A Moment of Weakness

by Brooklyn Skye

  Laurel straightened her skirt, adjusted the silky white blouse she’d borrowed from April, and yanked open the bar’s bright-orange door. Hot, alcohol-stenched air burned her nose as she stepped across the grime-encrusted floor to the bar extended along the back wall.

  “What can I get you?” the bartender said, at the same time dunking a pint glass into a vat of soapy water.

  “Actually…” Laurel cleared her throat and said, “I have a meeting with one of the owners. Micah Crane? His sister arranged for me to meet him here.”

  The bartender smiled, the blizzard of freckles on his nose scrunching into a solid plane. “He had to run a quick errand. He’ll be back in a minute.” Then he pointed to a barstool. “Have a seat, and I’ll get you something to drink. What’ll it be?”

  She glanced around the empty bar and then to her watch. Four o’clock. Certainly too early for a drink. Especially on this side of town, where she’d likely have to utilize her pepper spray once the sun went down. “A Shirley Temple, please.” She said it with a smile, hoping he wouldn’t see the way her body was strung tight. Sheesh, why was she so nervous? She didn’t even want this job—was only there to meet Micah because she hadn’t heard a single word from any of the businesses she’d applied to, and over the last two days, Ms. Hastings’s stern looks had morphed into full-on scowls. But she needed money and was willing to take whatever work she could find.

  The bartender poured the drink, topping it off with a few cherries, then continued to wash the stack of dirty glasses. He didn’t talk to her, which she appreciated. She took a sip of the sweet fizziness. Then another. And just as she tipped the glass to her lips for a third time, the door opened and in walked a man. Huge, menacing, and…undeniably gorgeous with a mess of dark hair, stubble on his cheeks, and brown eyes that literally sparkled under the bar’s fluorescent lighting.

  Holy hell, so much brown has never looked so delicious.

  “That’s him,” the bartender said, nodding his chin to the ominous figure crossing the room. The man’s waist was slim, his shoulders broad, and Laurel’s belly button tingled at the thought of what that would look like shirtless. Based on the size of his arms and the smoothness of his skin, the sight would definitely be worth seeing—

  In a flash, the glass slipped off her bottom lip, and ice-cold liquid showered down the front of her shirt.

  “Oh my gosh.” She hopped off her seat. “I’m so sorry. I’ll clean it up,” she said to the bartender. “Let me just…” The front of her shirt, now pink, clung to her skin. This would be your cue to leave, Laur. Before your potential new boss sees the mess you made in his bar and becomes the next person to politely say, “We’ll be in touch.”

  Her feet stuck to the floor. No, she wouldn’t run out because of a small spill. Quickly she scanned the area, spotted the ladies’ room, and booked it.

  The bathroom was a box of a room, but it had a mirror and sink—two things necessary to salvaging this meeting. Standing in front of her reflection, Laurel assessed the damage. The pink liquid had soaked completely through the white material, suction cupping to and revealing her nude-colored bra beneath. Okay, so maybe there was no salvaging.

  She called April. “You’re done already?” her roommate asked when she picked up.

  “Why didn’t you tell me your brother is a scary sex god?” she whispered into the phone. Best friends were supposed to tell each other stuff like that, right?

  “Of course he is. How could I be related to anything less?” April laughed. “Is that why you’re interrupting my pedicure slash business meeting?”

  Huh? That didn’t even make sense. April had been working as a sales consultant for a high-end company called Luxury Skincare, something she proved to be really, really good at based on the way she showed up each week with new clothes, shoes, nail color…

  In a rush, Laurel grabbed a handful of paper towels and tried to mop up the mess on her top. “Um, no,” she said, awkwardly pinching the phone between her cheek and shoulder. “But I might’ve spilled Shirley Temple on your shirt. How do I get it out?”

