Page 44 of Nine Week Nanny
She takes a sip, throat working as she swallows. "He needs predictable choices. I believe children should have control where it's safe to have it."
"The book, too. He seemed to really enjoy you reading to him."
A small smile tugs at her lips. "Dr. Seuss is reliable that way."
Steam from the dishwasher curls up, catching a tendril of hair at her temple. My fingers twitch with the impulse to brush it back. I grip my glass of Perrier tighter.
"I can handle a budget the size of a small country, but pasta foam still wins," I say, nodding toward the dried splash on the stovetop.
She laughs. It's a soft, surprised sound that hits me low in the gut. "Next time, lower the heat before you add the pasta. Water molecules get too excited."
Next time. As if we're settling into a rhythm, a domestic pattern.
My mind flashes to her mouth opening under mine, the catch in her breath when I pushed inside her, the way she went crazy when I touched her, how she'd bitten my shoulder to keep quiet when she came.
Fuck. I shift my stance, grateful for the counter between us.
"I'll make a note," I say, my voice betraying my normally stoic demeanor.
She glances down at her binder, running a finger along the row of checkmarks. Her t-shirt clings where dish water splashed earlier, outlining the curve of her breast. I force my eyes up, back to her face.
"Good work today," I add, setting my glass down with a decisive click. Time to redirect.
"Thanks," she says, clearly not sure what exactly I'm thanking her for, but seemingly grateful for the compliment.
"So, listen. My office flooded today. Well, actually, the office above mine. A pipe burst. That's why I was home."
Her eyebrows lift. "Oh, gosh. Did it mess up your office?"
"Not that I could tell, at least this morning. But according to the landlord, it caused a lot of damage to the building, and they have to do this whole remediation thing."
"Sounds serious."
"The work will take two weeks, minimum. I'll be working from here while they get it sorted out." I watch her process this information.
"Oh, okay." That's all she says.
"The building manager offered us a satellite office downtown, but it doesn't have the security protocols I need. Client files, HIPAA compliance..." I trace the rim of my glass with my thumb. "Not an option."
Sloane's shoulders drop a fraction. She gets it without my having to spell out the complications.
"IT was here today, and they will arrive at eight tomorrow morning to finish everything to secure the VPN, the server, the whole thing. I'll split time between here and the hospital."
She nods, practical and quick. Her fingers adjust on the wine glass stem, like she's already reworking tomorrow's schedule in her mind. Not a hint of inconvenience crosses her face.
"I'm sure this goes without saying, but I'll need uninterrupted time when I'm working from home."
"No problem." Her eyes meet mine. "Lennon and I spend a lot of time outside, so we will just be mindful of that."
The house settles around us, floorboards creaking as they cool. Through the kitchen window, stars scatter across the night sky.
"It's clear out. Want to continue this on the patio?" The words escape before I can analyze them. That’s probably not an appropriate invitation for a boss to offer his employee.
She hesitates, then lifts a small white contraption she has in her hands. "Sure. That would be nice. I have the monitor, so I'll hear if Lennon wakes up."
As she walks ahead of me, her t-shirt rises slightly, revealing a strip of skin above her shorts. My mind instantly conjures the feel of that skin under my palms, how it would be to run my fingers across that tender space.
My mouth waters.
