By the time Saturday rolls around, Aiden and I have already hammered out my schedule and the specifics of my salary. In that time, I’ve been able to convince myself that this is going to be a great gig, even if only to ease the nerves of living under a hot guy’s roof and hoping his kid doesn’t hate me. As sure as I am about my new career path, however, Wanda is not so convinced. The entire time I have spent finishing up bagging my clothes on the morning I’m supposed to head to Aiden’s (an easy task, given that there is so little I’ve collected over the years that I’ve deemed worth saving outside of the essentials), Wanda has taken it upon herself to interview me about my interview, grilling me for every detail about the mysterious man I’ll be living with all willy-nilly. (Her words, not mine.)
“What if he doesn’t even have a daughter?”
I roll my eyes. “He has a daughter.”
“It could all be some elaborate scheme to lure you to his house so he can lock you in his basement.”
“He lives in a town house,” I tell her. “I don’t even think they have basements.”
I’m not entirely sure about that, seeing as I’ve never been in one, but Wanda doesn’t have to know that.
“We need to think of some sort of code word.”
I pause from shoving socks into my overnight bag. “Code word?”
“Right.” Wanda nods thoughtfully from my couch/bed (all hail the futon). “In case he won’t let you speak freely.”
“How many Lifetime movies have you been watching?”
“You won’t think it’s very funny when he’s feeding you baby food and making you play dress-up.”
I laugh at that. “You know that’s actually a kink, right?”
“You’re kidding.”
Her shocked expression makes me laugh harder. “People pay good money to feed cute girls baby food and play dress-up.”
“Hot damn.” Wanda shakes her head. “Where was that when I was younger? Could have saved me a lot of shifts at the library.”
“You loved working at the library,” I remind her.
“I’d have loved it a hell of a lot more if someone had paid me to get naked in it.”
“In another life,” I chuckle, “you would have ruled the entire camgirl scene.”
“And don’t you forget it,” she tuts.
Even as I throw the last of the clothes from my closet into a bag, I feel her eyes watching me from across the room. I wait until the sack is full and tied off before I give her my attention. “What?”
“I just want you to be careful,” she says a little more gently. “There are a lot of weirdos out there.”
“I’m going to be fine,” I assure her, pretending that her concern doesn’t make me want to smile. She may be cantankerous ninety percent of the time, but Wanda cares about me more than my own mother ever bothered to. “I promise. It’s good money, and he was incredibly nice. I scoped his Facebook, too, and he has a daughter.” A pretty one too. Seriously, the genes in this family. “Besides, if the vibe is bad, I can leave, okay?”
“You kids and your vibes,” she grumbles. “When I was your age, we didn’t have vibes, we had instinct.”
“You realize it’s practically the same thing, right? Also, you could stop griping and help me pack something.”
Wanda crosses her arms. “Gotta rest my back. Got a bingo match tonight.”
I don’t ask for elaboration, not wanting to know if she needs to rest for bingo or for whoever she will inevitably bring home after. She and Fred Wythers got into a fight last week, so I imagine he’s on the outs.
“Aren’t you the one always saying that you’re old, not dead?” She gives me the finger, and I laugh. “Hey, did you know the middle finger is the fastest growing nail?”
“Oh, to hell with your damn Snapple facts.”
I bite back my smile as I give my attention back to packing. When the tiny space is packed away in various boxes and bags, I nod appreciatively at a job well done, thinking that the place looks bigger somehow when it’s mostly empty like this. The furniture stays, seeing as it was here when I got here. Plus, I won’t need it since I get my own furnished room at Aiden’s place.
There’s only a tiny flap of butterfly wings in my stomach when I am reminded that I will be under the same roof as Aiden Reid.
“I think that just about does it,” I tell Wanda.
“I guess so.” Wanda eyes the scattered bags on the floor. “I just know they’re going to let a weirdo come in here after you.”