  Just then, a knock sounded on the bathroom door, and before Laurel could respond, Micah Crane barged in. Instinctively, she retreated a step back, an uncontrollable flush of heat rushing out from her chest. Uh, hello? Women’s restroom. Huge, ridiculously gorgeous male taking up way too much space, running his eyes over the pink shirt plastered to her breasts. The same color as my cheeks, I’m sure. Just the thought intensified the temperature, spreading it over every inch of her body. “I have to go,” she said into the phone, not waiting for April’s response before hitting end and tucking the phone into her purse. Then she looked up to the stunning man, trying not to notice that up close—very, very close—his brown eyes were freckled with the color of citrine, then steadied herself with a hand on the cold sink. This off-kilter feeling he gave her… Was this what it was like being rammed by a truck? Attraction at first sight; didn’t that only happen in movies?

  Slowly she stuck out her other hand and forced a smile. “Um, hi. I’m here for the babysitting interview?”

  Babysitting? Was April on crack?

  In their phone call yesterday, his sister had said one of her roommates needed a job. As in a bartending job, or so he thought. But looking over this girl… What was she, like twenty-two? Innocent to a tee with big doe eyes and a trembling smile. No, she wouldn’t be looking for a job on this side of town. Hell, why was she outside of Cambridge anyway? A girl like her would get eaten alive out here.

  Micah narrowed his eyes. “What exactly did my sister tell you?”

  “Um…” Her gaze flickered down to her soaked shirt. Micah’s eyes followed, lingering for a moment on the outline of lace beneath the see-through material. “You have a daughter,” she said, standing with an unnatural stillness. “And that you could use some help with her. Maybe it was a mistake. I can just go…”

  He almost laughed. Help with Shae? Like hell he did; he’d been managing just fine alone.

  Or was he? Keeping her here at the bar, entertaining her in the back office with a pad of paper and a multicolored pen while he put in hours and snuck off to fulfill Russo’s requests… Was that the best way to raise his daughter?

  It wasn’t. That much was obvious. But bringing someone he didn’t know into their lives—into their home—to keep Shae out of the bar didn’t sit well, either.

  The wet-shirted woman tugged at the material again then reached for her phone. “Maybe I should call April back?”

  “No need,” he said, closing his hands around her phone. He would be the first one to call her, to tell her off for setting him up like this. The girl—Laurel, was that what April had told him?—shrank away from his touch. “And, yeah, it was a mistake,” he added. “I’m not looking for a nanny.” Not willing to put Shae in danger by bringing an absolute stranger into his home no matter how innocent this girl looked or how well she knew his sister. If working for Russo taught him one thing, it was to trust no one.

  He held open the door and stepped to the side, a hint to Laurel that it was time for her to go. This day had already been a clusterfuck, after Russo’s cousin had been arrested for extorting thousands of dollars in protection payments from a video poker machine company. Not Micah’s problem, only it was when Russo was pissed and requesting deadlines that were practically unfeasible.

  Micah didn’t have time for any of this.

  “Daddy?” Shae suddenly said from the end of the hallway, standing just outside the office door. “Can we go home yet? I’m bored.”

  Micah hustled to her and crouched down to her level, swiping his hand over her head. He’d had her here for more than three hours, keeping her busy with made-up filing tasks and games on his phone, but— “I still have some work to do, baby girl. It’ll be a little longer. How about you go help Trey wash the glasses?” Micah lifted his daughter’s hand and kissed it. “And tell him I said you can have as many cherries as you want.”

  Shae shook her he
ad and puffed out her bottom lip. “I just want to go home,” she said, and that fucking melted his heart. In a line down the middle of his core, it stung as if he was being ripped in half. Every day that passed, it was becoming clearer and clearer; he needed to work something else out.

  But not a nanny. Not anyone he didn’t know.

  Down the hall, he caught sight of Laurel standing in the bathroom doorway. Why is she still here? And why was she looking at him that way—like her insides were being pulled in two different directions too?

  Laurel watched as Micah Crane tapped the little girl’s nose with his finger and said, “I promise I’ll do something with you later if you stay in the office for a few more minutes.” Why was there a child—his daughter, evidently by the way she called him “Daddy”—hanging out in a bar? On this side of town? By herself, where anyone could mistake that door for the bathroom and find her?

