Page 13 of Tempt Her

But I won’t cry.

I won’t disappear into my pantry where Gentry has no cameras. I’ve shed so many tears in there; I swear—Chef Boyardee and me—we’ve had long talks.

But today? What is it with me and tears? I’d blame it on hormones, but I know what it is.

I’m not used to breaking my routine with my dad. And I’m not used to having three men witnessing the embarrassing shitshow that’s my life.

I try distracting myself. Tapping on my iPad, I select the catering order for our New Year’s Eve party. It stresses me out. No matter what I pick, Gentry will criticize it. An hour later, I almost don’t hear the “ahem” echoing across my lonely kitchen.

“Excuse me, ma’am.” Mateo stands in the doorway. “I need your opinion on something, please.”

My opinion? That’s been about as useful as a screen door on a submarine lately.

“Uh, sure.”

I follow Mateo’s path into the grand foyer. It’s two stories with a staircase winding up to a landing leading to rarely-used guest bedrooms and the owner’s suite I resent.

But I like this view of Mateo.

He’s not wearing his baseball hat today, and his long, dark waves captivate me. The bib of his white overalls is dropped from his beefy shoulders, hanging in front like he’s taking a break, letting me marvel at the sight of his tight white T-shirt underneath.

Men can have muscles on their backs? Ones so strong you can see them through cotton?

And that ink again? It peeks out from under his collar, looking tribal in design. It starts at his neck, and I study the two full sleeves he has over his ripped arms. It’s a cohesive design. It writes a story across his skin, and I want to read every word.

“Ma’am, we can’t decide what to do right here.” Mateo points to the threshold between the foyer and the dining room, where Luke paints the crown molding. “Should we stop here or go into the foyer? But if we do, that goes upstairs, and then it’ll only look right to paint the whole second-floor landing, but your husband said to do the first floor only.”

Mateo gazes up at his conundrum, but I can’t stop looking at him. Like, I know him, and it’s so odd and sweet at the same time because I don’t.

“Please call me Stacey.”

He grins my way. “Can’t do that, ma’am. We’re under strict orders.”

“Whose orders? It’smyname I’m asking you to use.”

“Well, we all get several names sometimes,ma’am.” He’s enjoying saying it now. “And we’ve been ordered to address you as you introduced yourself.”

“What? As ‘Mrs. Gentry Evans?’ By whom? My husband?”

“No,ma’am.” The tease in Mateo’s eyes grows. “By our boss.”

“Your boss?” I glance around. “Where did he go?”

“He’s got other jobs, ma’am. I’m in charge of this one and a few others. We’re a close team, taking what we can for him.”

Up on the ladder, Luke chuckles at Mateo’s comment as my fists land on my waist. “So, Mr. Alexander thinks he’s in charge while you work inmyhouse?”

“Yes,ma’am.” Mateo smiles. “Mr. Alexander isalwaysin charge.”

Luke laughs this time, climbing down the ladder but not getting involved in my little standoff.

“Well, I’ll tell you what, Mr...?” I narrow my eyes but can’t help smiling back at Mateo. “What is your last name, please?”

His eyes brighten. “Perez.”

“Well, I tell you what, Mr. Perez. When you’re in my home and addressing me alone, I’m Stacey. No matter whatthe bosssays. Okay?”

Mateo rubs his chin like he’s chewing on a delicious thought, and I’m caught by an odd feeling.

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