by Box Set
“You can say it when you touch the ceiling without climbing on furniture or going on your tippy-toes,” I said to her.
Eli looked at me and then the ceiling. “Can you touch the seewing, Kawi?”
Hey. He wasn’t whispering!
I glanced upward. “Uh, I don’t know.”
“Twy!” They both said, clapping their hands three times in unison.
I hesitated, but the expectant way they both grinned at me broke me down. “Okay. I’ll try.” I reached up as far as I could, stretching right out, but my fingers came an inch or two short of the ceiling.
Damn it.
“You’re not awowed to say the naughty words!” Ellie exclaimed, climbing up onto the sofa and getting a closer look at the gap between my fingertips and the ceiling.
“You’re too small,” Eli said. “You gotta grow some more.”
I was screwed, then.
“Looks like it,” I agreed. “How about the TV? No to Calliou. There’s Spongebob Squarepants—” Hey, a show I knew! “—Or…Paw Patrol.”
“Paw Patrol!” they shouted, scrambling to sit together on the sofa. “Paw Patrol!”
Thank God.
I hit that channel, and when an incredibly annoying theme tune filled the air, I left the room, taking the controller with me.
I wasn’t going to cope with anymore fighting. Not this soon into my babysitting session. Nope.
The ground beef on the base of the pan had burned slightly. No wonder—their fighting had overridden my ability to make the choice to turn the damn heat down before I’d gone in there.
With a sigh, I scraped the burned meat the best I could and drained it all of oil over the sink. I threw the jar of sauce into the pan, then replaced the meat, and stirred.
The spaghetti bubbled over, so I turned it down so it didn’t splash everywhere. There was still silence in the front room which was both welcomed and slightly worrying. I dashed quickly to peek.
They were cuddled together, Eli sucking his thumb as they watched.
I knew Brantley didn’t really like him sucking his thumb, but I was picking my battles, and this was not one of the ones I wanted to fight.
I just wanted to feed them.
If I could do that without another argument between them, I’d be okay.
Right?
Right.
I stirred the Bolognese mix. It smelled good, and I mentally patted myself on the back.
Until there was a scream from the front room.
I dropped the spoon, splattering sauce everywhere, including on myself, and ran.
Ellie and Eli were pushing and shoving at each other, and he had hold of a fistful of Ellie’s hair.
“Hey! Whoa! No!” I rushed to them and removed Eli’s clawed hand from Ellie’s hair. “What’s that all about?”
“He pinched me!” Ellie shouted at the same time Eli said, “She hit me!”
I covered my face with my hands. “Okay, come into the kitchen. Opposite ends of the table. Your dinner is done.”
“But I wanna watch Paw Patrol,” Ellie whined.
“Nope. We tried that, but you fought. Kitchen for dinner, please.”
They both sloped off the sofa and sulked their way to the table. They did as they were told, taking their seats at the opposite ends of the sofa. I blew out a long breath and searched for their plates.
“Next to the fwidge,” Ellie said.
“Huh?”
“Our pwates.” She smiled.
“Oh, thanks.” I crossed the kitchen for the plates and pulled two out.
Minutes later, they were both eating silently, slurping spaghetti up. The sauce went everywhere except in their mouths. Over their cheeks, on their noses, down their necks…Right down their shirts.
“Good?” I asked.
They both turned, grinning at me with half-orange faces.
It was like Willy Wonka had let his Oompaloompas free in Rock Bay.
Ellie even managed to get it in her hair.
Oh, dear.
They were going to need a bath.
In hindsight, what I should have done was cleaned them up with a wet cloth and waited until Brantley got home from work.
In hindsight, I was a fucking idiot.
I was a fucking soaking wet idiot, to be precise.
Who knew that saying, “Please stop splashing!” meant, “Hey, splash some more!”
Not me. Nobody ever told me that.
Even reverse psychology didn’t work. I pretended I didn’t care they splashed more, and so they splashed more.
