Chapter 2
two
. . .
Winnie
Of course my piece-of-shit car decided to give out on me the day I had an interview.
In the middle of a rainstorm.
The universe clearly hates me.
I glanced around from where my car had died on the side of the little country road about a mile from downtown. It was pouring rain, and I dug in my purse and pulled out my phone.
I looked at my watch and chewed on my thumbnail as I tried to figure out what to do. I could call my uncle Oscar and see if he or Aunt Edith could come pick me up. I’d never make it on time now.
My phone had no signal.
“Shit!”
I needed this job if I wanted to start a new life, which I was desperate to do.
I squeezed my eyes closed as my father’s words filled my head.
You don’t quit. You’re Winnie fucking Smith.
I was happy to be Winnie Smith again. I’d lost my mojo when I was Winnie Wilson.
And the mantra worked better this way.
They weren’t the typical words one says to a five-year-old kid, but he’d been saying this to me ever since my mom walked out on us.
My father, Sam Smith, was a man of few words, but he made sure the ones he said counted.
I pushed myself out of the car, then reached in the back seat for an umbrella and opened it. I held it over my head as I made my way around to the front of my Mustang.
A large blue truck driving far too fast down this back road flew past me, and the tires crossed a puddle in the dip in the asphalt and doused me in brown, filthy water.
My mouth hung open with surprise as I gaped down at my cream suit that was now filthy.
A lump formed in my throat, and I blinked a couple of times.
I will not cry.
My father was a mechanic and I knew my way around a motor, so I popped the hood of my dated car. I inspected the engine, and nothing looked out of place. At the end of the day, this car was older than dirt, and it most likely just needed a jump.
I couldn’t do that on my own without another vehicle, and as I turned to look down the long road, I didn’t see anyone in sight.
Time for plan B.
I reached up and adjusted the bow I wore in my hair; a bow was my reminder to keep moving forward. However, the fact that I was covered in soot water made it highly unlikely that the bow would do much for me now.
Jaden would love to see this. My ex-husband was a spiteful man. He loved nothing more than to see me fail. I blew out a breath as my heels clanked against the unstable pavement beneath my feet.
And I walked.
The rain pounded against my umbrella as I glanced out at the mountains and trees and just kept on moving.
I’d be ridiculously late, but at least I’d show up.
Finally, I saw some buildings up ahead.
I’d just arrived in town last night, and I hadn’t been here since I was a kid, but I was fairly certain I was approaching downtown Rosewood River.
I checked the time on my phone just as my heel caught on a pothole, and I went tumbling to the ground, my umbrella flying from my hand, along with my purse.
This day just keeps getting better.
I rubbed my knee, groaning when I saw the big hole in my favorite dress pants, and I stood before retrieving my purse and my now-broken umbrella.
I sniffed multiple times, desperate to keep the tears away as I brushed my scraped hands together.
A few heads turned to look at me as I walked down the sidewalk.
I tipped my chin up and ignored the fact that I clearly looked like a walking disaster.
I was no longer sure why I was even pursuing this job, but at the end of the day, I wasn’t a quitter.
And as a parent, wouldn’t you want to know that the person caring for your child wouldn’t throw in the towel every time they hit an obstacle?
Checking the numbers on the buildings, I finally spotted Chadwick Brokerage.
I blew out a breath, closed my umbrella (which was no longer offering any protection anyway), and pulled the door open.
The woman behind the desk looked up, and her eyes widened as she took me in.
“May I help you?” she asked.
I tucked my soaking-wet hair behind my ears and forced a smile. “Yes. I’m Winnie Smith. I have an appointment with Mr. Chadwick.”
“I believe the position is already filled.” She winced as if she felt bad telling me. But of course it was filled. He probably had several applicants and didn’t want to waste his time waiting on someone who was very late for her appointment.
I sighed. “I know I’m late. My car broke down. My phone had no service. I guess I’m not surprised that he’s already filled the position.”
I could feel my bottom lip start to tremble, and her gaze softened. “Give me a minute.”
She pushed up from her desk before disappearing in the direction where voices were coming from the hallway.
Several people walked past me, holding coffee cups in their hands as they glanced my way.
No one said anything, and I couldn’t even feel any embarrassment or shame. I just felt numb at this point.
After they’d passed, I took the opportunity to adjust the bow holding up the front part of my hair before grabbing some tissue from my purse and dabbing at my face.
“Your knee is bleeding,” a deep voice said, startling me as I looked up.
He was tall, with sandy-brown hair and the greenest eyes I’d ever seen. His white dress shirt showed off his broad shoulders.
I followed his line of sight down to my knee and groaned when I realized my filthy cream dress slacks were now stained with red blood.
“Oh, um, yeah, I tripped. But I’m fine. I just…” I shook my head. “Are you Mr. Chadwick?”
“I’m Archer Chadwick.” He stepped closer, and the woman who’d been behind the desk moved back to her chair. “And you’re Winnie.”
It wasn’t a question; it was a statement.
“Yes. And I know I’m late, and you’ve potentially filled the position already, but I just wanted the opportunity to explain why I was late. And to apologize.”
“Follow me,” he said, his voice deep and commanding.
I looked over at the woman behind the desk, who gave me two thumbs up and motioned for me to follow him.
He stepped into an office that was fairly large, and he shut the door after I’d stepped inside. The room had cherrywood bookshelves and a matching desk, with two leather chairs on the back side and one tall leather chair where he obviously sat.
“Sit down,” he said as he moved to a cabinet and pulled out a black box with a handle.
