“Where is she now?”
“With my assistant. They’re painting her room, getting to know one another.”
“And you?”
“I’m supposed to be getting ice cream.” He holds the tub up.
“That’s a long drive for ice cream.”
“Exactly twenty-five minutes.”
He drove twenty-five minutes to buy ice cream. From this particular gas station. Which is on the complete opposite side of town from where he lives. He’s on the north end of the island, where the people who have money live.
I’m in the middle, where the people who don’t have money barely scrape by.
“How did you find me?”
“Your resume.”
My lips twist. “This isn’t the only job I had listed.”
“I know.”
He went to my other job first?
“Look, Dory, I’m not backing down from my offer. I’d really like you to come work for me. Kyrie loves you, and there’s nobody else for the job.”
“Other people didn’t apply?”
“Ten people total, only three worth interviewing, according to my assistant.” He hitches up a shoulder. “Like you said, it’s a small town. I imagine most people living here are married or retired or tourists and just around for half the year. They can’t commit, don’t want to get attached, and have no interest in being a live-in nanny for a rambunctious seven-year-old.”
“She wasn’t that bad,” I say.
“You liked her, then?”
I nod but quickly add, “I like all kids, though. It’s why I’m going into social work.” I look down at my feet. “But I’m guessing you know that from reading my letter.”
He doesn’t say anything, but I can feel his eyes on me.
“Are you going to say yes?”
I blow out a breath. “I really want to.”
“Then say it.”
I don’t know what makes me look at him, but I do and wish I hadn’t.
His gray eyes are so intense.
Not to mention all they do is bring back those few hours we had.
His mouth hovers an inch above mine as he thrusts into me. His hips are moving so painfully slow. I want to wrap my legs around his waist and speed him up, but I know he won’t go for it.
I want to reach up and capture his lips in mine.
But I can’t. I can’t cross that line. This already feels better than I thought it would. If I kiss him now, I’ll be changed forever.
I’m not ready for the gravity of that.
His gray eyes watch me, and I hate how much I love the way he’s staring at me. Through me. Like he sees every deep, dark crevice of my past and doesn’t care about any of it in the ways he should.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
“Dory.” His voice is gravelly. “Look at me.”
I do.
“I promise you, what happened between us…” He swallows thickly, and I wonder if he’s thinking about it too. “That night…it won’t affect our working relationship. We’ll keep things strictly professional.”
“We’d be living together, Porter…”
“If it will make you feel better about this, I’ll pay to keep your apartment. Just in case things are too awkward for you and you want to leave.”
“Seriously?”
“Of course seriously.” His lips pull together. “I want you to be comfortable. I want you to feel secure. I want that for all my employees.”
“Have you slept with all your employees?”
He coughs out a shocked laugh. “No, just one…before you.”
There’s something about his honesty I appreciate. He doesn’t skirt around things that could taint his character.
In a world where people try to hide who they are behind perfectly staged photos and online personas, it’s refreshing.
He wants to be open with me. He wants to be honest.
“Total professionalism?”
He nods. “Yes.”
“Do you promise?”
A wicked smirk transforms his lips. “If you don’t try to kiss me, I won’t try to kiss you.”
I laugh, reaching for another carton of cigarettes. “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem for me.”
I turn away from him, shoving a few packs into their places.
“Is that a yes?”
I can do this. I can be professional. It was one night. Just sex. It meant nothing. I won’t let a singular night of blowing off some steam dictate my future because I’m afraid of too much awkwardness. That would be dumb. This job is too good to be true, and I can’t pass it up.
Taking a deep breath, I look back at him. “It’s a yes.”
He pumps his fist in the air. “Yes!”
“But…” I add, “I have—”
“Stipulations? Of course.” He waves his hand. “Let’s hear them.”
“You can’t pay for my apartment. I’ll pay for that.”
The crinkles at the corners of his eyes appear as the gray orbs narrow into slits, and I know he’s about to argue. “Dory, I—”
“Don’t argue, Porter. It’s not happening.”
His gaze burns with irritation, but he nods once. “If that’s what you want.”
“It is. I’ll also provide my own groceries.”
He opens his mouth, then snaps it shut. He’s clenching his teeth together; I can see it in the way the muscles in his jaw tick.
He’s not happy with my conditions, but I don’t care. It’s important to me to continue to provide for myself. I don’t like taking handouts, and I definitely won’t take them from Porter just because we slept together.
“Fine. But for the record, these aren’t some special benefits I’m offering you, Doris.” He says my full name like he’s making a point. “These benefits would have been afforded to anyone who got the position.”
“You’d have paid for their apartment too?”
“If that’s what would have made them feel comfortable, yes.”
Part of me wants to believe him, but there’s this nagging voice in my head saying he’s lying and is only offering this because of what happened between us, to attempt to make up for it.
