Page 18 of Matteo

Embarrassed he saw my pitiful two suitcases and Layla’s lack of toys. I cringe inside.

“I’m aware losing the job as the housekeeper there and a room seems like a bad thing. But I think in the end, it’s better for you and me. I’m in desperate need of a housekeeper. I inherited my brother’s cleaner. Since he moved out a while ago, she took on other clients and didn’t really have room in her schedule for me. I’m a pity client because I hate having people in my space I don’t know. She only cleans the bathroom, kitchen, and my bedroom. And I need more than just cleaning.”

“It looked clean to me.”

The eyebrow goes up again. “You didn’t look closely then. My mother was not happy about your closet and bathroom. She brought her own housekeeper over this morning to clean your room and bathroom as well as Layla’s. It’s not just about keeping the place clean. I need a housekeeper. Of all the food in the refrigerator, only a half carton of eggs was there before my mother shopped.”

His mom doing his shopping isn’t a regular thing?

“Right now, I have an unhealthy dependence on a food delivery app and protein shakes. I’m looking forward to food in the fridge and meals a few days a week—not every day is necessary. Your salary would be fifty thousand a year, paid twice a month. It’s only that low because it will be live-in. Since you and Layla don’t have anywhere to live and I have the room. It seems like a waste for you not to live here.”

My eyes bug out when he tells me the salary. That’s low? Live-in? I can clean up after one person to earn that much. Except it doesn’t feel like that’s all there is to the clothes and toys. “What else is there? Because you didn’t do all this for a housekeeper.”

His dimples flash again. “You’d be surprised.”

I shake my head. I’m not falling for those dimples—although it’s not easy to ignore what they’re doing to those butterflies.

Sighing, “I didn’t even think of anyone helping me with this problem until my mom made an assumption about you and Layla. She thought I was hiding you as my girlfriend. So I figure, why not give her what she thinks you’re doing here? I need your help to get her off my back by pretending to be my girlfriend.”

“You big fat fucking liar.” The words explode out of my mouth.

I startle Layla, him, and me. I have no idea where the words came from.

He double blinks. “I’m not lying.”

“Yeah, no. You had me until you said you needed someone to pretend to be your girlfriend. Men who look as hot as you don’t need a pretend girlfriend. Did too many people see you carry me out of the clinic, and it’s too soon to sell me and Layla, or is it just Layla?”

He’s laughing, not mad or stuttering, and interrupting me to argue.

I’m wondering if he’s telling the truth after all. “Are you gay and need someone to beard for you? That I would buy.”

Shaking his head, he smiles. “Thank you for the compliment. You’re not so bad yourself.”

I blush so hard my head swims. He takes his phone out of his pocket, works it for a minute, and then offers it to me.

“Read through it. You can see clearly it says Mom. Yep, keep scrolling. They’re all about women she wants to set me up with. I’ve been back in Dallas less than six months.”

“Where were you living before then?” I’m curious how far his mom’s reach went. Damn, he wasn’t kidding. They start with a woman’s name and her stats are given like she’s up for sale or something. I lose count after a dozen in the last three months.

“Baltimore, Maryland.”

“Holy crap, your mom does not give up.” I’m impressed and very scared of this Bitsy person. I hand him back his phone. Not only do I believe him now, I feel bad for him.

He shrugs. “I knew it would probably get worse once I came back to Dallas, but I wasn’t truly prepared for it. Now it’s not just her. My sister-in-law is in on it. And she’s confident she has a better pool of women I should meet.”

The sun catches the silver in his thick, dark hair. “How old are you?”

“I turned thirty-nine earlier this year.”

Huh, I see his age now in the deep lines on his face. Yet he also seems younger when he’s smiling at me and Layla. “Why did you come back to Dallas?”

A large hand runs over his face. Suddenly, he’s every one of his years and a dozen more. Those frown lines are deeper than the Grand Canyon and his golden eyes are a flat brown. I have no idea why I want to reach out and touch him in an effort to allay the pain in him.

“I lost a patient. It’s something I should have gotten used to—considering my specialty. But I never did.”

Good. I don’t say it, though. “What was your specialty?”

“I was an oncologist. Which means I treated cancer patients, specifically a pediatric oncologist.”

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