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Is that a good sign? Damn, I wish I could read her better.
“Look,” she says quietly. “My mom… we have some debts. I need the money.”
Of course she does. What was I thinking? That’s why she’s still here. It makes me feel like shit, and I deserve it. “I get it.”
“But I also love your kids. I love this job.”
I watch her face. Determination tightens her fine features, that core of steel of hers shining through her gaze. “Yeah?”
“Let’s forget what happened last night,” she says quietly. “You need a nanny. And I need a job.”
“All right.”
What am I doing? Letting her go would be the smart thing to do.
I guess I’m not that smart. And as for forgetting… maybe she can, but I’m coming to realize I can’t. Not the damn hot sex, nor the fact she came to look for Cole with me, that she stayed with my kids today despite my assholery, cooked us dinner and made up her mind to stay.
Yeah, I can’t put it behind me and erase the traces. But I nod anyway, because she was right the first time.
I don’t just need a nanny.
/> I need her.
Whatever that means.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Octavia
I can do this.
After all, it was my decision—all of it. Insisting to work for Matt Hansen, practically pushing my way into his house and his life, and last night… it was my decision, too. Maybe not entirely conscious at the time, but still.
I agreed to it. I accepted it.
Wanted it like few things in my life.
Matt gives me the money I spent on shopping, and asks for a list of things I need for the house, for the kids, for the kitchen. It’s a strange feeling, running a house.
Then again… not really. I’ve run our house most of the time, since Mom is out working at all times. It’s weird because it’s another house.
His house.
Makes me feel like I’m part of his family. His girlfriend, his wife… Which is a trip down the rabbit hole.
Makes me wonder how he must feel.
I cast him a glance as I get ready to go and stop buttoning up my coat.
He’s sitting on the sofa, sprawled back, powerful shoulders pressed to the cushions, watching his kids play at his feet. His arms aren’t folded over his chest, his hands not clenched into fists, instead lying by his sides.
He looks more relaxed than I’ve seen him in days, his eyes sleepy, shaded by his lashes.
With his dark hair and beard, with those pretty eyes, that broad chest and long legs, God… He’s so handsome my mouth dries up.
This is such a bad idea…
I know I said we should forget all about it—but how do you forget your first night? Your first sex experience with a handsome guy, who also happens to be your boss and whom you’ll see day after day? I’m still smarting from the aftermath, but the sex itself? It was so good. Just thinking about it makes me throb deep inside.
