Chapter Five
M y palms are slick where I rub my hands together and step onto the porch ahead of Dean’s front door.
“I’m fine,” I whisper under my breath as I wipe my hands on my jeans and lift to knock, “Savannah is here, too.”
The door opens before I can even bend my wrist.
“You always talk to yourself?” Dean stands there, one brow cocked, and thick, black rimmed glasses cover his fathomless dark eyes. My heart stops dead inside my chest before it starts beating so wildly, I can feel it pumping in my neck.
“Only when I’m needing to hype myself up to deal with you,” The words spill from me in a rush, and then my cheeks flame.
One side of his mouth ticks up.
“Is that Sloane?” Savannah’s voice sounds from behind him, but he’s so broad, I can’t see her beyond him.
“The very one,” He yells back, pinning me where I stand.
I’m locked in his stare, and it’s then that I notice just how tired he looks.
There are dark shadows under his eyes from lack of sleep, and his skin appears paler, the scruff around his mouth ungroomed.
Every other time I’ve seen him, he’s always been so put together — his suit pressed, his hair styled, beard groomed, and I never knew he wore glasses.
But then I don’t know him, do I? Apart from a few awkward and stilted meetings, we have barely said two words to each other.
“Well, are you going to let her in?” Savannah laughs, ducking under his arm.
His eyes drag down me slowly before he takes a step back and turns to the side, gesturing with an arm to beckon me inside.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I curl my fingers into my clammy palm and step past him, holding my breath until I’m clear.
Savannah immediately links her arm with mine and walks me through to a kitchen that looks like a smaller version of a farmhouse kitchen, all rustic cabinets and antique metal work, a modest four-seater dining table set in front of what I assume is a backdoor and a breakfast bar with tall stools placed beneath it.
It’s not what I was expecting. I know Dean has money, a lot of it.
There’s a twenty-five plate Porsche in the driveway, he wears tailored suits and designer watches, and he just exudes the kind of wealth I’ve only ever seen from the parents of the children I used to work with.
I was too nervous outside to really take in the townhouse's exterior.
“Coffee?” Dean offers courteously, though his face remains flat, now void of any emotion or lightness he had at the front door.
“Sure,” I attempt a smile, but I know by the way he looks at me that it falls short. This was a terrible idea.
Savannah fidgets in the doorway while Dean busies himself with the coffee.
“So, where’s Lily?” I ask to fill the silence.
“Sleeping,” Dean replies gruffly.
“And her napping is steady?” These are all the things I need to know, things I’m comfortable with.
“No.”
“How so?” Forgetting the nerves and the tension thickening the air, my focus turns to the baby I’m about to take care of.
“Some days,” He sighs, “She won’t eat, won’t settle. Had doc check her over, and she’s healthy, physically, there’s nothing wrong, but the way she cries sometimes…”
I nod, urging him to continue. “She sleeps for about four hours at a time throughout the night, waking for feeds, but then some nights she won’t sleep at all.”
No wonder he’s exhausted.
“She hasn’t been with you long, has she?” I question.
I swear I hear his molars grind, “No.”
I nod and capture my bottom lip between my teeth, gnawing on it as I think back to all the children I’ve cared for, from newborns to seven-year-olds.
One thing they all have in common, no matter the age, a change in routine and environment can set them back months.
Not only that, but they also pick up on energy, even if a word is never spoken.
I have to see Dean with her to see it for myself so I can figure out how to help.
For the little girl only, of course.
“Mind if I go see her?”
Dean’s dark eyes narrow. “You gonna take the job?”
“I already said I would,” I place my hands on my hips.
“I’ll show you the way,” He places three steaming mugs of coffee to the side and then gestures for me to follow him through the house.
I subtly take in his space. The rustic theme continues throughout, with dark hardwood flooring and beige walls, warm rugs to cover the floor.
His couch is a deep brown suede, with two dark accent chairs positioned on either side, facing a small open fire with a large TV hanging above the mantel.
But there’s no art on the walls, no photographs.
He has a bookshelf lined with books, no trinkets or ornaments to be seen.
Apart from a few house plants to give the house some life, there’s no personal touch anywhere. Interesting.
I follow him up a staircase and down a short hall to a slightly ajar door; soft light from a rotating nightlight spills through the crack, throwing shapes onto the ceiling.
Inside, the room is a deep red color with only a crib, a rocking chair, and a changing table.
There’s no storage for Lily’s clothes, leaving them neatly folded on the seat of the chair in the corner.
“I haven’t updated it,” Dean says quietly, as if reading my thoughts.
“I’m not judging.”
“You are,” He says, “I can see it on your face.”
