“What the hell is she talking about, who is Maria?” Molly wonders out loud.
I turn to Molly and almost smile. “I think she just made a Sound of Music reference.” And she isn’t shy about calling me out either. This could be bad. Very, very bad. I discreetly adjust myself and follow the path that Lanie ‘Maria’ Heart just walked.
Lanie
Chapter 3
Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. Mr. Cross is hot. Like hotter than hot. Completely disheveled with dark hair a little too long and wild above his deep green eyes. He is so tall, he makes me feel small, and that’s no easy feat. I can’t even describe the wall of muscle that was his chest when I grabbed Harper from his arms.
Seriously, Lanie, you just took a man’s daughter out of his hands and walked away! I don’t know what the hell just happened, but I now have a calm baby on my hip, and I’m walking towards the kitchen, I think. This house is fucking nuts. Who needs a home this big? Focus, Lanie.
I heard the woman named Molly say Sara and Tate were in the kitchen, so I’m heading that way. I had walked into what I can only describe as a war zone. Mr. Cross, standing with a half-dressed screaming baby. Lord knows what is covering the front of his dress shirt. Or why he was standing in the middle of hundreds of boxes. There are toys everywhere and makeshift diaper changing stations all over the room. While it looks like the house will eventually be tastefully decorated, I can’t help but wonder how long they have lived here.
I don’t officially have the job, but I took pity on him. The least I can do is help get the kids settled. I walk around the corner and come across the cutest little boy crouched down next to a smiling replica of the baby girl in my arms.
“Hey, buddy,” I say, walking over to him. He looks up at me and frowns.
O-kay, not the greeting I usually get with kids. I think back to the file Molly emailed me earlier. His name is Tate, and he is six years old. He has been having a tough time since his mom left. I quickly wonder where the hell she would have gone. How can you leave Mr. Sexy Pants and these beautiful children?
I shut that train of thought down immediately. I can’t start thinking of Mr. Cross as Mr. Sexy Pants, or I’ll say something inadvertently. I know myself and lack of filter at times.
I look around the kitchen. It’s similar to the disaster I found Harper in. Oh boy, what have I gotten myself into? Another quick scan of the room and I decide it’s time to get to work.
“Hey, buddy, my name is Lanie.”
He scowls again. He is so much like his father, it’s scary.
“Listen, I know you’re probably not psyched to be meeting someone new again, and it's okay. I get it, trust me. But here’s the thing, I’m pretty sure your sister is getting her top teeth. That’s pretty painful for babies, so I’m going to need you to help me out for a minute.”
His big grey-green eyes soften slightly, and he nods once. Okay, note to self, he likes helping, I tuck that away for use later. I’m vaguely aware of eyes on me, but decide to focus and get this situation handled.
“Do you know if you have any of those super soft baby washcloths?” I ask him as I’m pulling open the door to the freezer. He doesn’t answer me, just again nods and makes a move to what I’m guessing is a bathroom.
While he is on his mission, I search through the mostly empty contents of the freezer and pull out what I’m looking for—frozen peas. I hold them up in victory and hear a quick, brief bark of laughter. That's when I remember I have an audience. Taming the horrid blush rushing over my cheeks, I turn and give Tate a fist bump just as he hands me the small pink cloths.
“Thanks, buddy! Can you open this bag of peas for me?” He gives me a little side-eye but again nods his head.
“Lanie Heart.” I hear my name in a low, silky voice that makes me blush again, I know it belongs to Mr. Cross. Jules always tells me I can’t hide shit in my facial expressions, so I make no move to turn to him. Instead, I interrupt whatever he was about to say by holding up my hand and hear a small gasp. This time, I’m assuming it came from Molly.
“Hold, please…let me get this butterball settled, then we can talk.” Did I seriously just basically tell this man to shut it in his own home? I dare sneak a glance, and both he and Molly stare on with open mouths. Ah, hell. I bet no one talks to Mr. Tall, Dark and Slightly Scary this way, but I’ve already done it. I might as well own it, so I commit wholeheartedly.
