Page 7 of The Nanny is Off Limits

“For twenty bucks, I can go to an actual car wash,” I respond. “How about five?”

He snorts. “How about no?”

So, a bit of smart ass then.“Hmmm.” I narrow my eyes at him. “As much as I enjoy being hustled by a ten-year-old, I have to go meet with your dad.” I turn to walk away before pausing and looking back at him. “Keep your fingers crossed I don’t get the job. Conversations won’t go quite like this if I do.” I raise my eyebrows before moving up the long staircase to the front door.

I’m just about to ring the doorbell when Isla appears with a different pair of sunglasses on her face; these are yellow with star frames to match her all-yellow outfit. “Ellie!” She grabs my hand and pulls me through the door before shutting it behind me. “DADDY!” she screamsveryloudly and I briefly wonder why no one has taught her about inside voices.

“Isla Kincaid, enough with the yelling.” I hear him before I see him, and then he comes around the corner, dressed in a full suit complete with a tie like he’s just coming in from the office, sporting a stern look across his face directed at her.

She puts her hands on her hips and cocks her head to the side. “I wanted to make sure you could hear me!”

“I’d be able to hear you from outer space, sweetheart.” His voice softens, and it’s deep and rich andhot. Like he could narrate one of my romance audiobooks.

She ignores his comment, not grasping the sarcasm. “Daddy, this is Ellie.” She points at me.

“Right, you’re the woman that my brother and youngest child tricked into coming here.” His eyes meet mine. They’re green or maybe hazel and he gives me a dazzling smile before holding out his hand. Instantly, I know I can’t take this job. I was reluctant at first with it being a single dad but a single dad that looks likethis?Nope. Nope. Nope.I finally have some stability in my life after years of just the opposite. The last thing I want or need is to feel any kind of attraction to the father of the children I’m nannying. This is a recipe for disaster.

The reminder that he’s recently widowed comes through my brain and I feel somewhat relieved knowing he’s probably still deep in the mourning period, and thereby, not interested. So, there’s no way I’d make a move, no matter how gorgeous he is.

And Rowan Kincaid is gorgeous.

“How old are you?” I blurt out, my brain clearly not working because that is not an appropriate question.

“Forty-four,” Isla answers and he glares at her.

“Forty-three, thank you. Please go play.”

She giggles and takes off for another room in the house.

“Sorry, I just…you’re younger than I thought you’d be.”

“I’d say the same butbelieve me, my brother sang your praises.” He nods toward the way he came. “We can go to my office.”

I follow him down a long hallway to a room at the end of the hall. He closes the door behind us and sits behind his desk. “Look, I appreciate you coming. I know my daughter can be very persuasive and if you felt backed into a corner, I apologize.” I note how tired his eyes are and the solemn look he’s giving me.

“No…I don’t feel that way. Your daughter is lovely. Very sweet. A bit mischievous. I found her climbing the shelves in the cookie aisle. I’m not sure if she told you that.”

“She did not.” He sighs, running a hand through his short dark hair. “I told her to stop doing that.”

“Why don’t you tell me a bit about your situation? Isla mentioned that your wife passed away—”

“She said that?” he interjects, his expression confused and I nod.

“Okay, so their mother yes. She died a year ago, but we’d been divorced for about three years before that. So, my ex-wife, technically,” he clarifies. “Isla doesn’t talk about that much though, so I’m just surprised she told you.”

“She doesn’t?”

“She was only five and…I think she’s still struggling with what it all means. She’s also my happy-go-lucky child. Nothing bothers her. She’s always smiling. She rarely cries.”

My mind goes back to our interaction at the grocery store and the thought that her eyes welled up with tears in front of a perfect stranger, moments after her mom was brought up has me wondering if her father is talking to his kids about her at all or if it’s thatthingthey don’t talk about.

“I see…and you have two others?”

“A son, Sawyer. He’s ten and my daughter, Margot, is sixteen.”

“Does Margot help you with day-to-day things?”

“As much as she can, yes. I’m an attorney and there are a lot of nights I’m home late. Later than I’d like. She helps with cooking and putting them to bed at a reasonable time.”Reasonable meaning, Sawyer is probably up watching TV or on his iPad until he hears the garage door open alerting him that his father is home.

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