It’s the same voice that says it’s the only reason he’s offering me the job at all.
I know it’s going to be awkward working for him, but I can’t pass this opportunity up. I can’t go back to where I was before, and I can’t keep barely scraping by. It’s not that being a social worker is going to have me raking in the cash, but I know it’s going to fulfill me in other ways. Besides, based on what I’m making now, the salary I’ll earn is going to seem like millions.
I need this job. I deserve this job. I’ve worked hard and I’ve earned a break in life.
Hopefully, if enough time passes, Porter and I can forget about our night together.
You can do this, Dory.
“I don’t like taking handouts.” I say it sternly, trying to convey that I’m not going to be his little pet project.
“It’s not a handout if it pertains to part of your job.”
Technically true, but… “I’m standing firm.”
“Fine.” He snaps the word out, and a chill moves through me.
Not because of his clipped tone, but because I really like getting under his skin and shaking him like he shakes me.
“Is that all?”
He’s still pissy, and my lips twitch.
His scowl deepens.
“Yes.”
“When can you start?”
“When do you need me?”
“As soon as possible, preferably.”
“I’ll have to put my notices in—”
“Just quit.”
“Would you want your employees to ‘just quit’ on you?”
“With an opportunity like this knocking on their door? I’d help ’em write the fucking resignation letter.”
“I—”
“Tomorrow,” he cuts me off, pulling his leather wallet from his back poc
ket. He grabs a bill and tosses it onto the counter. “Seven AM. Don’t be late.”
I nod once, and he doesn’t say anything else, just grabs his ice cream and leaves.
My eyes trail after him as he pushes through the door and climbs into his fancy SUV. His eyes find mine through the glass and he sits there, watching.
My eyes slide to the empty seat next to him, and I think about the last time I was in that car, when we were on the way to his house.
The sexual tension was palpable. The A/C was blasting cool air, but it didn’t stop the heat. When we stopped at a stoplight and he looked over at me with those kissable lips, I was certain we wouldn’t even make it back to his place.
I wonder if he’s thinking about it too.
I don’t know how long we stare at each other, but it’s long enough that it’s well beyond what’s acceptable for an employee and her boss.
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I sneak a look at it.
UNKNOWN: Stop thinking about kissing me.
I look back up, but he’s already backing away.
What the hell did I just agree to?
Slice Seven
Porter
I don’t know what possessed me to drive across town and beg Dory to work for me.
It could have been the way she kept sneaking glances at me when she thought I wasn’t looking. Or it could have been the way my daughter took to her like she hung the moon.
Or maybe it’s because I’m a masochist.
No matter the reason, I can’t take it back now. It’s too late.
Yesterday, she moved into my home. Into my space. Into my life.
To my surprise, she called me the next morning to inform me she gave both of her jobs a one-week notice—because she felt bad just leaving them completely hanging—and promised not to take another babysitting job while she was on my payroll, something I insisted on because she’s already been working herself to the bone. She could use the break from juggling multiple jobs. Besides, I pay her well enough she doesn’t need anything else. We both know this.
That same day, she came over to my house for the first time since she spent the night, and she’s been here every day since, getting acquainted with Kyrie. It wasn’t exactly what the contract we drew up spelled out considering she’s a live-in nanny, not a live-out nanny, but I had complete faith she would eventually hold up her end of the bargain. Besides, she didn’t have any other options what with quitting and all.
The good news? My daughter is still obsessed with her.
The bad news? I think I am too.
There’s a small, cruel part of me that hoped she’d be an awful nanny and I could fire her without feeling guilty.
But of course she’s not.
She’s fucking amazing.
Patient. Kind. Stern, yet soft. She’s helpful but also lets Kyrie have her independence. She doesn’t try to stifle my daughter’s unique sense of…well, self.
She’s perfect.
In the last week, the only time she’s done anything to even remotely piss me off was last night when she tried to retreat to her room for dinner, like we can’t eat together or some shit.
I put an end to it quickly, and we all had dinner together.
I stare out at the island counter where we ate with Kyrie sitting between us, laughing and teasing and having a good time.
There’s a twinge in my chest as I think about a time when that was normal for us. Me, Kyrie, and my ex.
But then she took off, leaving behind a single slip of paper on the counter.
And that was the end of everything normal I ever had.
I sip my coffee, letting the hot liquid burn my tongue, trying to zap myself back into reality.
“Good morning.”
Dory pads confidently into the kitchen, already dressed for the day. She’s wearing a t-shirt that’s too big—which is all she seems to own—with a pair of leggings, and her feet are bare, toenails pink.
Her still damp hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun, and she’s not sporting an ounce of makeup.
Simple. Understated. All Dory.
When I heard her shower switch on this morning, my dick sprang to life. I had to imagine everything and anything to not think about her standing under the stream in all her naked glory.
