Page 20 of The Strawberry Patch Pancake House
Oh, no, no, no … abort plan! Archer had slept with enough co-workers to know it was a very bad idea and that was when they’d had their own homes to retreat to. And it had still always blown up in his face. He hadn’t done it since he became head chef. He’d been very purposeful in not abusing his power. And this dynamic? Nanny and employer? Was there a working relationship more ripe for misunderstandings?
‘I can still have the job, right?’ Iris asked, her question breaking through his spiraling thoughts. ‘Because I kinda already gave up my apartment and I don’t really have the cash at the moment to get another one. I mean there’s my cousin’s place, but she plays the trumpet all night and there’s Kira’s, but I really don’t want to have to hear her and Bennett doing it all the time because that makes a friendship awkward, you know?’
He didn’t know. He didn’t know anything anymore. He didn’t know how to make pancakes, or raise a child, and he certainly didn’t know how to say no to Iris Fraser.
‘Of course.’ He ran a hand through his hair and leaned back against the wall. ‘Yes, of course you can still have the job.’
Iris beamed. ‘Thanks!’ Her expression turned serious. ‘But just so you know, I have pepper spray.’
‘Pepper spray?’
‘In case you get fresh,’ she said, grabbing her bag and heading into her new room.
In case he gets fresh? Christ. What had he gotten himself into?
ChapterNine
Iris bolted upright in bed. An unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar room. She rubbed her eyes and pushed her hair out of her face. The room was only partially dark, thanks to the streetlight shining in from the road. The walls were bare, the bedspread was a generic navy blue. There was a single nightstand with a single lamp. And nothing else.
If Iris didn’t know better, she’d think she was in some sort of monastery situation. Or nunnery? Cloister? She didn’t really know the right word and considering it was … she glanced at her phone … 1am, her brain wasn’t really working, but the room definitely looked like it belonged to someone who’d taken a vow of chastity, or a vow of really sad decorating.
Eventually, she remembered that she was in her new room at her new job and that she had to wake up in five hours and take care of a small child that she barely knew. But that was fine.
The crash she heard seemed less fine, though.
She swung her legs out of bed, avoiding the pile of bags she hadn’t had time to unpack yet, and crept toward the door. She didn’t know if this nannying gig included protecting Olive from night-time intruders, but she figured she should go investigate anyway. For safety’s sake.
The hallway was dark when she stepped out of her room, but a night light glowed from the bathroom. She paused, hearing more noise coming from the kitchen. Was someone cooking in the middle of the night? Considering Archer’s bedroom door was open, she had a pretty good idea of who it was, but she was curious and nosy and maybe wanted to get a peek of this famous chef in action, so she tiptoed the rest of the way down the hall and peered around the corner.
Archer was in the open kitchen furiously whisking something in a metal bowl. His brow was furrowed in concentration and his forearms flexed with the motion. Iris’s mouth went dry. The man was dressed in a tight white undershirt and a pair of gray sweatpants, which, as far as Iris was concerned, was the same as a woman cooking in lingerie. She should go back to bed. It was not her business what the eccentric chef man did in the middle of the night.
Spying on him cooking with all his sexy chef muscles on display was not in her job description. Or in her best interest for that matter. He was obviously off limits. He was her boss for one thing, and for another she was living with him and taking care of his daughter. Bex wasn’t totally wrong, this was a bit of a sticky situation, and she couldn’t make things stickier by thinking she could have anything to do with this man.
Right. So. Back to bed.
She had every intention of leaving, she really did, but right as she went to turn around, Archer lifted his head.
The bowl clattered to the counter, spraying some kind of batter all over his shirt.
‘Jesus!’ he hissed, clapping a hand to his chest. ‘What the hell are you doing?’
‘Sorry! Oh God, I’m so sorry!’ Iris hurried out of her hiding place, scanning the kitchen for paper towels. ‘I heard a noise and I thought I should come and check, you know just in case someone was trying to kidnap Olive, and I didn’t know you were … you were…’ She gestured to Archer and his chest and his arms and damn it she was staring at him again! Where were those stupid paper towels?
‘Kidnap Olive?’
Iris heard the incredulousness in his voice, but she was no longer looking at him and instead stooping down to the shelves below the island in her search for towels.
‘Here they are!’ She stood, holding the roll in her hands to find Archer staring at her like she was a crazy person. Which she clearly was. ‘Uh … here you go.’
He took the offered paper towels and swiped at the mess on his clothes. So much for not making things stickier. Iris bit down on an ill-timed laugh.
Do not think about making your boss sticky!
‘Is there a reason you think Olive is in danger of being kidnapped?’ he asked, with a raised eyebrow when he met her gaze again.
‘No, not particularly, but you know, you listen to enough true-crime podcasts and you start to get a little paranoid.’ She grimaced at that admission. Maybe he didn’t want a paranoid person watching his kid. She really needed to be more careful with her tendency to tell people everything about her. Now was not the time or the place.
Not with Archer dressed like that, with the batter seeping through his shirt and making it nearly transparent in places and her in her PJs. Oh God, she just remembered what she was wearing. Or more importantly not wearing.
