Gettin' Hitched: The H Books, #1

By Tracy Broemmer

A nannying position might be just the thing for Jill-of-all-trades Mercedes Ingalls, especially if it frees up some of her weekends. But after just one day at the Moore's house, Mercedes realizes being a nanny is much more than a job. She's head over heels for Maisy and Eli. And the dad's pretty easy on the eyes…

 

Nanny rule number one: Love the kids, not the dad.

 

Single dad Nick Moore needs help with his kids now that his old babysitter is unavailable. With school starting soon, his ex-wife apparently allergic to motherhood, and his own crazy hours at work, he's desperate enough to hire the first girl he interviews. And not just because she's pretty…

 

Dad rule number one: Do not entertain inappropriate thoughts about the nanny.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tracy Broemmer
• Release date: Dec 6, 2019
• ISBN: 9781951637033

Book preview

1

Mercedes Ingalls slowed her car to a stop and leaned forward to squint through the windshield at the big brick home to her right. An ornate wooden front door, flanked on both sides by ornate sidelights, gave the two-story brick house a snooty, aristocratic appearance. But the bike thrown down in the front yard and the soccer goal tipped over near the drive were clearly the mark of kids, and though Mercedes thought Nicholas Moore’s kids were too young to ride bikes that size, she pulled her little Corolla over to the curb to park.

She consulted her phone again, where she’d typed the Moore address into her notes app. 4769 Stardust. Her maxi skirt felt all wrong now. If the Moore kids were old enough to ride a bike that size, somehow wearing a maxi skirt to the interview felt wrong. Maybe she should have worn khakis.

Too late to worry about it now, Cedes, she mumbled as she swung her car door shut. The mailboxes out here were the fancy kind covered in bricks made to look like miniature houses. No numbers visible anywhere, so she couldn’t be sure this was 4769. A beat-up pickup truck was parked across the street, and the garage door at that house was open. But there was no one in sight to ask if she was at Nicholas Moore’s house, so she would just have to ring the doorbell and find out.

Mercedes eyed the pristine lawn as she made her way up the driveway. The bike and the soccer goal felt terribly out of place with the perfectly trimmed edges of grass and the vividly colored flowers in what appeared to be professionally done landscaping. An electronic beat pounded faintly from deep inside the house as Mercedes stepped up on the porch and lifted her hand to press the doorbell with her thumb.

She drew her hand away from the doorbell and studied the chipped robin’s egg blue polish on her thumbnail. If she got this job, she could maybe start doing professional manicures again. Or at least, maybe she could afford a new bottle of nail polish. What she had now was old and chunky.

When no one answered the door—probably hadn’t heard the bell with that music blaring inside—she looked over her shoulder and spotted a guy across the street. He appeared to be heading to the truck at the curb. Mercedes shifted her weight on her feet and turned to get a better look at him. Her movement must have caught his eye, because he waved and hollered hello. Deciding she might have better luck asking him about where Nicholas Moore lived, she stepped off the porch and headed back down the drive.

Hey.

Hi. She flashed him a smile as she crossed the street. Any chance you can tell me which house is Nicholas Moore’s?

This is Nick’s house. The guy met her in the middle of the drive. Mercedes eyed the way his longish, brown hair curled at his crew cut shirt collar and the shock of the same curls that fell over his eyebrow. Broad shoulders filled out the faded brown T-shirt—Mercedes thought the letters across the front spelled race, but the letters, too, were faded, and given that the body under the letters appeared to be textbook perfection, she didn’t want to stare too hard. Loose board shorts hung on his hips, though he was anything but scrawny. His long lean legs had been kissed by the sun⁠—

Mercedes gave herself a mental shake. She’d been reading too many romance novels. Time to switch gears and read a thriller or a spy novel. Anything but something that talked about sun-kissed skin and finely chiseled lips and the perfect amount of scruff⁠—

Doorbell doesn’t work, the guy told her as he offered her both a friendly smile and a handshake. Are you here about the babysitting thing?

