by Misti Murphy
“There was this guy in the elevator with me,” she whispers into her phone as she hurries down the hallway past several apartment doors. “I think he was listening to our conversation.”
Well, yeah, it was kind of hard not to when it was only the two of us in a confined space.
“Fore!” I drag my phone from my pocket and read the message on the screen. The agency trying to find my new replacement nanny is sending someone over in short order. Well, at least that’ll be something off my plate.
“And I think he’s following me. It’s kind of creepy.”
I jerk to attention. Did she just call me creepy?
“Unbelievable.” She laughs nervously and glances over her shoulder while carefully flicking a stray curl out of the way as though that was her intention the whole time. “Definitely creepy.”
Red’s a cutie. Wide, blue-gray eyes and porcelain skin. And I’m pretty sure I’ve met her. Probably at The Ogden. I meet a lot of people though. A lot of women. “Totally not following you.”
“Shit.” She juggles the phone when she jumps and spins around to face me, that bag of hers banging wildly against her hip. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m not following you.” I stride toward her, pointing behind her and trying to ignore the fact that I know I’ve met this chick before and she did say something about sleeping with an unavailable baby daddy and, Christ help me, I hope it wasn’t me. Nah, I would remember having sex with her, surely. “That’s my door.”
“Uh. It is not. It can’t be.” Hanging up without saying good-bye to her friend, she drops her phone in her bag and moves to the side, her gaze on my hand as I shake out the right key on my fob.
“Sure it can.” I shove my key in the lock and push open the door. “Though I have no idea why you’re stalking me. That’s kind of creepy, don’t you think?”
I wink at her, but she doesn’t laugh. Instead she gathers herself up and adjusts the strap over her shoulder again. “You’re Mr. Frost?”
“That depends who’s asking.”
Thrusting her hand out in front of me, she musters the best smile she can probably manage considering the circumstances. “I’m Erin Sanders. The Olive You Nanny agency sent me. I’m here for the nanny position.”
“You can’t be.”
“Why not?”
“For one thing, you’re too young.”
“I’m twenty-six.” Erin follows me into the apartment as I move through the living room, picking up a couple of Abby’s toys.
“Okay.” Bad excuse. Although I’ve had better luck with the grandmother types when it comes to who is best to look after my daughter. The last woman I interviewed had this skirt that magically kept getting shorter and shorter while she sat with her legs crossed, her strappy sandal hanging off her foot. If she could distract me during a short interview, that’s no good for my kid. She’s the one who needs a nanny, not me. I head into Abby’s room, drop the toys on the bed, and turn to face this girl who has invaded my apartment. Where the hell did she come from? Besides the agency, I mean.
“Have we had sex?”
“W-what?” She hesitates, her arms full of toys and clothes she’s scooped up while she’s followed me.
“You and I. Have we had sex? I want to believe I’d remember, but I know you from somewhere.”
She stares at me, her head pulled back, brows drawn into a comical expression of horror. “Are you kidding me?”
Dropping my hands to my sides, I shrug. “Not particularly. I hear in some circles I’m quite the catch.”
“You’re something all right,” she agrees, rolling her gaze to the ceiling. “You really don’t remember?”
“Sorry.” I shrug again. “Was it better for you than it was for me?”
“Fore!” My phone goes off like a siren, and I jiggle it out of my pocket. “Shit, I’ve got to go.”
“N-no.”
“What? I haven’t had a performance complaint before.”
“No. I didn’t sleep with you.” She dumps the armful of stuffed farm animals, glittery purple Sketchers, and my daughter’s favorite skort and polo on top of the patchwork quilt. “Quite the opposite.”
“Do you want to?” There was no good reason to ask that, and I’m already grabbing the extra bag I keep packed and hung over Abby’s door. It’s not like I want to know the answer.
“Who do you think you are?” I can practically feel her burning a scowl into my back, her steps not quite keeping up with mine.
Entering the hallway, I wait for her to step out behind me, and then I lock the apartment door. Taking her hand in as friendly a manner as I can muster, I say, “I’m Garrett Frost, professional athlete, God’s gift to women, and I am running late.”
I draw my hand from hers, and we’re on our way again, rushing toward the elevator.
“We met last week. At The Ogden. You were making a wager that you could pick up any woman.” She glides into place beside me as the doors slip shut. “And no, I do not want to sleep with you. Not now, not ever. I have a boyfriend.”
That catches my attention. Glancing down at her, I study her a little more closely as we descend. “Now I remember you. You were the hottest girl in the bar that night. Thanks for the advice, by the way.”
“Glad I could help.” She half smiles. “Now about the position. You already know my philosophy on what makes a good nanny.”
“Not a chance,” I say.
“Seriously?”
“I would have won that wager if not for that phone call. I don’t employ women I can get into bed. My daughter’s far too important.”
“Trust me. I’m not attracted to semi-famous guys with egos that belong in the IMAX version of Jurassic Park.”
“Is that so?” She’s standing with her back against the wall as I make my move. Turning on her, I leave an inch between us as I brace a palm to the mirrored surface. I’m close enough that I catch the slight hitch in her breath as I tug on one of those red curls. “You’re fiery, and I like that.”
