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But seeing Finnegan Dean waiting for her in the lobby, cell phone to his ear, looking every bit the master of his domain, threw her off center again. His gaze swept over her, the slight furrow of his brows a question. She looked away, pretending to find the framed art in the lobby mesmerizing. She stood, waiting. His tone was no longer soft. No, each syllable dripped agitation. He glanced at her, nodded, and headed toward the front doors.
She hadn’t expected him to wait for her, holding the door open, but he did, and she hurried through. When his hand rested on her lower back, Jessa shuddered. Electricity hummed up her spine, leaving her dazed. Being attracted to this man was a very bad thing. One she’d have to work on getting over.
Then his hand was gone, Mr. Dean’s long strides putting distance between them.
She followed, trying to keep up in heels meant for walking, not jogging. A black car waited out front, the driver holding the back door wide. Mr. Dean climbed in, but Jessa hesitated, gripped with a sense of foreboding and uncertainty.
“Miss Talbot?” Mr. Dean’s voice was tight, impatient.
She hurried forward, the driver offering her a slight smile as she climbed in behind Finnegan.
“I’ll be there,” he snapped. “Damage control is your job. A job you’re paid very well to do.”
A long silence fell over the car. She cast a quick glance his way. He was looking at her. Not her—her legs. She smoothed her hands over her skirt, tugging the fabric into place. His fingers tightened around his phone, and his gaze met hers. She folded her hands in her lap to hide their slight tremble.
“I need you to make sure there are no surprises,” he finished, and hung up, still looking at her. But it was the way he was looking at her that was unnerving. She had a hard time breathing when his gaze bore into hers.
The car went over a bump, jolting Jessa and snapping her out of her daze and back to cool, calm, and professional. “Mr. Dean, I have questions,” she began.
“I imagine you do.” He nodded, a slight smile hovering on his lips—lips Jessa was far too distracted by.
She smoothed her skirt again, focusing on his eyes, not his mouth. His clear, pale blue eyes. “What will this job entail?”
“Preparing my house for an infant. Finding the right person to work as my son’s nanny.”
She drew in a deep breath. “The mother—”
“Died in childbirth.” His voice was devoid of emotion.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured.
His gaze left her, his attention focused on the view outside their window. “I didn’t know her well.”
She digested this news. His image was splashed across countless magazines and tabloids with a bevy of models, actresses, and debutantes. But he was rarely seen with the same woman for long. He’d earned the nickname “Speedster,” a dig at both his dating style and his fondness for fast cars.
“Why not use an outside agency?” she asked.
“When I know my son has no special needs, I—you—will.” He checked his watch, impatient. “Until then, you want a stable career and need financial security. You have a vested interest, one that ensures your complete discretion. I need someone I can trust implicitly.”
She stared at him.
“I know nothing about children. Nothing. You, on the other hand, do.” He glanced at his phone then pulled a file from his black leather bag. “To be blunt, I don’t have time for this. I will do what I can to ensure you do the rest. I need to leave it in your capable hands—not worry about it. I also need your signature on these.”
It? Project? So, Mr. Dean wasn’t the paternal type. He’d suffered a shock and wasn’t ready to accept his son yet. He would, in time—surely.
She scanned over the papers, processing the bizarre turn her morning had taken. A non-disclosure agreement? A man in his position would expect as much. In a sort of sad way, it made sense. She took the pen and signed the paper, then glanced out the window at the busy San Antonio streets. “A newborn is a lot of work—”
“As I said, six weeks. After that, you’ll be relieved by the nanny selected.”
She nodded, her suspicions confirmed. “Babies don’t keep office hours.”
His chuckle was soft—and far too delectable. “No, I don’t suppose they do.” He paused. “Your brothers are old enough to handle things for a short time?”
She nodded, the unexpected rasp of his chuckle rendering her speechless. Pathetic.
“Once we pick him up, we will stop to collect your things. This is for you,” he said, handing her a cell phone. “My numbers, my housekeeper, and the driver’s numbers are all programmed, as well as any alarm codes.” He offered her a set of keys on a large gold ring, and a black charge card. “These are yours. Anything you need, use the card.”
Day and night. With Finnegan Dean. She should be thrilled, not nervous. She took the keys and card, placing them in her purse. “What do you have for…him?”
