Page 6 of Twins for the Silver Foxes

“Please. I’ve been looking all over town. There’s nothing available for the summer where I can keep Liddy with me.” She stroked one finger down the girl’s arm, drawing out a giggle.

“My hands are tied,” the manager said as he turned away. “I have employees to look after.” He left her standing there.

The woman turned, her shoulders slumped in defeat. Her chin lifted as she whispered to her daughter. Tears filled her eyes, and the sight of them dropped my stomach to the floor. It must’ve kept going until it reached hell because a hot burn started behind my naval.

I stepped out of line. We needed help for the summer. This woman needed a job. It was crazy. Ludacris, even. After everything I said last night about finding an older woman we could trust, how could I even think about approachingthiswoman?

I’d deal with that later. A possible solution was walking toward me, and I’d not turned into a billionaire by taking the safe road. The girl spotted me first and dove toward her mom’s neck, wrapping both arms tight around it.

I slipped into step beside her. “I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation.” I held out a business card, noting the flash of pessimism in her eyes. “Yeah, I know. Cliche tactic. I would tell you I’m a nice guy, but at that point I might as well slick back my hair and ask if you’ve ever done any modeling.”

That earned me a smirk and a short bark of laughter. “You look too smart for that. If anything, you’d offer to take me on acruise and I’d never be seen again.” The tragedy of the human trafficking analogy sobered us both.

I gave the card to the girl, who promptly bent it in half and picked at the raised letters. “I’m Scott King.” A moment passed as I waited for recognition. When it failed to strike, I fought down a genuine smile. “I have a job you might be interested in.” Approaching a random woman in the middle of a coffee shop wasn’t my smoothest move, but desperate times and all that prompted me to keep going.

Her throat bobbed in a hard swallow. “What kind of job?” Wariness poured from her, but amid that tentative question, attraction sparked.

Those blue eyes held heartache. I fisted my phone between my hands to keep them still. Comforting women came naturally, but an unwelcome touch caused more harm than I was willing to risk. The barista called out an order with a shrillness that raised the hair on the back of my neck. I motioned toward a table. “Would you like to sit?”

“I’m fine.” Her chin notched upward a bit, the defiance plain. The girl wiggled and twisted in an obvious plea to be released. “What kind of job?” she asked again. “Can I bring my daughter?”

“A housekeeper. And yes.” I moved toward the table and sat, hoping she’d follow my example.

After a moment of staring me down, she dropped into the chair across from me and set the girl down beside her.

The urge to reach toward her overwhelmed me. What was it about this woman that tempted my self-control? I leaned back and unbuttoned my jacket, letting it fall open. “I own a rather large house on Chapel Street.” She might not recognize my name, but everyone knew about the homes on that particular road.

Her eyes widened a fraction before she regained her composure. “You look like the type.”

“Oh?” I propped my elbow on the back of the chair beside me. “What type is that?”

“Rich.” She fiddled with the paper on a straw and looked out the window where people streamed past. The coffee shop settled into a less chaotic atmosphere as the last of the morning rush departed. “Entitled,” she added. The spark of attraction flamed hotter when she met my eyes. “Like you think the whole world bows at your feet.”

I laughed outright at that which seemed to startle her. The girl laughed with me, though I doubted she understood what happened.

“You got the first two right. But it’s been a while since anyone bowed at my feet.” I allowed my face to soften and lowered my voice. “I’m not that kind of man.”

“No?” She set her forearms on the table and leaned toward me. “What kind of man are you, Scott King?”

The kind who would take care of her if she’d let me but understood that independence mattered to her. Was it wise to invite this woman into our home when I felt so strongly about her? She was smart, savvy, and beautiful. A perfect trifecta that would have me on my knees before her if the situation called for it. It posed a dangerous risk having her around all summer, especially if I couldn’t keep my flirtations under control.

I held on by a thread when she lowered her eyes, her gaze sweeping over me like she read every line of my body in a single glance.

Honesty served me best here, so I answered her with a genuineness I rarely revealed. “I’m the billionaire who can offer you a job for the summer. It’s a dream gig.”

“I bet,” she muttered under her breath.

Heat ran along every nerve-ending when her lashes fluttered. My cock stirred as an image of how she must look in bed infiltrated my mind. “You wouldn’t want for anything.” Silkysmooth and decadent with innuendo, I threatened to cross the line as I teased her. It wouldn’t do us any good if I brought her on only to frighten her away a month later.

“You don’t even know my name. How can you offer me a job?”

I scrolled through my phone and spun it around to show her the ad we’d placed. “It’s no different from this.” I handed her my phone and plucked another card from my pocket, along with a pen. “Here’s the address, and my personal number. Come by at five this afternoon for an official interview if you’re interested.”

Instead of being put off by my charms, she smiled. It did funny things to my heart, that smile. It made me feel ten feet tall and bulletproof. I had the opportunity to help this woman. Didn’t that mean I also had the obligation?

4

HANNAH

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