I sat on the leather chair, mortified at how badly my knee was bleeding now, before dabbing it with tissue because I didn’t want it to drip onto the carpet in his office.
I startled when he bent down in front of me and reached for the hem of my pants. “May I?” he asked.
My breath caught in my throat.
When was the last time a man had been down on his knees in front of me offering anything?
Not in a very long time.
I cleared my throat and nodded. “Yes, but I can also clean it up myself. I don’t want to bleed on your carpet.”
His eyebrows cinched together with confusion. “I don’t give a shit about the carpet. You’re bleeding, and you’re soaking wet and shaking.”
Just then the door opened, and the woman from the front desk walked in with a blanket. “Found one. I’m Lucy, by the way. I run the office for the big guy here.”
She wrapped the blanket around my shoulders, and I was almost too stunned to speak.
It took me a moment.
“Thank you,” I said, my words wobbly as I blinked back the tears that so desperately wanted to fall.
I could deal with obstacles—hell, I’d dealt with them my entire life.
But kindness from strangers.
That was a different story.
Archer rolled my pant leg up, and his eyes widened as he took in the gash on my leg. Apparently, I’d fallen harder than I’d realized.
“Thank you, Lucy,” he said, and she nodded before leaving the office and closing the door. “This is going to sting.”
“It’s fine. Seriously, I can do it myself. It’s not your job to clean me up.”
“How’d you fall?” he asked as he slipped on a pair of rubber gloves from the first aid kit before pouring some peroxide onto my knee and then dabbing it with the gauze.
“My car broke down about a mile away, and I walked the rest of the way. My heel caught in a crack in the asphalt on my way here, and I fell.” I blew out a breath as he covered it with what he explained was an antibacterial spray.
He was unusually gentle, and then I remembered he had a little girl.
The reason that I was actually here. “You keep a first aid kit at your office?”
I was raised in a home where you brushed things off. My father was big on duct tape instead of bandages.
We certainly didn’t keep a medical supply kit at home or at work.
“Yes.” He held my ankle with one hand and inspected the wound before applying a layer of Neosporin and covering it with a large bandage. “You never know when you’re going to interview someone, and they’re going to trip and fall on their way in.”
“I’m terribly sorry about all this and sincerely apologi—”
He waved me off and quickly asked, “Does this happen often?”
I chuckled, appreciating his teasing tone. This was so not what I’d expected. At least he wasn’t angry. Regardless, I was sure he wasn’t going to hire me.
“You’re the first to walk through the door soaking wet and bleeding.” He pulled down my pant leg and set my foot back onto the floor. “I think these pants are done, though.”
I shrugged. “Great. I’ve lost my favorite pants, and I apparently lost the job, too.”
He stood and laughed as he pulled off the gloves and dropped them in the trash can. “No, Winnie. I didn’t replace you in the last hour. I thought you’d flaked on the interview, and I told Lucy that if you showed up to say that the position was filled.”
“Why would I set up an interview and flake on it? What if I’d been kidnapped or murdered? You just assumed that I no-showed?” I teased as he settled in the chair on the other side of his desk so he could face me.
“I figured you’re young and you met up with some friends. I wouldn’t blame you. I just wouldn’t hire you.” He smirked.
My God. The man oozed sex appeal. The deep voice, the green eyes that felt like they were looking straight into my soul.
The gentle touch and care.
His jaw was chiseled perfection beneath a light layer of day-old scruff.
Who the hell is this guy?
So, being an author, these were the traits I always included in my heroes.
Because I wrote fiction.
But this guy—he appeared to be what book boyfriend dreams were made of.
“I’m young?” I asked, feigning irritation.
He held his hands up in defense. “Your aunt told me that you graduated from college not that long ago. I just assumed you’d found something more exciting to do than go interview for a part-time nanny position.”
“First off, I graduated from college over two years ago. I’m not some co-ed party girl.
My father always jokes that I was born a forty-year-old woman,” I said with a laugh.
“So I assure you, I’m not going to be off partying.
I take my responsibilities seriously. But the car breaking down was unexpected.
It got me all the way here from Chicago, and then it decided to die on me when I was only a mile from town. ”
He studied me for a long moment and then nodded. “Fair enough. So, tell me what your experience is with children? Your aunt Edith said that you’re great with kids.”
“Ahh… they were both singing my praises, weren’t they?” I asked as I thought over how I could best answer the question.
“They were. And you’re clearly deflecting. Just give it to me straight. Do you have experience with kids?”
Damn. The guy was good at reading people.
“I haven’t been a nanny before, per se.”
“‘Per se’?” He raised a brow, the move so sexy I shifted in my seat, pulling the blanket around myself a bit tighter.
“I like kids.” I shrugged.
He laughed. “All right. Did you grow up in a large family? Do you have a lot of siblings? Nieces and nephews?”
“I’m an only child.” I cleared my throat. “No nieces and nephews.”
He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “So you have zero experience with children?”
“No. I just don’t have siblings or nieces and nephews.”
“Nor have you been a nanny before.” He shook his head. “Why would Edith tell me you were great with children?”
“Because I love children. I just haven’t been around them all that much.” I shrugged. “But my ex-husband has the mentality of a toddler, so I have experience with grown men who behave like children.”
Loud laughter bellowed from him. “I’m sure that took some patience.”
“You have no idea.” I shrugged. “Listen, Mr. Chadwick—”
“You can call me Archer. But let me be straight with you. I don’t think this is going to be a good fit,” he said, and my heart sank. “I can’t hire someone with no experience.”
I needed this job.
I could do this job.
I just had to convince him that I was qualified.