Chapter 9 – Seth #2
“You don’t have to do all that,” I say finally breaking the silence.
Her brows dip but she doesn’t stop cleaning. “Have you ever hired a professional nanny before?”
I step closer as she grabs a glass, drying it with a towel. “Yeah. Once, right after Sawyer’s mom died.” My voice comes out rough. It isn’t hard to talk about Sawyer’s mom anymore. It’s been a long time since she passed away. But I know it can make other people uncomfortable. “Nine years ago.”
Her lips part, but she doesn’t look at me.
She just keeps drying the glass with extra attention, then moves to the cupboard and puts it away like she already knows where everything belongs.
And I bet she does. She seems like the type to come in and scope out the place before she starts working.
Like a modern-day Snow White and I’m just one of the dwarfs, caught up in her allure.
Dopey or Grumpy if I had to pick one.
“Well, then you should know that cleaning is just part of the gig,” she responds.
The casual way she brings up the job she’s doing makes my stomach twist. I should just say it now—get it over with.
Instead, I watch her hands, the delicate way she moves, and all I can think about is how those same hands once clawed at my back, dragged through my hair, clutched at my shoulders, gripped my cock as I—
I shake my head.
“Look, Bri—” I start, stepping toward her.
I want to touch her. I shouldn’t, but fuck, the urge is strong.
I want to press my hands against her hips, pull her in close so that she can remember how it felt to have me in her.
Instead, I force myself to keep still because what we had was a one-time thing.
It’ll never happen again. I don’t know her. She doesn’t know me.
I have a fantasy of her in my head. A version of her that was clearly working through something on Halloween night.
I know how her body bends beneath mine, how she gasps when she comes.
I know the way she tastes, the way her lips feel pressed against my skin but anything deeper than that I don’t know, and I shouldn’t know. I will not ask. It’s better this way.
She spins around before I can say anything else, her eyes softer now, glassy, like stretched plastic wrap and I can tell she’s about to cry.
Ah, fuck.
She sniffles, lifts her chin like she’s trying to be defiant, but it’s not natural on her.
She’s all soft edges, big smiles and loud laughs.
I’m realizing that she’s nothing like the Harley Quinn version of her from that night we first met.
She’s comfortable with her softness, too.
Embraces it. In tune with her femininity and the way that power brings me to my knees.
And it makes me wonder now...what the hell was she going on during Halloween?
“It’s fine, Seth,” she whispers. “Just go ahead and fire me if that’s what you came here to do.
” Her voice is soft, but it looks like she’s on the edge of a meltdown.
“I’ve never been fired before, but I promise I’ll recover.
” Her lips quirk up into something that’s almost a smile, but it doesn’t quite land.
“I get why you would want to. I deserve it.”
Fuck.
I rake a hand through my hair, my chest tightening because I don’t know what to do now. I came in here with a plan and one heavy sniffle and drop of a tear and I’m crumbling.
“Look, I’m in a weird position here.”
She nods like she gets it. “If it’s any consolation, what I told you earlier is true. My dad and I aren’t even on speaking terms.”
“No,” I say immediately. “That’s not really a consolation. That sounds pretty terrible.”
She lets out a dry laugh. “It is.”
I frown; my stomach starts twisting. What did that asshole do to her?
I’ve only met Caleb King once. It was the same Halloween weekend that I was in town visiting NYC to sign with the team and tour the facilities.
Sure, he seems like an intense guy, purely focused on the money that the club brings in through sponsorships, ticket sales, and the attention for what my last name can bring to the team but he didn’t mention anything about having a family and especially not a daughter who works for the Mayhem.
“So,” she says, her voice quieter now, “is that the only reason you’re firing me? Because of who my father is?” Her green eyes flick up to mine, and fuck, they’re not just glassy anymore. They’re full-on watery.
A single tear slips down her cheek, and I feel like I’ve been gutted.
I hate when women cry. And I hate it even more when I know I’m the one making them sad.
Sawyer knows this because anytime she really, really wants something, the tears turn on and I cave like a poorly manufactured goaltender mask taking a puck to the face. Ask me how I know what that feels like.
“Because if it is,” she continues, “please… just be honest with me. It’ll make it easier for me to accept. I’ve hated my dad for years. Only person I’ve ever hated, actually. Giving me one more reason to hate him won’t make a difference.”
Dammit.
I swallow hard. No. That’s not the only reason why I have to fire her. The other reason is that I can’t stop thinking with my dick and having her around is going to be damn near impossible to focus on anything but her and I can’t let myself ruin her life like I know that I will.
She studies my face, and whatever hesitation she sees in my expression must be enough for her to realize I’m not thrilled about keeping her as Sawyer’s nanny.
She nods like I’ve already answered, then turns back to the counter, drying the last dish before placing it in my cupboard and closing it softly.
Then, without another word, she walks to the door, grabs her purse, and starts to leave.
“I’ll ask around,” she says, voice quiet.
“See if I can find someone else to take over for you as nanny. Seth, Sawyer is...” She hesitates then, wiping at her cheek with the back of her hand.
Her eyes flick toward the window, staring outside.
Her lips part slightly, a small smile ghosting over them. And then she just… stares.
I wait, but she doesn’t say anything. The silence stretches, tightens, presses in. Finally, it’s too much and I need to know what’s going on inside her mind.
“Yeah?” I say, my voice gruff.
Her eyes flick back to mine, but it’s like she’s returning from someplace else. Somewhere far away. Somewhere I can’t follow.
“Sorry. I was just admiring the rain.”
She gestures toward the window, and I glance outside.
It’s a heavy summer downpour that’s come on since I got home, warm and thick, the kind that’ll leave the air sticky with humidity once it passes.
It’s nothing special. Nothing I’d ever stop to admire.
But when I look back at her, there’s something almost wistful in her expression. A softness accompanied by a smile.
Romanticize every moment.