I turn to Tate as I’m wetting the little pink cloth. “Hey, Tate, did you just get home from school?” He nods once.
“Have you had a snack yet?” He shakes his head once to say no and glances at the doorway like he was checking to make sure that was alright. I look up quickly and see Mr. Hot Pants smile at Tate. Oh hell. Scowling, he is sexy, but that smile leaves me breathless. Why is he affecting me like this? No one has ever gotten me worked up like this before. Focus, Lanie, geez!
I move the damp cloth to the counter and lay it flat. While I’m dumping a small pile of frozen peas to the center, I turn back to Tate. “Do you know where the snacks are, buddy?” He nods.
“That’s great, I can tell you’re a great helper already. Why don’t you grab a snack you’re usually allowed to have and bring it over to the table? It looks like you’re doing homework?”
Another nod of his head.
“Is it going well, or do you need help?” He shocks me when he says very quietly, “I can do it.”
I whip around and smile at him. “I thought so, but first, can you help me with one more thing?”
“Yes,” he whispers, and I smile to myself. His file said he didn’t talk at home to anyone but his dad, and even then, only occasionally.
“Awesome-sauce,” I give him a little fist bump and his lip twitches.
“Can you pick up this cloth and twist all the ends together like a little pouch so I can wrap my hair elastic around it?” He gets to his task while I gently sway Harper from side to side and grab the elastic off my wrist. While he holds it, I wrap the elastic around and around until it's secure.
"Thanks, Tate-o-nator." He smiles and walks off to the pantry. I turn my attention to Harper.
“Ms. Lanie Heart, I…”
I cut him off again. “Almost ready, Mr. Dexter Cross, I’ll be right with you.” I hear Molly snort. Oh shit, I am never going to get this job if I can’t stop sassing him. I look over to Tate, who is sitting down at the table, giggling. I chance a peek at Mr. Hot Pants, and his eyes are darting everywhere with his mouth hanging open.
I spy an empty baby bouncer next to him and Sara, so I give Harper my makeshift teething ring and walk that way. His eyes are on me the entire way, and I’m transfixed. I can’t look away.
I don’t know what comes over me, but as I walk past him, I put my fingers under his chin to close his mouth. His eyes snap to me, then to Molly, who appears completely flabbergasted. As I bend down to put Harper in her seat, it seems he has finally come to his senses.
“Ms. Lanie Heart, Harper won’t sit in that thing, she will just scream. Give her to me.” Instead of listening, I go about buckling her in, and he makes a sound that I could swear was a growl. A growl? No, surely not, but the expression on Molly’s face informs me maybe I’m not wrong. I make sure Harper has her teething ring and turn to Sara, who I can smell from a mile away and pick her up.
“What in the ever living fu-udge is going on?” Mr. Cross screams. I’m impressed he caught himself before hurling an f-bomb in front of his kids, but his loud, scary demeanor immediately puts me on alert. Before I realize it, I find myself standing between him and Harper, moving Sara to my other side. I know I’m shaking, but I didn’t even feel myself move in front of the babies. Some instincts never go away.
Mr. Cross stares down at me and his eyes soften. He takes a step back. Julia is right, I can’t hide anything in my facial expressions. He knows he has terrified me, so he puts his hands up as if in surrender. “Ms. Lanie Heart,” he starts much more softly.
“Just Lanie,” I interrupt
him again, and I now realize that being interrupted doesn’t often happen, if ever.
He sighs and starts again. “Lanie, I apologize for my outburst.” Now it’s Molly’s turn to gasp. Apparently, apologies don’t come very often from that sexy as sin mouth, and I realize I’m smiling. Best of all, Tate is giggling again.
Mr. Cross seems to have noticed and peeks over at him. Tate stops immediately, and I see Mr. Cross’s face drop. “Let me start again. You’re like a whirlwind and I don’t know what is going on. You don’t have the job yet; we haven’t even had the interview. You do realize this, yes?”