It was hard—no pun intended—but I managed to talk my dick down and get dressed for the day. I thought maybe if I kept my mind occupied, my thoughts wouldn’t wander to the gorgeous woman now living in my home.
I was wrong.
She steps around me, reaching into the cabinet above the coffee machine for a cup.
Except she’s too short to get a grasp on one.
I start to move toward her, but she shoots me a gaze that says I’m a strong independent woman who don’t need no man.
I get the message loud and clear.
No getting close.
Instead, I step away as she pulls herself onto the counter, snatches a mug, and hops back down with grace.
She busies herself filling it to the brim with caffeine. I like that she doesn’t use creamer, just one scoop of sugar. She doesn’t mess around. Coffee in hand, she takes a seat at the island.
I don’t know if she chose that spot on purpose, but the morning light glows around her like she was made to sit there.
When she brings the mug to her lips, I notice it’s a cup that used to belong to my ex. I make a note to throw it out and buy her a cup of her own.
Her birthday is coming up soon. A coffee mug is a safe gift for your employee who you also happened to do the naked tango with, right?
“Good morning,” I finally manage to say. “How’d you sleep last night? Was your bed comfortable?”
“I’m sorry, did you just ask me if that bed was comfortable?”
“Yes?”
“You’re going to be lucky if I ever leave. It was the most comfortable mattress I’ve ever slept on in my entire life.”
“Excluding mine, right?”
It slips out before I can stop it.
“Sorry,” I grimace. “That wasn’t very professional.”
She doesn’t say anything, just lifts her perfectly manicured brows and takes a sip of her coffee.
“What’s on your agenda today?” I ask, trying to steer the conversation into safer territory.
“Well, actually, I was wondering if I could take Kyrie down to the beach if it’s not too crowded.”
I smile. She remembered Kyrie’s offhanded comment yesterday at breakfast about not having yet made it down to the beach because I’ve spent all my time working and trying to get the house unpacked.
The day always gets away from me when I’m swamped with work, and it’s always too late to head down there.
“I think she’d love that.”
“Yeah?” Her face lights up. “Good. What are you doing today?”
“Well, I’m still a week behind on work, so I’ll be attached to my computer all day upstairs in my office. I was hoping to make another dent in these boxes, but the company isn’t going to run itself.”
“Do you have help back in California?”
I nod. “I do, but I’m a bit of a control freak and probably take on more than I can actually handle—not that I’d admit that to any of my employees.”
“Technically, I’m one of your employees.”
I laugh lightly. “True. Think you can refrain from spreading that around, then?”
She mimes zipping her lips.
“I was also going to go to the grocery store today. Is there anything specific you’d like me to get for you?”
You. “No. I can’t think of anything.”
She stares through me, like she can see my thoughts.
“But I do think you’d do well to stock up on cheese. Kyrie is a little addicted to it.”
“Cheese—got it. Anything else?”
“Probably celery too. And those little wedges of Swiss cheese.”
A look of confusion crosses her face. “For you or
Kyrie?”
“Kyrie. The kid has the weirdest taste in food. She dips her chips in peanut butter and puts jelly on her celery sticks.”
“Where do the cheese wedges come in?”
“Those she eats with cherry tomatoes.” I laugh at the expression on her face. “Can’t say she doesn’t know what she likes. She’s an adventurous eater, but she also likes certain combinations of things. Just wait until she asks you to make her a sandwich. You’ll vomit in your mouth a little.”
“I’m scared.”
“You should be, but I guess I can’t be too weirded out by it. My ex made sure to make her try a little bit of everything when she was really young so she’d have a well-rounded palate.”
Dory’s jaw drops open, but she recovers quickly.
Right. My ex. It’s not that she’s some surprise or anything—it’s obvious she exists out there somewhere. I just don’t think I’ve ever mentioned her before.
Dory takes another sip of her coffee, peeling her eyes away from me.
I know she wants to talk about it, but I don’t. Not really.
Still, now that she’s working with Kyrie, I know questions are going to come up. We need to clear the air.
“You can ask me anything.”
The only indication she heard me is her eyes briefly flitting my way.
I push off the counter, dropping my elbows on the island. I lean across, holding my cup the exact same way she’s holding hers, and take a sip, staring at her over the rim.
Underwater.
That’s what her eyes look like this close up in the daytime.
It’s like those photos you see of marine life, the ones where right around the animal, it’s bright and blue. Then the brightness fades into a murky, dark midnight color.
It doesn’t even matter that she’s wearing colored contacts and what I’m seeing probably isn’t real. The color fits her, considering her name and all.
“I don’t want to pry,” she finally says, setting her mug on the counter with a soft clink.
“It’s not prying if I’m offering the information.”
Her ocean eyes meet my gaze for just a brief second and then they bounce back down to the mug. “Were you married?”
“Yes.”
Doughn’t Let Me Go Page 8