My Not So Wicked Boss (My Not So Wicked Series Book 3)

by Jennifer Peel

  Making introductions drove home how successful my friends were. I tried my best to not compare myself to them, but times like these were glaring reminders of how backwards I had lived my life. My friends had all graduated from college—except Ryder, but despite that, he owned a multi-million-dollar tech company. They each had successful careers before getting married and starting a family. Even my goofball friends Jenna and Brad, who introduced themselves, owned a comedy club that did well. I didn’t think they’d ever getting rich off it, but it paid the bills and they loved it.

  That was all I wanted. To do something I loved that paid the bills with a little extra to give my girl all she deserved. Was that too much to ask?

  I stared at Miles, who was going through the handshaking rounds, politely inquiring more about each person, and wondered if taking this job would set me on the same path as my friends. Not like being a nanny was a career changer, but being able to put on a resume that I was Taron Taylor’s personal assistant could look good and open doors. Maybe I could even love it.

  Miles flashed me a grin as soon as the introductions and pleasantries were over. I smiled back before I could stop myself. A few more grins erupted because of it. Emma, Jenna, and Shelby were practically giddy over it. Before they said anything embarrassing, I bounced Henry on my hip, drawing attention to him. “This is Henry.”

  “I’m three.” He held up his fingers as if he knew he would get asked that question.

  All the women went doe-eyed over the cutie. The kid was going to be a heartbreaker when he grew up. I couldn’t help myself and kissed his cute fingers, making him giggle.

  Jenna decided it was time to stir some trouble. “So, Miles, did Aspen tell you we just read Silent Stones for our book club? On her recommendation, of course.”

  My soon-to-be ex-friends did a horrible job of stifling their snickers.

  Miles’s eyes widened about as much as his big fat grin that was directed toward me. “She failed to mention that when we last met.” He was kind enough not to linger on me or embarrass me further. He turned his attention toward the table. “I do hope you enjoyed it.”

  “It was a tad on the squeamish side, but delightful,” Shelby drawled. Only she would call it delightful. Brilliant was more like it, but I kept that to myself.

  “We are looking forward to the sequel,” Emma commented.

  “Yeah, when is that coming out? It’s been awhile.” Jenna was never one for tact.

  Miles ran his hand through his thick dark hair, leaving a trail of misplaced curls. “I’m working on it.” He focused on me. “It is why I am hoping to convince your lovely friend to accept my job offer tonight.”

  Henry jumped in again, this time declaring loudly, “I need to use the toilet.”

  Miles chuckled. “That is my cue. Excuse me. It was nice to meet all of you.” He took a reluctant Henry out of my arms. “I’ll be right back.” He winked. It may have caused a flutter somewhere deep down inside of me. I wasn’t exactly sure. It could have been gas for all I knew. I hadn’t had flutters in a long time.

  Once Miles and Henry were out of sight, I leaned on the table. “What are you all doing here?”

  “Eating.” Emma played coy.

  Jenna fanned herself. “We came to check out the Brit for you. Wow. He’s something.”

  Brad looked highly affronted. “Excuse me?”

  Jenna kissed his cheek. “Do you think you could get an English accent?” she teased. I think.

  “What’s up with women and Brits?” Sawyer asked.

  Emma rested her head on Sawyer’s shoulder. “You can blame Jane Austen, but no worries, baby, I’ll take you any day over the dashing Brit.”

  That didn’t make Sawyer feel any better. His brow raised. “Dashing?”

  “I meant . . . well . . . that perfectly describes him.” Emma laughed.

  Sawyer rolled his eyes but kissed his wife’s head anyway.

  Ryder, in Ryder and Shelby fashion, pulled his wife onto his lap. His hand landed on her still flat abdomen. He gently rubbed it. Those two had hands for days for each other. “I’m not worried.” He nuzzled Shelby’s neck.

  Shelby threw her arms around Ryder. “I do have to say I prefer a Southern drawl, but,” she faced me, “I do believe the handsome Englishman is enamored with you. He couldn’t keep his eyes off you.”