Nanny, she mumbled, wondering if this guy was actually Nick Moore. Could she be that lucky? She nodded when she realized she had barely mumbled the word and the guy was watching her curiously. Not only was his body textbook perfection, so was his face. Classic bone structure, a perfect arch in his thick eyebrows, and eyes the color of the ocean as the sun sank in the west and darkness merged with the lighter blue waters.

I’m Parker, he told her. Nick’s brother.

Of course, this couldn’t be Nicholas.

Mercedes caught herself before a disappointed sigh could slip out. It didn’t matter what Nicholas looked like; she was here to score a nanny position, not a date with the dad. Who was probably married, although nowhere in the five-line job description and contact information did it say anything other than Nicholas Moore.

No matter, Mercedes reminded herself. She wasn’t interested in finding a date. She wanted a job. Specifically, a job that would give her some nights and weekends off.

Mercedes.

The guy had a firm grip, and if anything, his smile grew bigger and more inviting, but there was no telltale romance-novel zing. She didn’t have a sudden urge to hold tight to his hand or to snuggle up close to him and press her face to his.

Nick’s inside. In the office.

Okay. She nodded as the guy dropped her hand and backed away slowly. The worn flip-flops that completed his outfit screamed surfer dude, but being that they were standing in midwestern Illinois and nowhere near a coast, she doubted he had a surfboard stashed in the truck bed.

As if she would simply know where the office was once inside the house, the guy turned and headed down the drive to his truck. Mercedes watched him for a second, but she shifted her gaze back to the house and wondered what Nicholas would be like.

Should she just go on in? Parker’s words and actions kind of insinuated that she should. Behind her, the truck came to life with a pretty, low rumble, bringing to mind exes who drove monster trucks and motorcycles. Mercedes chuckled as she tapped on the front door. Rather than stand here and wait and hope Nicholas heard her—she was already late—she twisted the knob and when she found it unlocked, she pushed it open just a smidge.

She peeked her head into a neat little entry way. Slate gray tiles on the floor in front of the door butted up against the snowy white carpet of the living room. A black baby grand dominated the far side of the room, though a big screen TV hung on the east wall. Two gray wing-backed chairs faced the piano, a white leather loveseat faced the TV.

Mercedes held her breath as she stepped inside. Kids lived here? And the carpet was still white?

Mr. Moore? she called now as she pushed the door closed behind her. Mr. Moore, it’s Mercedes. Your brother said the doorbell doesn’t work.

She heard a deep male voice rambling about technology—something about design and protocol, not that she cared. The voice grew louder to her right. She looked up just as another beautiful man appeared at the end of a hallway on the east side of the house. There was a resemblance between this guy and the brother who had just left. Nicholas Moore had the same eye color; though his hair was a bit lighter, definitely shorter. A little long for business casual, but Mercedes liked the way it curled over the collar of his dress shirt.

When their eyes met, she started to say something, but he gave her a slight shake of his head. He lifted his finger to stop her and spoke again, this time talking about numbers and projections. He turned his head just enough that Mercedes saw he had a Bluetooth earpiece in his right ear. She closed her mouth, prepared to wait him out.

She let her gaze roam to a small formal dining room to her left. The ornate white marble table could seat six. The upright iron chairs covered in dove grey cushions looked pretentious and uncomfortable. Abstract art in shades of grays and golds hung on the southern wall. The longer Mercedes stared at the twisted lines and splashes of color, the more her head hurt. Instead, she turned to look her fill at Nicholas Moore while he was otherwise occupied.

He wore charcoal gray trousers—they were expensive, Mercedes could tell from looking—and a lavender dress shirt. The collar was unbuttoned; his sleeves were rolled up to reveal his forearms. A fancy gold watch decorated his left wrist, but his fingers were bare.

Which, Mercedes reminded herself, didn’t mean anything. Some men didn’t wear wedding rings.

Not that it mattered one way or another to her.