“Maybe it will be your soulmate.”
Wanda snorts. “Don’t need one of those.”
You have to admire her independence, that’s for sure.
Wanda has never settled down in her long life, as far as I know, always bouncing from one man to the next. She makes it seem fun, don’t get me wrong, but surely it has to be lonely sometimes. I like to think that the two of us needed each other equally as much when we stumbled into each other’s lives. She became an unlikely surrogate mom and best friend all rolled into one, adopting me into her life and treating me like the kid she never had. I’m not entirely sure that I knew what real affection looked like before I met her.
“And you’re sure this is a good idea? You could still do the booby cams.”
I consider that, knowing that Wanda likes to live vicariously through my OnlyFans endeavors (seriously, this woman missed her true calling), and it would be easy money if I could build a following again, but I can’t bring myself to. Not after what happened.
“I’m sure.” I nod, mostly for myself. “You can tell me you’re going to miss me, you know.”
“Miss you?” She snorts as she pats me on the shoulder. “You don’t come visit, I’ll come looking for your ass.”
I pull her into a hug, breathing in the familiar scent of her White Diamonds perfume and a bit of talcum powder underneath that I’ve always found strangely comforting. “It’s going to be great. You’ll see.”
Wanda still looks unconvinced when she pulls away, and as I start to pile up what’s left of my things in preparation for the moving service that will bring the rest of my things tomorrow, I do my best to seem as confident about the whole thing as I’m pretending to be.
Aiden’s town house is located in a gated community, a quiet residential area of three-story homes lining the street. Aiden’s in particular has a cute little yard, lined with a block wall and closed off with an iron gate. My old Toyota parked in front looks out of place amid the rows and rows of shiny-looking town houses but to be fair, so do I. I check the house number one more time in my emails as I unlatch the gate, feeling only a little nervous as I approach the front door.
I pull the strap of my overnight bag tighter against my shoulder when I finally summon the courage to ring the doorbell, having packed only the essentials to get me through the night until everything else gets here tomorrow. Suddenly it’s hitting me that I will be living with virtual strangers, and what if Aiden is some kind of weirdo?
God.
I try to fish my phone out of my pocket to let Wanda know I’ve made it, managing to pull it halfway out before my bag slips from my shoulder and onto the ground, the only half-zipped opening allowing for some of my stuff to spill out onto the porch. I drop to my knees to start scooping the scattered items back in, thinking that this is the last thing I need, for my new boss to find me picking up my underwear outside his front door.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
And because the universe is a fickle bitch, this is exactly how Aiden Reid finds me. In the middle of a personal fiasco, cursing on his porch and holding my underwear. But then again, judging by the splotches of flour covering his black (fitted, it’s very fitted) T-shirt and matching black apron and even higher on his cheeks, not to mention the sticky . . . something that is dripping down the front of his pants (less fitted, but no less distracting), I think maybe this time we’re even.
“Are you”—my eyes take in his disheveled appearance—“okay?”
His eyes flick from my still-crouched form to the heart-patterned, neon-green underwear in my hand to my face. “Are you okay?”
“Oh.” The back of my neck heats as I hastily shove my underwear back into my bag, pulling the strap over my shoulder as I stand back up. “I’m fine. Just had an accident.” I’m actively choosing not to think about how Aiden just saw my underwear, pointing at the goop on his pants. “It looks like you had one too.”
Aiden makes a helpless face, and the quiet sigh that escapes him makes my stomach do something funny.
“Yeah.” He looks down at the mess on his shirt before giving me a sheepish grin. “Do you . . .” He bites his lip. I mustn’t dwell on this. “Do you happen to know anything about pancakes?”
“Pancakes?”
Aiden jerks his head in a nod, gesturing to the staircase behind him. “Come on up.”
