Page 50 of Holiday Hire

He stares at me for a minute, then releases me. "This game is over." He steps into the kitchen, opens the fridge, and mutters, "Thank God they're hospitable enough to have drinks here." He cracks open a beer and downs half of it.

My mind races, wondering again why I'm with him. But then all the memories of the first year we were together pop up. It was the happiest I had ever been, and at a time I needed love in my life after everything happened with my family.

I know that man is still in there somewhere.

Isn't he?

Maybe it was all just a show.

No, that's who he really is,I tell myself, trying to give him the benefit of the doubt.

He spins on his heel, paces, then opens a door. "Not that big of a room, but it'll do for the night."

My irritation grows.

He continues, "Now, we haven't seen each other in a while, and you've been a bad girl, so get over here. I missed that pretty little mouth of yours." He unbuckles his belt and drops his pants.

My stomach turns. I shake my head. "You're disgusting."

"Now I'm disgusting. So you don't want to be with me?"

"I didn't say that, but you're acting disgusting. I'm not your whore."

"I didn't say you were. Although, a whore would give me less trouble than you."

His comment is the final straw. I glare at him one last time and announce, "I'm not going to tell you again. I need space, and this is my place of work. You have no right to be here unless you're invited. Tomorrow morning, you're leaving, and I'm not staying here tonight. I'm going back to do the job that I was hired to do. A job I love. And I'm going to stay here for two months."

He proclaims, "No, you're not. You're going to get fired on Monday. You just told me."

My anger toward him flares. "Why don't you have a little faith in me?"

He grunts. "You're not meant to be a nanny, Phoebe. You're meant to have a nanny. Now, squash your ridiculous ideas, and let's move on with our lives."

I blink hard, remaining silent, and flee toward the door.

"Phoebe," he shouts.

"Bye, Lance." I open the door and step out.

"Phoebe, get your ass back in here," he barks.

I don't obey him. It's dark, but I already know my way around the ranch. The orange lights help guide me as I maneuver myself down the road and back to Alexander's house.

When it comes into view, I hurry toward it, hoping Alexander has left the door unlocked, which he normally does. It took me a day or so to get used to the fact that they don't have to lock the doors here. The ranch is one of the safest places I've ever stayed. But still, I'm hoping I can get inside without waking him up.

The closer I get, the more I realize I won't have to. He's sitting on the porch, gripping a beer bottle. The six-pack is on the table next to him.

I climb the steps.

He asks, "What are you doing here?"

I can't tell if he's angry at me. I blurt out, "I'm sorry. I didn't invite him. I take my job seriously. Please don't hold it against me."

He studies me momentarily, and I try not to quiver, but my lips and insides won't stop. I might break down and cry.

His face softens. He grabs a bottle, asking, "You want a beer?"

Surprised, I meekly reply, "Sure."