Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
DREW
I arrive at work with a smile on my face, a fact that’s noted by not just one, but three of the people in the office.
I hadn’t realized my smiles had become so rare. But it’s hard not to smile with Tatum’s amazing scramble in my belly and memories of laughing with her and Sarah Beth in the kitchen over coffee fresh in my mind.
Around ten a.m., Tatum sends a shot of her and Sarah Beth at the park pointing at the trees behind them, where they’ve added to the fairy village they’re building on the trail secret, hoping to suck the rest of the walkers into the magic. A second later, another shot comes through of a tiny row of snowmen by the swing set. We only got a few inches of snow last night, but they’re making the most of it, complete with tiny scarfs and baby carrot noses.
I grin again. They’re just so damned adorable.
“Oh my God, your wife and daughter are so pretty,” a voice coos from over my shoulder, making me jump in my chair. “Oops, sorry to scare you.” Our new temp office assistant, Marjorie, sets a fresh mug of coffee by my now empty one. “Dolores said you liked another cup of coffee at ten.”
“I do, thanks so much,” I say, smiling as I add, “I have a caffeine problem, but I make myself quit at noon every day.”
“Smart,” she says, her brown eyes widening. “I always have a cup at three when I get draggy, and then regret it when I’m trying to get to sleep at night.” She nods toward my phone. “It’s so cool that your daughter’s a redhead like your wife. My mom has the most beautiful red hair.” She motions toward her head. “But I got brown. Dull brown with frizz and no curl. Must have done something to get on God’s bad side.”
“Your hair is great,” I say, feeling uncomfortable for several reasons. But that’s Marjorie. So far, she seems to have a knack for not knowing how to pull off the “keeping it professional” thing. We’re a friendly office, but not this friendly, and I’m not sure how to tell her that Tatum’s my nanny, not my wife.
I guess I should just spell it out. She’s new in town, and I don’t want her gossiping about “my wife” with the other assistants and getting everyone confused.
“But um, that’s Tatum, my nanny,” I add. “I’m not married.”
“Oh, really?” Something sparks in her eyes, something I’m not even remotely interested in. I’m so not interested, I have to fight the urge to cringe as she moves closer, leaning a hip against my desk. “Wow, I thought for sure you’d be married. You’re so good looking and successful. And over thirty, right?”
“I’m thirty-three,” I say, wondering what that has to do with anything as I scoot my chair as far away as I can get without rolling off the thick plastic beneath my rolling wheels.
“My mom says all the good ones are married by thirty,” she says, adding hastily as if she’s worried that she’s offended me, “But thirty-three isn’t that much older, you have time. And you were probably married before, right? Since you have a kid and all?”
“I was, yes, for a short time,” I say, clearing my throat. “But I’m divorced now and I’m also…busy.” I soften the words with a smile. “I need to get this environmental report to my clients by two, so…”
“So, you want me to order lunch in?” she says, taking the hint. Sort of. “I can go get Philly cheesesteaks from the food truck the next street over. They’re real good. I don’t know if they taste like they do in Philadelphia, but the peppers are super tasty with the cheese. Do you like peppers?”
“I do,” I say, thinking of the peppers in my scramble and Tatum and how much I wish I were with her and Sarah Beth right now instead of Marjorie. “That sounds great. You can drop that off at one, please, but I’ll need to focus until then.”
“Okay, no problem,” she says, starting for the door only to turn back and ask, “Have you ever been to Philadelphia? I hear it’s cooler than most people think. Like, lots of museums and a cool bar scene and history and stuff.”
“No, I haven’t.” I cast a pointed look toward my computer monitor. “I really should get back to this.”
Marjorie laughs, a high-pitched bray that sets my teeth on edge. “Yeah, sorry. I know. I’m just a little scatter-brained on Wednesdays. It’s two for one taco night at The Dirty Taco and I look forward to it all day. Can’t stop thinking about those discount margaritas, either. I always have too many, but I’m never late to work the next day. Just hung over.” She brays again before suddenly sobering and asking in a suggestive voice, “Would you want to join us tonight? A bunch of us from the office are going to meet up there at six-thirty. Should be fun.”
