Chapter 4
Chapter Four
T he next day, Iris showed up at Archer’s house at exactly the time he’d said to. Give or take ten minutes. But by the way he was glaring at her it was like she was an hour late or something.
‘You’re late,’ he said, arms folded across his chest. He was blocking the entire doorway like maybe this ten-minutes-late transgression was enough to get her fired—or not hired—in the first place. She’d only agreed to come this afternoon to meet him and Olive. She hadn’t even really agreed to take the job yet. She wasn’t desperate enough to just move in with a guy she’d never met. Not again, anyway. The last time had been a guy she found off a flier hung up in the diner. He had supposedly been looking for a roommate but what he actually wanted to do was steal her underwear while she was at work.
She wasn’t looking for another panty-stealer situation.
‘Sorry about that. My class overran.’ She’d barely had time to get out of her swimsuit and get over here. Her hair still dripped down her back in a wet braid and the early spring breeze raised goosebumps on her bare arms. She’d forgotten her sweatshirt at the gym. Again.
She pulled her braid over her shoulder and squeezed it out on the front step. When she looked up, Archer was still glaring. Maybe he was still mad about the whole smoothie thing?
‘Olive needs to be picked up from school at two-thirty.’
Iris met his glare with a glare of her own. ‘Well, if I take the job, I will move my class time to accommodate Olive’s schedule.’ She tipped up her chin and waited. Was he going to let her in the house or was the entire interview going to take place on his front step?
His eyes lingered on hers a moment longer before flicking down to the wet spot her hair was leaving on her shirt, directly over her left boob. She would have thought he was being a pervert until the stern line of his mouth tightened in disapproval. Apparently, her uniform of a tank top and leggings and perpetually damp hair wasn’t meeting his standards. The same thing had happened at the café. She’d thought he was checking her out and then she’d offered to buy his drink and he couldn’t have run away fast enough.
Well, good thing nothing had happened since he was about to become her boss. Maybe.
His gaze returned to her face, hard and assessing. God, she could just imagine him in a kitchen shouting at his poor sous chefs like every chef she’d seen in the movies. Demanding perfection. Demanding precision. A small shiver ran over her skin at the thought of what it might feel like to please a man like that.
She shook that entirely unhelpful thought away. If he wanted perfection from her, he was going to be highly disappointed. Iris was curlicues, not straight lines. She was always late, except when she was teaching (she wouldn’t do that to her students). She had a trail of half-finished hobbies and partially read books long enough that she couldn’t see the end of it. She was good enough, but never perfect. And if her usual pattern held, she wouldn’t be at this job for longer than six months. Maybe she should just go now and save them both the trouble.
But he finally relented in his perusal of her appearance and stepped aside. She reluctantly followed him into a narrow entryway that led directly into a cozy living room where a small girl was perched on the couch watching what appeared to be a cake-baking show. Iris kicked her flip-flops off by the door with the other shoes. A pair of particularly tiny sneakers made nerves flutter in her belly. How could she be responsible for someone so small?
This was clearly a bad idea.
The dad was an asshole. The kid was too tiny. And Iris was way too unqualified.
She’d just have to take her chances with Bex.
She opened her mouth to say so when she caught a glimpse of Archer watching his daughter. He looked completely … perplexed. Like a man caught in a maze with absolutely no idea how to get out. He looked sad and a little panicked. He looked like he needed help.
He caught her looking and quickly schooled his features back into scary-boss-man mode.
‘Let’s talk in the kitchen first and then you can meet Olive.’
‘Okay, sure.’
Olive didn’t even look up from her show as they walked past her. The kitchen and living room were essentially one room with a small island separating them. Iris sat at the island and Archer stood facing her, his hands on the counter. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing bare forearms.
‘Shouldn’t you have a spatula or something tattooed on your arms?’ she asked.
His eyebrows rose. ‘Shouldn’t I have what? Why would I?’
Iris shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Isn’t that like a chef thing? To have a lot of tattoos of kitchen tools and meat and stuff?’
‘Meat and stuff?’ His mouth twitched, as though he was almost amused but refused to show it.
‘Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. The whole bad-boy chef thing? Unless your tattoos are somewhere else…’ She gestured toward his body and her hand froze in mid-air at the horrified look on his face.
Good lord, what was she even saying right now?
‘Uh … sorry. Never mind.’
‘How about we discuss the job?’ There was that just barely amused quirk of his mouth again.
Iris nodded, relieved to think about something other than if Archer was in fact a bad-boy chef type and if his broad chest was covered in ink, or maybe his back…
‘Iris?’
