Chapter 4
FOUR
DARCY
T en minutes ago, when I pulled into the parking lot of a tattoo studio, I looked down at the address given for the nanny interview to make sure I was right. I looked back up at the sign and back down again. I did it once more before shrugging my shoulders, putting my car into park, and smoothing down my hair. My interest was already piqued.
When the doorbell rang overhead, a man popped his head out of a tattoo booth, sort of startling me. But that faded as soon as he smiled. It had to be the nicest, most genuine-looking smile I’ve ever seen on a man covered in so many tattoos. You sort of expect something different. Is it surly? Do you expect surly? Menacing? I don’t quite know what the word is, but he’s the opposite.
He asked me if I was here for the interview, and when I nodded, he pitched his gloved thumb over his shoulder toward a door, stating he’d take me back himself but was tied up. And by tied up, he meant actively tattooing someone. Again, so nice.
So now I’m here, standing in the doorway of a midsize office and peering inside as I wait patiently for the man behind the desk to say something. I’ve introduced myself and he’s been staring at me for forty-five seconds while saying nothing. He looks confused or something? It’s giving very deer in headlights. And forty-five seconds doesn’t sound like a long time, but stretched between two strangers in silence? It might as well be a millennium.
He clears his throat rather violently, his hand pressing against the hollow of his neck as he manages his first words.
“Please come in,” he says, standing to welcome me. “I apologize. It seems you’ve caught me off guard.”
“I’m Ridge Jessup,” he says. “The dad.”
“Hello, Mr. Jessup. Pleased to meet you.”
Jesus Christ, why did you just call him Mr. Jessup? Actually, I’ll tell you why. Because he’s a grown-up. Like a really hot grown-up. Based on the age of his daughter listed on the site, and the tiny bit of silver that’s blossomed in his facial hair, he’s got several years on me. The point is, between school, having a roommate, and Tyler still occasionally texting me, I don’t feel grown up enough or ready to date again.
He takes my hand in his for a cordial shake, but I’m very aware of how big and warm and nice it feels, and I remind myself that I’m not answering a dating profile; I’m answering a fucking nanny position. Which means he would technically be my boss. And someone this good-looking is bound to be attached. So no, I will not be that kind of nanny today. Or any other day.
“Call me Ridge, please. Mr. Jessup was my father,” he says, and a small laugh escapes his lips.
And they are damn fine lips. Oh my god, you just did it again. You know what, maybe I should just get it over with. As we sit down, it makes the most sense to me to take thirty seconds and just peruse him all over. Then it will be out of my system for the rest of this meeting.
Ridge has got that sort of shaggy hair that always looks freshly tousled and perfect for running fingers through as you grip the back of his head. His eyes are a deep brown, like pools of chocolate I wouldn’t mind swimming in. And his teeth are so white and straight, he looks like he belongs in an ad for toothpaste or floss or something. All that and I haven’t even mentioned the beautiful artwork running up his arms and disappearing into a T-shirt. Or blossoming up from his collar and spreading over his throat. There’s just something so damn irresistible about a tattooed throat.
I’m willing to bet he’s covered. It’s all black and gray work that makes me think if he was shirtless, he would be the sexiest walking, talking coloring book that ever existed. It makes me want a pack of washable markers real bad, if you know what I mean.
Okay, I have to be done now, because who says stuff like that? Me. I do. I’m deplorable and weird, and if I concentrate real hard, I can envision his head disappearing beneath my skirt.
“So I see on your resume you’re currently in school?” Ridge’s voice snaps me back to reality.
“Yes, I’m actually only a few credits short of my master’s degree in education,” I say. “I thought a real-world opportunity to work with children made the most sense for me at this point.”
“Seems like a smart idea,” he says. “Do you go back in the fall?”
“Fingers crossed,” I say, holding up my hand to mimic the gesture.
“You might not?” His head tilts slightly to the left with his question.
I decide that laying out all my cards on the table can’t be a bad thing, right? “May I be completely honest with you?”
Ridge flinches slightly, a look of apprehension marring his features. Shit, why does he look like that?
“That hasn’t exactly panned out well today, Darcy,” he says, then he laughs at some inside joke only he seems to know. “But sure, go ahead.”
“I’m a few credits shy of my degree, and the tuition money my granny left me is depleted, so the only way I can go back to school on time is to find a position for the summer that not only covers my normal bills but also pays for tuition. And I don’t know if you’ve seen the job market, but that’s hard to come by. Especially when you tell them you’re leaving in three months.” I huff a breath. Okay, maybe I got a little frazzled there at the end, but I’m just being honest with the man.
The corners of Ridge’s mouth curl up, and the wry grin reaches all the way to his eyes, painting his face something akin to amused.
“I can very much appreciate that brand of honesty,” he says.
“Um, is there a different kind?” I ask, a smile growing over my own lips.
“I didn’t think there was until today.”
He leans over the desk a bit closer to me, looking down to his right. I follow his gaze to see the top of a little girl’s head, her focus on something in her lap. He speaks more quietly than before.