“Does this work for you?” she questions me, stabbing her finger between us as the doors slide open. “Enclosed spaces and a few pretty words? Does your attention normally make women swoon?”
“Uh, yeah.” I take a step back when she pushes past me. “Usually.”
“Oh, Mr. Frost. I’ve always wanted to ride your elevator. It’s almost too much for a girl like me to handle.” She marches out into the underground carpark ahead of me, spins around, and pretends she’s about to go into a dead faint.
“Ha. You’re funny.” I stride across the parking level, the monkey-shaped backpack swinging from my shoulder. “So what part of it doesn’t work for you?”
“All of it.” She stops and I pass her before she calls after me, “Is that really why you won’t hire me? You’re scared I’ll fall victim to your charm and good looks.”
“It would be par for the course.” In this five-minute round trip, I have to admit I’ve had more fun than my past five dates. Which is exactly why I shouldn’t be thinking about her in terms of a possible nanny for Abby. Next time, I’m asking for a male.
“But not for me.” She grabs my arm. “I need this job. I have great references. I have absolutely no interest in you as a man. At least let me meet your daughter so you can see I’m great with kids.”
“Of course you’re great with kids. You practically are one.” I unlock my Range Rover, yank open the pristine white door, and toss the monkey onto the back seat. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go pick up my daughter from her uncle.”
Sliding into the buttery leather seat, I barely get the engine started before she hops into the passenger side and locks the door behind her. “I told you I’m twenty-six, and I have no interest in you besides your daughter. I have a boyfriend. We’ve been together for years. I have great references. Just give me a chance.”
“Get out.”
“No.”
I blow out through my mouth and slam my fingers against the steering wheel. “You�
��re going to have to exit the vehicle.”
“Not until you give me a trial run.” She pulls on the seat belt and latches it in place.
“Christ on a golf cart.” I glare at the ceiling. “I don’t have time for this. I’ll drop you off at The Ogden.”
Pulling out of my designated parking space, I head for the exit and swing into traffic. Just give me one good reason to tell her no.
“What did you say your daughter’s name is?”
“Abby.” I grip the steering wheel and creep along with the other cars. Why am I even telling her this when I have no intention of letting her work for me? “Wasn’t your employment terminated last time we talked?”
“It was.” She flicks her gaze in the direction of the window and winces. It’s subtle enough I almost miss it. “Which turned out to be great for you, because you need a qualified nanny and I need the employment.”
“What happened?”
“Uh, they didn’t think I was necessary with the eldest starting kindergarten.”
“Really?” Sounds like bullshit to me. I can’t imagine raising a child gets easier to handle alone at any point.
“Yes. Let me show you the letter of reference.” She starts shuffling through her satchel and pulls out a binder.
I glance over as she flicks through the inch-thick folder. “How many references have you got in there?”
“Enough to show that I’m an excellent choice for your daughter’s nanny.”
“Looks to me like you’ve moved around a lot.” I turn my focus back to the road. “Commitment issues?”
“No, I don’t have commitment issues.” She shoves her résumé back in her bag. “Most nannying gigs aren’t long-term. And my references are impeccable.”
“So how long did you say you’d been with that boyfriend of yours?”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“I want to know that you can actually stick with a relationship, work or otherwise.”
“Are you serious?” she asks. “You’re the one with the reputation.”
“At least I’m consistent.” I smirk. “Committed to being uncommitted.”
“Years.” She twists the fingers on both hands together. “And we’ve known each other longer. Are you reconsidering?”
“I’m weighing the options,” I tell her as we pull up to the curb outside the sports bar.
Twisting her whole body, she leans forward. “What can I do to convince you?”
“Leave me your references and let me think about it. Right now, I’m late for family dinner and daddy-daughter time.” I reach across to open her door. Giving her the position would be completely unwise when I’d much rather get her into bed. Only this nanny hunt has lasted months and I’ve gotten no closer to finding someone to look after my daughter. I can’t keep relying on Paynter and I do need the help.
Erin’s probably the best candidate Olive You Nanny has sent so far, and she does have great references. It could be ages before I find another option. I can’t exactly say no to her, for the sake of my kid, even if that means I’m going to have to deal with this attraction between us.
Chapter Three
ERIN
“Hang on.” I cover his hand with my own, to keep him from opening the door. It’s warm and soft with the exception of the rough edge of a callus between his thumb and pointer finger. “Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you? I can’t think of a better trial by fire than with relatives around.”
He’s still leaning over me, his face so close I can see the red mark where he cut himself shaving. “And I can’t think of a better opportunity for my brothers to bust my balls. If I take you with me, they’ll assume we’re sleeping together. And you keep insisting that’s off the table.”
It is. I swear. “Where’s Abby’s mom?”
When Olive You Nanny let me know this morning that they’d found a potential new employer, I was so excited, I didn’t ask my standard cache of pre-interview questions. And now that I’m here and he’s the guy from the bar, I’m not sure why I’m still pressing him to hire me.