I can’t help myself as I roll my eyes, which causes his eyes to narrow in on me. Does he look pissed? Turned on? Wishful thinking, Lanie. Wishful thinking. I settle on pissed, definitely pissed. I have to backtrack if I want this job. “Yes, Mr. Cross…”
“Call me Dex.” Molly takes an audible breath, and if I didn’t know better, I would think he is starting to blush. As quickly as it started, it’s gone.
“Alright, Dex. I know I don’t have a job. I do realize we have not conducted the interview yet. However, I walked in on a ship-sandwich and figured I would help you get things under control so you can undoubtedly ask every question known to man. I'm sure you'll want to check out my abilities to care for your children. Which, by the way, I would do exceptionally, but back to my point. You cannot ask me all these questions with babies crying and Tate starving.” I look over to Tate, who is bug-eyed and give him a little wink, which makes him crack up again.
“Okay, okay. Fine. Uh, thanks. Do you plan to do anything else, or can we start the interview?”
“Well, Sara smells like a sewer, so why don’t I change her and make sure all three are settled down for Molly?” Molly’s eyes widen in what I assume is fear. I reach over and squeeze her arm. She is definitely not a fan of kids. “It’s alright, I’ll make sure everyone is happy and quiet before I leave them in here with you.” Molly glares at me, then gives a tight smile.
“Very well,” she says, taking a seat at the island, supervising.
“Now, Mr. Cross. Why don’t you go into your office and I’ll meet you there in five minutes?” Maybe I did come in here too strongly because he looks as if he is in a daze.
“Ah, yes. I’ll see you in five minutes.” He walks backward, his eyes roaming all around the room. He bumps into the wall and rights himself. “Okay, five minutes.”
I turn away as well and go to Tate to help him open his snack. I take a quick peek at his homework and realize he does seem to have it under control. After changing Sara, I set her up in the seat next to a sleeping Harper and take out my phone. I put on baby Mozart and leave my phone on the counter.
I turn to Molly, “Are you all set?” She stares at me, bewildered, and nods her head—a lot of head nodders in this house. I laugh and head to Mr. Sexy Smirk’s office.
Dex
Chapter 4
I sit down behind my large maple desk.
What in the actual fuck is happening? And why is my dick painfully hard?
Thank god I’m sitting behind my desk. I pick up the file on Lanie Heart that Molly left, flipping through it quickly. She reads too good to be true.
“What has she been doing the last eighteen months?” I whisper. As I start reading one of her many letters of recommendation, I hear music. What the hell kind of music is it? And who turned it on?
Well, that was a stupid question. Even if I hadn't said it out loud, it could only be the tornado of a woman that waltzed in here like she owns the place…no one else would have. Then, out of nowhere, she is standing in the doorway.
“Is that…music?” I ask foolishly.
She tilts her head to the side, just like when she first walked into the house. Why does she look at me like that, and why does it make my prick respond even more? I can’t be interested in her. In fact, she should be pissing me off. She interrupted me multiple times, she also closed my damn mouth for fuck's sake. And now, she is staring at me with raised eyebrows like she is waiting for an answer.
Shit. What did she say? “I’m sorry, you are completely...unexpected. What did you say?” I ask, bewildered.
She smirks and it pisses me off—I wish my pecker would get the memo. “I asked if you were ready to begin?” Lanie Heart asks with her eyebrow raised.
Jesus, this is not how this works. She isn’t interviewing me! I need to get a handle on this and quickly. “Fucking Mary Poppins.” Her laugh startles me. Shit, did I say that out loud?
“I told you before. I’m more of a Maria,” she explains with a grin.
Fucking hell. That answers my question. What is going on? I am usually more controlled than this. She cannot come in here, tilt my world, and fuck everything up. I won’t allow it, so I scowl at her, and she laughs again.
I throw my pen down on the desk. Fuck it. This will undoubtedly be the most unconventional interview I have ever conducted in my entire life. Something tells me if I hire Ms. Lanie Heart, my life will never be conventional again.
I shake my head. “Alright, Ms. Lanie Heart,”
“Just Lanie,” she interrupts again.
Shit, why do I keep calling her by her first and last name? I must be more tired than I thought. That has to be it. That’s why this entire encounter is so fucked up.