She noticed he was wearing wingtips and wondered if he always appeared this uptight or if it was simply the hassle of hiring a new nanny. Or…a nanny. Did they have to let someone go? Or maybe their nanny quit or moved away?

Mercedes?

She wondered where the kids were now. It was awfully quiet in here for children of any age, and though the description hadn’t specifically said how many children of what age, Mercedes thought there should be some kind of noise.

Poor kids.

She couldn’t imagine living in a beautiful, cold house like this when she was younger. She and her brother had been holy terrors when they were kids; thankfully, her parents had given them a lot of freedom to grow up and learn on their own. Some people thought she and Aaron had too much freedom. Mercedes thought some people had too much time on their hands if they needed to worry so much about how she and Aaron were raised.

Ms. Ingalls?

She snapped to attention at the use of her last name. Nicholas Moore pulled the Bluetooth piece from his ear and stared at her expectantly now.

Yes.

We can talk in the office.

2

After following Nicholas Moore a few steps down the hall, Mercedes hesitated. She examined the snowy white carpet around her feet and wondered if she should have taken her shoes off. How in the heck was this carpet so white if kids lived here? She snuck a quick peek at the man leading the way to the office and felt a smidge of relief when she remembered he was wearing shoes. Still, he lived here.

Drop something?

She jumped at his voice and looked up quickly. Up close to him, he looked bigger. He was taller than she’d originally thought, and his shoulders and chest were wide and thick. Mercedes swallowed hard in the face of his impatience. Maybe he had a jammed schedule this afternoon. So what if it was already five? Maybe he had meetings scheduled until seven. Maybe he had five more women to interview for the nanny position, and she was holding him up.

No. She shook her head and offered him a small smile. He held the eye contact for a moment, just long enough for Mercedes to wonder what he was thinking. Definitely as good-looking as the brother who had just left in that black pickup, but nowhere near as open and friendly.

Then again, he was looking for someone to care for his children. Good reason to stay focused on the task at hand.

I…um. She laughed softly, all the while wondering what the hell her problem was. She didn’t get nervous about jobs or interviews. Or guys. Granted, she wasn’t here to ask this guy out, but butterflies the size of bomber jets were doing flybys in her belly right now. Just. The carpet. She waved at it and raised her eyebrows.

What about it? Nicholas Moore lowered his gaze to the floor and studied it like they were kids pretending the floor was lava. Not that he seemed too concerned about the possibility of dying in the lava, that he needed to jump up on a chair or something to survive. When another giggle slipped out, he lifted his head to look at her, eyebrow raised in question. What?

Sorry. She flashed him a big grin. I was just thinking the floor might be lava. But I mean, Aaron and I never…like…lingered in the lava, so I don’t know what happens now.

What? He frowned, studied her like she was speaking a foreign language. Right about now, Mercedes wished she did speak anything other than English, so she could offer a quick apology, duck out, and run fast and far away.

Nothing. She shook her head. Sorry. Would you prefer it if I took my shoes off?

Still, he stared at her like she was rattling nonsense.

Your carpet is spotless, she tried again. Some people prefer guests don’t wear shoes on their carpet.

She cringed and waited for Nicholas Moore—tightlipped and ultra-serious—to remind her she was not a guest in his home.

No. He shook his head. No, it’s fine. Just. He nodded his head toward an open door on the right side of the hall, as if she should just follow him. Mercedes stared at his retreating back and finally started walking again.

Okay.

His shoulders and back expanded on what Mercedes assumed was a deep breath as he rounded the desk and tossed the Bluetooth earpiece down. She took a quick survey of his office, relieved to finally see evidence of kids. Not enough to warm her, but there were a few framed pictures on a credenza to the left of the monstrous wooden desk. If Nicholas Moore didn’t already make her nervous, the heavy, expensive-looking furniture would do the trick.

Tell me about yourself. The black leather chair behind the desk creaked as he sat. Mercedes blinked at him and then let her eyes roam over the open file folder in front of him. Her resume topped a small pile of papers.

