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Cole blows me a saliva bubble. Mary sighs.
Silence stretches.
Wait… “Are you speaking to me?”
“It’s Octavia,” I say tightly as I sit down across from him and his kids. “Not girl.”
“You’re a girl,” he says, his voice low and flat. “Are you even legal?”
“You can rest assured I’m eighteen and perfectly legal,” I spit out the words.
What is it with this guy that brings out the worst in me?
Oh, right. His unbelievable rudeness.
Something shifts in his expression, and a flash of what looks like amusement crosses his gaze.
It annoys me even more, so I draw in a breath and let it out slowly.
You need this job, I remind myself.
I do.
“Look. I’ll feed the children, clean them up, play with them, keep them safe until you come home. Tell me when you need me here, let me take notes about their allergies and any medical conditions I should be aware of, their eating and napping preferences, their favorite games.” I stop to draw breath. “I promise I’m reliable, Mr. Hansen.”
“I said, call me Matt.” He’s observing me from under his lashes, and it strikes me that they’re very long and thick.
Absurdly long. Too pretty on a guy that looks—and acts—like a shaggy beast with a stick up his ass.
“Matt,” I concede.
I’ve been calling him that in my mind for so long that it’s a relief. I’d been afraid to slip up.
Mary who has been trying to braid her hair all this time and has apparently given up, tugs on her dad’s muscular arm. “Her name is Tati.”
I grin. “That’s right.”
“Tati,” Cole tries, and the way he says it is so frigging cute my heart melts.
How can an ogre like him have such picture-perfect kids? They could be starring in kids’ ads, Mary with her golden curls, and Cole with his wide smile.
One look at their father’s stormy gaze tells me he’d never allow anything like that, or anything else that’s fun.
My hands clench in my lap.
“They want a kitten,” he says wearily. “No way am I letting them have one. In case they ask for one.”
“All right.” Asshole.
“I work nine to five. Be here at half past eight, and be on time.”
“I will be. Anything else?”
He rubs his forehead. The gesture speaks of tiredness, and I don’t like how my heartstrings twinge in sympathy. “Just… look after them,” he whispers.
Crap. Low blow, right into my gut. Combined with the flicker of pain in his eyes, his soft voice asking me to take care of his kids twists me up inside.
“I will,” I vow. “I’ll make sure they’re okay while you’re away.” A thought strikes me. “Will their mother be visiting?”