I’m about to say no and encourage her to leave me alone again nicely one more time before I guide her out and lock the door but hesitate…
The Dirty Taco does have great food and margaritas. More importantly, it has the sexiest redhead I know sleeping right above it on the second floor. Two-for-one taco night would be a great excuse to spend more time with Tatum and the work gathering offers a perfect cover. I’m not violating our “purely business” policy, not at all. Inviting her to join us would just be good manners. Hell, it would be rude not to ask her if I can buy her dinner and walk her back to her place after.
“Yeah, that sounds good,” I say. “Though I may have to bring my daughter if my mom can’t watch her.”
“Oh sure, that’s fine. I’d love to meet her,” she says, striking what I’m guessing is supposed to be a sexy pose against the door, with one arm up and her hip stuck out at an angle. “And to see you after hours, big boy.”
I cough uncomfortably, at a loss as how to respond.
In her sensible brown wool dress, brown orthopedic shoes, and tan stockings, Marjorie doesn’t look like the kind of woman who’s overflowing with sexual confidence, but she clearly doesn’t have a shy bone in her body. And that’s great—more power to her—but I haven’t given her any signals that I want to be anything more than her boss.
Have I?
I rack my brain, but I’m positive I’ve only been polite and friendly, nothing more. She may just be the kind of person who needs to have things spelled out clearly.
Even though I hate to make things awkward or hurt her feelings, I force myself to say, “Thanks, but I’m not up for more than friendship right now, Marjorie. Not with someone I work with. I hope you can understand.”
She smiles, her hips swaying slightly as she points a finger my way. “But I don’t work here, Andy. I’m just a temp. I’ll be on to my next gig in a few weeks and…who knows what might happen then. I make a mean Hot Dish, by the way. I do something special with the tater tots that no one ever sees coming. Play your cards right and you just might find a casserole dish on your doorstep. I know where you live. It’s in the company files.”
Eyes wide, I mutter a stunned, “Uh-huh, well, I need to get back to work now, Marjorie. And forget about that Philly cheesesteak. I forgot I have other plans for lunch.”
“What plans? Do you need me to?—”
“Goodbye,” I say, standing and crossing the room in three long strides. “I’ll let you know if I need anything else.”
She starts to speak but I close the door in her face and lock it for good measure. I’m not usually the kind who would even consider doing something that rude at the office, but Jesus…
The woman is unhinged. I was born and raised in Minnesota. An offer to bring a man Hot Dish—a casserole filled with meat, cheese, sin, and topped with tater tots—is a sign that things are getting serious. I know people who have been dating for years who still haven’t moved on to the “she brought over Hot Dish” stage of courtship.
I have to do something to make it clear to Marjorie that I’m not on the market and that she absolutely should never come by my house with a casserole dish or anything else, but that will have to wait until I finish this report.
I dive back in, my focus undisturbed until twelve-thirty, when Tatum sends another update on Sarah Beth’s day, a short video showing me the “ants on a log” they’re making for lunch. Celery with peanut butter in the middle and raisin “ants” on top sounds revolting, but my daughter is beaming as she lines up her ants and flashes me a double thumbs up.
I love that Tatum does this, that she makes me feel like I’m included in their day, that I’m not missing out because I have to work a full-time job that keeps me away from my kiddo Monday through Friday. These texts don’t feel like interruptions; they’re fuel that keeps me going, reminding me why I work so hard.
I’m doing it for her, my baby, so she can have a safe, warm house, vacations in the summertime, and a college fund so she won’t be paying off loans until she’s thirty. Thanks to a killer score on my LSAT, I received a full ride to law school, but I had debt from undergrad until just last year.
I don’t want that for Sarah Beth. I want her life to be as easy as I can possibly make it and I’m willing to sacrifice for that. I just don’t want to miss out on watching her grow while I do it. Until I few days ago, however, I did.
But now that Tatum’s here, I suddenly feel like I get to do both—be the hardworking provider and the dad who’s looped in on the fun.
I’m feeling pretty damned lucky until one o’clock, when a loud knock on my door once again startles me out of my seat. I turn to see Marjorie staring in through the long thin window on the side of door with a big grin. “I brought you a sandwich anyway,” she says, holding up a grease-stained bag. “You have to eat to keep up your strength to keep lawyering like a boss, Andy.”
On impulse, I discreetly grab my cell phone and call Tatum, pretending I was already on the phone as I turn back to Marjorie and lift a hand. “I’ll get it in a second Marjorie, I’m on a call. Just leave it outside the door.”