I follow him out of the entryway and up the stairs to the second level, the top of the stairs spilling out into what seems to be the main living area and kitchen. I recognize a little girl at the counter in the kitchen as we approach, her hair the same shade as Aiden’s and her mouth pressed into a full pout. She looks terser than she did on Aiden’s Facebook. I also notice that the mess on Aiden’s shirt and pants extends to the kitchen floor and half of the countertop.
“We, ah . . . wanted to do something nice for you,” Aiden tells me. “For your first day here.”
“Dad wanted to,” the little girl grouses from her place at the counter, just loud enough for me to catch it.
Aiden shoots her a stern look. It looks good on him. I mustn’t dwell on this either. “We thought you might like pancakes, but, ah . . . This is embarrassing.”
“You seem to be having some trouble,” I point out with amusement. “I’ve never seen such a mess over pancakes.”
Aiden looks at his feet like a child who’s broken his mother’s vase and is reluctant to tell her. “I dropped the bowl of batter. It’s a disaster in here.”
“I can”—I let my eyes sweep down the front of him again, for purely investigative purposes, of course—“see that.”
“I’m . . . not very good at making pancakes,” he admits, almost like it pains him.
I cock my head. “Aren’t you a chef?”
“There are no pancakes on my menu.” His mouth does something that is dangerously close to a pout, and it shouldn’t work for a man his size, but it weirdly does. “Sophie says she doesn’t like them, but I’m pretty sure she just doesn’t like mine, so it’s personal now. I was trying a new recipe, but . . .” He gestures to the mess. “Obviously, it didn’t turn out the way I hoped.”
I flash him a grin, realizing he really does need some help. “Whew, boy.”
I drop my bag by the stairs as I take in the space. The kitchen is sleek and modern with black cabinets and a gray marble countertop—everything you might expect from an upscale house in this part of town. The tiles are a similar shade of gray, maybe lighter, going all the way to the edge of the open living room just beyond where it blends into soft-looking gray carpet that rests under black leather furniture.
I’m gathering Aiden isn’t very big on color here.
“This is a nice place,” I tell him. “I like what you’ve done with the, ah . . . color scheme.”
I peek back to find Aiden frowning. “I . . . like black.”
“I would have absolutely never guessed,” I tease. It dawns on me that he’s still covered in goo. “Right. Pancakes.” I scan the kitchen, searching. “Do you have another apron?”
Aiden rushes to a tall, slim cabinet just beside the black stainless steel fridge to pull out a (surprise) black apron. I throw it over my head, reaching behind me to tie the strings as I flash a smile toward the girl, who is still silently sizing me up at the counter.
“You must be Sophie,” I try. “I’m Cassie.”
“You’re my new nanny,” she says with only a hint of bitterness.
“I am. I heard you’ve had a few.”
“Only four,” she mutters.
“How old are you, Sophie?”
“Nine.”
“Wow. You’re practically grown up. I doubt you even need a nanny.”
“That’s what I said,” she huffs. “I can take care of myself.”
“Of course.” I nod seriously before leaning in closer to lower my voice. “Between you and me . . . I just needed some company. I don’t have many friends. Practically had to beg your dad to give me the job, you know?”
Sophie looks suspicious, her lips pressed together for a good number of moments before she finally casts her eyes down to the countertop. “I don’t have a lot of friends either.”
“Well . . . we could be friends. Maybe? What do you think?”
Sophie looks me up and down, seeming to consider. “You’re pretty,” she says finally.
“Not as pretty as you,” I gush. “Look at those freckles!”
Sophie narrows her eyes. “Freckles aren’t pretty.”
“You’re right,” I sigh as I prop my fists on my hips. “They’re gorgeous.”
Sophie rolls her eyes, but there’s a bit of a smile at her mouth as she does it. I notice she doesn’t have the same condition as her dad, but her eyes are the same soft green of his right eye, complementing the pretty shade of her hair. She’s adorable now, but I can already tell she’s going to be a real knockout when she gets older. Seriously, the genes.
