7. Sloane #2
"Lennon's grandparents are from Cuba," Camila explains, following us. "We used to travel to see them and spend the summers on the beach there."
"How neat, Lennon. I've always wanted to go to Cuba."
He doesn’t acknowledge me, but I can tell he’s listening.
"This property is quite substantial," Dana remarks, looking around with an appraising eye. "When did you purchase it, Mr. Carrigan? It seems well-suited for a child already."
Pope's posture straightens almost imperceptibly. "My realtor located this furnished property a few days ago. The seller agreed to let me rent and move in before closing, which will be in two weeks. I only moved to Palm Beach a little over a week ago, so all of it is new."
Ah, so maybe it wasn’t all a pick-up line.
I keep my expression neutral, even as my mind races with questions.
"I see," Dana says, making a note in her portfolio. "Perhaps we should check the upstairs where Lennon and the nanny would be staying?"
We walk back inside while Camila stays with Lennon.
Upstairs, the wood floors gleam beneath our feet as Pope leads us down a hallway. I keep my distance, hyperaware of how small this space is with him in it. The air carries a faint scent of paint, newly finished, just like everything else.
Pope stops at the first door, pushing it open with a careful gesture. "This will be Lennon's room."
Inside, a bedroom twice the size of my childhood one spreads out in shades of navy blue and forest green. A wooden bed with a rocket ship comforter sits against one wall. A bookshelf holds a few pristine picture books and a small collection of toys.
Everything appears new. Most of the things in the bedroom still have the tags attached.
If he just moved in yesterday, how did he already do this?
Lennon hovers at the threshold, his wide eyes scanning everything without stepping inside.
"It's quite comfortable," Ms. Black notes, jotting something in her portfolio. "And I presume it's close to the nanny's room for nighttime concerns."
Pope nods yes, but doesn't speak while Ms. Black continues writing.
Pope clears his throat. "This way."
Three doors down, he pushes open another door. "This would be your space."
The low timbre of his voice sends an unwelcome pulse through my body. I hate that he affects me this way. I need to rein it in since we will be working together for the next nine weeks.
I focus on the guest suite instead. There's a queen bed with crisp white linens, a private bathroom, and a small sitting area by a window overlooking the ocean.
"Do you have reliable transportation, Ms. Brennan?" The guardian asks.
"Yes, I have my own car."
“I will also provide a sport utility vehicle for Ms. Brennan to use whenever she takes Lennon anywhere.”
A company car? Okay, I can deal with that.
Dana Black checks her watch. "Thank you for coming on such short notice, Sloane. Perhaps we should finish up downstairs? Mr. Carrigan, do you have any questions?”
"No. I believe the agency will reach out with all of the final logistics. I've seen all I need to see.”
Isn't that the truth?
He turns and heads back toward the stairs. The two of us follow.
“I’ll check on Lennon and Camila. Thank you for coming, Ms. Brennan.”
I offer a weak smile.
In the foyer, Dana thanks me again, crisp and professional, before pulling out a ringing phone. I mutter something polite and hurry out, hoping for a clean escape before Pope returns.
The humid air hits me as soon as I step outside, thick and salty compared to the chill of his house.
I slam my car door harder than necessary and sit frozen, staring at Pope’s sprawling beachfront home through the windshield. My hands shake slightly as I grip the steering wheel.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me," I say out loud through a shaky voice.
I jam the key into the ignition and pull away from the driveway, watching the house shrink in my rearview mirror.
My fingers fumble with the Bluetooth connection. "Call Maris."
Three rings later, her voice fills my car. "So? How'd it go? Are you the new Mary Poppins of Palm Beach?”
"The house is incredible. Beachfront, private access, marble everything." I take a deep breath. "The kid is sweet but barely talks. There's a court-appointed guardian watching everything."
"Sounds intense but fancy. So what's the dad like? Old? Creepy? Hot widower?"
"Oh, I can tell you exactly what he's like." My knuckles turn white on the steering wheel. "Remember that guy from the bar last week? The one I... you know."
"The hot businessman you had mind-blowing sex with then snuck out on?" Maris laughs. "What about him?"
"That's him. That's the dad. Pope."
Silence stretches for three full seconds before Maris screeches, "SHUT UP!"
"I wish I could." I merge onto the main road, my stomach churning. "What are the odds, Maris? Seriously, what are the goddamn odds?"
"Holy shit. So you slept with your potential boss before he was your potential boss? That's?—"
I let out a humorless laugh. "Nothing’s gone right since I set foot in this god forsaken town. Now I’ve signed up for nine weeks of working for the man I should never see again."
My mind flashes to everything I let him do, thinking it was safe because I’d never see him again. Embarrassment and rage flush through me in equal parts.
“Yeah. I can see your dilemma.”
I blow out a breath, watching the road blur ahead. "Fuck my life."