Page 15 of Crush
“Will do, Shea.”
He opened his briefcase and rifled through his organizing dividers. He flipped through papers, looking for something that he couldn't find. Through his dress shirt, hard lines and mounds of muscle flexed and swelled with his movements. The sight begged for my eyes, but I refused to give in.
Stay professional, dummy.
Eventually, Shea looked up at me, stumped. “Huh. I know I printed off your resume, but I must've left it at home.”
I'd come prepared, so I handed him an extra. “Here you are.”
“Thanks.”
Silently, Shea studied my resume. And I studied him. His hair was wet and dark, but I could still see the striking glints of gray running through it. Handsome lines were etched into the skin around his slate-gray eyes—which didn't make him lookoldso much as it did wise.
He was a very attractive man. When Shea finally looked up from my resume, my eyes instinctively and nervously darted away.
Obvious much?
“So you've been nannying for five years,” he said, “and you've been with three families in that time.”
“That's right.”
“Pretty good history.” He bobbed his head. “You used to be a personal trainer?”
I smiled. “Yeah.”
“Interesting.” For whatever reason, that bit of info seemed to make him think. “How'd you like that?”
“I liked it a lot.”
“Why'd you get into nannying?”
“I guess I felt the calling,” I said, forcing a cheerful smile.
There was no way in hell I'd ever drop therealstory on someone in an interview.
He looked at my resume again, and the hint of a frown surfaced. “The kids you've nannied have all been on the younger side, I see.”
“Yeah, I really love taking care of the little ones.”
I figured Shea had young ones at home himself, but he gave a head shake. “Hm. Mine aren't so little.”
“Tell me about them,” I said—since that's how these interviewsusuallywent.
“Okay. I've got three. The oldest is my fourteen-year-old daughter, Chloe. She's currently knee-deep in that whole 'rebellious teen' phase, and I can't say or do anything without somehow embarrassing her.”
I frowned with sympathy. “Oh gosh, that's such a tough age.”
“You're telling me. Then there's my twins, Nick and Cam. They're ten years old, and so they're a lot less trouble than Chloe … but they're a heck of a lot more physically destructive.”
“Twins! You're so lucky. Are they fraternal or identical?”
“Sure am. They're fraternal.”
“And how are they so destructive?”
“Ever meet a ten-year-old boy?” Shea asked with a laugh. “Their schedule is a lot more demanding than Chloe's, too. Chloe likes to be left alone and do her own thing. But the boys are both pretty serious about their hockey careers. They play on the same travel squad. So, before school, they need to be driven to their 6 AM practice.”
Hockey careers?I wondered. That was a weird way to phrase it—almost as if there was a legitimate chance that they would have afuturein hockey—rather than just saying his sons were passionate about the sport.
