Page 30 of The Rogue

“Trust, Tessa. I don’t trust you.”

“I don’t trust anyone either, doesn’t mean I can’t work with them.”

An annoyed grunt rattles my throat, and I pinch the bridge of my nose.

“Okay, fine, don’t have an aneurysm. Forget I said anything.”

I drop my hand with a sigh. Tessa’s back is to me. Lifting on her toes, she puts away breakfast ingredients in the cupboards. Roaming through my kitchen like she belongs here. And looking damn good doing it, too.

Addthatto the con list for hiring her. I can't keep looking at her the way I want to.

Not to mention those full lips and the level of sass coming out of them.

But she’s right. If today turns out to be anything like Sunday’s interviews, I’m screwed.

I look down at the plate she so delicately arranged for my kid. And can’t stop myself from offering her a fighting chance.

After all, it's not forever.

“Look, if the people I’ve got coming today turn out to be disasters—and I mean total unworkable disasters—”

She slaps a hand down on the counter. “You’ll hire me!” Her eyes brighten with a smile that stops my heart.

“Giveyou a proper interview,” I finish.

She rolls her eyes.

“See, that right there? If you’re not going to respect your boss, that’s a giant red flag.”

She sucks her teeth and does it again.

“Seriously?”

“Fine. But I’m sticking around for them.”

“What do you mean you’re sticking around for them?”

She points to herself. “I can call bullshit when I see it. You need me as backup out there.”

“You’re not sitting in on my interviews. That’s creepy, and how am I supposed to explain that?”

“I’ll be in the background. Tell them I’m your cleaning lady.”

Jackson races down the stairs. “Bacon!”

Tessa’s soft laugh fills the kitchen as she pushes the plate in front of his chair. “Extra crispy.”

I walk over to my kid, brushing his unruly hair back. “Why you up so early?”

“I smelled bacon and thought Grandpa was here to pick me up.”

“Grandpa’s not the only one who can make bacon.”

The kid shrugs and takes a bite. I guess it has been a minute since I bothered. I just stock up on the stuff, expecting to make time to cook, but lately, it’s been takeout from the Inn or a quick bagel on the go.

Tessa tears the bacon out of his mouth like it’s licorice and replaces it with a silver dollar pancake.

I point a finger at her with a warning, like I’m the one doing her a favor. “You can stay for the interviews, but not a word.”

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