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“You did all of it when you weren’t going to be live-in. Now, you are. So, more paperwork.”
I stop cold in my tracks. “Excuse me… what?” I nearly shake my head off my shoulders. “That is not what we agreed to?—”
“Yeah, well, things change.” Reese looks over his shoulder. One of his thick, curved brows is raised.
I swallow. Why is he busting out this Come hither look when we’re talking about paperwork? “Listen?—”
“We can discuss it in my office. Paula, uh… look after Violet?”
Reese waves his hand. Paula looks like she’s ready to strangle him. She looks competent in her pencil skirt and shiny heels, but I wouldn’t call her particularly nurturing. I wonder if she has experience with children, or if this was just a very sudden sort of arrangement. After all, it seems that Reese has full custody of his niece. Maybe something happened to a sibling of his? Could be why he has such a huge attitude about everything. Grief does weird things to people.
I steel myself once more and follow Reese into the office of doom. As we go, I shove down the memory of my dream. It wasn’t real. There’s no reason to get all flustered. It’s not like he’s inviting me in there to eat me out to his heart’s content?—
Okay, first things first when I get home: pull out the vibrating ‘boyfriend’ and work out all this schoolgirl lust.
When we’re alone, Reese sits behind his desk. I take a moment to appreciate the barrier between us. Thank God. Keep this professional.
Then I drop the paperwork on his desktop and fold my arms over my chest. “I don’t know if there was a miscommunication, Reese, but I can’t just live?—”
“Why not?” he interrupts. “Says in your file you’ve done live-in work before. Obviously, you’d have days off.”
That’s not the point! You’re too hot to live with!
“Reese.” I choose my words carefully. I haven’t been in this business as long as I have without learning how to resolve conflicts before they even start. “That wasn’t what we negotiated on?—”
“Too bad, because it’s what I’m renegotiating. That’s how bargains work. One thing is said, another one is countered, then a third thing is the thing you actually settle on. I don’t see the problem.”
He says it like it’s so obvious. Like he has all the answers because he’s Reese Dalton and blah, blah, blah. I get the feeling that he’s not used to being told no.
That annoys the hell out of me. I square my shoulders and set my mouth firm. “The problem is that you’re a single man with a very… particular… kind of history—and frankly, I don’t know you well enough to be comfortable living with you for an extended period of time.”
I feel smugly proud of myself. Ha. There. Call him out on being a huge manwhore and he won’t have a leg to stand on!
He tilts his head to one side like a cat. An oversized jungle cat who looks like it just set its sights on the biggest catch of prey it’s seen in a while. He opens his mouth wide and I envision him pouncing on me and swallowing me whole for the sheer audacity of my suggestion?—
And then he lets out a wild cackle.
“That’s what you’re worried about? Not to be rude, but you’re not my type. Funny that you did your research, though. Better late than never.”
My face flares up. I can’t tell if I’m insulted or relieved. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that I have a type and you’re not it. Unless you’re into walking around in tooth-floss panties and answering to my every whim and—oh. Coconut bras…” He snorts. “I’m fucking with you. You’re cute, but it’s not like I’m gonna be here a lot anyway.”
A hundred things fly through my mind at once. Firstly, his sense of humor is trash.
Secondly, I’m pleased for some bizarre reason that he thinks I’m “cute,” though whether that’s “cute like a kid sister” or “cute like I want to kiss you” remains up for debate.
Thirdly, part of me wishes he would actually be around.
And that is precisely why you’re going to be thankful that he’s not.
“Fine. But just so you know, you’re not funny.”
He grins.
“I know; I’m fucking hilarious.” He nods to the papers I dropped. “I need you during the week. And mornings on Saturdays and evenings on Sundays. We can fill in more days off around my schedule. If you’re gonna throw a hissy fit about all that, I’ll raise your salary.”
“Does hockey pay in diamonds or something?” The sentence is out of my mouth before I can pull Professional Olivia back out of the closet.
