Chapter 7 #2
Heat creeps into my cheeks, and I hate that I’m embarrassed to have standards. High though they may be, I’m proud that I care. Lots of things matter to me, and I don’t consider that quality a negative. Detail oriented and meticulous. Serves me well in overseeing construction projects.
“I wouldn’t normally be doing this in front of you,” I say. “But since you live here…”
“Unless I’m wrong—and I could be—my job is to do what you’re doing. If you don’t like how I’m doing the job, you need to tell me.”
“I’ve . . . always gone over the work other people have done.”
“Micromanaging isn’t going to keep us on even footing. You need to tell me I got it wrong, and I need to try my best to do better. It’s how I’ve been on every job site I’ve ever worked on. You’re not screaming in my face that I’m rubbish. Anything under that bar, I can handle.”
“People have screamed in your face?”
“They’ve never screamed in yours?”
“Never. I can’t even imagine how that would feel.”
“Not good. Can confirm that. Some site bosses are your mates, others are your superiors, and some are tyrants.” He takes another sip of his drink. “Not sure what you are yet.”
“I’m not your mate,” I say quickly. “But I don’t want to be a tyrant either. But my sister would say that I have tyrant adjacent tendencies.”
This causes a corner of his mouth to quirk up, and he eyes me over the rim of his mug. “I don’t have any siblings to take the piss out of me. I might have liked returning the favor. What are her issues?”
I stare at the ceiling for a moment to distract myself from how unbelievably attractive he is during this casual conversation.
His short hair, muscles, tattoos, and the somewhat aloof way he carries himself are superficial qualities, but none of those are what I’m truly drawn to.
It’s the tenderness that lurks in him right under the surface with his daughter, and in these odd moments with me, that make me wonder if I’ve been wrong to write men off all these years.
Why is the universe punishing me? I cannot develop a crush on someone I have hired, and definitely not someone I live with.
“My sister is a flake,” I say. Though with the way I’m viewing my live-in nanny, I’m not exactly feeling as superior to my sister as I normally do. “New jobs. New boyfriends. New adventures around every corner. She couldn’t organize a bun fight in a bakery.”
He lets out a burst of laughter, and his expression is alight with amusement as he slides his cup on the counter and takes the vacuum from me. “Never heard that one. She’d be the type to bring a knife to a gunfight, would she?”
“She would not remember a knife or that any fight had been planned.”
“Sounds dangerous.”
“Only to my sanity.”
A comfortable silence descends between us, but I miss the armor the vacuum afforded me.
“How about I finish up the hoovering for you tomorrow? Corners. Baseboards. Anything else?” he asks.
“With the vacuum? No.” I let him put the vacuum away, and I go to the drying rack to clear the dishes.
“Paige,” Ash says from the doorway. “Do you reckon I should buy another television tomorrow? I could set one up in my room, and then you’d have the downstairs to yourself once the kids have gone to bed.”
He probably means for it to be a thoughtful gesture, and it is, but it also makes me feel as though he’d like his space away from me too.
There’s nothing wrong with that, I guess, even if a thin blanket of disappointment settles across me.
We’ve only been in the house together for a day, but we’ve been getting along okay, haven’t we?
All in all, the second TV is a decent suggestion. If we’re constantly in each other’s pockets, there’s a good chance we’ll end up fighting. As my sister has told me almost every day since she learned how to speak—I’m a lot to deal with. Something I’ve heard or had implied about me lots of times.
“I’ll leave you some money on the side table in the entrance,” I say.
“You sure?”
In our previous email exchanges, he didn’t hide how broke he was.
Asking him to pay for a television so he and Chloe are more comfortable would be mean.
I can afford a second one, and for each of us to have space to retreat to, is being proactive rather than reactive.
A sound decision, even if part of me wishes he wanted to spend his evenings with me.
That thought is exactly why I should encourage the second television. Too much togetherness time will be bad for me and my mental health.
“It’s no problem,” I say. “Whatever you need to feel comfortable here. I’ll phone my parents in my room.” My mom texted me earlier and asked me to call to debrief my first day. “And then I’ll read in bed tonight, and you can have the living room.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine.” I step around him to head for the stairs. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
His sigh from behind me is audible. Even when I try not to be difficult, I am. As though I’m incapable of being easygoing. My rigid attitude leads me to the same result, as though my response and someone’s reaction are ingrained, impossible to sidestep.
Fighting my nature is futile, and it’s another reason why I shouldn’t be ogling my nanny. At some point we won’t see eye-to-eye, and he’ll either quit or I’ll fire him. I’ve been down this route too many times to count.