Page 13 of My Not So Wicked Boss (My Not So Wicked 3)

“What’s up with women and Brits?” Sawyer asked.

Emma rested her head on Sawyer’s shoulder. “You can blame Jane Austen, but no worries, baby, I’ll take you any day over the dashing Brit.”

That didn’t make Sawyer feel any better. His brow raised. “Dashing?”

“I meant . . . well . . . that perfectly describes him.” Emma laughed.

Sawyer rolled his eyes but kissed his wife’s head anyway.

Ryder, in Ryder and Shelby fashion, pulled his wife onto his lap. His hand landed on her still flat abdomen. He gently rubbed it. Those two had hands for days for each other. “I’m not worried.” He nuzzled Shelby’s neck.

Shelby threw her arms around Ryder. “I do have to say I prefer a Southern drawl, but,” she faced me, “I do believe the handsome Englishman is enamored with you. He couldn’t keep his eyes off you.”

I pushed off the table and shifted my feet. “That’s because I was holding his nephew.”

Brad snorted loudly. “The dude is totally into you.” He looked to the other men at the table to confer. Sawyer and Ryder nodded in agreement.

“Little Henry seems to be taken with you too.” Shelby patted her heart. “He’s just precious.”

“He is,” I agreed.

Jenna leaned forward. “The real question is what do you think of Mr. Sexy?”

Unfortunately, Jenna’s description of him was spot-on.Chapter Five“I’m sorry about my friends.” I helped get Henry situated in his booster seat. He insisted on sitting next to me in the booth.

“Not to worry, love. It’s good you have excellent mates. And I do love to meet fans.”

My attention switched from Henry to Miles, who was gloating.

I tucked some hair behind my ear. “I love Silent Stones,” I conceded. “It might even be my favorite book.” It absolutely was, but I felt like I should leave some room for doubt.

His beautiful aqua eyes danced in the dim lighting. “Why was that so hard for you to admit?”

The complete answer was complicated and would only be shared with someone I knew I could trust. Mr. Wickham, as kind as he seemed, didn’t qualify. “Um . . .” I picked up a crayon and began coloring with Henry on the children’s menu. “I didn’t want you to think I was only interested in this position because I was some crazed fan.” I offered part of the truth.

He chuckled. “I have known many crazed fans, and you don’t qualify. I thank you for that.”

I looked up from my stellar coloring job—my blue bear was going to be a masterpiece. “Are crazy fans a problem for you?” I hadn’t thought about that aspect.

“Back home in London, once in a while a daft fan will get it in her head that she fancies me, and she’ll do something ridiculous like kiss me unexpectedly or hand me her knickers.”

My brows shot up. I bet they weren’t granny panties. “What do you do when that happens?”

“It depends on how good the kiss is and how sexy the knickers are.”

I manifested my disappointment by sighing audibly. Though I should have expected his response.

Miles hung his head. “That was an ill-fated joke, I see.”

I bit my lip, sorry I had jumped to a conclusion. “I’m—”

Henry interrupted by holding up his picture. “Look what I made.”

I was happy for the distraction. I took Henry’s picture and admired how he had scribbled over the forest scene. “You did such a good job.”

Henry beamed with pride.

I ruffled his curly locks.

“Aspen,” the most alluring voice spoke my name.

My eyes lifted, meeting Miles’s.

Miles wore a thoughtful gaze. “I’m not sure what sort of man you are used to, but I promise you, while under my employment you will be respected, and I will make sure no harm comes to you or your daughter from any of my fans. If it makes you feel any better, hardly anyone recognizes me in America.” He sounded relieved by that fact.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

The smile returned to his face. “I hope this means you will accept my offer.”

“I have some questions first.”

His laughter reverberated between us. “I figured you might.”

Our server showed up before I could ask any. I had already worked out the pizza situation for Henry before we sat down, so only Miles and I had to order. Miles ordered a veggie wrap, which didn’t surprise me. His physique was lean, and the glow of his skin said he took good care of himself. I, on the other hand, needed some comfort food, so I went with the grownup grilled cheese on homemade sourdough bread and tomato soup.

Henry made sure to get more of my attention by handing me a crayon. “You color.”

I was happy to be bossed around by a three-year-old. I took the yellow crayon and filled in the sun while Henry continued his reign of terror with the black crayon.

“You’re good with him,” Miles commented.

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