“Lanie, on paper, you are more than qualified to be a nanny.” She bristles at that, I briefly wonder why she would stiffen at such a mundane statement, but carry on. “Why are you not interested in continuing in the field of social work?”
She relaxes slightly. “Well, Mr. Dexter Cross…”
Is she doing that to mess with me? She has to be. It should irritate the living hell out of me. Before I can school my features, my lip quirks up and she keeps going.
“The burnout rate for a social worker, especially one working with children, is exceptionally high. I love kids, and I love working with them,” she turns her gaze to the floor, sadness washing over her beautiful blue eyes. When she looks up at me, the warmth seems to have diminished in her face as she speaks. “I realized pretty quickly that I was not cut out to deal with some of the cases you, unfortunately, come across in that field.”
“What is your long-term goal here?” I ask her pointedly.
“Sir?” she asks, making my cock stir in my pants again.
I do like her calling me, sir, a lot! This is so messed up.
“Do you plan to return to social work? You’re coming from Vermont, correct? Do you plan to use your degree here in the Carolinas?”
For the first time since she walked in here, she seems uneasy. Why? I can’t help but think this should be an easy question. Her eyes shift away from me before she answers.
“Ah, yes, I am coming from Vermont, but no, I don’t plan to continue in social work,” Lanie replies on autopilot.
“Why not?”
“I’m just not cut out for it,” she says just above a whisper.
“Why not?” I repeat.
Lanie is very quiet for a long minute. When she looks up, the floor drops out below me. She has tears in her eyes and I have no doubt I can see right through to her soul.
“I am not emotionally equipped to handle such severe cases of abuse,” her voice raw with feeling.
I believe her, but I also get the sense that it is not a complete answer. I won’t push though; I know from experience I couldn’t handle cases of child abuse either.
“Okay, Lanie, I see you’re CPR and first aid certified?” I state.
“Yes.” There’s my girl. Where the fuck did that thought come from?
“And you have excellent references,” I say out loud to no one in particular.
“Is that a question, Mr. Dexter Cross?” She replies sassily.
I stare across the desk at her, unwilling to tame the lift of my lips. “No, Ms. Lanie Heart, I suppose it is not.”
“Where is the children’s mother?” She asks so bluntly I don’t have time to gather myself.
“She left. And
she won’t be coming back.” I bark at her. I realize she needs to know the basics, but who the hell does she think she is, and why do I keep letting her control this interview?
“I know the girls are too small, but does Tate know that?” She continues.
Now I’m getting pissed again, “Yes.”
“Does he know that it isn’t his fault?” Lanie Heart persists.
If I say what the fuck one more time today, my head might explode. She is staring at me, honestly expecting me to answer. Even my scowl doesn't seem to affect her. How is that possible? I make grown men crumble in board rooms with this glare, yet it does nothing to her at all.
“He knows what he needs to know.” I finally say.
“Have you told him it’s not his fault?” Lanie repeats. “I read the file Molly sent over, and it says he rarely talks. Do you know what his last conversation with his mother entailed? In my experience…”
“Your limited work experience or life experience?” I ask, barely containing my anger.
She stares at me for a long while before answering. I get the impression she is sizing me up. “Both,” she explains quietly, and I feel like an asshole. “My mother did the best she could, but she was unstable most of my life. She said things...” stopping there, I see her swallow.
Not only am I an asshole, but I’m also a pervert because now I can’t stop thinking about her long slim neck. How would she react to my tongue on it? I snap my gaze to her eyes and I feel paralyzed. Completely unable to control myself an instant later, my gaze is back to her neck. I swear I can see her pulse racing.
Interesting. Maybe my bizarre reaction isn’t as one-sided as I thought.
She continues talking. “My mother often told me all the wrongs in her life were my fault. In my ‘limited work experience’,” she uses air quotes as she recites my earlier douchey comment back to me, “I saw a lot of the same types of behaviors with troubled mothers and their children.”
Cross My Heart: A Waverley-Cay Novel Page 3