  I pushed off the table and shifted my feet. “That’s because I was holding his nephew.”

  Brad snorted loudly. “The dude is totally into you.” He looked to the other men at the table to confer. Sawyer and Ryder nodded in agreement.

  “Little Henry seems to be taken with you too.” Shelby patted her heart. “He’s just precious.”

  “He is,” I agreed.

  Jenna leaned forward. “The real question is what do you think of Mr. Sexy?”

  Unfortunately, Jenna’s description of him was spot-on.

  Chapter Five

  “I’m sorry about my friends.” I helped get Henry situated in his booster seat. He insisted on sitting next to me in the booth.

  “Not to worry, love. It’s good you have excellent mates. And I do love to meet fans.”

  My attention switched from Henry to Miles, who was gloating.

  I tucked some hair behind my ear. “I love Silent Stones,” I conceded. “It might even be my favorite book.” It absolutely was, but I felt like I should leave some room for doubt.

  His beautiful aqua eyes danced in the dim lighting. “Why was that so hard for you to admit?”

  The complete answer was complicated and would only be shared with someone I knew I could trust. Mr. Wickham, as kind as he seemed, didn’t qualify. “Um . . .” I picked up a crayon and began coloring with Henry on the children’s menu. “I didn’t want you to think I was only interested in this position because I was some crazed fan.” I offered part of the truth.

  He chuckled. “I have known many crazed fans, and you don’t qualify. I thank you for that.”

  I looked up from my stellar coloring job—my blue bear was going to be a masterpiece. “Are crazy fans a problem for you?” I hadn’t thought about that aspect.

  “Back home in London, once in a while a daft fan will get it in her head that she fancies me, and she’ll do something ridiculous like kiss me unexpectedly or hand me her knickers.”

  My brows shot up. I bet they weren’t granny panties. “What do you do when that happens?”

  “It depends on how good the kiss is and how sexy the knickers are.”

  I manifested my disappointment by sighing audibly. Though I should have expected his response.

  Miles hung his head. “That was an ill-fated joke, I see.”

  I bit my lip, sorry I had jumped to a conclusion. “I’m—”

  Henry interrupted by holding up his picture. “Look what I made.”

  I was happy for the distraction. I took Henry’s picture and admired how he had scribbled over the forest scene. “You did such a good job.”

  Henry beamed with pride.

  I ruffled his curly locks.

  “Aspen,” the most alluring voice spoke my name.

  My eyes lifted, meeting Miles’s.

  Miles wore a thoughtful gaze. “I’m not sure what sort of man you are used to, but I promise you, while under my employment you will be respected, and I will make sure no harm comes to you or your daughter from any of my fans. If it makes you feel any better, hardly anyone recognizes me in America.” He sounded relieved by that fact.

  “Thank you,” I whispered.

  The smile returned to his face. “I hope this means you will accept my offer.”

  “I have some questions first.”

  His laughter reverberated between us. “I figured you might.”

  Our server showed up before I could ask any. I had already worked out the pizza situation for Henry before we sat down, so only Miles and I had to order. Miles ordered a veggie wrap, which didn’t surprise me. His physique was lean, and the glow of his skin said he took good care of hims
elf. I, on the other hand, needed some comfort food, so I went with the grownup grilled cheese on homemade sourdough bread and tomato soup.

  Henry made sure to get more of my attention by handing me a crayon. “You color.”

  I was happy to be bossed around by a three-year-old. I took the yellow crayon and filled in the sun while Henry continued his reign of terror with the black crayon.

  “You’re good with him,” Miles commented.

  “Are you trying to persuade me?”

  “Very much so.” He tapped on the table. “Why don’t you ask your questions.”

  My coloring became more like a few strokes here and there while I faced my potential employer. I took a breath and began my interrogation. “Well . . . first off, why were you given custody of . . .?” I pointed to the adorable boy now chugging apple juice from a sippy cup.

