Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 117201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Or would it be the opposite?
“Then what’s the problem?” Burgess asked. “You don’t want to be Lissa’s nanny?”
“Oh no, that’s not it at all. Lissa is a sweetheart and she’d barely need me, she’s such a little grown-up.” She waved a hand and his eyes caught on the simple silver bands that were such a contrast to the natural tan of her fingers. “You made me such a generous offer. And Wells and Josephine speak so highly of you. Really.”
Burgess took the lid off his smoothie, sipped and waited.
“I’d be happy to help you find someone else. I’m sure people would be trampling me to get this position. It’s kind of a dream come true,” she said, giving him a bright smile, a dimple appearing in the apple of her cheek. Damn, she was . . . a very disquieting combination of hot and cute. She had these long waves of black hair that almost reached her elbows where she propped them on the table, hugging them almost . . . nervously?
That hair acted as a shield for her body, which happened to be the hot part of the equation. So it was probably a good thing he couldn’t see a lot of it from across the table, because he was having a hard enough time concentrating with blood oranges juicing themselves on his brain and every downward sweep of her eyelashes making his thoughts fuzzy. This is how it had been in California. One measly lunch had led to months of staring off into space trying to remember the exact shade of her eyes.
Stay on track. “If a position as my nanny is such a coveted one, why don’t you want it?”
She took a breath, pulled her elbows in tighter. Watched him closely, as if weighing his reaction. “I’m nervous about living with a man I don’t know very well.”
While her answer caused an unpleasant shift in his stomach, he’d sensed a difficult explanation coming from the time he’d glimpsed her across the smoothie shop. Something in the way she’d braced as he approached had tipped him off. Was he insulted? No. Actually, he felt like kind of a moron for not considering before that she might be hesitant to live with a near stranger. Neither had Tallulah, apparently.
Until the very day her employment was set to begin.
Burgess started to ask Tallulah whether the sudden change of heart stemmed from a healthy fear of strangers or something else, but her phone buzzed with an incoming text. Murmuring an excuse me, she slid a finger across the screen.
Tapped an icon.
A video popped up that he recognized all too well.
Because his agent had sent it to him this morning.
Apparently his shot to O’Hanlon’s nose had gone viral.
Was . . . this the reason Tallulah had stalled out in the smoothie shop? Yes. The answer was obvious. She’d been watching it before he arrived. Did that mean . . . was she scared of him?
“Sorry,” she blurted, fumbling with the phone to get her text messages open instead. “Wrong app.”
“Tallulah, I saw it. The video.” He braced himself for the conversation ahead. She could be scared of him. That possibility settled on his chest like a thousand-pound weight. “Is that what’s going on here? You saw a clip from a preseason game and it . . . made you nervous? About me?”
It took her a moment to respond. “My instincts are telling me it will be safe to live with you, but I have a hard time relying on my instincts when it comes to men. In other words, I don’t. My gut feeling is not always accurate. And I thought it would be enough that Wells and Josephine trust you, which is how I made it all the way to this smoothie shop with the terrible chairs. But the video . . . I guess it reminded me that people aren’t always what they seem.”
“I see.” Her explanation filled him with a sense of dread, but he kept his hands loose on the table, despite the urge to curl them into fists. Had Tallulah had a bad experience with a man? It seemed so. And right then and there, looking into her honest eyes, Burgess knew if he ever found out who it was, a broken nose would be a pleasure compared to what he’d do to them. “The way I play hockey is not an indication of who I am in real life. I think the same could be said about any player. It’s the sport. Sometimes it’s brutal.”
“I realize that. I do,” she said quickly, wetting her lips. “The video isn’t the reason I’m declining the job. It was more of . . . of a prompt. For me to take a step back and examine my choices. Sometimes I make really impulsive decisions and regret them later. Like now.”