Chapter 7
Grayson
I stare up at Carly Drake like she’s just walked over and announced she can perform open-heart surgery.
For a second, I’m not even sure I heard her right over the low music, the clink of glasses, and Maddox nearly choking on his beer beside me.
Then it lands. I’ll do it. Jesus Christ.
I had no idea she was here. That’s the first problem. The second, though, is that she was close enough to hear me talking about Penelope.
Something hot and unpleasant moves through my chest. Not embarrassment, not exactly — more like irritation with teeth.
I don’t like people in my business. I especially don’t like people in my business when that business involves my daughter.
Penelope is the one thing in my life that doesn’t belong to the public, to gossip, to board members, to shareholders. She is mine to protect.
And now Carly — quiet, pretty, coffee-spilling Carly — has apparently been sitting somewhere nearby listening to me air out my personal problems.
Maddox slowly turns toward her. “Well. Damn.”
Carly’s chin lifts a fraction, like she’s bracing for impact. “I’m serious.”
I look at her properly then. She is serious.
But she’s also a little flushed, a little glassy-eyed in a way that tells me she’s had a drink or two, but she’s not sloppy.
She’s also, clearly, not joking, and not fishing for attention.
Her shoulders are squared, her mouth set, and those big brown eyes of hers are locked on me like she’s daring me to laugh. But I don’t.
Because the more I think about it, the less insane it sounds.
Penelope needs consistency. I need help.
The NFL deal is about to swallow every spare minute of my life whole.
Carly is already working on the design team.
She’s good — better than good, actually, which is precisely why I promoted her this morning.
If she handled mornings with Pen and afternoons at the house, she could still work. We’d just need to shift where and how.
It is practical. Too practical, which usually means there’s a catch.
I slide out of the booth and stand. Her gaze follows me immediately, flicking up my chest to my face. If I were a better man, that tiny movement wouldn’t do anything to me.
It does.
Maddox looks between us with the kind of expression men reserve for bar fights and very bad ideas.
I jerk my head toward the bar. “Let’s have a drink.”
A woman who I assume is Carly’s friend blinks at us from the table two booths over, wide-eyed and openly nosy. Maddox is no better. I can feel both of them staring holes into the backs of our heads as Carly wordlessly follows me across the room.
I stop at the bar and wait for her to take the stool beside mine before I sit. Up close she smells like coffee, vanilla, and whatever floral thing was on her when she slammed into me this morning. It’s distracting enough that I instantly resent it.
The bartender comes over. I wave him off.
“That was stupidly bold of you,” I say.
Carly swallows. “I know.”
“Do you?” I angle toward her. “Because from where I’m sitting, you overheard part of a private conversation, marched over to me half a beat later, and volunteered to become a live-in nanny like that’s a normal thing people do between drinks, when I just offered you a promotion this morning.”
“I know,” she repeats. “And I know it isn’t normal.”
I let my gaze drag over her face again. “So what is this, Carly? Are you serious, or are you just a little drunk?”
A spark flashes in her eyes. “I’m serious.” Her mouth tightens. “And I’m not drunk. I’ve had two cocktails, that’s it.”
I lean my forearms on the bar and keep my voice even.
“Right. Okay,” I sigh, trying not to focus on the absurdity of it all.
If she’s genuinely serious, it could be the answer to all of my problems. Or the start of ten new ones.
“If you did this, you’d have to take Penelope to school in the mornings before coming in to work.
Or, more accurately, before logging in, because some of your work would need to happen from my house.
You’d pick her up in the afternoon. Be with her until I’m done with work, and that’s not always a consistent time.
Feed her if I’m late. Help keep the wheels from coming off the whole operation. ”
“So I’d be your nanny,” she says carefully, “and still work for Sparkks?”
“I wouldn’t accept your offer if it means no longer working for Sparkks.
I told you I want you as head of design, and that wasn’t a lie.
I can find another nanny. I can’t find another person with your ideas.
” I press my lips together, run my hand over my face.
“The NFL line is the biggest deal Sparkks Sports has ever had. I need someone that can keep up. If this would jeopardize that, then it’s a no. ”
Her brows pull together. “I can probably swing it as long as you give me some flexibility with working hours. I don’t mind working late after you’ve taken over.”
“That can be arranged.”
Her lips part a little. I keep going before I can think too hard about them.
“The NFL line doesn’t need someone I check in with once a week in a conference room. It needs someone I can work with directly, frequently, fast. Someone who can pivot. Someone whose ideas don’t all sound like they were approved by committee.”
A blush creeps into her cheeks. Whether it’s from the compliment or the way I’m looking at her, I don’t know. Probably the compliment.
Hopefully the compliment.
“So you wouldn’t consider this a demotion,” she says.
I scoff. “No. If anything, it’s the opposite. More money. You’d be doing two jobs.”