A little twist of nerves threaded through her belly. She wanted the job. The pile of papers had to be other resumes, other people he planned to interview. She hadn’t even met the kids yet. Didn’t know how many children Nicholas Moore had or how old they were. She hadn’t even ventured closer to the credenza to see the pictures better, but she wanted the job.

For more reasons than those she’d had in mind when she’d answered the ad in the paper. Sure, she was tired of working nights and weekends, but this was something deeper. Had nothing to do with the drop-dead gorgeous tightass behind the desk, either.

Well, maybe a tiny little piece of her wouldn’t mind seeing that face every day.

But something told her Nicholas Moore’s kids needed her.

She started to speak, to answer him, but it hit her that she didn’t know what to say. This guy—in his trousers and dress shirt this late in the day—was a college-educated career man. She’d put in her two years for an associate degree and hated every single second wasted there. She was a graduate of life, of hard knocks and good upbringing, of life’s ups and downs, and though she didn’t regret quitting school after two years, she wondered if that would be a strike against her in Nicholas Moore’s book.

What do you want to know? The words tumbled out of her mouth before she knew she was going to speak. She held her breath when he stared at her wide-eyed, seemingly just as shocked as she was by her question.

He huffed out a quick breath and leaned forward to pick up her resume. Mercedes, still standing in front of the desk, nibbled on her lower lip as he scanned it. This was probably it. He would notice she didn’t have a four-year degree. She didn’t have any special child development classes, no child psychology background. He would thank her for her time and show her the door.

Two years at Averill Community? He looked up at her with that sharp gaze, but his question sounded more curious than condescending. Sit down. As if surprised to find that she was still on her feet, he waved her into a chair and turned his attention back to the paper in his hand. Are you a student?

No. She took a deep breath as she perched on the edge of the chair closest to the door.

Nicholas Moore put the paper down and propped an elbow on the desk. Mercedes felt the intensity in his gaze burn through her, like he was trying to read her mind. He rested his chin in his hand and arched his brows, waiting for her to go on. Still having no idea what to say, Mercedes figured it was time to talk, or he would be walking her out of the house to move on to the next applicant.

I hated school.

So. He shrugged. You’re twenty-seven, and no degree, and⁠—

I’ve worked since I was fifteen, Mr. Moore. She met his eyes now and stared at him boldly. She wouldn’t argue that she had an associate degree, because she knew it didn’t mean much in the real world. I worked at Frannie’s when I was fifteen.

Doing what?

I started out bussing tables, she answered. Moved up to waitressing. Stayed there until Frannie sold the place, and the city demolished the building. I was twenty-one at the time. From there I got a job at a bar. I do some work from home now and then. I’ve worked at four bars since then. I waitress at Zaltan’s⁠—

What do you do from home? he interrupted her.

Mercedes blinked. Well, I blog, she mumbled and continued before he could question her on her claim that blogging was a job, I’ve done a lot of odd jobs. I spent six weeks in Mississippi last summer, house and dog sitting.

And right now?

Right now, I work at Zaltan’s Pizzeria most weekends. She tipped her chin up. And I work at The Tulip Tree.

What’s that?

A boutique downtown. She bit her lip before she could suggest that his wife or ex-wife or girlfriend most likely knew what The Tulip Tree was. Sarcasm would get her nowhere, and she most definitely wasn’t fishing.

Well, okay, yes, she did want to know about the woman in his life. But not for her. Why wasn’t the mother of his children doing the interviewing for a nanny position? He wasn’t wearing a wedding band, so yes, he could be divorced. But wouldn’t the mother of his children want to be involved in, if not in charge of, this process?

What if he’s a widow, Cedes?

Well, then, his kids needed her more than ever.

What do you do at Zaltan’s?

I waitress, she answered simply.

Don’t you want more? He sat back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap to study her.

No. She shook her head and waited for him to grill her about a college education. God knows, her own father had. Still did, on occasion.

Do you have children? he asked.