Given my track record, I should be running the other way, not trying to cajole him into taking me to a family dinner. Especially if he’s married. I won’t be able to look his daughter or wife in the eye after our interaction last week. I gave up cheating men for Lent. Eight years ago.
But when he asked me questions about my profession, and the way he was wholly focused as I explained what constituted a good nanny … it made me feel important. Necessary. Like what I do for a living matters.
Besides, I need to get the hell out of my current living situation. Since my most recent nanny gig was terminated, I’ve been staying at Danny’s place. He lives in this huge, old rental house with a bunch of guys—so far I’ve counted five who seem to stay there on a steady basis, plus a handful of men and women alike who come and go pretty regularly. And since Danny rarely has steady employment, his bed is the pull-out sofa, and, yes, while I’m between jobs, that’s where I’m sleeping, too. Since I’m used to having my own space in houses better classified as mansions, these living arrangements are definitely not working for me.
“No idea,” Garrett says to my question. “Now if you’ll excuse me—”
“What do you mean, no idea? Like, she might be at the grocery store or getting a manicure no idea?”
“I mean, last time I spoke to her, she was in Dallas. But for all I know, she’s in fucking Aruba now.”
Holy shit, the mom up and left? That’s gotta suck. Was Frost in love with her? What kind of woman would ditch a hottie like him? Okay, that’s superficial, but I’m just sayin’ I wouldn’t kick him out of my bed. Of course, I shouldn’t even think about letting him into my bed in the first place.
And how’s the poor kid coping? When did it happen? What was the catalyst? Damn, part of me wants this gig just to get some answers. And another part wants it so I can be a positive influence on his daughter’s life. I haven’t even met her, yet I want to help her. I’m such a bleeding heart.
“When can I meet Abby?”
“I’ll take a look at your file and ca—”
“Let’s set a date and time now. As you know, my schedule’s pretty free at the moment.”
“You sure are pushy.”
With a black mark like mine on my résumé, I haven’t had a choice but to learn to aggressively pursue new employment opportunities.
“What about the boyfriend? Don’t you spend time with him on occasion?” he asks, and I have to fight not to cringe. That lie had been a knee jerk reaction when we met at the bar. And today, for that matter. The man is far too good-looking for my own good, and God help me, the snarky verbal exchanges are hot as hell.
But I need a job, and the longer I talk to him, the more I want this one. I want to meet Abby, I want to be there for this kid whose mother left her high and dry. I suppose, with Frost’s lifestyle, he may very well be the catalyst to Mom leaving, but how come she didn’t take the daughter with her?
And, let’s be honest, working for an unmarried dad is a hell of a lot safer than working for a couple, given my history. At least I won’t have to worry about my one-time screw-up coming back to haunt me, because there’s no one in his life to care or worry that I might be lured into his bed. “Wait—are you seeing someone?”
He laughs. “Did you miss the part where I was hitting on you a minute ago?”
“No, but that doesn’t always stop people.”
“True. But I’m not one of those people. Which is why I don’t do relationships. Don’t have to worry about landing in the rough that way.”
“Huh?”
“It’s a golf analogy. You don’t know golf?”
Danny loves golf, although he’s neither very good at it nor can he ever afford to play unless someone invites him, as a last resort, to join a foursome already paid for. His mild obsession with the sport is as close as I’ve ever gotten to it. “Nope. Not really.”
Frost shakes his he
ad, but there’s a sparkle in his eye. “I knew there was something off about you.”
“I’m a quick study if knowing golf is one of your criteria for employment. Is your daughter a child prodigy or something?”
“Hopefully, since her dad does it for a living. And happens to be damn good at his job.”
He’s a professional golfer? I stare at him, at the dark hair curling over the collar of his polo, er, golf shirt. There’s even a logo on the left breast. Safeway Open. And now that I’m looking closely, I can see a faint tan line around his eyes, like he wears sunglasses and spends a lot of time in the sun.
I’d caught his mention of being a professional athlete, but hell, based on the size of his arms, I would have pegged him for a minor league ball player. Or maybe hockey. His shirt outlines pecs I bet look pretty damn hot without the cotton barrier. Not that I’m interested in looking at his bare chest. Okay, not that I should be interested in doing so.
“I didn’t realize golf was such an athletic sport,” I say, and I immediately want to take the words back because now it’s damn obvious I’ve been checking him out.
“Besides keeping you in shape, know what else golf does for you?”
“What?” I ask warily.
“Gives you stamina. A lot of stamina.”
I did not need to know that. Only one person knows that my colossal fuck-up was my first time, and since then, I’ve stuck strictly to screwing guys who are my own age or younger. Let me tell you, younger guys are the reason for the term “minute man.”
Clearing my throat, I say, “Okay, well, back to scheduling a time for me to meet your daughter.”
He shakes his head. “Fine. Meet me at Ridgemoor at ten tomorrow. I’ll leave your name at the front desk. Now, can I go? My brother’s girlfriend gives me hell when I’m late.”
“Okay. Cool. Ten tomorrow. Great.” I slide out of the car and close the door, suddenly nervous. But I don’t think he notices as he gives me a flippant wave before pulling away from the curb and bullying his way into traffic.