“Look. I’ll feed the children, clean them up, play with them, keep them safe until you come home. Tell me when you need me here, let me take notes about their allergies and any medical conditions I should be aware of, their eating and napping preferences, their favorite games.” I stop to draw breath. “I promise I’m reliable, Mr. Hansen.”
“I said, call me Matt.” He’s observing me from under his lashes, and it strikes me that they’re very long and thick.
Absurdly long. Too pretty on a guy that looks—and acts—like a shaggy beast with a stick up his ass.
“Matt,” I concede.
I’ve been calling him that in my mind for so long that it’s a relief. I’d been afraid to slip up.
Mary who has been trying to braid her hair all this time and has apparently given up, tugs on her dad’s muscular arm. “Her name is Tati.”
I grin. “That’s right.”
“Tati,” Cole tries, and the way he says it is so frigging cute my heart melts.
How can an ogre like him have such picture-perfect kids? They could be starring in kids’ ads, Mary with her golden curls, and Cole with his wide smile.
One look at their father’s stormy gaze tells me he’d never allow anything like that, or anything else that’s fun.
My hands clench in my lap.
“They want a kitten,” he says wearily. “No way am I letting them have one. In case they ask for one.”
“All right.” Asshole.
“I work nine to five. Be here at half past eight, and be on time.”
“I will be. Anything else?”
He rubs his forehead. The gesture speaks of tiredness, and I don’t like how my heartstrings twinge in sympathy. “Just… look after them,” he whispers.
Crap. Low blow, right into my gut. Combined with the flicker of pain in his eyes, his soft voice asking me to take care of his kids twists me up inside.
“I will,” I vow. “I’ll make sure they’re okay while you’re away.” A thought strikes me. “Will their mother be visiting?”
The softness leaves his gaze. “The mother won’t be fucking visiting.”
“Dad—” Mary starts, and Matt gets up, his expression furious.
Unsure of what happened, I get to my feet as well. “Why, was it—?”
“Enough.” He leaves the kids sitting there, on the sofa, and he strides over to door, grabbing his car keys from a hook on the wall. He opens the door, letting in the cool morning breeze.
I guess this is it, then. He’s off to work, and I’m babysitting his kids, and whatever crawled up his ass this time doesn’t matter.
“One last thing,” he says, stopping on the doorstep. “This dress you’re wearing.”
Self-conscious, I tug on the hem, the blue fabric stiff. “What about it?”
“Don’t wear it again. No more dresses.”
“What? Why not?”
What a dick!
He doesn’t wait to see if I’ll answer. If I say yes or no, or if I damn him to hell and leave.
No, he just slams the door behind him and is gone.
Great.
“Hey, baby,” Mom says, giving me a quick hug and a peck on the cheek when I enter the kitchen late in the afternoon. “How was your first day as a nanny?”
I shrug, although I’m bursting with things to say.
“Really? That bad?” She arches her brows, putting the lid back on the pot, the heavenly scent of her world-famous minestrone soup filling the room.
“No.” I decide to omit any mention of the very hot and very rude Matt Hansen and stick to a safer topic. “It was great. The kids are lovely, they’re the funniest little things. The boy’s barely three and he babbles a lot. It’s so cute. And the girl…”
“What about the girl?” Mom asks when I hesitate. “How old is she?”
“She’s five. She’s sweet, but…”
“Naughty?” Mom suggests.
“No. The opposite. Too quiet.”
Except for one time when she started to yell. I’m still not sure what exactly happened. They had been eating the spaghetti I’d prepared for them, and it was pretty good, if I say so myself.
She took one bite and she sort of snapped. Fell to the floor and wailed and screamed until I took her in my arms and rocked her, for a long time. Cole joined us, and we stayed like that for ages until Mary calmed down.
And when her father returned from work, I tried to talk to him about it, but he brushed me off, told me not to sweat it.
Told me to run on home.
What a jerk.
“Honey, what’s wrong?” Mom is looking at me with concern, and I don’t want that. She has enough worries on her head without adding my rude employer to the mix.
Besides. It’s only day one. I should give him time. Maybe he’ll come around.
Or I’ll grow thicker skin. That would be good for me, and about time.
“What’s for dinner?” Merc bellows, entering the kitchen and dumping his ass in a chair, not looking up from his cell phone, blue eyes intent on his texting.
As long as he’s not sexting…
“Hello to you, too,” I mutter.
“Heeeeeeeey,” Gigi sings, sauntering in after Merc and plopping down in the chair beside him, stretching out her legs. “How was Day One of Torture, Tati?”
“It was fine,” I say shortly, because Mom is listening in. “I got the job.”
“Of course you did.” Gigi shoots me an appraising look. “Never doubted you.”
“Sure you did.”
She laughs delightedly and tickles Merc who merely moves his chair away from her clever fingers. “And? What did you think of Matthew Hansen? Are the rumors true?”
“What rumors?” Mom asks, carrying the pot to the table and I take out the bowls from the cupboard and place them on the table. Then I place spoons and napkins, and cut up some bread.
Gigi and Merc don’t move to help. I’ve spoiled those brats rotten.
Also, when I turn back around, I find Gigi eyeing me, as if gauging whether to speak in front of Mom.
Too late now, isn’t it, Sis?
“So… Matthew Hansen,” she finally says as Mom ladles out the fragrant soup into the bowls. “His neighbors say he drinks. So he’s obviously going straight to hell.”
He does?
Merc rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”
“What about his wife?” I ask, taking my seat beside Merc. “Where is she?”
“Jacinda says she kicked him out because of his vices,” Gigi says, and as I open my mouth to ask what vices, she goes on, “Nobody knows anything about his wife, though. They’re making stories up because he’s such a jerk.”
“He stood up for me in front of Jasper,” I say softly, remembering the moment. “And Ross. At the garage.”
Mom goes white. I wouldn’t have noticed if I hadn’t been looking straight at her as she gets up and walks over to the sink, her back rigid.
What is that about?
“Ross is a perv,” Gigi says cheerfully. “He’s pretty hot, too.”
I make a face. “He’s slimy.”
Merc burps.
“Hey!” Mom returns with more slices of bread. I don’t point out there are still some on the plate in the middle of the table. “Manners.”
“What? The Chinese consider it a compliment. Good soup, Mom.”
She sighs, but then smiles. Merc is her baby and always will be, even when he’s six feet tall and being a douche. He has her wrapped around his little finger.
“And what about our new neighbor?” Gigi says, fluttering her lashes at me.
“What new neighbor?” Mom asks.
“He’s real handsome. And has manners.” Gigi nudges Merc in the ribs.