Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56208 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56208 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
“Me too,” I tell her.
Each spacious room is flooded inside with light. I settle Emery in the library. She’s a precocious girl, reading as often as she can, her eyes scanning the pages so fast, sometimes I wonder how my angel can take it all in. But she can—she’ll sometimes ask me to quiz her.
After a quick workout in the home gym, it’s time for the nanny interviews. I make a jug of iced tea, carry it onto the porch, then watch the gate. Our inner courtyard verges on jungle-like, but a weekly visit from the gardener keeps it manageable and respectable.
I take out my phone and check the files the agency sent me. The first interviewee is a woman named Callie Monroe. She’s twenty-three, so a little younger than the others, but she’s worked as a nanny since she was sixteen. Her most recent stint was with a stockbroker in the city, where she worked for three years before the mother quit her job and became a stay-at-home mom. She has stellar references and a clean background, plus she’s trained in CPR and first aid.
Sometimes, I wish Sloane was here, but only as a mother. Not as my woman. Not as my wife. Maybe that’s what drove her away.
A notification appears on my phone. Somebody’s at the gate. I look over but don’t see a car.
Approaching the gate, I spot a woman standing near the intercom button. My breath catches when I get a good look at her.
A summer dress clings to her curvy figure, yet she wears it respectably and professionally. Her light brown hair is tied up in a bun at the top of her head, and a pair of stylish glasses perch on her nose. She’s not showing too much leg or cleavage, but her shape is enough to trigger something in me. I don’t let any of this show. But the temptation is there. She looks presentable and professional, considering the weather and her role. But damn, there’s something hot about her.
“Mr. Aldridge?” she says.
“Please, call me Gray,” I tell her. “I’ll open the gate now. You didn’t drive?”
“My car decided to break down last night,” she mutters.
“Your address is listed in the city.”
“Yeah, it is.”
“So how did you get here?”
“Two trains, three buses, and I walked the rest of the way.”
That shows serious dedication. As I use the app on my phone to open the gate, I say, “That must’ve taken all morning.”
“I don’t mind,” she says, touching her hair self-consciously. It’s been a long time since I’ve appraised anything other than buildings, but this woman is something else. Drawing my eye like a moth to a flame.
She steps onto the property, standing mere feet from me. She’s shorter than me, but that’s not saying much. I’m six-three, accustomed to looking down at people. When she looks up at me, I feel something new, an ache deep inside. Again, none of this shows. I can’t, won’t let it but it’s there all the same.
She offers her hand. “Anyway, it’s nice to meet you… Gray.”
I take her hand. It’s soft, warm. Warmth sparks up my arm. I wonder if she can feel it, too. Or I wonder if I’m a cliché, a forty-three-year-old man crushing on his nanny. Maybe this is how it always happens. The people inside the cliché don’t realize they’re working a playbook that’s been used countless times before.
“Please, join me on the porch,” I gesture.
She walks slightly ahead of me when I don’t move. Did I do that intentionally so I could look at her wide hips? The swell of her ass is hypnotic as the light fabric of her dress settles over it as her hips sway. But she’s not doing it on purpose. She’s not trying to ignite my lust or turn me into a savage, dirty old man. She’s just walking.
I motion for her to sit. She brushes her dress down, and again, I watch each subtle movement, her warm, soft hand gliding down the fabric of her dress, imagining her hand gliding—No, I refuse. I won’t do that. I can’t. I’m the architect of my own mind. I won’t go there. Ever. I make that promise to myself now.
Hell, maybe she’ll do terribly in the interview. Perhaps I’ll have a reason to send her away and never think about her again.
Chapter Two
Callie
Gray Aldridge is tall and muscular. His thick arms fill out his pale blue short sleeve shirt. The undone top two buttons tempt me to know how muscular the rest of him is. His dark brown eyes seem serious even as the edge of his lip twitches like he’s trying to hold back a smile. I wonder what he’s thinking, what’s making him smile—no, consider smiling. Or maybe that’s just his natural expression.
At least, this time, I don’t detect anything ‘off’ like with that stockbroker jerk. My instincts at the time were screaming at me. I should’ve listened, but I needed the cash, and the darkness started slowly. Gray doesn’t seem like a perv and there’s nothing inappropriate in his demeanor.