It was pretty inconvenient, actually, given that I was wearing a white shirt. I should have known better than to do that, because it was decidedly less white than it had been when I’d put it on.
Spaghetti sauce and bathtub water were not friends of white shirts.
Or my sanity.
So, here I sat, on the toilet—with the seat down—watching them as they splashed each other and caused the Great Flood of Monday. They didn’t care a bit, of course.
Me? Well, I kept creeping looks at my phone. The time? Was Brantley home yet? Would he retrieve his demons from me?
Time passed.
So did the twins’ ability to keep water in the tub.
Until, finally, through their shrieks of delight, a door sounded downstairs.
It opened.
It closed.
I stared at the wall.
“Daddyyyyy!” Ellie screamed.
“Daddy!” Eli followed suit with.
“Help,” I whispered.
They splashed each other extra loud.
“Oh, hell,” Brantley said, storming up the stairs.
Slowly, I turned my face to his. I was soaking wet, from my little socks to my hair and everything in between. “I made a bad choice.”
He rubbed his hand over his mouth. His eyes flitted across the bathroom, from the soaking twins to the dripping wall and the miniature swimming pool that was now forming on the bathroom floor.
Who was I kidding? It’d been forming for the past ten minutes.
Several emotions flitted across his face, but the one I wasn’t expecting was the one he hit me with.
Amusement.
Pure, raw, silent laughter.
“How’s that confidence working out for ya, sweetcheeks?” He grinned, leaning against the doorframe.
I glared at him.
“Daddy!” Ellie shouted. “Kawi gave us sketti and a baff, look!”
“I clean!” Eli shouted. “So shiny!”
“So wet,” Brantley said, pushing off the frame and shrugging off his suit jacket. He tugged at his tie. “You ready to get out now? Clean hair, clean tummies?”
They both looked at their stomachs. “Clean,” they said. “Clean hair,” Ellie added.
Brantley looked at me.
“Clean hair,” I echoed.
He laughed. “All right. Ellie, Eli, one, two, out.” He turned, opened a door, and brandished two towels from a cupboard. “Let’s get warm and dry and into bed.”
“But—” they both said.
“No.” Brantley wiggled a towel. “Out.”
Ellie was the first to get out. Her tiny body was tinted pink with the warmth of the water despite knowing it wasn’t too hot, and her hair hung down her back in stringy, lightly curled strands.
Brantley wrapped her in a towel, and I averted my eyes as Eli climbed out after his sister.
“Bedroom,” Brantley said. “Underwear and pajamas. Give me five seconds to change, okay?”
Both twins nodded. Ellie disappeared into what I knew would be the spare room, Eli into Brantley’s room.
Brantley left me alone in the bathroom. I pulled the plug in the bathroom and slowly made my way across the hall. I needed another shower, that much was for sure.
“Kali.”
I stopped at the top of the stairs and looked over my shoulder. “Yeah?”
“Here.” Brantley threw a light-gray t-shirt in my direction. “Don’t stay in a wet shi
rt.”
Um, that was his shirt.
“I can’t.” I held it out to him. “This is yours.”
He closed his hand over mine, eyes on mine, and said, “They’ll be in bed in fifteen minutes. You wanna wait fifteen minutes in a wet shirt?”
“No. I intended on leaving right now.”
“Don’t.” Deep, husky, raw. “Wait. Okay?”
I swallowed hard, looking down at the shirt in my hands.
“Kali?”
“Okay,” I replied, clutching it tight to me. “I’ll wait.”
“Eli!” Brantley ushered him out of his room. “Into your sister’s room. Let’s get changed real quick.” He winked at me and pointed to his room when Eli had left it.
I smiled. I was grateful for the offer, but it felt a little wrong to wear a shirt that clearly belonged to him. A lot wrong. He was my client, not my boyfriend.
Why was I agreeing to this?
Still, the sensation of wet fabric against my skin was gross, so I shut myself in his room and changed from my tank top into his looser t-shirt. It was huge on me, so I tied the side into a knot at my hip. It made me feel better, and also had me staring down at myself a little longer than a normal.