  “Ah, you read up on me.”

  I nodded, unashamed.

  “That’s good. We should be honest and upfront with each other considering the amount of time we could be spending together in the very near future. Tell me what you’ve read, and I will tell you the real story.”

  I had come across some interesting tabloid type articles about his family and the fight over Henry, so I wasn’t sure what was true or not. Honestly, some of it was straight out of Shelby’s soap opera life. Family feuds and vast amounts of wealth. “I read something about a custody battle and your father, Baron Greaves, intervening.” Miles was part of Britain’s aristocracy, though I couldn’t figure out why he and his father had different last names. “Does that make you Lord Wickham?”

  Miles let out a derisive laugh. “Darling, they don’t pass down titles to bastard sons.”

  Before I could digest that tidbit, Henry slammed his sippy cup on the table. “Bastard!”

  Miles pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a heavy sigh.

  I pressed my lips together to make sure I didn’t smile or laugh. “If you haven’t figured it out yet, children are like magnifying mirrors, they reflect the best and the worst of us. Always the worst at the most inopportune times, though.” I gave him a sympathetic smile. I had been there more times than I wanted to remember. Like when Chloe told an old boss of mine at a company picnic that I called him a douche bag. Thankfully, upper management agreed with me and fired him not long after.

  “Henry.” Miles gave him a stern look, ready to reprimand him.

  “May I give you some advice?” I interrupted Miles.

  “Please, I’ll take any you have.”

  “Don’t draw attention to it. If you do, he’s bound to repeat it.”

  Miles sank back into the booth, looking worn and at a loss. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Thank you. You must question my sister’s sanity leaving me her child, like the rest of my family.”

  “You do seem like an unlikely candidate.” I tried to keep my tone lighthearted to spare his feelings that for some reason I cared about even though I didn’t know him. Though in my mind we’d had many conversations. The way Miles’s face dropped told me I’d failed, making me feel awful, so I followed up with, “But a mother’s love is fierce; she must have seen something in you that maybe you don’t even see in yourself.”

  The corners of his mouth lifted. “You’re just trying to make me feel better.”

  “That’s not really how I roll.” It hadn’t been for a long time.

  “You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met . . . well, except,” he paused, “never mind. Why don’t we get on with the Q&A before I make another blunder with the lad.”

  The lad in question gave me a huge cheesy smile while I contemplated who Miles thought I reminded him of.

  “Where were we?” Miles drew my attention back to him. “Ah, yes, my scandalous family.”

  “I don’t want to pry.” Maybe I didn’t want to pry, but if I was being honest, I wanted to know what made this man tick and where his beautiful words came from.

  Miles waved away my reluctance. “This is well-known fodder and I’m not ashamed. If you did a little more digging, you would find it anyway.” He played it off as if he didn’t care, but there was a hitch in his timbre that said, although he had resigned himself, he did care a great deal about it. He leaned forward. “You see, Sophie, Henry’s mother, was my half-sister. We didn’t know of each other’s existence until we were young adults. In fact, my father didn’t know about me until I was almost university age.”

  I tilted my head. “Were you given up for adoption?” That would have explained the different last names. Except he had said bastard son, so then I felt inept for asking such a stupid question. But we didn’t really say things like bastard son in the U.S.

  Miles threw his head back and laughed. “That’s not near scandalous enough. No, darling, think more along the lines of an affair and a long-kept secret. Otherwise known as me.”

  My eyes popped before I could dial back my reaction.

  Miles didn’t seem to mind by the twinkle in his eye. “Intriguing, is it not?”

  I dropped the crayon I wasn’t really coloring with anyway, most definitely intrigued. “How do you keep a child a secret?”

  The smile he wore so easily faded. “The better question is why?”

  I found myself clasping my hands and resting them on the table as I leaned toward him, wanting to know exactly why. Miles moved in closer, his hands gliding across the overly shellacked wooden table, landing a fingertip away from mine. My hands retreated a few inches back, while his remained steady as did his eyes fixed on me. Locked in his gaze, for a moment I felt as if we were playing out my daydreams. Something familiar crackled between us. In his eyes, I could see he felt it too.