  Was anyone even watching her?

  The girl peeked around him to Laurel with a crinkle in her brow. “You spilled on your shirt.”

  “I did,” Laurel said, her chest aching at the thought that this small child—not more than five or six—was spending her time with intoxicated men and the stench of old alcohol.

  “It’s a pretty shirt. And I like it pink.”

  Laurel smiled down at Micah’s daughter. “It belongs to your Aunt April. I’ll tell her you said so.”

  Micah opened the door and nudged his daughter back in, then turned to Laurel, scrubbing a hand over his face. She wanted to run in there to get the girl and scream at Micah for allowing his daughter in a bar in the first place. And yet her body wanted to do something else entirely, like climb his huge, muscled body like a tree.

  She shook off that last thought and suppressed the untimely giggle that accompanied it. Inappropriate thought about man she was sent to interview with? Yeah, it may be time to test out The Tickler.

  Her eyes fell on the door, to the image of a little girl sitting alone in that room. “You…” Laurel said, pausing to gather her words. “You bring your daughter to a bar? And let her hang out unsupervised in the back?” Would Child Protective Services allow that?

  Micah shrugged. “We weren’t busy today…” The words sounded innocent enough—a guy in a pinch for someone to watch his kid. But Laurel caught something more; a heaviness that probably meant he brought her here on eventful nights too.

  She ground her teeth, her body tensing from her toes up to her ears. What kinds of things did this little girl see in a bar? What kinds of people talked to her?

  “And if you were busy…?” The little girl’s pinched face and pouty lips burned in Laurel’s mind. She eased a step back, pointed to the closed door beside him, and lowered her voice so the girl wouldn’t hear. “Drug dealers…drunk men…anyone looking for the restroom could stumble down the hall and find her. And you, occupied with whatever you do out there”—she waved her hand in the direction of the bar area—“would never know.”

  With lines of cords drawing up his thick neck, Micah shoved his hands into his pockets and started down the hall, away from the room his daughter was in. “I’ve got inventory to finish. Do you need me to show you the door?”

  He was leaving his daughter. Again.

  Laurel glanced up and down the dim corridor, the need to run in and comfort the little girl burning clear down to her fingertips. Was she scared to be in that room alone? And what about safety? Was there anything that could injure her if she got into it?

  Without thinking, Laurel grabbed Micah’s gigantic forearm as he passed. Hard muscle tensed beneath the pads of her fingers. Huh. How did someone get such strong forearms?

  Laurel shook her head. You really need to stay focused! She cleared her throat. “Your daughter’s not safe in there,” she said. “No child would be, regardless of how often she’s been coming here.”

  He jerked his arm away from her and stepped closer, towering over her. Suddenly, it was like her heart had grown arms and was clawing its way up her chest and into the hollow of her throat. He was so big…and scary…and even more mouthwatering this close up, despite the yellowish bruise sitting like a puddle high on his cheek.

  She pressed her backside into the bathroom door. His hands braced the wall on both sides of her head, caging her in like a trapped animal. Breathe, Laurel.

  Warm breath brushed along her skin with the words, “I don’t have a choice.” His brown eyes narrowed, hard and piercing. “And I haven’t since her mother left her on my doorstep then took off.” His arms fell away, but his face remained planted in front of her, not blinking at all. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to finish.” Slowly he backed away, the pressure lifting from her chest with every inch of space he created.

  The girl didn’t have a mother in her life, either? When April had mentioned her brother being a single dad, she had simply assumed he’d been married, had a kid, then gotten divorced. Not abandoned with a baby the mother didn’t want.

  The poor child.

  Micah spun, his back now to her.

  “Wait,” Laurel blurted out, pushing off the door and stepping toward him. What if she could make this little girl’s life better? Take her out of the bar and instead do something productive with her? “Let me help you. Please. A bar is no place for a child. I can watch her during the days you’re working. Maybe take her to the park or work with her on skills she’ll need for school? Reading? Math—”

  “I don’t need your help,” he growled, clenching his hands into tight fists.