She stares at the back bar for a second, processing. “This would mean working with you more,” she says, and the way she says it makes me bristle. It’s not excitement, and not fear either. It’s more like she’s testing the temperature of a flame with one finger.
I make my voice flatter than I feel. “Yes.”
“At your house.”
“Yes.”
“Alone?”
The word hangs there between us, small and dangerous. I hold her gaze, trying to get across exactly what I’ve had to say to too many employees: please keep this professional. “My daughter would be there.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Christ. My jaw tightens. Maddox would be laughing his ass off right now if he could hear this part. “Yes,” I say carefully. “A lot of the time, yes. We would be working alone.”
Her throat moves when she swallows. Mine feels suspiciously dry.
This is exactly why hiring her is a bad idea, and why having this conversation with a woman inebriated enough to be this brazen right after getting a promotion is a symptom of my own stupidity.
She’s beautiful. Not loudly or obnoxiously, there’s no big performance, just expressive eyes, a full mouth, soft brunette hair, and a body that is testing the limits of my self-control when she looks at me like that.
She looks like the kind of woman a man ruins his peace over.
And I like my peace.
So I do what I’ve gotten very good at over the years: I turn colder.
“If that makes you uncomfortable,” I say, “then you should say so now.”
Her eyes snap back to mine. “It doesn’t.”
I glance back toward our tables. Her friend is pretending not to watch us with all the subtlety of a raccoon in a trash can. Maddox lifts his beer at me when our eyes meet, the bastard.
I face Carly again. “Why do you want to do this?”
That makes her pause. Not long, but just long enough that I know the answer matters. “It sounds like you need help,” she says finally. “And if I’m being entirely honest, I’m living on my friend’s couch right now and a live-in job sounds like it would fix both of our problems.”
My brows raise in surprise.
“But I’m also good with kids and like them a lot,” she offers. “I used to babysit through college to make ends meet. I can give you references, even, if you want them.”
A sigh slips out of me. I have no reason to turn her down. “If you do this, Penelope comes first. If there’s a work problem and a Penny problem at the same time, you choose her. I care about her far more than I do the company.”
“Of course.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
The words hit harder the second time.
I look at her for a long moment, weighing it all: her competence, my desperation, and most importantly, the absolute stupidity of putting a woman I am deeply, inconveniently attracted to inside my home.
Then again, attraction is manageable. I’m a grown man, not a teenager with a pulse and no discipline. I can handle wanting someone, especially when that someone is almost half my age, and I can handle keeping my distance.
I’ve handled worse.
“Look, this is what I’d want,” I start, keeping my eyes locked on the bar. “You’d have to meet Penelope first. If she likes you, we move forward. If she doesn’t, we don’t.”
She nods. “Okay.”
“We could do something tomorrow since we’re both off. Neutral territory. A park. Something… I don’t know, easy.”
A tiny smile touches her mouth. “You’re scheduling a playdate to interview me?”
“I’m vetting you. And if this happens, boundaries matter.”
Her smile fades. “Understood.”
“Work is still work. Home is still home. Penelope’s routine doesn’t get disrupted any more than it currently is, and if at any point this stops making sense, we end it. Cleanly.”
She studies me for a beat. “Is that it?”
I want to say no. I want to draw a hard line in the sand, tell the truth that I think she’s attractive and might find this difficult. But I don’t. I lie. “Think so.”
If I were honest, I’d say that sitting beside her at this bar, talking about preschool drop-off and design meetings and evenings at my house, is making me already picture her in my kitchen or on my couch laughing with Penelope, or standing too close to me in the quiet after my daughter goes to sleep.
I promoted her because of her skill, yes, but I only felt comfortable because I knew damn well that I wouldn’t act on anything at work, that I wouldn’t cross a line with a woman I’ve been eyeing more seriously for the last two weeks and occasionally beforehand.
It was contained. It was easy. But this is far more than that.
Carly smooths her palm over her thigh and lifts her chin again. “I’m still interested.”
I search her face one last time for hesitation big enough to let me call this off before it starts, but I don’t find it. Instead, I find nerves she’s trying hard not to show, determination underneath them, and a kind of stubborn courage that both grates me and intrigues me.
I let the silence stretch just enough to make us both feel it.
“Okay,” I say, half because I don’t have any other options and half because I want to. “I’ll text you tomorrow morning with a time and place to meet Penelope.”
“You’re sure tomorrow is best?” she asks, watching me like a hawk. "I don’t want to seem flaky already, but I heard what you said to your friend about her crying over the last nanny leaving. I just don’t want to overwhelm her when she’s already struggling.”
“I appreciate the concern, but I’m not dragging this out,” I say, slipping down off the stool. “My life is already on fire.”
That gets the tiniest smile to break across her cheeks. “Right. Of course. I get it.”
“Don’t make me regret this, Carly.”