Mercedes started to point out that she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. To tell him she wasn’t married, but she caught herself again. Whether or not she was married had nothing to do with it. She could still have kids.

No.

Nieces or nephews?

No. But⁠—

But you think you’re qualified to care for my children. He narrowed his eyes at her. Why? Because you spent six weeks dog sitting last summer?

Mercedes drew back as if he’d taken a physical jab at her.

I babysat a lot through high school. Her calm voice belied the flash of anger his comment had ignited. Through the two years at Averill. Still do. A lot of my friends have kids.

Are you involved with anyone?

Does that matter? She shook her head, confused by the question. Her heart did a little leap in her chest, but her brain told it to put a lid on it and shut up.

Just want to make sure you can be available whenever I need you.

Does that mean you won’t have set hours?

I will, actually. He cleared his throat. I work a lot of hours, and Kiara works just as many, so she isn’t available to help. I’m out of the house by seven thirty most days. There are times I’m gone until eight. Maisy starts kindergarten in, like, two weeks. Three weeks. And Eli starts preschool the week after. So, we’ll need someone here in the mornings. Maisy’s kindergarten is all day. We’ll need someone to put her on the bus in the mornings⁠—

Who’s Kiara?

Seven thirty in the morning? Until eight at night? While Mercedes wasn’t always a morning person, it wasn’t that she didn’t want to work so early. Or that she couldn’t be around until late in the evenings. But how could a parent want to put his kids in someone else’s hands for so many hours in a day? Did Nicholas Moore ever even see his kids?

My ex-wife, he answered.

Though she’d expected that, the words hit her in the heart. Neither parent could be around for their kids? Mercedes resisted the urge to look around the room. It was obvious just from the short walk through the entry way and down the hall to the office that they weren’t hurting for money.

Okay. She nodded.

Eli’s preschool program is a two-day-a-week thing. I would need you to put him on the bus. Get him from the bus after school. And I would need you all day on Monday through Wednesday.

Okay.

And occasionally, there might be evenings when I need someone to watch them.

For dates, she figured. For those times when this super important businessman had to escape the confines of his grueling office and find a hot chick in stilettos to fuck so he could relieve some tension and go back at it hard the next day.

Never mind the image she’d just painted in her head and what that image did to her girl parts. Dear God, Cedes, these kids do need you.

Okay.

Can you be available for those times?

She would have to change her hours at The Tulip Tree, but Mercedes knew that wouldn’t be a problem. Her best friend owned the boutique, and there were enough people to pick up any hours she might have to cut.

What about Friday evenings? I usually work at Zaltan’s.

He considered her words for a moment. Okay. He nodded and leaned forward again. Mercedes watched him as he scanned her resume again. Her eyes followed his hand when he scrubbed it over the top of his head and then dragged his fingers over his cheek. He looked exhausted suddenly, but she refused to feel sorry for him. She and her dad had gone round and round over her schooling and her decision to work odd jobs that didn’t pay much, but she knew without a doubt that her dad loved her. They were a close family, and her parents had always made time for her and Aaron when they were little. She hated to judge someone she didn’t know, but she hated when parents couldn’t make time for their children.

Are they here?

I’m sorry? He lifted only his eyes to look at her.

The kids. She licked her lips. Are they here?

No. He shook his head. Mercedes felt a little stick of disappointment. She wanted to meet them. After all, she might be working for Nicholas and Kiara, but she would spend the majority of her time with the kids. If he—if they—hired her. And yet, she was relieved to know that the kids weren’t here, chained up and gagged to be kept quiet while their father conducted interviews. They’re with my dad.

He looked away, so he didn’t see her nod. Mercedes chanced another peek at the framed photos across the room, looking for evidence of the ex-wife. But from where she was sitting, she saw no one that looked like an adult in any of the frames. Again, she wondered why he was conducting the interviews. Why wasn’t Kiara asking the questions while Nick hung out with the kids?

Maisy is five, he told her. She’s into bugs.