  I rubbed my lips together, nervous. His gaze went right through me. When I couldn’t stand it any longer, “Are you going to tell me why?” came falling out of my mouth in whispered tones like I was flirting with him. I wanted to kick myself. This wasn’t one of my daydreams.

  He nodded slow and deliberate. “First, though, I will tell you how Henry—” Miles threw his nephew, who was continuing his crayon assault on the coloring page, a thoughtful glance that carried with it a touch of loss “—came into my care. As I previously mentioned, Sophie was not made aware of my existence until we were adults.”

  “But you knew about her?”

  “Yes . . . and more.” He began to absentmindedly tap his index finger against the table. “I do believe I came as a nasty shock to her and my two other half-siblings—Amelia, the youngest, and our older brother, Charles, the Greaves heir. But Sophie, who was three years my junior, was gentle and loving in nature and sought me out while we both attended Oxford. At first, our relationship was merely superficial and probably mostly based on curiosity, but then she forced me,” he grinned to himself, “to meet her once a week at a local pub for drinks. From there, brotherly and sisterly affection began to grow. We became the best of mates.” He cleared his throat to cover the emotion that accompanied his words.

  I felt his pain so deeply I found my hand reaching toward his to give it a comforting squeeze. Before my hand fell upon his, I came to my senses, and it awkwardly froze right above his. Unfortunately, none of this went unnoticed. Miles’s thoughtful expression waited patiently to see what I would do. His hand stayed still as if he welcomed the gesture, but his eyes said he wasn’t sure about it. I agreed with his eyes; it was inappropriate behavior for a “job” interview. If one could call this that. I felt more like I was interviewing him. I think if it were up to him, I would already be signing an employment contract.

  I withdrew the affection I had carelessly tried to offer, with cheeks burning brightly. He did the kind thing and didn’t draw attention to it. He chose instead to pretend to be interested in the sights and sounds around us in the crowded café until my hands were safely gripping my ice water the server had brought when he’d taken our order. I let the cold from the glass seep through me, begging it to put out the fire that had spread across my face.

  Miles went right back
to his story as if nothing awkward had passed between us. “As the years passed, we both ended up in London. At one point, for a short period of time, we shared a flat while I was a struggling writer, driving a taxi to make ends meet. She, on the other hand, was well on her way to becoming one of the most sought-after interior designers in the city. I had refused her offer at first,” he said fondly, “taking it as pity since she always felt guilty that she had the advantages of the Greaves name and wealth. But once again, she got her way. For as demure as she was, she knew how to bowl me over.”

  My almost numb hands fell away from my glass. “But if your family knew you existed by that time, why didn’t they help you too?”

  He took a long drink of his water while he thought about how to answer me. “We are coming to the crux of the story. I promise I will enlighten you.”

  Henry started getting wiggly and began to whine about how long it was taking for his food to arrive. To keep him entertained, I took my doodle notebook, as my mom called it, out of my bag. She’d said I’d had one since I was two. “Do you want to help me draw a picture of George?” His bear and faithful companion was seated next to him in the corner.

  Henry nodded vigorously and armed himself with the brown crayon.

  I used a pencil from my bag and began to outline George’s body. Henry, who like any three-year-old I had ever met, was impatient and started coloring the picture of his friend before I was even halfway finished.

  “You’re an artist.” Miles admired my scribbled-on artwork.

  “Hardly.” The only classes I’d ever taken were in high school. My only claim to fame was when I won the blue ribbon at the district art festival my junior year. My parents were so proud, they had the charcoal drawing I did of the old abandoned mine above Carrington Cove framed. It still hung on the wall in their home office, near the shelves where my parents saved every award my siblings and I had ever won. Granted, my siblings occupied most of the shelves. There were a few soccer championship trophies of mine scattered amongst the many academic accolades my older sister and younger brother had received over the years.