‘Huh?’ She blinked back into reality. The reality in which Archer was asking her questions about nannying his daughter. The one that had nothing to do with his body. Not that she cared about his body. Not that she was still thinking about the feel of his firm chest under her hands as she had cleaned up the smoothie. His body was completely irrelevant. As was his face. And his large hands that were still spread flat on the countertop in front of her. Gosh, those were long fingers. Fingers that were probably capable of all sorts of tricks…
Iris cleared her throat. ‘Sorry, I missed that.’
Archer was looking at her again with that expression, like he was disappointed he’d even invited her here. He must be just as desperate as she was. Just as desperate as Gladys had said, if Iris was his best option.
‘I asked if you had worked with children before.’
‘Oh … uh … not exactly.’
‘Not exactly children?’
‘Well, I work a lot with seniors who are also a vulnerable population,’ she said, repeating the line she’d rehearsed with Bex last night with a tense smile.
Archer gave a small nod, as though he wasn’t quite sure if he should believe her bullshit. Not that it was total bullshit, just the normal amount of interview spin. She was sure her seniors would just love to be compared to a kindergartener, but as much as she hated to admit it, she could really use this job.
‘I teach classes at the Y.’
The teach part seemed to get his attention so she kept going. ‘I’m CPR and first-aid certified and … uh … I’m creative and…’
What else had Gladys listed?
‘And I’m available.’ Why did that make her cheeks flush hot? ‘I mean, I’m available to start work right away.’ She smiled again and met his stare. And for a brief second, his expression softened, and she thought maybe she’d passed the test. Until he tore his gaze away, his mouth reset in its grim line.
‘Coffee?’ he asked.
‘Sure.’
He turned away to pour her a mug, giving her a much-needed reprieve from his stare.
‘How do you take it?’
‘Milk and sugar, please.’
He set it all out on the counter and as she stirred in her milk and sugar, she noticed he drank his black. With the intensity radiating off this man, she felt that a nice cup of chamomile would be a better choice, but it probably wasn’t her place to say.
‘So, maybe we should go over the responsibilities of the job?’ she suggested as she sipped her coffee.
‘Right. Of course.’ He set down his mug, his gaze traveling past her to where Olive sat on the couch before flicking back to Iris.
‘I will need to leave before five every morning, which is why I proposed a live-in situation, if that works for you. Then you will be responsible for getting Olive up and ready for her day and getting her to school. Like I said before, she needs to be picked up at two-thirty. Promptly . I typically get home around six.’
He glanced at Olive again and then lowered his voice.
‘She doesn’t talk.’
‘What do you mean, she doesn’t talk?’
An expression like shame mixed with frustration crossed his face. ‘She can talk. She just doesn’t talk to me.’ He raked his hand through his hair. ‘She’s in therapy, and obviously this is really hard and traumatic, and I just want…’ Again he looked like he wanted to scream his frustrations but instead swallowed them down. ‘I just want some stability for her. I want someone to be here for her when I’m not. It’s why I thought it best if you … if the nanny lived with us… But if that’s a problem…?’
He was practically whispering now and they’d both leaned in across the counter. She was close enough to see the worry in his eyes, the crease between his brows, the way his hair stood up from his hands tugging on it throughout the day. And looking at him, worried and tired and scared, something warm and tender settled in Iris’s gut.
And Iris always listened to her gut.
‘We’ll make it work,’ she said, the smile soft and gentle around her lips in an attempt to coax out the same from him. The most she got was a slight relaxing around his shoulders, but she’d take it for now. ‘I agree that me living here would help Olive feel more comfortable around me. And this way I can’t be late for work.’
A surprised laugh escaped him.
Success . Iris grinned.
‘Thank you. I really…’ He cleared his throat. ‘It’s been a rough week.’
‘I can imagine.’
He was looking at her again, but now there was something just a little bit softer in his gaze. In fact, his eyes, now that they weren’t glaring, were actually a quite lovely, warm brown. And when he wasn’t tugging his hair back, it flopped gently over his forehead. And she could just imagine that mouth softening even more, smiling and lighting up his face. And then it hit her.
Archer Baer, her potential new boss, was hot.
And that was very bad news.
She couldn’t have the hots for her boss! That was bad. Very bad, Iris.
His lips tipped up in the corner, giving her just the tiniest glimpse of a smile, but it was enough. It was enough to show the slight indent of a dimple high on his left cheek.
NO! Why? She’d just agreed to move in with this man and now he had a dimple?! And kind eyes. And touchable hair. And any number of hidden tattoos just waiting to be uncovered.
Iris had clearly made a grave error.
She sat back abruptly on her stool.
‘Everything okay?’ Archer asked, straightening again.
‘Yes. Okay. Totally A-Okay.’
He was back to looking at her like she was a little nutty, which helped cool her feelings a bit, but then his gaze slipped past her again and his eyes widened in alarm.
Iris turned to see what was causing him such concern.
The couch was empty and the front door was wide open.
Olive was gone.