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Curtis filled the pot with water and slapped it on the expensive gas stove. He cranked the burner on and watched the blue flames lick at the bottom of the copper. Straightening, he chose to focus most of his wrath on Lexi Wellington. If she’d showed up on time, the diaper incident wouldn’t have happened.
Lexi. Wellington.
She was pretty much the bane of his existence and had been since she got the job a few years ago. She was his executive assistant, so he stayed the hell away from her. She was off limits. He didn’t need to be sued for sexual harassment, which nowadays, could be construed as even looking at a person.
And it was damn hard not to look at Lexi Wellington.
She was gorgeous. Tall, probably around five ten of deliciously perfect proportions. She was lithe and somehow curvy too. Her ass… god. Her ass had been on his mind for years. It was an ass worthy of worship. Her breasts would easily be a perfect handful. Her stomach was flat and flared out into curvy hips and long, shapely legs. She liked to wear skirts and heels, always professional ones, but it didn’t matter. They still highlighted all her finer assets. It wasn’t her fault. She didn’t flaunt them. She was born from angels or a goddess who got kicked out of some kingdom in the sky or a temptress from the depths… or maybe all of the above. The point was that in addition to all of the former, she had long sandy yellow hair, a set of piercing cerulean eyes, full bow lips, carved cheekbones and a heart shaped face. Lexi was the whole package.
She’d also made it pretty damn clear that for whatever reason, she hated him. He hadn’t exactly given her an easy time over the past couple of years, but that was after she let it be known to all, including him, that she’d rather lick a public toilet than be civil to him. She kept her disdain carefully veiled with a thin layer of professionalism, but the hatred was there.
Still. He couldn’t think of a single other person that could help get him out of the mess he was in. He’d made a couple of discreet calls. A hell of a lot more desperate ones. He’d tried anything and everything he could think of. His friends were all conveniently busy or flat out turned him down. That was the small pool that could actually be trusted with a kid. He couldn’t just ask some random person from work to come to his house for a whole weekend and look after his niece and nephew. He was screwed and he knew it. Lexi was the last person he asked. He’d been doubly desperate.
He was shocked when her face melted instantly at his odd request earlier in the week. She probably would have done it without the money, but he couldn’t take that chance. He had to sweeten the pot since he knew she hated him. She was actually excited about looking after the germ infested, diaper explosions waiting to happen, hysterical mini monsters. A few days and ten grands later, he had Lexi Wellington in his house for the weekend. And he planned to make the best of it, mini humans aside.
Lexi’s soft, sunny laughter, a joyful, deep belly laugh that was absolutely genuine, floated out after the kids’ laughter, echoing through the halls and blanketing the kitchen with its sugary sweetness.
Curtis realized two things. One, the water was boiling, and he was standing there like an imbecile staring at it as it steamed and furled into the air above the pot. Two, he wanted to hear that laugh over and over again. If he had to endure a few days with his sister’s smelly little mini-me’s, then so be it. It was a price he was willing to pay as long as Lexi was part of the deal.
CHAPTER 3
Lexi
Lexi emerged with two towel-wrapped kids to find a gourmet meal of sorts set out in the kitchen. Curtis, it turned out, had basic cooking skills. By basic, she meant the skill set of a starving pre-pubescent boy, but heck. It was food and it was there, set out and waiting. Two small bowls for the kids, two larger ones for them.
“I’m impressed.” She stood in the entrance to the kitchen, staring at the sprawling high end everything, her attention centered on the island where the steaming bowls stood.
The cabinets were ivory, and she knew they were expensive. She’d seen the quote for them. She also knew that the granite was imported from Italy and that it was five grand a slab. The island slab had to be cut twice and re-ordered since it was wrong the first time. She’d been the one to handle the fiasco, liaising between her boss from hell and the builder who was supposed to be taking care of everything and didn’t.