  “Really?” A challenging tone laced the word. What would this little girl grow up like if he continued to raise her in a bar? “Because this right here, with a small child stuck in the back room of a bar while her father works, looks like you might.”

  Silence. Nothing. Why was he so opposed to someone helping him? Did he actually think he was doing a good job?

  She took another step closer and softened her voice. “Listen, I’m a friend of your sister’s, not some random person off the street. Not even a stranger you could hire through a nanny company. Plus, I’m a credentialed teacher. I’ve had background checks done on me—which I’m sure you could get a copy of if you wanted.” She took a breath. What else could she say to get through to him? She gestured to the door. “All I see is a precious little girl who would be much better off if she were living a normal childhood.”

  At those last words, something in his tough expression changed. Tempered. She couldn’t put her finger on exactly what had changed—maybe the deep divot drawn between his brows or the sharp angle of his mouth. He stood still for a moment, his eyes locked on the door behind her, and rubbed the back of his neck.

  One breath, two. Why did he have to think twice about this?

  Finally, his gaze found hers. “The background check. If I agree to this, I want access to it.”

  “Done.”

  “And no dates with your boyfriend while you have her.”

  The corners of Laurel’s mouth pushed into her cheeks. What was she, seventeen and babysitting the neighbor kids? She shook her head. “Nothing to worry about there. I’m not seeing anybody.”

  Heat flushed through her with those words. He wasn’t looking for permission to do anything, so why did it feel like he was suddenly devouring her with his eyes? Skimming down her knee-length skirt and over her simple black ballet flats?

  “No friends allowed, either. Not unless it’s my sister.”

  “Nobody but April. I think I can handle that.” She tilted her head, a teasing smirk playing on her lips. “I’m guessing online chat rooms are out, too, then?”

  He scowled and spun around, leaving his back to her as he spouted over his shoulder, “Not funny, Laurel.”

  It kind of was, but she guessed jokes were off limits as well. She watched him walk until he reached the end of the hall. “Does that mean I officially got the job?”

  He stopped and speared her with a look that reached every single one of her senses, as if she were standing naked before
him. “You can start tomorrow.”

  Chapter Three

  Micah’s phone buzzed and he barely glanced at the screen to verify it was his sister calling him back before he hit accept and started yelling. “What. The. Fuck were you thinking by sending a complete stranger into my bar to interview for a nanny position? Who are you and what did you do with my sweet little sister?”

  “Sweet?” April laughed, her voice more raspy on the phone than in person. “Not sure which sister you’re referring to, Big B, but sweetness has never been my forte.”

  “Right.” Micah kicked off his jeans and slid into a pair of shorts, thankful to finally be home and have Shae tucked in for the night. “I should’ve known better when you said you were sending a friend to interview.”

  “Oh, come on. You know this will be a good thing—having someone who is actually good with kids watch the little munchkin instead of bringing her to work with you every day. I’m sure there’s a study somewhere that proves the scent of alcohol is damaging to growing brain cells.”

  Micah shuffled to the kitchen, grabbed a beer from the fridge, and popped the top. He wasn’t sure “good” was an appropriate word. Nothing “good” could ever come out of someone he didn’t know taking control of the very thing he loved most in the world. His father had taught him that lesson. His father had also taught him how to super glue stab wounds to not lose too much blood. The only difference between him and his father now was Micah had never been his father’s everything. Alcohol had—a whole warehouse full of it that he’d entrusted to someone he thought he knew. So strangers to Micah meant trouble, and he still couldn’t wrap his head around April’s friend starting as his nanny tomorrow. What exactly had he agreed to?

  He swigged his beer.

  April’s voice filled the line again. “Laurel said you left before you two could figure out the details. Were you calling to get her number? Or better yet, I can just walk over to her room.”

  He had left on quick notice. A phone call from Russo for another deal. And the thing with working for an associate? Saying “no” or “hold on” simply wasn’t an option.