“The woman I interviewed before you told me she fell in love with the father of the child she was nannying. And so the mother-slash-wife fired her,” he says.
He leans back into his chair again, his eyes wide with shock. “Like what is she thinking? It wasn’t a dating profile.”
Hey, that’s what I just told myself. And while I completely agree with him that she massively overshared, I also want to be like, “Okay, but have you ever seen yourself?”
“Hi,” a little voice says. The little girl’s head pops up from behind the desk, only this time her attention is on us and I can see her face.
“Hello,” I say back. She’s a ridiculously cute thing with dark brown hair pulled back into pigtails and the same brown eyes as her father. Her hair is a bit lighter than his, and it makes me think maybe her mother has lighter hair. And speaking of the missus, where is she? And how do I ask that in any sort of appropriate way?
“What’s your name?” she asks.
“My name is Darcy. And you are?”
“I’m Louise. But everyone calls me Lou.”
“Oh, I like Louise. I like Lou, too. It’s very cool.”
“Thanks,” she says. “Have you heard about the pangolins?”
“Um, no, I don’t think so. But if you’d like to teach me, I would love to hear all about them.” I make a mental note to do my research on pangolins if I land this position.
“Would you like a snack?” she asks.
She shifts gears quickly, I’ll give her that.
“No, thank you,” I say. “But I wonder if you happen to have a bottle of water, maybe?”
Lou looks to her dad, who gives her a nod, presumably signaling that she can go get one for me. She exits behind me as she hums a tune I don’t recognize.
“She’s a big fan of nature and animal documentaries,” Ridge says.
There’s a sheepish tone to his voice, but there’s no doubt he’s a proud dad.
“I love that,” I say. “And how amazing to have such complex interests at her age.”
“I wish I could say it’s been great, but it doesn’t come without its challenges,” he says with a sigh.
“What do you mean?” I tilt my head toward him, stricken with curiosity.
“I suppose it’s my turn to be honest with you.” He clasps his hands together on the desk in front of him.
I make a mental note of the ring on his right thumb and another on the middle finger of his left hand and no wedding band in sight. Gah, that shouldn’t matter to you!
“Lou has been kicked out of every daycare in the city,” he says. “Well, all the ones I’m willing to send her to.”
“For what?” I ask.
“Being… Lou,” he says, and he laughs a little louder than I expect. “She’s a free spirit. Not afraid to speak her mind. She pushes back, questions everything, and has a nasty habit of liberating any and all class pets from their cages.”
Oh my god, that’s quite possibly the best thing I’ve ever heard, and I find myself desperately wanting to become best friends with a five-year-old. “Wow, that’s…”
He braces himself, and I wonder if he thinks I might be about to say something awful.
“That’s amazing,” I finish.
Ridge’s body uncoils a bit, his muscles seeming to relax at my words.
“Thank you for saying that, really, but I just want to be truthful about what you’d be getting yourself into,” he says.
“May I ask a question? I don’t want to seem inappropriate. I’m just trying to understand.”
“Sure, go ahead.”
“Is Lou’s mother in the picture? I thought maybe you were divorced or you had her for the summer or something?”
“No, uh, she’s not,” he says, deflating with a much sadder sigh than before. “She died giving birth to Lou. Her name was Vanessa.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say, cupping a hand over my mouth. “I shouldn’t have?—”
“No, please,” he says. “Don’t apologize. It was a bit more complicated than that.”
I don’t push for more. Am I very curious to know what he means by a bit more complicated? Absolutely. But now is not the time.
He stares into my eyes for what feels like a long time. My snooping has painted us into a conversational corner with no path for a smooth transition.
“Here’s the rub, Darcy,” he says, snapping out of the trance.
An abrupt course correction really is the only way through. I’m glad he did it, because I was lost in the forest of those dark eyes of his, and there were no breadcrumbs to lead me out.
“This is the longest interview I’ve had with anyone today. You’re not creepy, you didn’t get fired from your last job for being a homewrecker, and you didn’t cancel or mention praying for my soul. I need someone to start right away. And by right away, I mean tomorrow. Summer is a busy season for the shop, and I have tattoo conventions I’m supposed to attend. It’s Monday through Friday for you. Lou goes to Vanessa’s parents’ every other weekend, and anything I do is while she’s away, so I don’t need weekends from you. You’ve got me by the ba—um, you’ve got me in a good spot, because I’m desperate. And if you’re okay with all of that, I would kindly ask that you go home, do the math, and tell me what you’ll need to be paid in order to comfortably—and I do mean comfortably—pay your bills and tuition, and you can have it.”
I blink rapidly for several seconds. “Are you serious?”
“Darcy,” he says, leaning over his desk toward me again. “This is the plea of a desperate man. The job is yours if you’ll take it.”
I should be skeptical. I should, after taking a good, long look at this man’s gorgeous face, run for the hills. Instead, I hold my hand out to him.
“You have a deal.”