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It’s his turn to look confused.
“I double majored in interior design and business at the University of Texas. I’m not a babysitter.”
“Laurel Jones said you did an excellent job keeping an eye on her little girls.”
“I was in high school when I watched those kids,” I growl.
“It would be mostly daytime hours,” he continues as if I hadn’t spoken. “The pay would come with an enhanced benefits package, including but not limited to—”
I zone out for a second, wondering when I turned into such an old lady that I might consider being his nanny after hearing the wordsbenefit package. Working for someone else isn’t what I’ve ever wanted to do. It’s why I started my own company in Austin, but medical and dental insurance is a big deal.
“As I said, I need stability in my boys’ lives. They need less chaotic days, and it’s not safe for them at the hardware store.”
If I recall correctly, Chase was practically raised at Wooden It Be Nice. His parents have owned the store for as long as I’ve been alive. Anytime Chase is brought up in a conversation, his dad, Henry, is always quick to assure people that his son will return one day to take over the family business. When I’d find an excuse to go to the store, however, he looked annoyed to even have to stand in the place.
“No,” I tell him, the only answer I can give him when I realize that instead of hearing his words, all I’m doing is staring at his lips.
I can argue with myself for years, tell everyone I meet that my hatred for this man is bone deep and will last longer than I will on this earth, but the truth of the matter is that he is blazing hot. His dark hair and bright blue eyes are thestuff fantasies are made of. If he sat there and didn’t ruin my day by opening his mouth, I could just stare at him and be entertained for a millennium.
“No?”
The fact that he sounds surprised, as if there wasn’t a chance that anyone could tell him no, makes my decision even stronger.
But then he smirks. I’d probably get lost in it if I didn’t recognize it as the same look he gave girls in high school when they were being mopey and putting on a show to get his attention. The man has always had the ability to turn any conversation to focus on him. Those girls had a hard time telling him no. I can recall no less than a handful of times I overheard just what he got up to in the wee hours of the night after he left the pasture parties. I refuse to fall prey to the charm.
“That look,” I say, pointing at him and making a circle with my hand to encompass his entire face. “That face doesn’t work on me.”
He presses his hand to his cheek as if he doesn’t have a damn clue what I’m talking about. His smile is slow, and I’ll be damned if my lips don’t mirror his for the briefest of seconds before I catch myself.
“I can pay you five thousand more than what I initially offered,” he says.
I was so lost in looking at him, I can’t even recall what his original offer was.
“No.” I shake my head, pressing my palms to the table as I start to stand.
He grabs my wrist, and I have to stare down at the connection in an effort to understand the jolt of energy the touch sends up my arm. I pull it away immediately.
“Sorry,” he mutters, pulling his hand back and shoving it into his lap. “I’m begging you. I need your help.”
“I can’t,” I tell him. “Have you spoken with Martha Prichard?”
“Bobby Jon Prichard’s wife?” He shakes his head as if it’s the most absurd suggestion.
“She ran the town daycare for years.”
“I don’t want daycare. I need a more personal touch. I ran into Martha Prichard at the grocery store three days ago, and the woman hadn’t remembered to put in her teeth before going out in public. She’d traumatize my boys in fifteen minutes. They’ve been through enough.”
Been through enough.
If that doesn’t hit me right in the chest. I hadn’t considered what a messy divorce would do to the kids. It’s not something I experienced growing up, but I can only imagine not seeing their mother for a long stretch of time is hard on them.
“Your mom said you don’t have a job, and that you just mope around the house all day.”
I grind my teeth. My mother has no business telling anyone such things, no matter how truthful they may be. The reminder of what my life has become hits me in the chest, making me realize just how much I need to get out from under my parents’ supervision.
“On one condition,” I say, holding my head up a little higher.
If the man is begging, that tells me I already have the upper hand.
