Page 88 of The Bossy One

Declan cracked a crooked smile. “Glad to see you’re not taking a break from stealing my clothes.”

I flushed. “Do you want it back?”

The wicked spark in his eyes dimmed. “Keep it,” he said gruffly. “You can take it back to the States for all I care.”

I swallowed. “Did you want something?”

“Right.” He straightened. “Are you still up for going to Prague with me? Catie still wants to go, but if you’d rather not, since we’re… If you’d rather not go, I’ll explain to her that my plans changed.”

I blinked. I’d forgotten the trip to Prague was tomorrow. “She’ll be disappointed,” I said.

“She’ll get over it. I’ll take her somewhere better after you leave.” He studied my face. “I don’t mind being the bad guy, if you need to be here.”

If you need to be away from me. That was what he wasn’t saying.

Frustrated tenderness welled up in me. Declan was being sohim. Willing to rearrange his plans and bear the brunt of Catie’s disappointment if that was what I needed.

Damn the man.

“What about you?” I asked. “Would it be easier to focus on your work if I wasn’t there?”

He laughed, not unkindly. “A ghrá, I’ve never had trouble focusing on business, and I never will. I’m not built like that.”

I felt a rush of sadness at his words. Maybe that was our problem. He could always put me out of his mind when he needed to, and I never seemed to be able to put him out of mine.

“I’ll go,” I decided. “I don’t want to disappoint Catie. When’s the next time I’ll get to go to Prague?”

Declan picked up a knickknack off my bedside table and began inspecting the grumpy frog statue with an air of studied casualness. “You could stay in Europe for a bit after your job here ends. Buy a Euro Rail pass, do the backpacking thing.”

Something in my chest tightened. It was the closest Declan had come to asking me to stay in Ireland after my work with him ended. And I had a feeling it was the closest he was going to get.

I gestured to my laptop. “I’ll probably have to get back. Most of the nannying jobs I’m applying to would start fairly soon after this one ends.”

Declan’s hand tightened on the ceramic frog. “You’re already looking for other jobs?”

“Declan,” I said, helpless. Why did he have to make everything so much harder than it had ever been before? Why did he have to make me wish I was the kind of person who stayed?

But I wasn’t. I was a fairy-godmother/nanny. I blew in to people’s lives, carried them through a rough patch, and then flew on to the next job when they didn’t need me anymore.

Declan sat the frog down with more force than was necessary. “So you’re not going to do the sponsorship, then. Become a professional blogger.”

I inhaled sharply. This was the first time since yesterday’s fight that he’d referenced something we’d talked about as @1000words and @DBCoder.

Something uncomfortable occurred to me. “Did you get me that sponsorship offer after you found out who I was?”

He clenched his jaw. “So what if I did? You’re better than half the professional bloggers on that site.”

His high regard warmed me as much as his high-handedness made me want to bang my head against my desk. “Declan, I don’t want to get professional opportunities because I’msleepingwith you.”

“You’re not sleeping with me now,” he pointed out dryly.

I made an inarticulate groan that sounded something likeARGHand buried my head in my hands. “Why are you so impossible?”

And hewasimpossible. Everything about him—about us—was impossible.

“Hey.” Declan’s voice gentled. He drew closer and knelt in front of where I sat. His hands were big and warm as he coaxed mine from my face, so that he could meet my eyes. “It wasn’t like what you’re thinking. When any of the Snug employees see a high-quality blog that could be a good fit for sponsored content, we send it over to the team that handles corporate partnerships and advertising. That’s all I did. And your blog was so great, they found a potential sponsor in less than a week.”

Oh. That wasn’t so bad.

---