“Right,” I say again. “So let’s clean up your first attempt, shall we?”
Aiden still looks utterly dumbfounded, like he still can’t believe he could have messed up such a universally known thing at his level of culinary prowess, but silently trudges to that same slim cabinet to pull out a broom and a wet mop.
“Sorry,” he tells me. “We really did want to try and do something nice.”
I shrug, pulling the elastic from my wrist and reaching to tie up my hair. “It’s fine. Sophie and I have got this, right?”
“Why do I have to help?”
“I need a capable assistant if I’m going to make pancakes,” I say seriously. “You look like the perfect girl for the job.”
She still doesn’t look like she trusts me very much, but her desire for pancakes must exceed her wariness of me, and she tentatively hops from the barstool to cautiously cross the kitchen to stand beside me. “I guess so.”
She absolutely doesn’t smile.
I like her already.
The second attempt at pancakes goes much smoother than the first, the mess cleared away and one very large chef (but not pancake maker) and his little mini me humming around syrup and cake.
“These are so good,” Sophie gushes. “Dad never gets them right. They’re always too mushy.”
“Oh, so you do like them,” Aiden snorts. He looks down at the pancakes like they’ve offended him. “I should buy an actual mixer.”
I smile around my fork. “How do you not own a mixer?”
“I don’t bake a lot.”
“Clearly,” I say with a grin. “You know they have a box mix.”
“A box mix goes against every fiber of my being,” Aiden scoffs.
I keep my expression serious, pointing to the soaking dishes in his sink with my fork. “Yes. Clearly this is better.”
“Cassie has to make all the pancakes from now on,” Sophie says matter-of-factly.
Aiden shares a grateful look with me, and it takes a lot of effort on my part not to let my gaze linger on the clashing brightness of his eyes.
“I think for the safety of your dad’s kitchen, that’s best,” I deadpan.
Aiden stifles a laugh. “Everyone’s a critic.”
When the plates are empty and the forks are clattering against them, Sophie pats her belly with a satisfied sound, a content little smile on her face. “You’re all right, I guess,” she tells me, quickly masking her smile into a more stern expression. “But you can’t come into my room.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I assure her. “You can come into mine, though, if you want. I have board games coming with my stuff tomorrow.” I look back over at Aiden. “Where is my room, by the way?”
“Oh. Yeah. Of course.” He slides from the barstool, pulling his apron over his head as the muscles in his biceps roll and flex against the fitted cotton of his sleeves. It’s not something I’ve ever found myself noticing on a man, biceps against sleeves. “It’s back downstairs. I can show you . . . ?”
“Awesome.” I hop down from my own stool, grabbing the bag I left by the stairs and slinging it over my shoulder. “Lead the way.”
“So the whole first floor will be yours,” Aiden tells me when we’re near the bottom landing. “The bedroom has an attached bath, and there’s a TV in there, so you should have everything you need, but you can just ask if there’s something else I need to get you.”
Aiden gestures to the door right off the entryway so that I can open it, and beyond is a room nearly bigger than my entire apartment. The queen-sized four-poster is covered with thick, gray (shocker) bedding; the chest of drawers and end tables are a sleek black that matches the rest of the house decor. I gape around the room in awe, trying to think back to a time when I’ve slept in a bed this nice. If ever.
“If you want to change something,” Aiden says quietly behind me, “we can—”
“It’s perfect. Seriously, this is nicer than my whole apartment.”
I hear Aiden sigh in relief. “Good. I want you to be comfortable here.”
“Really struck out in the nanny department, huh?”
“You have no idea.” Aiden leans against the doorframe. “She’s been through a lot. I think that’s why she acts out sometimes. I’m always trying my best to get her to open up and talk about it, but she’s . . .” He breathes in through his nose just to blow it out his mouth, shaking his head. “It’s like we speak a different language, sometimes.”
