Page 18 of Never Bargain with the Boss

“And Mr. Harrington?”

“Cameron’s great too,” I reply, cutting my eyes his way because it feels like he’s looking for a specific answer, but I’m not quite sure what it is.

Miller’s lips turn down the slightest bit. “Ah, got it. You’re one of those.” He sounds… disappointed? But I don’t know why.

“One of what?” I ask carefully.

“The nannies talk, you know?” He smiles, but it feels forced and empty, not like the friendly one he gave before, and as he speaks, he keeps his eyes on Grace, not sparing me a glance. “They start like Pollyannas, with high hopes and naïve stars in their eyes, but they soon learn that Harrington’s a cold, demanding, asshole of a boss who’ll expect you to be at his beck and call twenty-four, seven, three sixty-five, and will never give you a single compliment, praise, or raise. As wild as Grace is, he’s the main reason the nannies keep leaving.”

Miller doesn’t sound angry about that, more like he’s giving me a sneak peek behind the curtains of my new job, lest I be under any illusions of it being a cushy deal. And though it's not my place, I feel the need to defend Cameron despite having had a similar thought when I first met him and Grace. “Thanks for the warning, but I assure you, I’m as far from a Pollyanna as one can be. And while Cameron’s not effusively gushing about how awesome I am…yet,” I say, emphasizing that, “it’s only been a couple of days, so he’s got time to truly appreciate my amazingness.”

Miller nods his head slowly, then leans my way to oh-so-casually add, “He also doesn’t fuck around with the help.”

I make a sound of indignation and clip out, “Well then, I guess it’s a good thing I’m not looking for that.” Any guise of friendliness in my tone has evaporated because how dare he presume I’m the type who’d screw my boss.

He smirks disbelievingly. “That’s what they all say, right before they throw themselves at Daddy Warbucks. Fuck knows,I’ve listened to a few of them go on and on about his icy blue eyes and intimidating assholery, which is apparently sexy to some women.” He twirls a finger by his head, like that’s some crazy shit. “Then they’re gone—poof—like all the ones before them. Harrington doesn’t fuck around, literally or figuratively.”

“Well, that’s not what I’m here for.”

He pushes off the bleachers, smart enough to sense he’s stepped over the line. “Nice to meet you, Riley. Hope you stick around… at least for a little bit.” Effectively dismissing me, he strides away, calling out to Grace, “Alright, show me this new and improved canter.”

“And Riley watchedmy whole lesson. Well, most of it, anyway,” Grace rambles on, telling Cameron about our afternoon at the barn after dinner.

I can’t help but grin at the picture she’s been painting of today. She’s relayed her entire lesson in near real-time, minute by minute, with in-depth analysis of her riding, Pegasus’s response to her lead, and her plans for the upcoming end-of-year showcase. All of which Cameron has listened to intently, asking questions and hyping her up at all the correct points.

It’s honestly adorable.

With Cameron’s jacket long gone, his shirt sleeves rolled up, and his eyes sparkling as he gives his complete attention to Grace, I don’t think he’s ever been cuter. Not that I’d tell him that. Or that for some weird reason, cute is suddenly feeling confusingly close to sexy in my brain.

Damn Miller for even suggesting that. He must’ve gotten my wires crossed because that’s definitely not why I’m here, working for the Harringtons. I’m a professional and thereare lines that shouldn’t be crossed. Sleeping with the boss is definitely one of them and a one-way ticket to getting fired.

But while one particular part of my body is arguing that, thankfully, my brain is keeping up with Grace’s monologue, so wrist deep in soap suds at the sink, I pause my pan-scrubbing to argue, “Hey! I watched the whole thing.”

“Yeah, when you weren’ttalkingto Miller,” she teases, ducking her chin and batting her lashes at me. To Cameron, she clarifies, “And by talking, I mean flirting.”

Deciding to let the pan soak, I shut off the water, and laughing at how wrong she is, I tell Grace, “I was not flirting with your riding coach. Yes, we were talking, but I watched you the entire time, warm up to cool down for both you and Pegasus.”

Drying my hands on a towel, I turn around, and though Grace is grinning, Cameron isn’t laughing at all. His expression is stern, his jaw tight, and his eyes are ice-cold and locked onto me. He’s the definition of mercurial, going from relaxed to harsh in the timespan of a few words.

But before I can reassure him that I wasn’t falling down on my supervisory duties with Grace, she coos, “He was smiling at you and you were smiling back, and you were both laughing. That’s how you know someone likes you.” She nods with all the certainty a pre-teen can muster. “And he said he likes your pink hair and asked you out for a beer on Friday. Riley, that’s literally the definition of flirting.”

“Okay, yeah, you’re right about that,” I admit, “but Miller was just being friendly and welcoming to the new girl.” In reality, it’s more likely that he asks out anything in a skirt to see if he can get under it, but that’s not exactly age-appropriate to tell her. “That’s all, nothing serious.”

“Why not? He’s cute, right?” she demands like a stubborn dog with a bone.

I swear I hear Cameron’s teeth grinding together, but when I chance a quick sideways glance to him, he’s perfectly still and his face is completely blank, so maybe I imagined it.

Treading carefully as I explain my feelings about her beloved coach, I start, “Miller is a good-looking guy.” Grace’s whole face lights up, so I rush to continue, “But not my type. Actually, I’m not sure I even have a type because I don’t date much.”

“Oh.” She sounds disheartened to hear that. “Why not?”

This is awkward as hell. How do I explain to a child that I’m a drifter who craves stability but never quite settles into it, and that people always leave me so I tend to cut my losses before they get the chance in a misguided attempt to save us both the pain? There’s not exactly a children’s book version with cute, fuzzy teddy bears to help explain the mess of a life like mine and its fallout.

“Always moved around too much, I guess. Plus, not everyone likes pink-haired weirdos, you know? Now, if my hair were blue? Or rainbow? Then it’d be a whole different scenario.” I send Cameron a teasing wink, which he answers with a scowl.

“So, you don’t have a boyfriend, but you don’t want to date Miller?” Grace still sounds confused, but at least she’s catching on to the main points of my TED talk.

Nodding, I repeat, “I don’t have a boyfriend, and I don’t want to date Miller.” I make sure each word is crisp and clear so she gets it.

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