body moved before his brain could catch up. He lunged forward and caught her—barely. She crashed into his chest, giggling.
"I flew!" she said. "Did you see? I FLEW!"
"You could have cracked your head open."
"But I didn't! You catched me!"
"Caught."
"That's what I said!" Noa beamed up at him, water dripping from her hair onto his expensive suit. "You're a really good catcher."
Kane set her down on the floor. "Don't. Do that. Again."
"Okay!" Noa said in a voice that definitely meant she would do it again as soon as she got the chance.
Kane handed her the t-shirt. "Put this on."
Noa looked at it. It was huge. It could fit three of her inside it. "This is a dress for giants."
"It's all I have. Arms up."
Noa raised her arms. Kane pulled the shirt over her head. It fell down to her ankles, the sleeves hanging past her hands. She looked like she was wearing a tent.
"I can't see my feet!" Noa said, looking down. "My feet disappeared!"
"Roll up the sleeves."
Noa tried. She got tangled. Kane sighed and did it for her, rolling the fabric up to her elbows. The neck was so wide it kept sliding off one shoulder.
"There," he said. "That'll work until Vivian gets here."
"I look silly."
"You look fine."
"I look like a ghost wearing a bed."
"You look—" Kane stopped. Actually, she kind of did look like a ghost wearing a bed. "You look warm. That's what matters."
The doorbell rang. Or rather, it chimed—a sophisticated, expensive-sounding chime that echoed through the penthouse.
"That's Vivian," Kane said. "Stay here."
"But I want to meet the sister!"
"Assistant. And no, you need to—"
Noa was already running. Her feet made soft pattering sounds on the bathroom floor, then louder pattering sounds on the hallway floor, then echoey pattering sounds in the main room.
Kane followed, moving faster than he'd like to admit. He had visions of Noa tripping over the too-long shirt and crashing face-first into his marble floor.
But luck was apparently on her side. She made it to the door without falling.
Kane pressed the intercom. "Come in."
The door opened. A woman in her thirties walked in, wearing a crisp gray suit and carrying four large shopping bags. Her dark hair was pulled back in a perfect bun. Her expression was professionally neutral.
That expression cracked when she saw Noa.
"Sir," Vivian said slowly, staring at the tiny girl drowning in Kane's t-shirt. "Is that a child?"
"Yes."
"A human child."
"Yes."
"In your penthouse."
"Obviously."
Vivian blinked. Kane had seen her handle boardroom disasters without blinking. He'd seen her fire three executives in one day without blinking. But apparently, a small child was enough to make Vivian blink.
"Hi!" Noa waved. "I'm Noa! Are you the ee-fish-int sister?"
"Assistant," Kane corrected.
"That's what I said!"
Vivian looked at Kane. "Sir, I'm going to need context."
"Later. Did you bring the clothes?"
"Yes, but—"
"And the hairbrush?"
"Yes, and also—"
"And you called Dr. Chen?"
"She'll be here in thirty minutes, but Mr. Kane, you need to tell me—"
"Ooh, bags!" Noa had spotted the shopping bags. She ran over and tried to look inside one. "What's in them? Is it treasure? Is it snacks? Please say it's snacks!"
Vivian looked at the child, then at Kane, then back at the child. "Sir. Whose child is this?"
Kane's jaw tightened. "That's... complicated."
"I'm his!" Noa announced proudly.
"You're his WHAT?" Vivian's professional mask completely shattered.
"I'm his Noa!"
"That's not—" Vivian turned to Kane. "Mr. Kane. Explain. Now."
Kane looked at Noa, who was trying to open one of the shopping bags and getting tangled in the handles. He looked at Vivian, who was giving him the look that meant she would stand there all day until she got answers.
He looked at the clock. Dr. Chen would be here soon. And after that... after that, he'd have to figure out what to do with a three-year-old girl who might or might not be his daughter from a one-night stand he barely remembered.
This was going to be a very long night.
"Vivian," he said. "I'm going to need you to clear my schedule for the rest of the week."
Vivian's eyes went wide. In fifteen years of working for Caius Kane, he had never—not once—cleared his schedule for anything.
"All of it?" she asked.
"All of it."
Noa finally got the shopping bag open. She pulled out a small pink dress and held it up. "LOOK! IT'S PINK! IT'S SO PINK! I LOVE IT!"
She ran to Kane and crashed into his legs, hugging them with one arm while waving the dress with the other. "Can I wear it? Please please please? I've never had a pink dress! I've never had ANY dress except the gray one and it was really more of a gray rag and—"
"Yes," Kane said. "You can wear it."
"YAAAY!" Noa spun in a circle, the too-big t-shirt spinning with her. She tripped on the hem and started to fall—
Kane caught her. Again.
Vivian watched this with an expression of pure shock. "You caught her."
"She was falling."
"You CAUGHT her. With your HANDS. You touched a child."
"Vivian."
"You don't touch people. You barely shake hands. You once refused to high-five a senator. But you just caught a whole entire child."
"Your point?"
Vivian looked at Noa, who was giggling in Kane's arms. Then she looked at Kane, who was holding the child like she might explode but also like he would die before letting her hit the floor.
A slow smile spread across Vivian's face. "Oh, this is going to be good."
"What's going to be good?"
"Nothing, sir." Vivian's smile got bigger. "Nothing at all. Now, should I help the little one get dressed? She might need a woman's touch."
"I'm not a little one!" Noa protested. "I'm a BIG one! I'm three years old! That's a LOT of years!"
"My apologies," Vivian said, her professional mask sliding back in place. "Should I help the big one get dressed?"
"Yes," Kane said, setting Noa down. "And be careful. She jumps off things."
"I'm a good jumper!" Noa said proudly.
Vivian took Noa's hand. "Come on, let's find you something nice to wear from these bags."
As they walked away, Kane heard Noa chattering away: "And then I was in a storage room and it was dark and smelly and then I escaped and there was a chair that was really wobbly and I almost falled but I didn't and then there was bread and then a puddle and then Kane and he's really tall like a tree and his hands are like giant hands and..."
Vivian made eye contact with Kane over Noa's head. Her expression said clearly: We are going to have a VERY long talk later.
Kane nodded. He knew.
He pulled out his phone and dialed a number he hadn't called in three years.
"Marcus," he said when his head of security answered. "I need you to find someone. A woman. She would have brought a baby to my office building about three years ago. Made a scene. Security called the police. Find out who she was and where she is now."
"Right away, sir. May I ask why?"
Kane looked toward the hallway where Noa's voice echoed, talking excitedly about pink dresses and bubbles and something about flying.
"Because," Kane said quietly, "someone's going to answer for what they did to that child."
His voice was cold. Flat. Empty.
But underneath, something burned.
To be continued...