“Did something . . .” I drop my bag to the carpet, reaching to scratch at my neck awkwardly. “I hope I’m not overstepping, but I thought I should . . . Just so I don’t say something insensitive by accident, you know. Sophie’s mother . . . is she . . . ?”
He doesn’t answer for a moment, chewing at his lip as if trying to decide how to broach the subject. I know there has to be a story, and I hate asking on my very first day, but I hate the thought of accidentally putting my foot in my mouth at some point because I don’t know even more.
“She passed away,” Aiden says finally, half whispering. “Almost a year ago. Stroke.”
“Oh God.” I had expected a bad divorce or something. Not that. “That’s terrible. I’m really sorry for your loss.”
“It was . . . sudden. None of us expected it. She was so young, after all.” Aiden sighs, running his fingers through his hair. “She was great,” he tells me. “An amazing mom. She was a lot better at this than I ever was. I’m still figuring out how to do this without her.”
I suddenly feel so much worse about all my lingering thoughts of his catcher’s mitt hands, voluntary or not. “I really am sorry,” I say lamely. “How long were you married?”
Aiden’s eyebrows scrunch together. “What? Oh. No. We weren’t. We weren’t even together.” I must look confused. That must be why Aiden chooses to clarify. “Sophie was . . . ah, unexpected. Rebecca and I met at a party during our senior year in college and were seeing each other casually for a little while. When Rebecca found out she was pregnant, we attempted an actual relationship, but it was pretty clear early on that it was never going to work out between us. We did our best to co-parent as smoothly as we could though. For Sophie’s sake.”
“Oh.” I look down at my shoes, still feeling awkward. “I’m sure it’s been rough for Sophie.”
“It has,” Aiden agrees. “Sorry for dumping this on you. I thought it might help you understand her better. If you knew.”
“No, I’m glad you told me,” I say honestly. “Thank you.”
“Truth be told, I could have been there more these last few years. When I was promoted to executive chef everything got so hectic, and I . . . I didn’t make the time I should have for her. I’m paying for it now.”
I feel a twinge of sympathy for Sophie then, knowing exactly what it’s like to come second to a parent’s career. Still. Aiden seems to be trying now, at least.
“I mean . . . it’s never too late, though, right?” I try for an encouraging smile. “She’s still so young. You’ll figure it out.”
Aiden gives me a similarly soft smile. “I hope you’re right.”
The big room seems smaller now that I’m just standing there like an idiot, smiling at the pretty man in my doorway, and I finally have to pull the old distracted look around the room, pretending to admire the painting of . . . oh. Is that smoke? Abstract smoke? I really have to sneak some color into this house.
“Okay.” Aiden must sense my awkward energy, since he chooses right now to push away from the doorframe. “Well. I’ll . . . let you unpack then.”
“I don’t have much,” I admit. “The rest is coming tomorrow.”
“Right. Well. I can finish showing you around when you’re done. The living area is all on the second floor. Mine and Sophie’s rooms are on the third.”
“Cool,” I say.
Why is that cool? Why did I say that it was? Do people even say cool anymore?
“I’ll leave you to it then,” Aiden says.
I don’t breathe until he’s out of sight, cursing under my breath at my very uncool behavior, acting like I’ve never seen a hot guy before. But then again, I actually haven’t ever lived with a hot guy before. Especially not one who attempts (and fails, but it’s sort of cute) at pancakes and worries about how to connect with his kid.
It’s a job, I remind myself. It’s just a job.
I bet Aiden’s bedding is black too.
Not that I’m thinking about it.
It’s the first gift anyone’s ever sent me.
The packaging is sleek, but it’s what’s inside that really grabs my attention.
The toy is bigger than anything I’ve used before, and I gulp just pulling it out of the box. Can I even take something this big? I pick up the note that came with it, a strange thrill coursing through me as I consider the fact that one man out there wants to watch me use this. That he’s out there imagining it right now.
I can’t wait to watch you use this. —A