Great. She flashed him a big smile.

And movies. She doesn’t sleep much. At night. So, she’s not allowed to have caffeine. Ever. She’s allergic to latex, too. And she’s scared of cats.

Okay, she drew the word out to sound like it had five a’s.

Eli doesn’t talk, he continued. We’ve had him tested by a speech pathologist. And his verbal comprehension is above and beyond that of a three-year-old. But he uses gestures to get what he wants, and Kiara and I haven’t been able to get him to speak. Maisy says⁠—

He cut himself off with a firm shake of his head and glanced at her. Mercedes sensed that he hadn’t meant to reveal so much, but now that he had, she was dying to know what he’d been about to say.

Okay.

Can you start tomorrow?

Um. Mercedes stared at him silently and tried to process what had just happened. They hadn’t even discussed her pay, but she was ready to say yes.

It’s only August, I know. And school doesn’t start for a little bit, but I’m desperate. Kiara’s in Montreal, and I have a trip to New Orleans next week. She was supposed to be here for this⁠—

Again, he stopped talking. But this time, he refused to meet her eyes.

Mercedes drew in a slow, deep breath. Yes, she still wanted the job, and it hit her as she stared over the desk at a man committed to his job and most likely a stranger to his children, that he might need her around just as much as the kids did. Someone needed to teach him how to love. Mercedes ignored the ocean blue eyes and the curl of his hair around the collar of his shirt. This guy didn’t need a woman; he needed to learn to love his children.

I can be here tomorrow.

Fingers in his hair, he stared at her silently.

Do you need me here at seven?

She prayed he would say no. Because his kids deserved more than to wake up to a complete stranger in their house and their father gone to the office.

No. He shook his head. Maybe nine? I can introduce you to them?

I’ll be here.

3

You hired the first girl you interviewed?

Nick cut Parker a look over the top of the island counter. Eli nudged him with his warm, pudgy little fingers. He glanced down at his son, who was studying the slice of toast in his hand with the fierceness of a lion prowling the safari for breakfast. Nick spread grape jelly over the toast, cut it in half diagonally—the way Eli liked it—and then set the butter knife in the sink. On his knees at the counter, Eli watched Nick carry the plate across the room to put it on the table.

She was qualified, Nick mumbled with a shrug.

She was gorgeous, Parker corrected him.

Nick went back to the counter and held his hands out to Eli. The little boy climbed happily into his arms and rested his head on Nick’s shoulder.

Didn’t notice, Nick lied as he leaned over to set Eli in a chair across the table from Parker.

Oh, I’m sure you didn’t, Parker agreed. Maisy sat on his knee. He tugged on her ponytail and grinned when she turned her head to look at him. I’m not sure you know what a woman is, bro. I’m just shocked you didn’t run a million background checks on her and stuff.

Nick grabbed his coffee mug and then joined his brother and kids at the table. He hadn’t dressed for work yet, because they were waiting for Mercedes, and he’d learned from experience that hanging out in the kitchen around Eli and jelly had the potential to be disastrous. At the table, he crossed his right foot over his left knee and sipped his coffee.

She had this look, he mumbled. Maybe he would have preferred that the woman he hired had a college degree, but there was something about Mercedes that made it seem less important. She wasn’t a nervous, rambling college kid looking for summer work. She didn’t strike him as a moony-eyed girl there to flirt with him, either, and God knew, he’d dealt with a few of those even before he and Kiara were divorced. Mercedes Ingalls had impressed him as being entirely capable of anything she decided to do.

Mm-hmm. Parker nodded, eyes on Eli. I’m saying she had quite a look.

When Parker looked up, Nick rolled his eyes. She wasn’t nervous, he tried to explain, though he knew he sounded pathetic. And not because Parker suspected he’d hired the girl because she was pretty. Nick hadn’t had a date in at least eight months, hadn’t had sex in at least that long, though he had a co-worker trying to change that, and mostly—he hated that his little brother knew this—he didn’t care. Between his job and the kids, he was too damned tired these days to miss a woman’s company.