Soft gray, the shirt hugged my tits before loosening around my stomach and tightening at the self-crafted hip knot. The material met my shorts at the most flattering point, and I swallowed as I pushed my wet bangs away from my forehead.
Tonight had shown me exactly why I didn’t want children.
I opened the door and almost collided with Brantley in the hall. We both stilled, each of us half-gasping as we almost touched.
“I need to put Eli to bed,” he said softly.
“Right. Sure.” I slipped to the side. “Goodnight, Eli.”
He peered out from behind Brantley with a shy smile. “Night, Kali.”
I smiled a little wider and gripped the banister. His golden-brown hair was still damp, but Brantley ushered him into the room all the same. He wore nothing but fitted, navy pants and a white shirt. He’d unbuttoned the shirt and rolled the sleeves up to his elbows.
Awkwardly, I hovered halfway down the stairs.
Did I stay? Did I go? I was wearing my client’s t-shirt. So many things were wrong with this situation.
“Daddy?” Ellie shuffled out of her room. “I need a pwat.”
Brantley poked his head out of the door. “Can you give me a couple minutes, princess?”
She pouted.
“You want a braid?” the words left my mouth without warning.
Ellie nodded at me.
“I can do your hair,” I said softly.
Ellie’s eyes widened and she looked at Brantley.
He shrugged. “If Kali can do it, then sure.”
I nodded and smiled. “Come on, Ellie. Grab me a hairbrush and tie and I’ll do it for you.”
I followed her into her room and sat on the edge of her bed with my legs parted. She stood between my legs like she’d done it a thousand times, handing me the brush and tie without moving her head.
Gently, I brushed her wet hair. It moved in thick streaks until all knots had gone, and I separated it into three to braid it. Left, right, left, right, left right, left, right. Lock by lock, I braided her hair until the perfect braid lay down the center of her back.
I tied the end of it, ending the braid with a few swift twists of the band.
“All right,” Brantley said softly. “Into bed, princess, okay?”
Ellie nodded, turning briefly to smile at me. I fought my smile as I stood and headed back toward the stairs.
She ran her hand down the one, long braid that now hung over her shoulder. “Fanks, Kawi.”
“You’re welcome.” I smiled and ducked out of the room, heading downstairs so he could put them to bed in peace.
I tugged at the hem of the shirt. It was soft and comfortable, a million times better than the wet tank top, there was no doubt about it.
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, I sighed, hovering at the bottom, gripping onto the banister. I didn’t want to leave, but I also knew I couldn’t stay. What did I say, though? Did I offer to wash the shirt and bring it back the next day?
God, why did I accept that idea?
I wandered into the kitchen. Floorboards creaked above my head as Brantley moved around, and I leaned against the counter, picking my phone up and checking it. I had a hundred and one notifications, including emails from clients and potential ones and texts from my mom demanding to know the real reason I bailed tonight.
Fucking awesome.
The woman could see right through me.
I ignored the message and replied to an email requesting a quote for a custom-made bookshelf. That was Dad’s territory, but I didn’t think my mom would appreciate me ignoring her and texting him, so that would go on tomorrow’s to-do list.
“Hey.” Brantley appeared in the kitchen.
I jumped, almost dropping my phone. My heart thundered with the shock of his arrival.
He fought a laugh. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
I pressed my hand to my chest and waved my phone in a dismissive way. “Working. I have emails out my ass.”
“That’s an interesting analogy.” He paused right in front of me. “I have to admit, that’s the first time I’ve seen a shirt of mine worn that way.”
I glanced at the knot at my hip. “Oh—sorry. I didn’t mean to stretch it. I didn’t think.”
I moved to undo it, but he grabbed my hand, laughing.
“Don’t worry about it, Kali. It’s an old shirt. Wear it however you want.”
My skin tingled where his hand had hold of mine. Up and down my arm, across my palm, across my knuckles…I practically buzzed with the sensation of his hot skin against mine.