“You don’t know me well enough to attempt a guess at what I’m thinking. Let’s just stick to what we are here for.”
The longer he stares at the side of my face, the hotter it becomes, and the more my anxiety builds.
It’s like a hand holding my heart hostage, squeezing tighter and tighter every second.
It makes breathing hard, thinking even harder.
Unable to take anymore, I step closer to the white crib where Lily is sleeping.
She’s swaddled in a pink blanket, her long, dark lashes resting on the plump apples of her cheeks.
She’s so small, so innocent it helps me realize exactly why I do this.
Why I work with children. They are the best of us.
“She’s beautiful,” I whisper so as not to wake her. She has a thick head of dark hair to match Dean’s and a small, little heart-shaped mouth that’s slightly parted in her sleep.
“Yes, she is,” He agrees from somewhere behind me.
“I’ll do this,” I tell him, “But it isn’t as easy as just leaving her to me. We have to work together.”
“She’s my daughter,” There’s a bite to his tone I wasn’t expecting, “I’m not just going to pawn her off for you to deal with. I need help, that’s what I’m hiring you for. Not to be some pseudo mom.”
“Hired help,” I breathe, “Got it.”
“She’ll sleep for another thirty minutes,” He grumbles, “I want to go over some paperwork.”
“Right,” I agree, following him from the bedroom and down the stairs silently, watching his body move. Despite his size, he moves with the kind of grace I’m not sure a man like him should be able to possess. He’s quiet, confident, and at ease in his white tee and gray sweats.
I haven’t appreciated a man for a long time, not been close enough to do so but I quietly examine him now, the way the fabric of his tee stretches to accommodate his shoulders, the cuffs tight around the arms, showing off his muscles and the ropes of veins that wrap around his forearms. His trim waist leads down to narrow hips, and while I’d never really stopped to appreciate a man’s ass before, I can appreciate Dean’s.
I could only dream of having glutes I could bounce a penny off.
At the bottom of the stairs, I follow him back through to the kitchen, where Savannah now sits at the table, her cell in hand and a grin on her face.
“Oh, you’re back!” She jumps up, quickly shutting off the screen on her phone. I already know she was likely dirty talking with Killian, her boyfriend and Dean’s brother. “Mind if I get going, or do you still need me?”
Dean looks at me.
Oh shit.
Alone. Here. With him.
Alone .
“Um, yeah,” I squeak, and then clear my throat, “Yeah,” I repeat, “All fine.”
She hesitates.
“Really,” I breathe deeply, knowing I’m going to have to do this alone anyway, “I’m okay.”
She touches my arm as she walks by, “I’m one call away.”
“I know,” I manage a smile, ignoring the other presence in the room. Frankly, he’s hard to ignore, but that’s my issue, not hers.
“You sure?”
“Positive,” I nod.
“Okay,” With a quick hug and a shouted goodbye, I listen to her leave and then turn to Dean.
He has a disarming beauty, hard but intriguing, especially now that he’s wearing his glasses.
It’s unassuming but draws you in, like a moth to a flame.
By the time you realize it’s dangerous, it’s too late, and you’re being burned up.
It’s already taken me so long to find myself within the ashes of my old life, I can’t go up in flames again.
But he’s a man you take notice of, with his dark eyes and low set, stern brows. His cheekbones are high, making the hollows of his cheeks that much starker, and even with his beard ungroomed and a little messy, he’s still incredibly handsome.
He doesn’t make any kind of comment on my behavior, something I am quietly thankful for, and grabs a brown envelope from a drawer.
“A contract and an NDA,” He explains, “Read it through, come to me with any questions or changes, and after that, you’re hired.”
“You want me to read it now?”
He shrugs like it doesn’t bother him either way, “If you’d rather do it at home, then fine, but I’ll need an answer as soon as possible. Like I said, I need help, sooner rather than later, so if you’re the flaky type, you may as well leave now so I can find someone who won’t waste my time.”
“Wow,” I stare at him, slack-jawed, “That was rude.”
“Just matching your energy, sweetheart.”
The pet name throws me back, hitting me like a physical blow.
It’ll only hurt for a minute, sweetheart.
The press of a blade to my skin, hands on my waist, my thighs, on my breasts, fingers bruising as I fought to make it stop. Then pain. So much pain.
The scar on my hip flares, as if remembering, too.
“Sloane?” Dean's voice cuts through the nightmare. He’s closer than he was before, his hand outstretched as if to touch me.
I jump back, “I can’t do this.” Is all I gasp out as I bolt from the house, the door slamming with a thud that’ll likely wake the baby.
He doesn’t come after me, and I don’t stop, not until I am safely behind my own front door and all the locks are in place.
And then I break down, and I cry.