Page 16 of Taming the Boss

Dear God, obviously, I’d been meant to meet him. Just like his job was meant to be mine.

Calling out an apology to Mr. Brooks, I raced after him, closing the store door so hard behind me that I feared shattering the glass. His stride was so long that he was already halfway up the block, coming to a stop beside a meter as he spoke to a young blond woman in tennis gear. “That’ll be all, thank you,” I heard him tell her as he turned toward the vintage Jaguar at the curb—holy fuck, a Jag—and bent to wrestle with something in the backseat.

When that something let out a sharp cry, I realized he was ineffectually tugging a child out of a car seat. His child, most likely.

And making him cry from the sounds of things.

Not that the blond cared. She watched him avariciously while she licked her bubblegum pink glossed lips. “Are you sure that’s all? I can give you more help with Owen?—”

“No, I’m set.” His gaze veered past her to where I stood on the sidewalk and his chilly expression instantly sharpened. “Maddie?”

He remembered my name. It had only been, what, not even ten minutes, but still.

“I don’t know your first name.”

He said nothing, just cut his gaze to the other woman, who was now staring at me with blatant dislike. Why, I had no clue. Well, other than she didn’t like me horning in on her territory, but why would she be into this guy, anyway?

He was rude.

True, he was clearly rich and attractive—what could be seen of his face under the dense dark beard—but he wasn’t someone you wanted to spend time with.

And his kid was wailing in his car seat, his tiny face screwed up and bright red, and he didn’t seem to be doing a damn thing to try to comfort him.

No wonder he needed a nanny. He probably had grown up with an ineffectual one himself, which was why he had no basic human empathy.

I squared my shoulders and marched forward. “Move,” I demanded, indicating he should step away from the open car door.

Considering his generally cold demeanor, I expected him to say something scathing. Instead, his dark brows pitched and he did as I requested, making room for me to step forward.

Well, look at that. He just needed a firm hand.

As did his son, apparently, since his sobs had subsided as soon as I’d bossed around his father.

I forced myself to smile at the boy, though my face felt frozen. “Hi there. Owen, is it?”

He nodded tentatively, sticking out his bottom lip. “Baddie?” His attempt to sound out my name was adorable.

I laughed and gently corrected him. “Maddie. Why are you crying?”

He screwed up his face and flailed his sneakered feet, saying nothing. Gee, he was just like his non-communicative parent. What a surprise. Then he flailed harder and harder still.

“Owen,” his father said sharply.

The little boy ignored him, continuing to flail. After a moment, he succeeded in dislodging one sneaker, which made his chubby cheeks crease as he smiled widely.

“What did I tell you,” his father said, bending to grab the sneaker.

“Leave it.”

His gaze shot to me. “He has to wear his shoes.”

“Why?”

That seemed to puzzle him. “Because he just has to.”

“He’s in the car. He doesn’t need to wear them in the car, right?”

“But when we get out, he should have them on. Why are you here?”

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