Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
H e’d completely forgotten the nanny was moving in today until he pulled into the driveway and found her hauling two garbage bags filled with her possessions in through his front door. He resisted the urge to throw the car into reverse and drive anywhere but here.
This was his life.
His house.
His kid.
He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples as though he could massage out the tension. He didn’t live in Paris anymore. He literally didn’t have a home there for the time being. He’d sublet his apartment to a friend of a friend for the rest of the year. This was all he had now. He didn’t spend his time cooking and smoking and sleeping with waitresses anymore. Now he lived here, in the suburbs, and he got home at a reasonable time and used his paychecks from the diner to support his daughter and not to buy cigarettes and expensive wine.
It was the right thing to do.
For now. He just had to do it for now. In six months, if all went well then he and Olive could move back to France.
And with that helpful thought in mind, Archer got out of the car and made his way to the front door where Iris was currently wedged with her bags.
‘Need some help?’
She turned abruptly. He’d startled her.
‘Oh, hi.’ She looked flustered, little wisps of hair escaping her braid. It was dry today and now he could see that it was somewhere between blonde and red, a rose-gold color he’d never seen before and … he was staring.
He cleared his throat and grabbed one of her bags.
‘Thanks,’ she said, shoving the other one through the door. ‘You never really realize how much stuff you own until you have to move it.’
Actually, he’d had the opposite problem, needing to buy furniture and stuff to fill the house he’d rented, to make it feel like a home. Or a rough approximation of a home. But he didn’t say any of that. He followed her into the house where a few more bags and boxes were now piled in the living room. Gladys was on the couch with Olive.
‘Hello, there,’ Gladys said. ‘How’s my diner?’
Honest answer? People hated his first new-menu addition, he couldn’t find the magic pancake recipe that everyone loved so dearly, the staff hated him, and he still hadn’t gotten the kitchen up to his level of clean and organized. He was failing, but Gladys didn’t need to know all that.
‘It’s going well.’
‘Wonderful!’ Gladys beamed. ‘I knew it would.’
‘Hi, Olive,’ he said. ‘How was school?’
The silence that followed his question was only made worse by the two women shooting him pitying glances.
‘That good, huh?’ he said, trying to lighten the mood.
‘Olive, why don’t you tell your dad about the funny story you read in the library? Remember?’ Gladys gave the girl a gentle nudge, but Olive just shook her head.
‘That’s okay,’ he said. ‘She can tell me later, if she wants to.’ He swallowed the frustration and disappointment building in his chest. Failure after failure today.
‘How about I show you to your room,’ he said, turning back to Iris, but avoiding the pity in her eyes. He didn’t need her pity even if that was what had convinced her to take the job in the first place. He just needed someone reliable to take care of Olive. Not that someone who moved their possessions in garbage bags really screamed reliable , but he couldn’t keep piecing together childcare with local babysitters and retirees, and Iris was the best he had at the moment.
The therapist said Olive needed consistency. So that’s what he was going to give her. Until she was feeling better, and then he would uproot her from everything she knew and get back to his real life abroad.
Christ.
He was so screwed. He was doomed to live here forever all because of some accident .
Accident? The word echoed through him and he immediately felt like shit for even thinking it. What was wrong with him? He could feel Olive’s eyes on him from the couch, like she knew he’d just thought of her as an accident, like she knew fate had stuck her with the worst possible father.
‘Follow me,’ he said, gruffly, grabbing one of Iris’s bags, needing to get away from Olive’s stare and Gladys’s well-intentioned concern.
‘This is Olive’s room,’ he gestured to the first door on the left off the narrow hallway that housed all three bedrooms.
‘Very pink,’ Iris said, sticking her head in and taking a peek.
‘I didn’t know what she would like,’ he confessed, moving on quickly to the next room. ‘The bathroom.’
Iris came up behind him and looked in. ‘Only the one?’ she asked, sounding concerned.
Why had it not occurred to him until right now that it would be awkward to only have one bathroom? Not until this very moment had he realized that he and Iris would be naked in the same shower every day. Goddamn it, now he was thinking about Iris naked.
‘I’ll get a lock for it. Right away.’
He did not look back but continued charging down the hall, suddenly needing this tour to be over. ‘This is your room.’ He pointed into the last room on the left.
‘And that one is yours?’ She gestured to the room across the hall.
Right across the damn hall! Why was this house so small? And why had he not noticed until right now?!
‘Uh … yes.’ He blew out a defeated sigh. There was no way this was going to work. ‘Look, Iris, I’m sorry. I get it if you can’t take the job. This is … I didn’t … this wasn’t very well thought through.’
They were standing on opposite sides of the hall now, but the hallway was so narrow and they were still uncomfortably close. Like they would be. All. The. Time. If she moved in here. Crammed together in this little house. Sleeping across from each other. Bathing in the same damn room.
Iris was watching him, studying him. Thinking.
Could she tell what he was thinking? That he was already being the worst kind of lecherous boss? He would be her boss . He could never touch her. He’d never get permanent custody of his kid if he was caught fucking the nanny. Instinctively, his fingers balled into fists at his side, like they were mourning the loss of something they’d never had.
This was the worst idea he’d ever had.
Luckily, Iris was sure to be about two seconds away from calling the whole thing off. There was no way she would still want the job after seeing the living conditions…
‘I still want the job.’
Wait. What? ‘You do?’
She shrugged. ‘I need a job, and this one pays well and comes with a place to stay. So, yeah. I still want the job.’
Shit. Could he fire her? He should fire her right now. He could not have her living under his roof, looking like that.
Looking soft and lovely, with her hair curling around her ears and her wide eyes staring at him. She was actually wearing real clothes today, jeans and a sweater but he could still remember how she’d looked in those leggings, how he’d seen every delicate curve of her.
Oh, no, no, no … abort plan! Archer had slept with enough co-workers to know it was a very bad idea and that was when they’d had their own homes to retreat to. And it had still always blown up in his face. He hadn’t done it since he became head chef. He’d been very purposeful in not abusing his power. And this dynamic? Nanny and employer? Was there a working relationship more ripe for misunderstandings?
‘I can still have the job, right?’ Iris asked, her question breaking through his spiraling thoughts. ‘Because I kinda already gave up my apartment and I don’t really have the cash at the moment to get another one. I mean there’s my cousin’s place, but she plays the trumpet all night and there’s Kira’s, but I really don’t want to have to hear her and Bennett doing it all the time because that makes a friendship awkward, you know?’
He didn’t know. He didn’t know anything anymore. He didn’t know how to make pancakes, or raise a child, and he certainly didn’t know how to say no to Iris Fraser.
‘Of course.’ He ran a hand through his hair and leaned back against the wall. ‘Yes, of course you can still have the job.’
Iris beamed. ‘Thanks!’ Her expression turned serious. ‘But just so you know, I have pepper spray.’
‘Pepper spray?’
‘In case you get fresh,’ she said, grabbing her bag and heading into her new room.
In case he gets fresh? Christ. What had he gotten himself into?