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“They won’t let me off for my on-campus labs.”
“You know, Sal was saying he could use some help with—”
“I am not working at the deli,” I tell her firmly. “Sal is too handsy.”
“I always sort of liked that about him,” Wanda laughs.
“Aren’t you too old to be this horny?”
“I’m old, Cassie,” she snorts. “Not dead.”
“Seriously, I don’t know what I am going todo,” I groan.
“Check the ads again. Maybe you missed something.”
“I’ve checked them a dozen times,” I huff.
Wanda is still grousing at me from the kitchen as I pore over the help wanted section again regardless, thinking that if I scan it enough times, some miracle ad will jump out at me that I didn’t notice before. How can it be so hard to find a job that will let me do my schoolwork at night and be off every other weekend for my on-campus courses? I mean, this is San Diego, not Santa Barbara. There’s got to besomethingthat I can—
“Oh, shit,” I say suddenly.
Wanda steps out of the kitchen, spatula in hand. “What?”
“Wanted: full-time live-in nanny position. Experience with children is a must. Free room and board. Serious inquiries only.”
Wanda humphs. “You don’t want to be stuck taking care of someone else’s—”
“Entry salary...Holy shit.”
“Is it good?”
I look up at Wanda with an open mouth, and when I tell her what they’re offering, Wanda says a word she usually only reserves for when the Lakers lose. She blows out a breath afterward, patting at her neat white curls in that flustered way of hers. “I guess you’d best be calling them then.”
—
I hadn’t expected Aiden Reid to get back to me as quickly as he did after I emailed him, and I certainly hadn’t expected him to seem so eager, in setting a date for an interview. And speaking of date, Idefinitelyhadn’t expected him to ask me to meet him atone of the poshest restaurants in the city—one I cannot afford to eat at and one that I am pretty sure I am too underdressed to evenbein. Is this how rich people hold interviews? I doubt Sal at the diner would be treating me to a five-star restaurant to get me to slice turkey for him while heaccidentallybrushes his hand across my ass.
Still, I’ve put on my favorite black sheath dress, the one that I wore to my college graduation, and I hope it makes me seem a lot more put together than I feel right now. Since I am now under the suspicion that the family I am trying to nanny for is more well-off than I first thought, I’m thinking a little false confidence will do me a world of good.
I mean, I love kids. And I learned working at the children’s hospital that they’re the target demographic of my terrible jokes, so that’s a plus. Besides, the entire reason that I am pursuing a career in occupational therapy is to try to be that person who is there for children when no one else seems to be—so with that in mind, this job should be a piece of cake, right?
That’s what I keep telling myself.
I swear the hostess can smell my vanilla body spray from Target, and she somehowknowsthis means I can’t afford the appetizers here, but she pastes on a smile, much to her credit, and leads me to a table after I give her my would-be employer’s name. Is this what it feels like to have pull? I take a seat in the silk-covered chair, feeling like a fish out of water amid the lit candles and the elegant music. Hell, I’m afraid to put my elbows on the table.
A waiter comes by to ask if I want to start with any appetizers, and since the hostess with the judgy eyes was absolutely right—I ask for water instead while I wait. I sip it as I wait for this Aiden guy to show up (seems kind of rude to be late to your own interview), trying to look like I totally eat at places like this all the time.
The restaurant itself is the nicest I’ve ever been in. I’ve never seen so many crystal centerpieces in my entire life, and Wanda would lose her shit if she saw the prices on the menu. I can’t wait to tell her later and watch her eyes bug out of her head.
“Excuse me,” someone says.
The deep voice murmured so closely to my ear nearly makes me choke on my water, a bit dribbling over my bottom lip and down my chin as I cough through it. I press the back of my hand there to try to wipe it away, noticing big hands in my now-blurred vision as a face comes into view.
Holy. Hell.
My brain short-circuits for a few seconds, trying to make sense of the sudden appearance of a large man with thick chestnut hair that’s pushed away from his forehead and strong jaw and stronger cheekbones, and is his mouth softer looking than mine? He’s tall too. Not the sort of tall that makes you think he plays basketball or something (although he totally could, if he wanted to), but the kind of tall that makes you want to ask him to grab something off the top shelf for you just so you can watch the way his shoulders move under his shirt. I realize this thought process makes little sense, but all I know is I am five seven with tits worth paying for, an ass built on squats and an emotional connection with bread, and this man makes me feeltiny.
And if these things aren’t enough to leave me dumbfounded (which I am, I mean, I’m literally drooling sparkling water)—his eyes would do the trick. I’ve heard of heterochromia; at the very least I’m pretty sure my biology professor mentioned it in passing when I was an undergrad, but I have never actually seen it in person. His eyes are a clash of one brown and one green, the colors not bright but subtle, like warm tea and seawater that are hard to look away from.
