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Dammit, I’ve insulted her.
“And he’s not half bad at it,” she adds with a little wince, “though in Timothy’s case, having a fire extinguisher on hand isn’t a bad idea. We just need someone to keep an eye on him.”
“Nic’s living with him.”
“Nic is on set a lot,” Celia says flatly.
“Among other things,” William mutters, huffing when his wife elbows him.
“We need a babysitter,” Celia says as she lets out a long breath. “We spoke with Timothy and he’s happy to have you. The house is big enough—you’d have a bedroom with an ensuite, you can stay rent-free, and we’ll pay you to keep an eye on him. That’s all.”
I laugh. Keeping Timothy out of trouble is a six-figure job better left to a dominatrix. “What makes you think he’d listen to me?”
She raises an eyebrow.
Oh-dear-god-no. He told her about the proposal. I can see it in her eyes, in the tightening of her lips. My face heats.
“Look, you need a job and we need someone who can keep him in line. You’re our best bet. We’ll pay you forty grand to keep him out of trouble for ten weeks.”
Good thing I’m already sitting, because my legs go weak.
Forty grand.
That’s a lot of money. It’s more than I make in a year, and with forty grand, I could buy a new embroidery machine. Upgrade my website. Put something in my very empty savings account.
Celia might believe Timothy will listen to me, but what if he doesn’t?
I’m resourceful. For forty grand, I could figure something out.
“Would I have to be in the house with him twenty-four seven?” Timothy will drive me insane. I’m pretty sure. Probably.
Celia shakes her head. “No, sweetie. If you need a break or you have something to do, go do it. Use your judgment. You know him, and he’s desperate not to mess things up with you.”
Yeah…speaking of that…
“I need to set some ground rules with Timothy before I agree to this.” Who am I kidding? I’m agreeing to this anyway, even if it means turning down offers of marriage every single day. Which it probably does.
When I walk into his room, Timothy’s eyes are half-closed, but he smiles at me like I didn’t shoot him down two hours ago. “Did you get it?” he asks with a grin.
I roll my eyes and hold up the new phone. “Yeah. You shouldn’t have, but I’m keeping it.”
His grin widens, and he scoots over a bit, patting the bed next to his thigh. I sit in the chair instead. His grin dims.
“Your parents want me to move in with you while you recover.”
“We could make it permanent,” he suggests.
“Timothy.”
“I’m going to need a lot of help. Not sure I can manage a shower on my own.” That grin is back, heating my blood.
“They want me to babysit you, not give you sponge baths,” I snap.
His eyebrows waggle. “They won’t care if you want to give me a sponge bath.”
“No.” I shake my head with a frustrated laugh as I stand. “I’m not going to do this. I’ll tell them no. What was I thinking?”
“I’m joking, Mina. No sponge baths. Unless you want to. I’m always open to that—”