Yep. Parker tugged Maisy’s ponytail again and then flinched when she squealed and turned to give him the angry eye. I’m sure Kiara will be on board. Odd jobs. No college degree. Pretty eyes. You didn’t check references.

Since when do we care⁠—

Maisy whipped her head around to look at him, her big brown eyes sparkling with energy. He stopped talking; he and Kiara hadn’t exactly had an amicable split, but he didn’t want to rip on her in front of the kids. Eyes on his daughter’s face, he still saw the comical look Parker gave him.

We don’t, Parker agreed. But you’re going to get an earful.

Nick nodded.

I could put out some feelers. He reached for his son, jabbed him gently in the sides. Eli grinned, but there was no laughter. No quit it, daddy!

Now? You’re gonna check her references now?

Kiara’s in Montreal, he reminded Parker. He’d talked to Kiara last night after Mercedes left. Though, he’d been the one to broach the subject and assure her he was handling the nanny search. Sadly, if Kiara were to question him, it would be a power play, not because she was concerned about her kids.

Dude. Parker arched his brows. There was a loud knock at the front door. Eli turned his wide eyes to him. "The nanny’s not gonna be thrilled about you hiring her and then putting out feelers."

Who’s here, Daddy? Maisy called after him as he made his way back through the house to let Mercedes in. Still annoyed with Parker for the feelers comment, Nick swept his gaze around the entry hall, looking at it through her eyes. Hell, the house was gorgeous. Something right out of House Beautiful. Like a set for a photo shoot. Not a place to raise kids.

Hi. He pulled the door open to find Mercedes on the porch, turned away from the door. The skirt yesterday had messed with him. The women he interacted with on a daily basis dressed in power suits. Pencil skirts and jackets. They looked professional, which wasn’t to say they weren’t attractive. But Mercedes’ flowy maxi skirt was feminine and sweet, and when he’d first seen her in the entry hall, his dick had shot to attention, ready for a meet and greet.

Inconvenient, but then that head never did much thinking, so it shouldn’t have been a surprise.

Today, worn, faded denim molded her slender legs and sweet little ass. Nick sucked in a quick breath and mentally cursed himself. He should have told her he would call her after going through the other resumes. Maybe he would have found an older, grandmotherly type to care for his kids. Someone a bit easier on his dick.

Hi. She turned to him with a small smile on her pale lips. He hadn’t imagined the way her choppy blond hair had framed her cheekbones and set off her big green eyes. She was stunning again today.

Nick nodded for her to come in, careful to step back and put plenty of space between them as she did. Still, she was close enough that he smelled coconut butter mixed with something slightly sweet and rich. He squeezed his eyes closed for a second, grateful for the loose-fitting athletic shorts he’d pulled on this morning.

Are you not working today? She gave him a quick once over and hit him with an amused grin.

I am. But Eli and jelly are dangerous. He shrugged one shoulder. He hoped she wasn’t a woman who couldn’t handle a mess. He had a little boy who tended to wear more food than he managed to eat and a little girl who liked to dig in the dirt and pick up bugs and worms.

He felt a pang of regret. He’d been so desperate yesterday after finding out that he had to leave town next week that he’d hired the first girl he interviewed. Kind of a knee-jerk reaction. And then to make matters worse, he had fibbed to Kiara about the whole deal.

Mercedes threw her head back and cut loose with a throaty laugh that grabbed him by the balls.

Jelly is serious business, she announced.

Daddy? Maisy’s whisper carried across the room. When Nick looked at her, his daughter flew through the room and jumped into his arms.

Mase. He scooped her up and patted her back. This is Mercedes.

Maisy turned her wide eyes to Mercedes. Nick died a thousand deaths inside as he waited for the kid to dazzle Mercedes with her trademark grin. Instead, she curled the fingers of her left hand into his neck and stared at her new nanny silently.

Maisy. Mercedes offered her hand and cocked her head