I pulled my hand from his and took a tiny step back. “Thanks. I’ll wash it and return it, I promise.”
“Don’t worry.” His lips tugged to the side. Once again, his eyes roved over me, flicking down to the faded image on the front of the shirt for a second. “I wanted to say thank you for helping me out tonight. You have no idea how much I appreciate it.”
My cheeks heated slightly. “It’s okay. I mean, I have to be honest and say I probably won’t rush to do it again…”
His laughter cut me off. “Don’t worry—I told them that if they do this again, they’ll have to reschedule.”
“And they didn’t care?”
“They’re not allowed to care. I’m the head of the department. They have to do what I say.” He grinned, pushing off the counter and heading for the fridge.
“Ah, well, I can see how that would be useful.”
“You could say that.” He paused. “Hey…I didn’t get a chance to eat yet. I was going to order in. Do you want to join me?”
For dinner?
That’s not in my “distance” plan.
“I…I really should be going home.” I swallowed. “But, thank you for asking. That’s sweet.”
He smirked, pulling a beer bottle from the fridge. “Okay, I’ll rephrase. I’m ordering pizza because there isn’t a single bone in my body that wants to fucking cook, and you should tell me what pizza you like, because I’m buying you dinner.”
“Oh, boy, that’s the most romantic proposal I’ve had all month.”
“I’m guessing you’re a pepperoni girl.”
“That’s presumptuous.”
“Am I wrong?”
I hesitated. “Yes.”
Turquoise eyes flicked across my face. “You’re a terrible liar.”
“I try.” I pushed my still-damp hair behind my ear. Kids. “Honestly, it’s fine.”
He pushed the fridge door shut and used a magnet in the shape of Colorado state to uncap his beer. He replaced it on the door with a click. “Did you eat tonight?”
I went to answer, but nothing came out.
Brantley raised an eyebrow. “I’ll take that as a no.”
“It’s fine,” I insisted.
“I can go home and heat something real quick. You might not be surprised to know that my stepmom regularly hands me Tupperware tubs of food.”
He paused. “Your stepmom?”
Crap. He didn’t know Portia wasn’t my real mom. I forgot that not everybody knew that.
“Um, yeah.” I set my phone down and my hands instantly went to fidget with the hem of my shirt. “My mom isn’t my real mom.”
He blinked at me. “Now, I’m definitely ordering pizza.”
“No, you—”
He left the room before I could finish my sentence. I chased after him, but by the time I joined him in the living room, I was greeted by the sound of “Hi, yes, I’d like to place an order for two pizzas, please.”
I’d lost this round.
Fine.
I was a red-blooded, human woman.
I wasn’t going to turn down free pizza.
My ass wouldn’t thank me for it, but you could bet yours that my soul would throw a fucking party.
Brantley smirked as he placed the order and handed over his card details. Honestly, he was lucky I had a terrible memory. If I had a better one, I’d be able to buy more than just pizza on his dime.
As it was, I couldn’t even remember my own phone number. Never mind any card details.
He hung up and put his phone on the coffee table. “Do me a favor?”
“I already let you buy me dinner without causing a fuss.”
“Sit down and let me get you wine.”
“That sounds more than an order than a favor.”
“Favor…Order…Interchangeable.”
I stared at him. No, no, they weren’t. “Actually, they’re completely different. A favor is something agreed upon between two people. An order is something given by one person and followed by the other.”
“Interchangeable,” he replied.”
“No. The person on the receiving end of the order doesn’t have to agree.”
“Are you always this pedantic?”
I paused. “Only if the person telling me things is incorrect.”
“By incorrect, you mean ‘idiotic,’ right?”
“Ah, look—you understand me more than you thought.”
Laughter filled the room. That deep, raw, rough sound that forced goosebumps onto my arms made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
Slow, easy steps closed the distance between us.
“Kali.” Brantley said my name slowly, sexily, temptingly. He set his hands on my shoulders, pulling me forward as if my feet were nothing more than his slaves, until I stood in front of the sofa. “Sit,” he said, pushing me down.