Before she can respond, I turn back to my computer screen. A beat later, Tatum answers with a bright, “Hello, Mr. Dad, how’s your day at work so far?”
I hear Sarah Beth giggle in the background and smile again, even though I can feel Marjorie behind me, still watching, waiting, clearly hoping I’ll be off the call soon and she can hand deliver the cheesesteak.
Probably along with more unwanted flirtation.
“Work is good. I’m nearly done with my environmental report and only have two meetings this afternoon,” I say, dropping my voice as I add, “But I’m having a little trouble with the new temp. She’s being a little…aggressive.”
Tatum makes a concerned sound. “What? How so?”
“She um… She offered to bring me a casserole and said she knows where I live.”
Tatum laughs. “Oh my. Did you tell her you don’t date your employees?”
“I did,” I say, starting to regret reaching out to Tatum about this, considering our history, but she’s the only woman I trust to give me advice without running back to tell my mom about it. My sisters are great, but they all love to gossip, too. It apparently runs in the McGuire women’s blood. “But she said she was a temp and basically insinuated I was free game in a few weeks when she moves on to her next job. I had to shut the door in her face to get her out of my office.”
“Wow,” Tatum says, murmuring “I’ll be right back, sweets. Just need to check on something in the living room,” to Sarah Beth. A few seconds later she continues in a softer voice, “That sounds intense, Drew. Maybe you should report her to human resources? Sexual harassment goes both ways, you know. Just because you’re the boss and a guy doesn’t mean you can’t be a victim.”
I exhale a short laugh. “No, no way. I don’t want to get her in trouble. She seems like a nice person just…maybe not the best at reading social cues. And she’s never crossed the line until today. She saw one of the pictures you sent on my phone and assumed you were my wife. As soon as she heard you were the nanny and I was single, it was like a switch flipped or something.”
“Ah, I see,” she says, sounding a little down. I’m kicking myself for putting her in an awkward position and am about to ask her to forget I called when she adds, “Then what you need, my friend, is a fake girlfriend.”
“What?” I laugh. “A fake girlfriend?”
“Yes. If she left you alone when she assumed you were married, she clearly respects another woman’s prior claim. She’ll probably respect a girlfriend, too. I’ll take care of it. Expect a text in about fifteen minutes. It’ll be coming from another Kentucky area code. I have an old internet phone number I used to use for online dating, so creeps couldn’t track down where I lived.”
“Smart,” I say. “And sad. I’m sorry you had to worry about things like that. Men are the worst.”
“Women can be creepy, too,” she says. “As you’ve learned today. But that’s why I’m committed to meeting people in real life from now on. I feel like I can take a guy’s measure better in person than over text message.”
I wince. “I agree. And I’m sorry I ended up being your boss. I would really have liked to be the man who proved that there are still some good ones out there.”
“You did,” she says softly. “You’ve been great to me, Drew. And now I’m going to do you a solid in return. Keep your phone where your unwanted lady friend can see it and you’ll get a surprise in a few.”
“Okay. See you later. Oh, and a bunch of people from work are going to The Dirty Taco for two-for-one taco night and discount margaritas tonight. I’d love to treat you as a thank you. I may bring Sarah Beth, too, or drop her at my mom’s if my parents are up for watching her. She’s not the biggest fan of tacos. Says she doesn’t like the way they smell.”
“Sounds great,” Tatum says with a laugh. “I was planning to be there anyway. You can’t keep me from a cheap taco. I’ll try to talk Sarah Beth into giving them another try. She didn’t think she’d like ants on a log, either, but she’s on her fifth one now with no signs of stopping.”
I smile that too-big smile that’s becoming an increasingly common occurrence around this woman. “Great. See you tonight.”
“Oh, you’ll see me a little sooner than that,” she says in a mischievous voice that makes my cock perk up in my pants.
But just thinking about Marjorie waiting on the other side of the door is enough to get that situation under control pretty quickly. I tidy a few things on my desk, killing time to give Tatum a chance to send her “fake girlfriend” text, then rise and cross to the door, where the temp is still grinning through the window.
“I knew you’d get hungry,” she says, pushing inside with the bag in hand. “You lawyer types think you can live on coffee, but we girls know better. You clearly need someone watching out for you. Someone with a soft touch.”
I pull in a breath, bracing myself for another awkward conversation. “About that, I actually do have someone watching out for me. I don’t like to talk about it at work, but?—”
As if on cue, my phone pings with an alert, and Marjorie grins. “Oh, is that another picture of your daughter? She’s the cutest little thing!” She turns to look and instantly goes stiff. “Oh my.” She clears her throat and sets the cheesesteak bag on the corner of my desk. “Well, then, I see how it is.” She turns back to me with a sniff and her nose lifted higher in the air. “You could have told me you had a girlfriend. I don’t like to waste my time, either, you know. I may not be a big fancy lawyer, but my time is still valuable.”
“Right,” I say. “But like I said, I like to keep certain things private, especially at work. This isn’t the place for flirtation or anything else. Are we clear on that?”
She nods stiffly. “Of course, sir. Sorry to bother you. I’ll be at my desk if you need anything else.”
Marjorie departs with a swiftness that makes me send a silent prayer of thanks to the gods for sending Tatum my way. Whatever she did, it was fast, effective, and priceless. I’m going to owe her a lot more than a few tacos after getting Marjorie off my back.
My shoulders are relaxing away from my ears for the first time since my aggressive temp set me in her sights this morning. Then, I sit down and see the text Tatum sent and every nerve ending in my body is once again on high alert, but for entirely different reasons.
The text— Can’t wait to see you tonight, honey. Just wanted you to know I love you and am so grateful to have the sexiest boyfriend in the world! —is tame enough.
It’s the picture that makes my mouth go dry and my cock do things a cock should never do at work.
It’s Tatum in my guest bathroom. It shows her from the chin down wearing nothing but a white bra. The bra is simple, modest even. The only thing special about it is the satin fabric and the small blue stone set between her breasts.
But the way it complements her pale skin with the pink undertones and the fact that these are Tatum’s breasts, the breasts I was lucky enough to suck and lick and tease while she writhed beneath me on Saturday night is dizzying.
All the blood in my body is suddenly in my cock and my head is spinning. If I didn’t have that damn window beside my door that looks out on the bullpen of the office, where the assistants and junior associates are hard at work, I would have stretched out on the carpet to do some deep breathing exercises until I regained control.
Instead, I settle for propping my head in my hands and doing my best not to think about my nanny’s incredible body, and how much I want to worship every inch of her with my hands, my mouth, my…everything. I save the photo to a private folder on my phone and delete the text, but the damage is already done. My mind is full of scenes from the other night, of Tatum’s perfect pussy slick and swollen for me as I fucked her with my tongue, of the way she moaned and clung to me as I pushed inside her for the first time.
I try to force my mind back to environmental contaminants and their effect on the price per square foot of reclaimed dairy land. But my cock is throbbing, aching, and Fantasy Tatum is still waltzing through my thoughts, unhooking that bra and sliding it down her arms while she whispers, “Come on, we have time for a quickie.”
And then I do something I never thought I’d do. Ever.
I’m not the kind of guy who takes advantage of my private bathroom for anything but using the lavatory in peace. But today, I prove I’m not the kind of man I thought I was, after all.
I step into my private bathroom, take out my cock, and bring up the picture of Tatum. I set the phone on the edge of the sink and imagine the way I’d kiss the curves of her beautiful breasts, the way I’d tease her nipples until they’re so stiff beneath my tongue. Then I jerk myself up and down to fantasies of her riding me, her pussy slick and wet and as desperate for me as I am for her. I come with a stifled groan, catching the hot jet of my release in my other hand, making such a mess I’m ashamed of myself.
“Never again,” I admonish myself aloud as I clean up with a paper towel that I wrap in toilet paper for good measure before tossing it in the trash. Then I wash my hands, splash water on my face, and give my flushed cheeks a hard look in the mirror. “Stop this shit. She’s your employee. That’s it.”
Unfortunately, just seconds after I’ve pulled myself together, another text comes through from Tatum, on the usual thread— Hope that did the trick. And wasn’t too inappropriate?
Closing my eyes and praying for strength I text back— It was perfect. Marjorie left as soon as she spotted another woman on my phone. I owe you one. I’m buying tacos tonight.
She sends back a smiley face emoji and a thumbs up, then— Sweet. Sarah Beth and I have to go teach Ajax how to tie his shoes now. A stuffy mom’s work is never done. See you tonight!
Tonight , I send back.
When I glance back up at my reflection, I’m smiling again.
Shit.
So far I really suck at not falling for my nanny.
I suck really, really hard.